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.

{{21142}}

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.

April 20-21, 2012 / 29 Nissan 5772

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?

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.

{{21008}}

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.

I have a puppy named Levi. He's about eight months old, and he is an adorable chiweenie.

Chi-what? Yep, you read that right. Levi's a chiweenie. (Or as a friend said, a teeny chiweenie.)

Take the cutest features of a Chihuahua and a Dachshund, mix them together, and that's Levi.

I got Levi in November, when he was a tiny puppy. Today, I got to thinking about all the things that raising him (yes, raising like a child) has taught me.

Levi, when I first got him.

Until you have perfected raising a dog from puppy to adulthood, you will never be ready for parenthood. I'm not the first to say that having a dog, particularly a puppy, is like having a child. Except that you have nine months to prepare for a baby, during which you go to classes, read books and prepare yourself for the being that will dominate your every thought and breath for at least the next two decades.

If you go to a pet store and purchase a puppy, like I did, all it takes is a few minutes and it's a done deal. Most people, me included, probably don't "prepare" for having a dog at all, let alone as much as they should. (Cats are different – their independence makes them much lower-maintenance pets. And maybe their intelligence too. Kidding.)

I didn't read anything. I didn't think about what I'd do when he'd start treating the carpet like a toilet. I didn't imagine a situation in which he'd rip through a wire, or stick his nose into a socket and electrocute himself, causing him to spend the night at an animal hospital, hooked up to an IV. I didn't consider that he'd turn into a little bully, pestering the cats and pulling at their ears with his teeth like Mike Tyson.

Having a child certainly isn't a prerequisite for having a puppy, but perhaps having a puppy should be a prerequisite for having a child. You develop patience, immunity to the smell of poo, and most importantly, self-restraint that will prevent you from harming your future child after they've done something wrong. (At least you'll be able to speak in the same language as your future child!)

Also, being cute will get you off the hook for just about anything. There have been times I've wanted to scream at Levi at the top of my lungs. Like all the times that he ate through a nice pair of shoes, dragged cat poo out of the litter box, ripped up the carpet, howled like a coyote at 3 a.m…. you get the picture. But every time I've picked him and wanted to yell at him, I couldn't. I tried, but I was powerless. Want to know why?

This face. Look at this face. Can YOU yell at this face? Thought not.

I recently learned that there are more divorces today then tattoo removals. I'm assuming that’s a fact. And while both are supposed to be permanent, the tattoo ironically seems to be the one that sticks around till death do you part. Well, let's just say till death. (You really don’t part with a tattoo when you die…) But what I do find ironic is the thought process to get a tattoo seems to be relatively expedited. The decision to get married sometimes take years to manifest, yet the idea of getting a tattoo is sometimes a way to kill an afternoon.

Let me preface this by giving you my personal view towards tattoos, I would never get one. Never have, never will. However, I actually like tattoos. I think they can be an awesome way to express who you are. That is, of course, as long as the tattoo looks good and/or has a special meaning to you. You getting a tattoo for the sake of getting a tattoo is absurd. Once you hit 20 different tattoos, that rule doesn't apply anymore. At that point, clearly you are a tattoo enthusiast and I’ll shut up with my feeble opinion. But until then, for the casual tattoo recipient, it’s very important to remember that a tattoo is a permanent life decision, not that I need to tell you that, and one you are probably not going to tell your parents about. So if I do happen upon an individual with, let’s say, a tattoo of an apple, there better be an interesting anecdote or affirmation as to the apple permanently emblazoned into their flesh. Not something like, "I love apples!" But more like, "You see this apple? This apple right here? This apple saved my life man. Without this apple, we would NOT be having this conversation. I hope you can appreciate that fact man. It’s a reminder for me to never…and I mean NEVER forget the power of the apple.”

Placement is also another important issue. One place in particular, strikes my critical fancy. This is why I fail to understand the back of the neck tattoos. What’s the point of a tattoo if you can’t see it? For that matter, anywhere else on the neck makes even less sense. As the comedian Todd Barry says in regards to people with neck tattoos, “hey, you forgot to not do that.”

One thing that I find incredibly interesting is the types of tattoos that I have known many Jews to get. I have a handful of Jewish acquaintances that have gotten Jewish themed tattoos. I've seen a lot of people with tattoos written in Hebrew, or something involving the Star of David and even images associated with the AEPI fraternity. It's not so much an act of rebellion, but an act of embracing their Jewishnessicity (a word I made up but love). I bring up the point of rebellion, because until I wrote this blog and did a little research, I really thought you could not be buried in a Jewish cemetery if you had a tattoo. Turns out, that's not always the case. When it comes to Judaism and tattoos, the argument against it, is really more about not altering your body, so essentially piercings are out as well. And braces. (Without knowing it, I rebelled for almost three years.)

Let’s try being hypothetical for second. If I were ever to get a tattoo, it would have to be something I was ready to have for the rest of my life. It could not be a quick decision. It could not be an easy decision. That said I’ll make it right now. Some ideas I have are getting a tattoo of my face covering my face, because I love my face. I’d also really love to put the phrase, "this space left intentionally blank" pretty much anywhere. Every time someone would point it out, I’d look at it with exasperation and distraught wondering how this could have happened. Then I have the idea of putting, on the small my back, a picture of a stamp with the word “tramp” on it. Ha-ha! One tattoo I’d obviously be required to get is the Batman symbol affixed to my chest. If only I had the chest to pull that off. But finally, if I have to choose just one to get, I would like to get a simple word… slapped across my tuchus… that reads, “jew-cy”.

A baal teshuva is a term often used to refer to Orthodox Jews who did not grow up religiously observant and became religious later on in life. Literally, it means "master of return"; returning to who we really are, on an essential level. In my opinion, we are all baal teshuvas no matter whether born religious or not; always struggling to stay both inspired and committed— an arduous task indeed.  And this is our story.

Here's a tale not often told.

Or perhaps, more honestly, a tale rarely told all the way through.

We've got the disenchanted on one side— the jaded, the skeptical— and the inspired glowers on the other, both championing their cause, both stomping their feet on the ground and insisting they are right.

But, like any truthful portrayal of humanity, the masses that choose to play by the game and live by the rules live in the middle, perspiring, shuffling, rising and falling.

You may hear their stories of triumph, but not always their moments of confusion, of fluctuation, when they find themselves on the left, then the middle, and finally right again. Only to oscillate once more.

A life of continual return. Never quite there, never having made it, at least for long.

For these Jewish souls, there is one common thread— when the going gets tough, they remain in the fight.

Heaving themselves off the couch to daven (again) (for the third time), steadfast to their promised weekly learning schedule (it's getting boring), opening up that Sefer, forcing concentration, reaching deeper, trying to mean it, trying to feel it, trying to think…

Wearing the kippah. Slipping on the knee length skirt. Playing the part. Going through the motions. Again.

Until they break through.

It's not the glamorous life, not always. But then again, neither is exercise. In the end, in the middle, in those moments of triumphs, in those feelings of connection and intimacy and understanding, for them, it's all worth it. Not that they live for those moments; they live for the relationship. In it for the long haul, knowing that their souls are one, that this is their destiny.

You may call them Orthodox, but I just call them committed.

Turning their eyes to the Oral Law, they bow their heads and know that, long ago, their Ketubah was signed, and they will put in the effort no matter what.

Glamorous or not. Despite, despite…

Despite the horror of horrors, not "feeling it". There, the Baal Teshuva stands. In that place beyond and within reason, in that realm of commitment. Finding his place and identity in the very mental and emotional exercise that wears his bones and ultimately, tones his own muscles to push him through.

Some might not tell the complexities of their tale because of shame, not wanting to taint the minds of those already turned against their ways, who don't understand. Who don't want to understand. Or to avoid discouraging others from embarking on the difficult journey. Or just not to focus on it. To focus on that which they love, that which they understand. That which they hold within themselves. To keep on pushing through. To keep sane.

On the street they may look one way, but they may talk another. One can never know the continuous battle that goes on within their minds and their hearts, wholeheartedly committed on one hand, wrestling, entangled on the other. The nature of their condition.

There are no victory parades for them, or movies cataloguing their latest subtle triumphs. Like any real relationship, there is no fanfare. The only thing ostensibly discernible for certain is their commitment.

For the reward of their journey is found within.

There, the Baal Teshuva stands.

Representatives of Israel and the United States negotiate over prospective action.

This week, I attended unprecedented negotiations between Israel and Saudi Arabia. What can I say? My job's pretty exciting!

Before you get too excited, they weren't real-life negotiations. They were part of "Strategic Crossroads," a national security simulation I facilitated for the young professional leaders of AJC Chicago and AJC ACCESS Chicago. This was pretty close to a personal slice of heaven for a political science and international relations junkie like me.

Four teams–each representing either the United States, the European Union, Israel or Saudi Arabia–received an "intelligence update" that required a carefully tailored reaction from each. They plotted strategic goals, negotiated with other teams and then presented a set of national security recommendations to the head of their country.

Members of the EU team contemplate their goals at the beginning of “Strategic Crossroads.”

But the learning didn't stop there. Two Chicago-based diplomats along with AJC Chicago Regional Director Dan Elbaum played the roles of country leaders and gave feedback on the actions and strategies suggested by each team. Their real-world diplomatic experience added insights that might have been overlooked otherwise.

I can't reveal the original scenario–the game was designed exclusively for ACCESS by a current Chicago Booth student Gil Schwartz, who used to create similar simulations for the national security establishment. But I can reveal the desired effect: A more profound understanding of the power plays involved in solving an international crisis; a better handle on the art of diplomacy; and an object lesson in subtlety and keeping one's cool.

I'll be organizing at least three more of these games throughout the year, each focusing on an issue in the Middle East. And similar games are going on all around the country. Schwartz is also designing a new scenario for the upcoming ACCESS 20/20 conference, a D.C. weekend of activism, networking and fun May 4-6.

See you there!

Over the last three years The Great Rabbino has been giving you the Jewish NCAA Bracket. In the first year I brought you a winner—Duke and Cornell helped produce those results. Last year I was in the middle of the pack. I used various methods from Jewish numbering, players, and Hillel sizes. But this year I tried a different method—I reached out to four rabbis, each with a connection to the tournament regions. Each region was decided by the individual rabbi and then I picked the Final Four matchups and champion. Below you’ll find a brief reason why each rabbi was chosen and their respective brackets. Here’s hoping that five rabbis can summon God and help you with your bracket.

Rabbi Jeremy Yoskowitz - Duke Hillel Rabbi. Duke is the #2 seed in the South Region.
Rabbi Efrem Reis - Last time MSU won it, it had a lot to do with Flint. Rabbi Reis was born in Flint.
Rabbi Erez Sherman - Rabbi Sherman was raised in Syracuse and they are the #1 seed.
Rabbi Ari Kaiman - Rabbi Kaiman is a rabbi in St. Louis that serves as host of the Midwest Region.

SOUTH - Rabbi Jeremy Yoskowitz
Round 1 - Kentucky, Iowa State, VCU, Indiana, Baylor, UNLV, Xavier, Duke
Round 2 - Kentucky, VCU, Baylor, Duke
Sweet Sixteen - Kentucky, Duke
Elite Eight - Kentucky

WEST - Rabbi Efrem Reis
Round 1 - Michigan State, Memphis, New Mexico, Louisville, Colorado State, Marquette, Virginia, Missouri
Round 2 - Michigan State, Louisville, Marquette, Missouri
Sweet Sixteen - Michigan State, Marquette
Elite Eight - Michigan State

EAST - Rabbi Erez Sherman
Round 1 - Syracuse, Kansas State, Vanderbilt, Wisconsin, Texas, Florida State, West Virginia, Ohio State
Round 2 - Syracuse, Vanderbilt, Florida State, West Virginia
Sweet Sixteen - Syracuse, Florida State
Elite Eight - Syracuse

MIDWEST - Rabbi Ari Kaiman
Round 1 - North Carolina, Creighton, Temple, Ohio, San Diego State, Belmont, Saint Mary’s, Kansas
Round 2 - North Carolina, Temple, San Diego State, Kansas
Sweet Sixteen - North Carolina, Kansas
Elite Eight - North Carolina

FINAL FOUR - Rabbi Jeremy Fine

Given all #1 seeds (thanks Rabbis for being creative) here are the TGR Picks

Michigan State over Kentucky
North Carolina over Syracuse

North Carolina over Michigan State

Hiking in Torrey Pines National Park

I couldn't read Jane's post last month without stopping to day-dream about my own bucket list. I've thought about my list before from time-to-time. I was very fortunate that my parents traveled extensively with me during my childhood and instilled in me the same love of travel that they share. As a result, my bucket list has always been just a long list of the places in the world I want to go visit that I haven't been to yet. But Jane got me thinking, isn't there more I want to accomplish in my life than just traveling a lot?

The other night I couldn't sleep— something of a reoccurring problem— so I started to write my own bucket list. (It was better than counting sheep.) I thought I'd share it with you Oy!sters. Travel will always be my number one passion, but trips are no longer the only items to make up my list. I realize this list will change (probably dramatically), but I like having it written down in a public space— maybe it will get me to accomplish some of these.

Here's my bucket list:

Swim with the sharks.

Climb a man-made landmark like The Great Wall of China or the pyramids in Egypt. Climb a nature-made landmark, Mount Everest is probably aiming a little too high, but something along those lines.

Set up at least a dozen couples and dance at a few of their weddings/Become the (nice) Patti Stanger of Chicago to my friends and family.

Live in a city other than Chicago for at least a year, preferably in Maui.

Learn to surf.

Hiking with Jason in Waimea Canyon in Kauai

Become a bigger risk taker professionally/start my own business.

Get a Master's degree for fun. I've finally come to the realization that I'm never going to do anything with my undergraduate degree in history, but I still want to "waste" more money and make it a Master's.

Write a historical fiction book.

Learn to relax. Be less stubborn.

Get married and have at least one kid.

Bake a delicious cake and eat the whole thing myself without feeling any guilt.

Perfect my Spanish.

Jump out of a moving helicopter into the ocean and/or go sky-diving.

Get involved with politics again and advocate for causes I believe in. (I was very involved in politics in college but my pessimism and life have gotten in the way in the past few years.)

Visit all 50 states… I'm close on this one, I've been to 46 of them.

Visit at least the following places: Panama, Belize, Argentina, Brazil, Chile, the Galapagos Islands, Antarctica, Ireland, Scotland, Amsterdam, Greece, Croatia, Fiji, Bora Bora, South Africa, Australia and New Zealand…

So… tell me…what's on your bucket list?

I found myself deep-sighing on the phone with my sister recently about some of the annual inevitabilities of spring—namely moving season and wedding season.

"Spring is a real yay-boo," my sister said.

To which I responded, "Is that a real phrase, 'yay-boo'?"  Honestly, she kind of nailed it.

Only a day after setting the clocks back, I gleefully pulled down my sun visor during my car ride home from work. Soon, I will uncover my pedal pushers (as my mom likes to call them) from the dark depths of my dresser. I will dust off my heavy duty sunglasses. I will make the dramatic switch-over from my hot Starbucks Grande Americano, to my Starbucks Iced Grande Americano—my true marker of spring. My neighborhood Scooter's Frozen Custard shop just opened, and soon all will be right in the world.

With chirping birds and iced caffeinated beverages comes yet another "spring awakening": The wedding save-the-dates on my refrigerator no longer announce events a year away.

The minute you say "I do" to your BFF, she owns you.

On one hand, you wanted to be "owned." It's like the ultimate first pick in elementary school dodge ball. "She likes me, she really likes me!" It's a huge honor when a friend asks you to be a bridesmaid and it's flattering to receive the bridesmaid proposal. It means your friend values you enough to have you share real estate at her wedding alter. She wants you to be in her photos that she's going to show her grandchildren. She wants you there on the ground floor for one of the biggest days of her life. She also trusts you to be there to help put out fires.

The BFF "I do" also comes with its challenges. If movies such as 27 Dresses and Bridesmaids have taught us anything, bridesmaids need to be supportive and they also need to do their best not to wreck the wedding. Let's face it, the bridal party consists of a group of women preparing for an emotionally charged event and their personal issues are inevitably going to surface. Whether these ladies are already married or bride hopefuls, they have some strong opinions about how every aspect of the festivities should go down. A friend and future bride who fears turning into a bride-zilla often jokes in her emails to the bridesmaids, "I still want us to be friends after the wedding."

Every bride and bridal party will have their own personalities, peculiarities and triggers, from demanding hand-dyed shoes and spray tans, to passive-aggressively tearing each other apart throughout the festivities leading up to the wedding. Some men think the movies dramatize these events—sometimes they're accurate. I have a few pointers for surviving bridesmaid-dom.

A Bridesmaid's Survival Guide: How not to turn into Kristen Wiig in Bridesmaids

'Say yes' to the Bridesmaid Dress

The dress might be frog-green, with ruffles and sequins, but wear the dreadful dress. If she asks, wear the halter straps, strapless dress or sleeves. Many modern brides are letting bridesmaids pick the style if they all adhere to the same color and fabric. You can live with anything for one day. The bride has been dreaming of this day since she was 5 and this is how she envisioned you would look. Assume the attitude of a child preparing for an ice skating recital. Put on the costume and smile as you glide down the aisle.

Hopefully your bride doesn't have a side agenda to make all the bridesmaids uglier than she. I personally think this is a bit of an urban myth. Most brides want their bridesmaids to look attractive, so the entire wedding is beautiful.

What to Expect with the Dress

The dress will be too expensive. Bridal-wear is often sized down, so you'll have the added ego-booster of having to buy a dressing that is two- to three-times larger than what you normally wear. Expect you will also have to spend about half the cost of the dress in alterations. It's the most expensive dress you'll never wear again.

Play Nice and Drink Up

While the maid of honor often plans the bachelorette party, bridesmaids can find themselves tasked with planning the party instead. For the bride, this ladies' night really is a special "last night out" with some of her closest friends. That's not to say brides don't have ladies' nights after they get married, but it's a special and symbolic night for the bride.

This night can also be a significant and memorable night for all the attendees—a last hurrah with the soon-to-be-attached bride. Don't let tiffs between bridesmaids get in the way. The happiest group is one where everyone feels like they have a say. And, account for everyone's budgetary limitations.

Cha-ching

No matter what, the wedding will cost you. Whether you're attending a local wedding or traveling for the wedding, at the very least, account for a dress, shoes, shower gift, bachelorette gift and wedding gift.

Don't Get Caught Up in BFF Drama

Avoid comparing your relationship to the bride with the other ladies in the bridal party. You're part of the party because the bride cares about you. She's not sitting and measuring you against her other bridesmaids—so you shouldn't either. The best thing you can do for yourself and the bride is to be there to support her. You'd want the same if you were getting married. Don't pull a Kristen Wiig!

Be Prepared

In events leading up to the wedding and on the wedding day, be prepared to wear many emergency hats including therapist, counselor, problem solver, tailor, medic and more. Be prepared for bride nervous breakdowns, bridesmaid meltdowns, sick and drunk relatives, emergency stains and tears on dresses, family fights and more. Bring an emergency kit with band aids, nail polish remover, extra makeup, chocolate and booze.

I went to a wedding in Denver, in which a bear wound up in the parking lot and guests couldn't leave. Anything is possible.

Don't Have a Date? Don't Worry

Groomsmen. Enough said.

March 11, 2011

It was shortly after lunch on my eighth day of training in Japan, when I suddenly felt dizzy and thought my bowl of ramen was about to make a return appearance. The room honestly felt like it was spinning. Turns out, it wasn’t actually spinning but rather swaying back and forth. I looked around and my eight fellow trainees and trainer had a similar look of confusion on their faces. Ah, yes. It was an earthquake.

I’d heard Japan is pretty seismically active and I was now feeling my first one. Cool? Yeah, a little. I was safe. My new friends in Japan were safe. And once the building had stopped vacillating, we immediately resumed our discussion on managing a classroom of Japanese students who understand little of what I say and vice versa.

After training I sent a quick email to my parents and brother reassuring them that when they woke up and read online that there was an earthquake in Japan, I was ok. My training group then went out for a night of beer and fried deliciousness at a nearby basement izakaya where I had no cell phone reception and had no idea what was becoming of the “little” earthquake I had felt hours ago. I emerged from dinner, checked my new iPhone and found 64 notifications waiting for me on Facebook. Now, I consider myself a pretty active Facebook user with numerous daily notifications, but 64 was a new high. Don’t think I even hit that on my birthday. Something big was happening. All of America awoke to news of an 8.9 earthquake in Japan, and as one of Japan’s newest citizens, I was one of the first people to pop into everyone’s mind. The response was a bit overwhelming. I was grateful for everyone’s concern but the earthquake and subsequent tsunami, though devastating, happened over 500 miles away from me. I knew my experience abroad was about to change, but I had no idea the turn this disaster was about to take.

You see, the seismic activity was a devastating blow to Japan, but in the area of the earthquake was a nuclear plant that was damaged by the quake and began to have trouble cooling itself down. I was and am still no expert on nuclear activity but I started hearing rumors that this could be trouble. Radiation could escape and be potentially dangerous.

The hardest part of all of this for me was that I couldn't wrap my head around what was happening. Was it safe to stay in Japan? I tried to read the reaction of the Japanese people on the street which proved difficult because everyone seemed to remain calm—but there was a tension in the air. Since I was in training, I wasn’t in the classroom yet with Japanese students who I could ask what they were feeling. I was also hearing rumors that the Japanese government wasn’t being completely forthcoming with information which made we weary of any news coming from them. Finally, I met a Japanese teacher who taught English (and coincidentally had lived in Chicago for five years) and she explained to me that what happened is causing problems in Northern Japan, but at that time, I was safe in Osaka. I learned that even though there may have been some radiation that had escaped, the amount I would have to consume for it to cause any damage to me would have been extreme and we experience more radiation with microwaves and cell phones than what was coming from the nuclear plants at that time. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a huge YouTube fan so it probably shouldn’t surprise you that that is where I finally found the answers I was looking. Nuclear Boy calmed my nerves about the whole situation. Somehow comparing this nuclear disaster to a soiled diaper cleared up my confusion.

During this difficult time in Japan, I was so impressed with America’s response to the situation. Immediately, my home country began collecting funds and sending aid to those in the disaster area. As a Jew and former JUF employee, I was proud to see our community come together and send help to a country in need. There aren’t very many Jews in Japan (I’ll save that for a later post) and to see my community respond was heartwarming. I went to see some live music at my favorite local café and at the end, the musician, noticing that there were some foreigners in the audience, (I had a hard time blending in anywhere) extended his appreciation for the support and aid that foreign countries were sending to his country.

Being in Japan during a time of national tragedy gave me a unique perspective on what was happening in the world. I was able to see the strength and resilience of the Japanese people and see the nation come together to support their peers in the north. One year later, there is still rebuilding to be done, but if there’s one thing I know about the Japanese, it’s that they are hard workers and will persevere to rebuild a stronger Japan. 

I remember as a kid, when someone had an illness it was talked about in hushed tones.

I'm not sure why words like cancer, Multiple Sclerosis, Parkinson's Disease, Alzheimer's were not discussed, but that was the whispering culture that has ended in the last decade or so.

However, there are some diseases that are still stigmatized, and sufferers are often marginalized.

This week, I attended a Mental Health First Aid course. One of the presenters pointed out that if you have a family member diagnosed with cancer, everyone calls, emails, people bring over food, offer to visit, etc.

If someone has a family member diagnosed with an impairing mental illness, the support is limited and the family of the ill person as well as the person suffering from the disease is often isolated and ignored.

We can all agree that it is a Jewish value is to visit the sick.

However, mental illness is a sickness, and how many people visit those who are recovering from mental health disorders?

A few months ago, I heard a report on the radio about a class offering "Mental Health First Aid." Often times, I listen to a program on the radio and find it compelling, but rarely do I follow up on the information.

However, something about this report propelled me to find out more information, and this week, with encouragement from my colleagues at Shorashim, I was sitting at the Community Counseling Centers of Chicago learning what to do in case you encounter a mental health crisis.

The course is not intended to turn you into a psychologist or therapist. It is to give you the tools to react appropriately in a crisis until professional help arrives.

I learned how to be a "first responder" if someone is depressed, suicidal, having an anxiety attack, abusing alcohol, or having a psychotic episode.

The information was very comprehensive, and I highly recommend the class to basically anyone who has frequent dealings with the public.

The two-day class is free although space is very limited. Check out the website for more information or find a class in the Chicago area.

Last month I promised to write about men's spring fashion for my March post. I'm actually postponing that to next month and instead, I'm writing about dining in Chicago. I know this probably sounds like a generic and over-addressed topic, but I actually think it's interesting – the culinary experience in Chicago is so unique. I'm fairly well-traveled and I truly believe that Chicago has the best restaurants out of any city I've visited. Even my many dining experiences in New York City haven't measured up. And my favorite part about dining out in Chicago is that it's not just the food, it's also the neighborhoods that enhance the eating experiences. Take for instance neighborhood sweet spot, Sweet Mandy B's. My boyfriend and I have recently fallen into the habit of taking a walk over there on the weekends from my Lincoln Park apartment to share a piece of their homemade fun-fetti cake. Literally the best cake I have ever had in my entire life. Even better than NYC's Momofuku Milk Bar's birthday cake truffles – and that says a LOT. We've grown accustomed to grabbing a bite of authentic Jamaican cuisine at Ja Grill or Greek comfort food at the Athenian Room, both charming, cozy, exceptionally tasty and within walking distance of my place.

Last Friday, we decided to walk into The Purple Pig on a whim and as usual, the atmosphere didn't disappoint. Yes, crowded, yes there's a long wait, but everyone's nice, the service is fast, the food is phenomenal, and the location is perfect for a fun night downtown.  Last night, I went with a friend to Tavernita, recently opened by the same people as Mercadito, one of my all time favorites. Both of us eating there for the first time, we were extremely impressed by the Spanish tapas-style restaurant. The vibe was trendy yet very comfortable, the wine was delicious and inexpensive, and the food wowed. I'm definitely going back. On top of it all, the location is perfect, right in the middle of all the action.

Chicago does a great job with its restaurants because they consistently play off of the neighborhoods they're in, adding to the overall dining experience. The Lincoln Park establishments fit into the casual and residential vibe of the neighborhood and the downtown restaurants tend to be more bustling and energized. I've only used two neighborhoods as examples, but no matter where I am in this city, I have found that I always leave satisfied.

My boyfriend and I were on a double date at Coast Sushi in Bucktown (the "Tuna on Top" special maki roll was ridiculously good) last Saturday with friends from Arizona and Georgia. They are only living in Chicago for about a year and a half for work and have made a point to eat at as many Chicago hot spots as possible. Every time I see them, they're talking about the last amazing restaurant they tried and they are such fans of Girl and the Goat, and its West Loop location, that they make their next reservation at the host stand immediately following their meal, like making a dentist appointment.  

People from all over agree, there is nothing like eating in the Chi.

What are your favorite eateries?

It has been quite a year. Less than a year ago I was in the beginning of my fight against cancer – unsure if I was going to make it to my 30th birthday. I was bald, underweight and praying that my PET scan would show a reduction in the cancerous cells that had ravaged my body. I held my loved ones tight, I wrote, and I reached out to my world for love and support.

As I called to you, you answered me with open arms – open hearts – and you were there, ready to brace my fall.

During some of my most vulnerable moments you reminded me that I am stronger today than yesterday – but not as strong as I will be tomorrow.

A year ago I was desperately holding on to moments, praying for more time, and trying to find meaning amongst all of the suffering.

This Saturday – March 3 – I turned one.

One year of being in remission.

One year of seeing and living in hyper color.

One year of living in a state of overwhelming gratitude.

When I finished treatment this past May and slowly tiptoed out of the shadows and into the real world, I found myself negotiating a lot of fears.

The further I moved away from the trauma, the more I started to rebuild – and the more I felt I had to lose.

I was constantly waiting for the ball to drop.

During this period of overwhelming "what-ifs," I also wondered if I would ever find love again. Would I ever meet someone that could see beyond my physical scars and navigate their way through the scars that lay beneath? Would I ever be able to meet someone that saw my cancer experience as a strength as opposed to a handicap?

Would I ever be able to meet someone that saw cancer as one piece of me – as opposed to all of me? Well. I met someone – and not just someone.

The person I was hoping to one day meet happened to be there all along. It took ten years of living in close proximity to one another for us to be able to see each other for who we really are.

I not only found someone that is able to see beyond the scars and beyond the cancer, but I found someone that appreciates all my quirks, my eccentricity, and all the colors beyond the shade of grey.

My dear friend, soul sister, and fellow survivor Ann wrote, "with trauma comes perseverance, empathy, an open mind and most importantly an open heart."

I wholeheartedly believe that my journey with cancer is what has brought me here – which is exactly where I am supposed to be.

As I approach my one-year birthday and I reflect on what it means to be tied up and untied, I am reminded the importance of holding on to hope, of dreaming big, and believing that miracles can and do happen.

A healthy cockapoo was born December 22, 2011, from a lively poodle dad named Dino— who could smile on command— and a sweet mother named Ginger. We had no idea how we were going to choose him from the litter or if he was going to choose us. It was nerve-wracking, to say the least. This was a life-changing decision, and we were scared and uncertain of how the future was going to unravel, now that we were about to welcome a little male puppy into our lives. We had chosen to name him Rebbe Kain Silver, which most of you already know is Yiddish for rabbi, so he was going to be as Jewish as possible. Of course, we tossed around a bunch of different names, including Shlomo, but Rebbe seemed to stick when we were introduced to him. But we shouldn’t have worried; we saw many wonderful qualities right away that we fell in love with: he was approachable, friendly, full of life and love, and a great listener, like any successful rabbi. We could look into his beautiful blue puppy eyes and see the wonders of the world swirling about, like the waves of the ocean.

Our lives were about to change forever: we were bringing a rabbi into our home! He was just under seven weeks when my girlfriend Ashley brought him back home. We had no idea what to expect, but we both kind of liked it. We were masters of our domain now. We decide how to raise him, how to care for him, and how to enjoy every minute with him. As any good parent does, both of us were wondering how we were going to train him, what toys to give him, what food and when to feed him, and how to discipline him when he misbehaves.

My uncle Steve, a psychiatrist, wrote a wonderfully insightful blog that takes a look at how animals as pets can be very rehabilitative for humans and covers a range of therapeutic issues (I’m pretty sure Ashley and I are the “couple” he mentions). It really got my girlfriend and me thinking about how Rebbe was going to affect us, our relationship, and our own well-being. Since neither of us were raised with pets, we were not familiar with what it’s like to live with a pet, let alone take care of one. We knew that we were going to be making sacrifices, that he was going to try our patience and vie for our attention at every turn, but most importantly, he was going to love us, and we were going to love him.

We excitedly brought him into our home on that cool Sunday evening. Ashley says he slept most of the car ride, a rarity with puppies, so we knew right away he was going to be just fine. By the time I had arrived from out of town, Ashley had already picked him up and went with him to meet me at the airport. He couldn’t be more excited or more precious— slightly larger than the last time I saw him— and in a matter of moments I felt myself transforming from a 28-year-old graduate student and educator into a parent. And it felt great. I couldn’t wait to take him home and play with him, shower him with love and share with Ashley the happiness that only families can experience and appreciate.

Before we were settled, we gathered around the mezzuzah outside our apartment and said the Shehecheyanu, to welcome our newest member into the family and our home. We looked upon him with loving eyes and reflected on how bright and exciting the future looks. And while he may not be given a neshamah— a soul— like we were by o-d, Rebbe’s life and existence will be highly valued and cherished. We are a family, embarking on a new journey through life.

So cheers to the families out there, it is truly a blessing and a joy. L’Chaim!

In honor of the 29th of February, I decided to not have a very ordinary day. I chose to have a day that might happen only once every 4 years. At least in my life anyway. A day in which I tried to do something that started with every letter of the alphabet. Following is a list of my activities that took place throughout the day. Enjoy!

Z- I didn’t do anything with Z. Kind of a bad start. But not many things involve the letter Z. I can only think of two. Zombies and zebras….oh wait…I rode a zebra today. Forgot about that.

Y- Yodeled. Not too much though. Just enough to get it out of my system.

X- Just marked that spot.

W- Walked a mile in my own shoes, just to see how it felt. I now realize I knew nothing until then.

V- Voiced my opinion on how I am a productive procrastinator. I thought I had some strong arguments but instead gave up.

U- Unregistered from being an Earth citizen. I want to keep my options open.

S- Smugly realized I knew the alphabet in reverse.

T- Thought, but was mistaken, that I knew the alphabet in reverse.

R- Repaired my alarm clock. It should finally stop waking me up.

Q- Questioned the meaning of life. Realized I am Jewish, therefore started questioning what that small spot on my arm was. Will go to the doctor tomorrow.

P- Purchased a rug for my rug. It really ties the rug together.

LMNO- Organized my thoughts and figured an easy to way to consolidate four things into one. Now I have one dollar instead of four quarters.

K- Kung fu-ed my way out of a brown paper bag. Please don’t ask.

J- Jumped to conclusions. Took them for all they were worth.

I- Issued a statement to all my enemies that if they do not wish to speak to me I do not wish to speak to them and that it’d be great if they would call me immediately to confirm.

H- Hijacked a shopping cart. I am now the proud owner of 6-pack of Kleenex, a box of Good and Plenty and some Dr. Scholl’s. All of which don’t taste terrible.

G- Gave my regards to Broadway. Will hear from them in 5-10 business days.
Pineapple: Just making sure you’re paying attention.

F- Forgot where I left my keys. Then, wouldn’t you know it, I found them in the second to last place I looked.

E- Educated myself on the difference between ketchup and catsup. One word is a slang way for felines to ask “How’s it going?”. The other word is catsup.

D- Deflated my bicycle tires to assure I continued my rigorous lack of exercise.

C- Cookie. (That should be good enough for you)

B- Brushed up on my brushing.

A- Accepted the challenge I gave to myself to spend my one extra day that I get every four years to make a silly list such as the one you have just read. Or skimmed. Or avoided altogether.

Insanity, P90X, Biggest Loser, Crossfit… the trends in fitness today are scary. You listen to experts talking about lifting fast heavy weights, and it just irks me. Everyone is different, and there’s no one routine, or diet that will get you fit. Especially as we age, some exercises are just not good for us.

You do not have to exercise like a high school wrestler and snack on baby food to get healthy. You need a plan, and I’m going to help you create one. This is not an ad for a Fit With Krit product, it’s simple steps to live a healthy life.

Steps to a healthier YOU:

1) Buy more vegetables and fruit

I don’t care if they are fresh or frozen—just buy them. These are part of your new snack routine. You will cut them up and bring them with you wherever you go. I like to cut carrots, celery, cucumber, grapes, and apples (if you poor some lemon juice on them they don’t turn brown so fast).

2) Buy protein

Nothing fancy here—lean meats, fish, nuts, almonds, seeds, beans, greek yogurt, cheese… When you eat your vegetables, mix in a protein. If you are traveling, I recommend making your own trail mix. *You have to be careful—a lot of the prepared packages have a ton of salt. I like to mix a lightly salted almond mix with raw peanuts, almonds, cashews and some chocolate (yes, I eat and love chocolate). I’ve recently been into almond butter, placing it on everything.

3) COOK

Recipes are everywhere. There are TV shows, cook books, and this thing called the internet that make cooking very simple. If you want some tips and tricks, shoot me a note.

Stock your house with some of the staples:
- Low sodium chicken broth
- Low sodium soy sauce
- Spices (I’ll devote another column to this)
- Minced garlic (makes it easier)
- Onion, carrots, celery (a lot of recipes start with these ingredients)
- Canola oil and olive oil
- Black beans
- Quinoa
- Mustard & ketchup
- Eggs (I like cage free)
- Lean meats: chicken, beef, fish, turkey, buffalo
- Oatmeal and oats
- Tortillas (wheat, corn, flour)
- Salsa

4) Gym Bag

I use a backpack and always have it ready to go. If you work out at home, put clothes out the night before, if you go to the gym at lunch or after work, have the essentials with you. Even if I have lunch plans, I bring clothes, just in case.

Pack: 
- Clothes (I like shorts with underwear in them, one less item to bring) 
- Water bottle 
- Gym shoes 
- Flip flops 
- Deodorant 
- Lock

I’m not telling you, stop buying exercise DVDs with pretty people on the cover. Some videos are great and you can always skip exercises that hurt your body. The key to long term success: make healthy changes that are sustainable.

I was putting on my makeup and getting a thumbs-up review on my outfit from my husband when the phone rang. “Mrs. Moses?” “Yes?” I listened as a woman informed me that my 91-year-old grandmother had fallen and hit her head at the rehab facility where she was recovering from pneumonia. She was being taken to the emergency room. I was the emergency contact for my grandmother and my 93-year-old grandfather while my parents were set to vacation in Morocco the following day for three weeks. I called my parents who were getting ready to meet us to celebrate, and a half an hour later, the four of us stood smartly dressed, derailed from my 40th birthday dinner and instead in the intensive care unit of the hospital.

A somber faced doctor delivered the news that the fall had caused bleeding in my grandmother’s brain. He started talking treatment options– none of which she had available to her because she was 91 years old. Maybe he was trying to reassure us that if we ever took a tumble, our circumstances wouldn’t be nearly as dire. He did offer that she wasn’t in any pain, and as we all sighed with relief, he added it was very likely she wouldn’t make it through the night. We sat in a collective silence letting it all sink in. My grandmother would get her hair and nails done every week. She stayed up till after 10 watching TV. She called me once, sometimes twice a week. She loved chocolate. She was feisty and opinionated. She knew things were facts because she said so. (Like, you can call a home Kosher if you eat all your traife on paper plates.) My grandmother had chutzpah. And nonetheless, my grandmother wasn’t going to make it.

But she made it through the night. “Grandma, do you want me to tell you a story?” I started to recite Little Red Riding Hood. “…and when Little Red Riding Hood came to the woods, who do you think she saw?” I paused. Suddenly my grandmother piped in, “Her boyfriend?” With surprise and laughter we welcomed my grandmother back. We were gifted a few moments like that. When I told her that her daughters were flying in, she responded, “No one told me!” A signature comment of hers that intoned her annoyance about not being the first to know. She nodded when asked if I was a better story teller than my mom, (can’t blame her for choosing me – my mom’s version of “The Three Little Pigs” was an example of classic literature being butchered as the wolf was “big” and “fat” instead of “big” and “bad”…) and most importantly she acknowledged with nods, eyebrow raises and the occasional hand squeeze that she knew family was there.

My grandmother moved without much pause from Intensive Care to Palliative Care and then finally to Hospice. Her room was crowded with mostly untouched sweets and a plant with purple flowers. My dad and my husband went over to break the news to my grandfather. He reluctantly resides in an assisted living facility battling the confusion of Parkinson’s. He insisted he see my grandmother immediately. While being pushed to the van in his wheelchair, my grandfather’s foot dropped, causing the wheelchair to tip over, hitting his head on the floor. My grandfather then headed to the ER via ambulance with a head injury of his very own. And “Moroccan Chicken” was the dinner special in the hospital cafeteria.

I sat for three hours in a full ER waiting room. My grandfather bandaged like a solider with five feet worth of gauze wrapped around his head, his wife in a hospice room a few floors above. I felt like I was in a movie. A movie where everyone is whispering loudly in the theatre that the storyline is ridiculous – the situation contrived. Feeling like I had nothing to lose, I began loudly pleading with the receptionist. “People are taken in order of the seriousness of their condition. I’m sorry.” And my grandmother’s condition didn’t count. My grandfather became fixated on her white coat. “There’s the Doctor!” “Pop-Pop, that’s not the doctor. She’s the receptionist.” When we finally got in to see an actual doctor, I’d had it. I did the ugly, snotty cry explaining the whole unfolding drama in detail, pleading with him to hurry up and do whatever needed to be done so we could unite my grandparents. “I could have completed the head scan by now,” the doctor said. He promised to get my grandfather upstairs as soon as possible. The doctor followed through and my grandfather had a chance to say his forever goodbye to his wife of 71 years.

The next night my grandmother died. She had a traditional burial and we sat Shiva for a day. My grandfather got overwhelmed with all the people, asked me to take him to his room and told an aide, “Shut that party down!” He asked me what everyone was doing there. “It’s Shiva Pop-Pop. We’re sitting Shiva for Grandma.” “Oh.” He said and then asked to get ready for bed. My kids said that Shivas are fun, the only problem is that in order to have one, someone has to die. This is true. And normally, when we think about death and the things that go along with it, it’s not amusing and definitely not described as “fun”. But there were so many moments that took us by surprise from beginning to end, that although a significant loss had occurred, we also gained something wonderful in the process. And my grandmother, although dying, was the life behind it all happening.

Jewish music is many things, but fearful it is not. Jewish musicians— like Jewish novelists (Philip Roth), directors (Stanley Kubrick), and comics (Lenny Bruce)— have never been afraid to push the boundaries of accepted norms… or good taste. Some even bend the line until it contorts like a rubber band in a slingshot.

Here are 10 songs, in no particular order, that might make even Adam Sandler blush. I present them now in preparation for Purim, the holiday that celebrates the iconoclastic streak in Judaism. Just assume they are all NSFW. (This year, Erev Purim falls on the evening of Wednesday, March 7, and Purim itself is on the following day.)

1) "Kol Nidre," The Meshugge Beach Party.

You know surf music? Not the Beach Boys, but the hard twang that shows up in the Hawaii 5-0 theme song, or the incidental music in the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. Now imagine the most holy prayer on the most holy Jewish day set to that music. Moshe Waldoks, the performer, has something he can repent for… every year from now on. A sample can be found under Twenty Songs of the Chosen Surfers (the third one on the page).

2) "Shema Yisrael," Nomi

Speaking of key prayers set to off-key music… a nice Jewish girl from Cleveland moves to Israel and forms a choir; she and her group record a song. As she explains in an interview, "I mean, it's sort of roughly translating the text of the song, but basically life here is stressful and I'm opening my heart to God with a prayer." And what prayer would that be? The "Shema." And what music does she set it to? Madonna's "Like a Prayer." Yeah, but… see, the Shema is not "like" a prayer. It IS a prayer, possibly the most important Jewish prayer of all. Whatever— it's not as bad as what Madonna herself has done to Judaism…

3) "K*ke on the Mic," Hip Hop Hoodios

Yes, there are more Jewish rappers than the Beastie Boys. But these guys rap about being Judios, or "Hoodios" as they transliterate it; they are Sephardic Jews who rap in English, Hebrew, Spanish, and Ladino. On their Raza Hoodia debut EP, they include this song, with the memorable chorus: "I'm on the mic, I'm a crazy k*ke/I'm a Yid, gonna blow my lid/ My sound in fresh, like a pound of flesh/My nose is large, and you know I'm in charge." It's just sad that they couldn't find a rhyme for "heeb" (Well, there's an off-color comic named Larry Reeb, so maybe next album?). Their "best of" album is here; this song is Track 3.

4) "Zionist Girl," Eric Roth

Another Jewish rapper. Roth's album Anathema is chock full of nose-thumbing lyrics. But then there is this track, the story of his picking up a female IDF soldier at the Western Wall because he is turned on by her machine gun. So much so he tells her to leave it on when they go back to her apartment and has removed the rest of what she was wearing. Needless to say, this is not the definition of safe sex, and our hero ends up literally shooting himself in the foot… while, we presume, Theodor Herzl does backflips in his grave. For this, he founded the Jewish state? The entire album is here; this song is Track 10.

4) "They Ain't Makin' Jews Like Jesus Anymore," Kinky Friedman

Another story song. The speaker, ostensibly the Kinkster himself, is confronted by a bigot in a bar. The bigot leads with an anti-Semitic remark, then proceeds to spew every racist epithet he can lay his small, narrow mind to. Our Jewish hero responds by… arguing him out of his prejudice with his keen, Talmud-trained logic? Winning him over with his homey Jewish warmth and a bowl of chicken soup? Making him laugh in a way that undoes his prejudice with his Borscht-Belt honed wit? Nope! He simply smashes the bigot in the face with his fist. Even if Kinky does get to be Texas governor someday, let's hope he never makes Secretary of State.

5) "Christian Baby Blood*," Jewmongous!

The solo debut of Sean Altman (formerly of Rocakpella), is called Taller Than Jesus, and it is very much in the Kinky Friedman, um, tradition. In this song, he takes on the blood libel, the age-old slander than Jews use the blood of Christian babies to make matzah, and also to wash it down. (Just so we're all clear, we don't really do this.) The way Altman responds to the accusation, though, is by singing an Irish-style drinking song about how this "misunderstood" beverage is really quite yummy and popular. (*scroll down for sample MP3. Full lyrics are here).

5.5) Hasidic singer Rav Shmuel went for the same sorta logic in his folksong, "Protocols," which strummingly admits that "The Protocols of the Elders of Zion are true." (Again, for the record, they're not.)

6) "In My Country There Is Problem," Borat

(Thanks to my wife for remembering this one!) Another country ditty, from our buddy from Kazakhstan. This one's self-explanatory. Sacha Baron Cohen-as-Borat sings this song in environments where he is sure there aren't that many Jews— say, a country bar— just to see if he can get non-Jews to sing along. They do, but we don't know if it's because they agree with the sentiment, or they realize it's a joke… or maybe they are too polite to make an ignorant foreigner feel unwelcome by not singing along. The real test would be if they sang along when someone like Toby Keith sang the song in the same bar.

7) "Dayenu," YIDcore

The lead singer of YIDcore is an attorney and the president of his congregation. He also is a multi-pierced, goggle-wearing punk rocker with orange-and-pink hair— sometimes spikes, sometimes dreads. Like they say, only in… Australia. His band wrangles, mangles, and strangles Jewish songs in pure punk style, and have even performed the entire "Fiddler on the Roof" in punk-ese. Too bad they weren't around to play Joey Ramone's bar mitzvah. YIDcore's version of the Passover standard "Dayenu" features an intro of mouth-in-heel-of-hand flatulence, followed by falsetto warbling, culminating in a headbanging chorus that really puts the "DIE!" in "Dayenu." Their Dayenu is not online, so here is there is their "If I Were a Rich Man" video, which updates the luxury imagery— L.A. style.

9) "The Inquisition," Mel Brooks

In "Springtime for Hitler," Brooks mocks Nazis, but even non-Jews do that— for instance, Spike Jones' "Der Fuehrer's Face." Here, the Inquisitors are skewered for being horrifyingly clever with their tortures, but the Jews are reprimanded for not being more aggressive in their response. One Jew, after describing his humiliating agony at the hands of his captors, which involved fireplace equipment, can only kvetch, "Was that considerate? Was that polite?" Well, what was he supposed to do, Mel? We hadn't invented the uzi yet. This ditty was from the movie History of the World: Part I, so you might as well see the visuals as well.

10) "Jewish and You Know It," Agent K

And the hits just keep coming. This just-released song is more a version of "I'm Sexy and I Know It" by LMFAO than a parody of it, since the original version was sort of a parody itself of all the booty-shaking material out there. The lyrics are not all bad; the singer says you "know" he's Jewish because he keeps kosher, wears a kipah, observes "Shabbos," and even likes women in "long skirts." Some of the lines are offensive, like what he uses his "bar-mitzvah checks" to pay for (hint: it rhymes with "checks"). But mostly, it's his obsession with his, er, manhood, especially in the video. It gets to be a bit… much.

What does it mean, to have no idols? Why did the Golden Calf have to be ground into powder? Because we Jews have no sacred cows. The ability to find the absurd both in our enemies and in ourselves is a survival mechanism we Jews have honed to a fine— and sometimes ridiculous— art. The ultimate absurdity? That not taking ourselves or others seriously is something we take very seriously. And even against a Haman, a surprisingly effective weapon turns out to be a gragger.

Hey, what about you? Do you know an obnoxious Jewish song? Or a perfectly nice Jewish song someone did an obnoxious version of? Send it to us! If it meets our standards of obnoxiousness, we'll write it up. Just send the name of the performer and song, and a way I can listen to it, to paulwieder@juf.org.

I had actually planned to sleep in last Thursday, but after lying in bed for over an hour, unable to get back to sleep, I decided to put my energy to good use, lace up my sneakers and log a few training miles. The sun was barely up as I headed down the hill in my neighborhood and found myself with an unusual burst of energy for that early in the morning. Full of life, I felt for a moment that I could run forever. Full of raw emotion, I started to cry. Real tears began streaming down my face, not because it hurt to run, but because I never thought I would ever run so far, so fast, for so long.

I started running about seven years ago. I was just starting to really lose weight and was looking for an easy way to get some movement into my routine. My sister and then roommate had encouraged me to give running a try. A recent read of the book Ultramarathon Man helped me to believe that I could. The author, Dean Karnazes, tells the story of how he went from amateur to 200 mile marathon runner. Compared to 200 miles of non-stop running, working my way around the block didn’t seem so daunting of a challenge anymore.

I started by alternating between a few minutes at a jogging pace and then a few minutes of walking. I would make my way around the block a few times and be completely red faced and winded after 20 minutes or less. I felt silly bumbling down the street at 275 pounds, yet managed to convince myself that I looked even more ridiculous being obese and doing nothing about it.

Over time I was able to keep a steady pace for a little longer and a little farther. A few blocks of running turned into a few miles and before I knew it I was training for races. I stuck to mostly 10Ks and 5Ks until one October morning I was working downtown the day of the Chicago Marathon. Watching the buzz, the excitement and the sheer number of people involved made me wonder if I could ever run that distance. I was beginning to think that maybe I should.

On March 18, I will be running my first marathon to see that longstanding commitment through. 26.2 miles is admittedly far. Legend has it that Phidippides ran the 26.2 miles from the battle of Marathon to Athens in order to warn his Greek brothers that the Persians were not far behind. It scares me to think that in just a few weeks, I will be covering the same distance. After all, Phidippides attempt, though successful and heroic, ended tragically. They say he died shortly after delivering his message.

As I was completing a 20 mile training run this past weekend, I realized that distance running is about training your mind and body to work in partnership to go the extra mile. As much as your mind pushes your body to go beyond rational limits, your body pushes back to force your mind to stretch the limits of what is rational. Sometimes it’s all mental, sometimes it’s all muscle and most of the time it’s some crazy mix of both.

Why do I run? I run to remind myself that I can. Every time that I run, I prove to myself that the rest of my life can’t possibly be that hard now that I can run this far, this fast for this long…

When I was 20 years old, I purchased a pair of tight, bright red pants during my semester abroad in Granada, Spain. Something about the months spent soaking up the Mediterranean sun, sharing paella with my Spanish family, perfecting my Spanish accent (almost), and enjoying sangria with my new friends, changed me. “Spain Alyssa” could do anything, including pulling off a pair of inappropriately bright and tight pants.

The red pants danced me through many late nights at the discotecas, and even made an appearance at the casino in Monte Carlo when my friends and I traveled to Monaco. Back in the USA, emboldened by the new, independent “Spain Alyssa,” the pants and I accepted drinks from cute boys at Barleycorn and Kincaid’s before packing up and heading south to Champaign, where our flirtation and fun continued all across campus. We went together to New Orleans to cheer on the Fighting Illini at the Sugar Bowl, and to New York City to celebrate my birthday.

After college, the red pants made fewer appearances. My wardrobe budget was allocated to work-appropriate clothing. Our final night out was New Years Eve 2003, when my boyfriend, now husband, told me he loved me for the very first time. A pair of pants couldn’t do much more for me than that. I hung them up later that night, and there they stayed, untouched.

Each year as I purged the closet of unworn, old clothes, I would inevitably come across my red pants. I tried them on, danced them around my bedroom, patted myself on the back because they still fit, and hung them back up. The pants were not quite appropriate for me anymore, but I couldn’t bear to part with them.

The red pants followed me, unworn, from my Lincoln Park studio to our first place as husband and wife in Bucktown, and finally to suburbia, where they eventually shared back-of-the-closet space with nursing covers, maternity clothes, and other lesser-worn items.

During a more recent closet purge, I looked at the red pants with a bit of sadness. Since the last time I wore them, I got married, bought a house, commuted every day to work, and had a baby. “Spain Alyssa” was long gone, as was her carefree attitude and cute figure. While I wouldn’t trade the husband and baby for the life of “Spain Alyssa,” the pants reminded me that such an amazing part of my life was over. What was the point in holding on to them? I tossed them in the Goodwill bag.

Now, a year later, I wish I could have them back. If not for me, then to show my (theoretical) daughter how much fun I had when I was a 20-something. She’ll have to settle for some pictures. Meanwhile, I hold onto the hope that the pants were picked up by a young woman looking for a little adventure. I know they will show her a good time.

Do you remember Swimmy, the picture book by Leo Leonni about a little fish alone in the sea? It's been on my mind this month. Not to spoil the ending, but Swimmy becomes a hero by helping a school of fish band together to chase off predators. They couldn't have done it by themselves, but together they're stronger and bigger than the other fish who would eat them.

It may be an imperfect metaphor, but Swimmy has relevance to a much bigger issue. February 29 is National Rare Disease Day, and its slogan couldn't be more appropriate: "Alone we are Rare. Together we are Strong."

So what is a rare disease? In the United States, it's a condition that affects fewer than 200,000 individuals, which is about the population of Aurora, Illinois. The disorders that I talk about working at the Chicago Center for Jewish Genetic Disorders are rare, though within the Jewish population, their carrier rate can be much higher than in the general population, which is why we encourage carrier screening and genetic testing before couples have children. The National Institutes of Health keeps a registry of rare diseases, and has counted nearly 7,000 separate diseases affecting 25 million individuals. Because they're often related to genetics, rare diseases disproportionately affect children; nearly a third are fatal before the age of 5.

The need for research and cures is obvious—and yet for a large number of families, treatments are not available. Diagnoses can be hard enough to acquire. Why is that?

The truth is that there are lots of gigantic fish in the sea, and they're the ones who get the attention—and the research grants. When a funding committee is asked to give an equal amount of money to a team hoping to treat millions of individuals versus one focusing on a few thousand, it's the rare disease researchers who lose out.

What can we do? Rare Disease Day USA has a list of links, resources and suggestions, including how you can reach out to elected representatives to bring attention to the issue of rare diseases. It also talks about how you can reach out to advocacy organizations, schools, media outlets and more to become an ambassador for rare disease research—and affected individuals and their families.

Within the Jewish community, we are especially lucky to have some history with educating each other about genetic health issues. Tay-Sachs disease once seemed insurmountable; whole hospital wards were dedicated to caring for affected children. But thanks to community mobilization and screening programs, which began in the early 1970s, it now occurs with lower incidence than in the non-Jewish population.

The panel of "Ashkenazi" disorders which can hopefully be avoided through screening has expanded to at least 19 today, and seems to increase at an exponential rate. There are also a growing number of resources for Sephardic and Mizrahi families, including the Persian Jewish Genetic Screening Program at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles. Here in Chicago, the Center offers education and screening programs at a highly subsidized rate. Like in Swimmy, our community has come together to help each other do what they can for having healthy families.

An imperfect metaphor, maybe, but every effort starts with one voice. You can make it many. Remember rare diseases on February 29!

The author (right) posing outside the main gate of the kibbutz

I didn't start panicking until I had boarded my El Al flight from JFK to Tel Aviv and fully realized that I was about to leave my home for five months. A concerned flight attendant noticed my anxiety and asked me where I was heading. When I told her Kibbutz Ga'aton, she said brightly, "Oh! That's the kibbutz where everyone goes to dance!" I breathed freely again.

Indeed, it was the reason I'd chosen to spend a semester in the northern Israeli village. While Ga'aton functions as a modern kibbutz supported by agricultural and industrial exports, it is also a "dance village." Set in the gorgeous upper Galilee, the main dance studio's windows overlook the rolling hills. Here, Rami Be'er directs the Kibbutz Contemporary Dance Company (KCDC), and students from around the world come to study dance in an internship/apprenticeship-like program in partnership with Masa Israel Journey.

The origin of the village is inspiring. During the Holocaust, a girl named Yehudit Arnon was in Auschwitz when a Nazi asked her to perform at a Christmas party. She bravely refused but feared this action would be her last. If she did survive, she decided that she would dedicate the rest of her life to dance. In 1948, Arnon moved to the newly-established Kibbutz Ga'aton, and there, she founded the dance studio that eventually became KCDC. Arnon is still alive today, and though I didn't have the chance to meet her, her desire for life and need to spread the love of dance is embodied in the spirit of the kibbutz.

From the beginning, my days were filled with exhaustion and a sense of fulfillment. My teachers, who were all former professional dancers or current KCDC members, pushed us to reach our highest potential in everything from our dance classes and workshops with other Israeli dance companies to our own choreography projects. The KCDC style, which is characterized by extremely physical, athletic, and large movements contrasted with smaller, gestural, and subtle movements, led to growth in my technical abilities and strength.

We didn't catch our breath until Thursday afternoons, the start of Israeli weekends when we grabbed a bus or hitchhiked to Nahariya, the closest city to the kibbutz. Back at the kibbutz, I'd curl up with a cappuccino at the local café, grab a Goldstar beer at the kibbutz pub, and finally relax. Friday evening meant potluck night at one of the Dance Journey participants' rooms. We were from 16 countries and five continents, and we spent the nights teaching each other about food, music, and traditions from our homes.

One evening in March, we received news that a bomb exploded near Jerusalem's Central Bus Station at rush hour. In the days that followed, I considered the kibbutz's many bomb shelters. Several of them had been transformed into alternative spaces…a Pilates studio, a party room, or a place to practice drums. I appreciated that these musical and physical endeavors seemed to be powerful, metaphorical antitheses to rockets and war.

In one of our performances, we participated in a Holocaust Memorial Day (Yom Hashoah) ceremony held at Kibbutz Lochmei Hagetaot ("Ghetto Fighters' House,"), which was founded in 1949 by resistance fighters. Against the backdrop of twisted bars and violent images, we performed a section from "Aide Memoire," KCDC's Holocaust memorial piece by Rami Be'er. As I danced for a nationally televised broadcast, I realized how dance—the complete opposite of violence and destruction—can transform and heal.

Rebecca Crystal, from Chicago, IL, graduated in 2009 with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Dance from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. She participated in Masa Israel's Dance Journey program in February-June of 2011. You can read more details about her experience at http://artinmotionblog.blogspot.com.

I just had one of the most incredible experiences of my life. I got to go to Israel on Birthright… and discover the shekel. Now, one might think that there's a lot more to take away from Israel than the shekel, and that is very true. I also took home some Bamba. However, as the title of this article might suggest, I will be talking about my experience with said currency and not so much about the fantastic peanut butter flavored snack.

For those of you that may not be familiar with the shekel, it is simply the Israeli form of currency. And what I must say first is that I love the exchange rate. Basically it's a little more than three and a half to one. So let's say I want to exchange 100 of my silly American dollars. In return, I get back nearly 400 beautiful shekels. I just quadrupled my net worth. I'm aware this isn't the actual case, but the feeling of getting so much for what feels like so little can only be provided by the generous Israeli exchange rates.

But let's get to the root of what makes a shekel so great. At least, what makes a shekel so great to me. Just say "shekel" out loud. Seriously. Go ahead. Try it. It's a wonderful word, isn't it? Shekel. Just rolls off the tongue. Before Israel, I had only been to two other countries. Mexico, where they have the peso. Boring word. And then there's Canada, where they have the humorously named loonie and toonie. Funny, but true. And of course we have America with the dollar. Meh.

The truth of the matter is that I feel the shekel is a lot more efficient. Because of the exchange rate, the lowest denomination is essentially equivalent to a quarter. We won't mention the awkward half shekel. Whoops. But imagine America where we have nothing less than the quarter. No more annoying loose change. No more agitating purchases ending in .36. It would solve the debt crisis. That's fact… based on my hopes and dreams. But, still fact.

Then, from the visual point of view, the shekel is, in a word, beautiful. The 20, 50, 100 and the elusive 200 shekel bill all have different colors and designs and it's gorgeous. It makes you excited to have money outside of the idea of spending money. You almost want to keep the shekels and put them on your walls to liven up the place. Or better yet make a big rug out of them to tie the room together. I also love the fact that a 20 shekel bill is impossible to rip. Seriously, it's made out of thin flexible metal. Little-known fact I made up. In America, we keep trying to liven up our currency, but all we've ever done right is the sort of fun, patriotic looking 50. But honestly, other than in a birthday card from your grandparents, you never, ever have a 50. So it's like they don't even exist.

Now don't get me wrong, I love the dollar. The sight of it, the feel of it, the smell of it, the sound of it, the taste of it. The anything of it. The fact that apparently 80 percent of circulated paper currency might have traces of coke on it. And I ain't talking about the refreshing carbonated beverage. No, no, no. Seriously, look this up. It's true. But I really wish the American currency system did have some sort of a revamp coming. I don't need pennies, nickels and dimes. I mean, if you don't want them I'll gladly accept them every single time, but they aren't truly necessary.

Coming from the context of being in the United States, a pocketful of change is practically worthless. All it is good for is rounding out your purchases to make sure you don't get even more change. But having a pocket filled with the almighty shekels, I feel like a rich man. Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum. And as I've said before, everything costs an even amount with the shekel. In American equivalency, everything would essentially end with 25, 50, 75 or 00. Much more simple. And how amazing would that be!? It would take away at least 50 percent of my daily stress. It would also give me time to finally figure out better topics to write about than why I like foreign currency. Sorry to say that is not the case, and so I apologize for this entire article. Thanks for reading.

Over the past two months I've done a number of interviews for MWF Seeking BFF. Quite often, an interviewer will ask me, "We all know the usual ways to make friends—at the gym, say—so why was it so hard for you?"

To which I will usually respond that yes, we've probably all spoken to someone at the gym or the coffee shop or the grocery store. Wherever. But that's not the issue. The issue is what to say to turn that casual conversation into friendship, or even a friend-date.

I've spoken to the girls on the treadmills next to me plenty. But how do you go from commiserating over a hard workout to "let's have lunch and maybe be best friends soon?"

It's tricky. And people glaze over this most important step.

In the dating world, I guess this is what guys call "closing." You can flirt with a woman all night, but you haven't closed until you've gotten her number. Before I did my "Year of Friending," I couldn't close. I'm pretty good at chit-chat; I could throw out a quick quip and give someone a laugh. But then I'd flounder, stretching the small talk for too long while I tried to figure out how to non-awkwardly ask for digits. I'd usually walk away with nothing but the hope that maybe she and I would meet again. And maybe next time she'd be braver and more socially competent than I.

I'm still not great at this aspect of making new friends. I'm good enough at writing the "want to have lunch?" email, or following up for that second date. But that moment when you ask for a phone number or hand someone your card is still tough. These days I say some variation of, "We should totally get together! What's your email/number?" (I switch back and forth between these methods of conversation depending on the person.)

I'm still not great at using that line on someone I've only spoken to once or twice in line at the grocery store or at yoga. I can manage it with someone I've met for an extended period (an airplane ride, for example), but if it's a casual neighborhood acquaintance…that's tough.

But like I said, I keep hearing from interviewers: "I'm just the type of person who makes friends everywhere…"

So what I'm wondering is simple: what do you say to close?

Buenos Aires, Argentina

I'm inching toward 30. Not just yet, still have a bit more than a year to go, but I've been in an introspective mood lately. That's why I've been thinking about what I want to accomplish in life.

I've got some of the big things squared away (hopefully): a fantastic husband, a job I love, a city I can't get enough of.

But that doesn't mean that I've settled down completely. In a society full of "30 before 30," "10,000 places to visit" and "1,000 things to do before you die" lists, I'm considering jumping on the bandwagon and creating my own "Bucket List." My timeline is vague, and I'm sure the list will change in the next couple of years. 

I'm not about to bungee jump or train to climb Mt. Everest. I like adventure, just not that much adventure. The list germinating in my brain is comprised of more doable accomplishments.

For example, last summer I set out to run a 5K in under 30 minutes. For someone whose average mile time in high school gym class was more than 17 minutes, a 30-minute 5K would be quite an accomplishment. I trained for several months, and then ran three races in about two months. I improved by more than a minute at each, coming in at 29:46 at the Disco Dash in late August. The exhilaration of that race is indescribable.

Every time I put on the bright blue jersey I received that day, I remember running on the Lake Front path, past Diversey Harbor among a hundred others. I thought I was slow, people kept passing me. In reality, I hadn't run that fast (for me, anyway) for that long in any training session! More 5Ks are definitely in store (they'll help me lose the extra poundage from incubating a human - due in mid-May!).

Here are seven other things I'd like to accomplish:

1. Travel to Argentina and meet my large extended family there
2. Have three children
3. Read everything on my ever-expanding Goodreads list (150 titles and counting now)
4. Read, write and speak Spanish on a weekly basis
5. Open a café and bake up a storm
6. Take voice lessons
7. Travel around Italy

Do you have a bucket list? What's on it?

I have a love-hate relationship with my to-do list.

I still keep my tasks for work written down on an old fashioned notepad—for some reason, it’s much more satisfying to actually cross something off with a pen, rather than just deleting text from the notepad application on my iPhone. I hate it when the page gets too full and messy, and when my list of tasks seems never-ending and overwhelming. But I love the feeling I get when I’ve crossed off enough items that I’ve earned the right to turn the page, to have a fresh start.

You’re probably thinking it’s kinda weird to reflect so in depth on something like a to-do list, right? It’s not something I do often, but there is a reasonable explanation here.

I spent the past two days getting trained in Scrum—have you heard of it?

Aside from being an unfortunate sounding word—someone told me it sounded like a cross between a dirty word and the grime you clean off your shower—Scrum is a method of agile project management that is used most often in software development, but can be used in other fields as well. (Side note: for those of us who don’t work in IT, apparently Scrum is growing in popularity among advertisers and wedding planners!)

The process focuses on self-organization, team work and promotes efficiency through regular meetings and predefined roles. I’ll spare you all the details, but there are words like backlog, sprints, iterations. impediments, relative estimation, retrospectives, epics, and the best part? Someone gets to be the ScrumMaster!

One important item used in Scrum, and agile project management in general, is an oversized board, where one’s Scrum team keeps track of their progress by physically moving tasks around a board divided by tasks to do, tasks in progress and tasks completed.

During our training, the presenter said people often use variations of this methodology to manage household tasks and errands, which seems like a pretty good idea to me.

Ironically, this concept, which is obviously meant to make employees more efficient and productive, made me think about Pinterest, which could be seen as the total opposite to productivity (but great inspiration for creativity!). I only joined Pinterest—a virtual pinboard that allows us to share things we find on the web with our networks—a few weeks ago and I haven’t done a lot of pinning myself yet, but I can see how this could be great for finding gift ideas and recipes, perfect for wedding planning and so much more. I even did a search for “to do boards” on Pinterest and came up with a slew of creative ideas.

In a way, in pinning cute outfits, inspirational quotes, places we’d like to go and home decoration ideas to Pinterest, we are creating our dream to-do lists. Pinterest has managed to turn the dreaded to-do list into something magical, a world of endless possibilities, where our imaginations can run wild. But at the same time, providing a platform where we can organize these thoughts and dreams into categories, making them seem all the more attainable.

This makes me wonder, why are we so fascinated with organization—practical, virtual and otherwise—these days? And with all these options, maybe it’s time I reevaluate my old trusty notepad technique and opt for an upgrade.

Before last week, I had never seen Miri Ben-Ari perform. But working at JUF, I sure had heard a lot about her.

Originally from Israel, the Jewish, Grammy-winning, hip-hop violinist has made a name for herself here over the last several years, and not just for her incredible musical ability.

Not only did I hear about how Ben-Ari has collaborated with some of the biggest names in hip-hop music, including Kanye West and Jay-Z, but I also learned about her philanthropy.

Several years ago, Ben-Ari founded the Gedenk Movement, a non-profit that raises awareness about the Holocaust, and uses it to teach more global lessons about anti-Semitism, bigotry and hate. The movement is aimed at educating youth about the horrors of such a dark time in history. The granddaughter of Holocaust survivors, Ben-Ari, like all of us, wants to make sure there will never be such a thing as a second Holocaust.

Anyway - that's what I knew about Miri Ben-Ari. So when I heard that she was going to be performing a benefit concert here in Chicago I was thrilled to be going to hear the amazing violinist perform live.

As it turns out, I was even luckier than I had previously thought. Right before the concert, Ben-Ari would be taping an interview for JUF's Sanctuary, so I asked my boss if I could attend the taping.

I ended up meeting Ben-Ari, and seeing the interview (which is scheduled to air at 1 p.m. on Feb. 26 on WLS/ABC 7). Although shy at first, Ben-Ari instantly transformed into a fierce activist when asked about her non-profit work. I'm sure you'll be impressed by how passionate this woman is about preserving the memories of the Holocaust and fighting anti-Semitism and hate.

(On a side note, I also became quite friendly with her manager Josue Sejour. I started things off on the right foot by asking if he was her bodyguard, because he was tall and looked strong. Oops. Luckily, the man had a sense of humor.)

After the interview, I caught the train to Lincoln Hall to watch Ben-Ari perform – and it was incredible. Her stage presence, combined with her amazing talent, was captivating. It was also beautiful to witness how the concert brought together so many people, old and young. I ended up having a wonderful time and can't wait to see her perform again.

The NBA is up and running. Omri Casspi is starting, but without very impressive numbers and Jordan Farmar remains a solid backup on the verge of leading a team. Since everything is status quo with our current star NBA players, The Great Rabbino begs to ask the question, “who is next?” (Not a Goldberg reference).

In the college game right now, our upperclassmen and top scorers play for smaller schools. Certainly Zach Rosen and Jake Cohen will have a chance to play overseas, but it is unlikely either will make the NBA. Corbin Moore and Chris Wroblewski have improved, but there chances are even dimmer.

If we look at some of the younger players at top programs, we have a few potentials. Jacob Susskind at Maryland, Danny Rubin at Boston College, and Nate Lubick at Georgetown. As of now, none of them show NBA caliber potential, but should improve at these big time programs. Also, next year Aaron Liberman will join the Northwestern Wildcats. At 6’9 he is a work in progress, but could have some potential if he puts on weight— but again, NBA is very unlikely.

So that means we have to look overseas to Israel— which brings me to Idam Zalmanson. Zalmanson is a 6’9 forward who is only 16 and already playing with the pros. He is not draft eligible until 2017, but with his size could make Zalmanson the next big Jewish star. He was pre-draft already by Maccabi Tel Aviv, so he will get top competition and European recognition.

Of course, there is the outside chance that Jon Scheyer or Sylven Landesberg get it together and make a run at the NBA, but neither has been that NBA impressive in their short time in Israel. Landesberg is averaging 21.8 points per game, but his team has been a big letdown at three and 12.

So watch out for Zalmanson even if it’s a few years down the road. Until then, enjoy the Casspi and Farmar moments.

And Let Us Say...Amen.

Just like Alex on my new favorite show Happy Endings, I've always loved Valentine's Day—even as a single girl.  Growing up, my mom and dad would buy me a new set of cute pajamas every year and I've always made an effort to exchange cards and chocolate with my single friends. In fact, one year my best friend and I even went on our own Valentine's Day date. Who says chocolates, flowers and a yummy dinner have to be just for couples?

So just because you don't have a date for Valentine's Day this year, doesn't mean you have to sit at home eating chocolates by yourself watching cheesy rom coms. This year, use Valentine's Day as an opportunity to meet that special one—no really, I'm serious. Chicago has a plethora of singles Valentine's Day parties that take place all week/weekend. From Second City to Adler after Dark, there's a party for everyone—even the most cynical at heart.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any specifically Jewish singles parties, but one of these other parties should catch your fancy:

Solo in the Second City: A Reading Series, Chapter 1
Two Chicago singles discuss their dating lives or lack thereof.
Cobra Lounge, 235 N. Ashland Ave.
February 13, 8 - 9:30p.m.

Anti-Valentine's Day Party 
Local comedians Seth and Kellen host dating and love-themed performances by storytelling group 2nd Story and all-female goth-garage band the Black Belles.
Logan Square Auditorium, 2539 N. Kedzie Ave.
February 14, 8 p.m.

Ladies Night at Soha Comedy 
See love-and-no-love-themed sets by an all-female lineup including Kate Cullan, Kristen Toomey, April Kaprelian, Kate Steit, Caryn Ruby, Megan Gailey, Caitlin Bergh and others.
Sopo, 3418 N. Southport Ave.
February 14 , 9:30 p.m. - 11:30 p.m.

Franklin Tap's Beer is My Valentine 
Spend this February 14 at Franklin Tap, where beer is everyone's true love. Franklin Tap will offer four Valentine's Day beer specials sure to get your heart pumping.
325. S Franklin St.
February 14, 11 a.m. - midnight

Adler After Dark 
Have you been meaning to check out Adler After Dark? This monthly series features beer, wine and appetizers for sale, access to the planetarium's exhibits, unlimited sky and space shows, demonstrations, telescope viewing, trivia and tours.
Adler Planetarium and Astronomy Museum, 1300 S. Lake Shore Drive
Every 3rd Thursday of the month. 6 p.m. - 10 p.m.

If none of these are really your scene, consider hosting a singles Shabbat dinner or party this week. Even if you don't know a lot of single folks, have your couples friends bring along a single friend, ask co-workers and even friends-of-friends and before you know it you will have a whole new crowd of single folks to mingle with at your own home! 

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

This is a difficult time of year for me. Every February, I'm bombarded by emails about the latest spring fashions. Always a fan of predominately neutrals paired with the unexpected neon or shimmery accent, this season's spring runway is right up my alley. Not to sound too dramatic, but this fashionista is suffering. To me, fashion is more than simply clothing and accessories; it's a form of artistic personal expression. Feeling confident in how we look helps us put our best foot forward and with the warm weather and soft breeze, springtime is a fabulous time to embrace fashion.

I receive emails from several stores and fashion blogs daily. The options are endless, how do I choose? As in years past, I can't help but feel like this excitement could not come at a worse time. Recouping from the expense of the holidays, it would be nice to save money. Furthermore, although this winter has thankfully been rather mild, it's still dragging on and with flurries still in the forecast, spring seems eons away, making it hard for me to conceptualize spring fashion when I'm sitting here typing in my heavy cashmere sweater and boots.

But, I supposed I should swallow my aggravation as it's never too early to prepare to hit the Chicago streets in style. Although I may not be whipping out my credit card just yet, I'm scoping out the selection for when the time is right. I will be the first to admit that, unfortunately, shopping on a budget has never been a great skill of mine, but understanding that I am on a budget, I've developed a knack for selecting just a handful of key seasonal items (not necessarily frugal, but also not astronomical) that get me through each season classically and with a little edge.

Hence, I'm offering up my opinion on good examples of what I believe are spring's key items for the female wardrobe, and with my limited time to peruse the selection these days, I am presenting simply what has come through my email inbox that has looked appealing. (Gentlemen, don't you worry, although I have to conduct some further research and practice a little bit more on my boyfriend, you'll be next in March.)

Here it goes:

1. Something I absolutely love about spring is how the change of weather makes me feel like I can take more fashion risks and embrace a more casual, edgy bohemian vibe. A good pair of bell-bottoms never goes out of style. Embracing springtime even further, how about ivory. Check out these jeans from Club Monaco.
2. I mentioned neons above. Let's get it straight, neons in moderation are awesome and so hot (word play) right now. There is also nothing like an edgy, feminine look. Not too sweet, not too sassy. Loving this frock on neimanmarcus.com from the Nanette Lepore runway.
3. The most versatile and fun spring/summer piece is the right tunic-style top or dress. Paired and accessorized correctly, it literally can go anywhere from the office to the bar to the beach. Australian blogger Jessica Stein of Tuula Vintage masters the look in the center image originally presented by www.whowhatwhear.com.
4. Lastly, I recently bought this blazer from J. Crew. It's 100% classic and the ivory color and medium weight allows it to be the perfect seasonal transition piece. To me, tweed is a year-round fabric. Work to play, I can't wait to wear it continuously.

A Play in One Act

Chicago, IL. Winter, 2012. 8 p.m.

A sub-par Mexican restaurant in the Lakeview neighborhood. It is a yuppie area, inhabited mostly by young singles, couples, married couples, married couples with babies and married couples with babies and dogs.

The entrance to the sub-par Mexican restaurant is dimly lit, street (stage) right.

Street (stage) left; SHE hurriedly pays her taxi driver, checking her phone for the time. She is late.

Inside we see a dimly lit restaurant, garnished with mounted wall animals wearing sombreros and other pseudo-Mexican decorative disasters—clearly not kosher. Two tables are occupied: one with a couple enjoying their mediocre Mexican fare; another with an eager young man sitting in a button-down shirt and jeans. HE rises from his chair when she enters. They hug. Awkwardly.

HE and SHE are in their 20s.

SHE smiles with relief because he somewhat resembles his online dating profile picture. HE scans her face and figure.

SHE. It's nice to meet you. Sorry I was late.

HE. That's Ok. It's nice to meet you too.

HE sits. SHE takes off her coat and places it on the back of her chair.

SHE. Thank you for suggesting this place, I've been meaning to try it. Did you have an OK time getting here?

HE. Yeah, it's not far from where I live.

SHE sits, unfolds her napkin and places it over her lap. HE takes a drink of water. SHE reaches for her menu.

HE. Are you going to order something?

SHE puzzled.

SHE. Yes? Aren't you? Did you have a late lunch?

HE. I don't eat dinner.

SHE looks down at the menu deciding how to reply.

SHE. You don't eat dinner?

HE. I only eat one meal a day. I've lost 60 pounds. In fact, I went on the scale this morning and saw I lost a few more pounds.

SHE. That's nice…

HE. Yeah, my eating regime has worked really well for me.

SHE. Which meal do you eat?

HE. Lunch.

Silence. SHE glances at the menu unsure of how to proceed.

SHE. How did you get into this…schedule?

The waiter comes for their drink orders. SHE orders wine. SHE wishes she ordered something stronger. HE orders a soda.

HE. When I fasted last Tisha B'Av I realized I could get along on less food.

SHE. Oh.

Pause.

HE. I guess…since I lost a few more pounds on the scale this morning I can splurge and eat dinner.

SHE. Ok.

SHE stares down at her menu. SHE wonders, "What does one order after that?"

End of Scene.

**

This was my re-entrance into the online dating world after a several-year hiatus. A few years ago I'd sampled it and the experience left a bad taste in mouth—so rancid, I swore I'd never try it again.

During my first online dating interlude, the menu included guys who lied about their looks; guys who lied about their age; guys who lied about their looks and age; guys who drank too much; guys who talked too much; guys who loved their mothers too much; guys who loved their ex-girlfriends too much; guys who loved their therapists too much and so on…Never had I come across a guy who loved his scale too much—that is, until now.

To break this down and talk in terms we can all understand: Let's compare dating to the economy. The older we get, the harder it is to find a job; the same is true for dating. The longer a person has been working, the more bad job stories he or she will have, and the same goes for dating. Both can turn us into cynics, which makes the search all the more difficult. While I am still in my 20s, I have had my share of bad dating stories—some of which, would stop your heart altogether.

If I were to create a "seasonal menu" themed after the guys I've met this time around, I would title it "Gluttonous Over-Sharing." These guys spoil your palette before you've unfolded your napkin or ordered your drink. They're the anti-amuse-bouche of dating.

People lie on their resumes and people lie on their online dating profiles. Both are hazardous ideas and I do neither. As with a job interview or a first date, we aim to lead with our best selves. The liars think they can fake it and at least get their foot in the door for an interview. In the world of online dating, it seems to take about one encounter, five minutes and a few sentences for a date to stick a foot in his mouth so deep, there is no exit strategy.

If you're going to lie on your online dating profile, don't reveal you're crazy too early when you actually meet the person—unless of course, you're actually that crazy. The difference with lying in dating is that it's not business, it's personal.

I had a conversation with my sister the other day, who is also facing the trials and tribulations of dating after much disappointment in the past. We decided together on five categories of online daters:

Online Dater 1: I could not get a date outside of the virtual world if my life depended on it. 
Caution: You can usually sniff these people out by reading their profiles.

Online Dater 1a: I project sanity loosely veiling my depravity.
Caution: Be careful of these!

Online Dater 2: I want to get laid.
Caution: These folks sometimes wear chivalrous disguises.

Online Dater 3: I am using online dates to pad my recent break-up.
Caution: Be careful, motives potentially overlap with Online Dater 2.

Online Dater 4: What I think and say I want is vastly different than what I'm actually capable of handling. I think I want to be in serious relationship or get married and have kids, but I actually need some therapy—or perhaps lots of therapy.
Caution: These daters are the trickiest of all. They appear normal.

Online Dater 5: (See Explanation Below)

I think my sister and I fall into this category. We're run-of-the-mill neurotic and intelligent Jewish girls who still have hope that our romantic best friends are still out there, and we're still willing to take a leap of faith. We know too, that everyone, to some degree, is a composite of all of those personas at one time or another.

Armed with dating horror stories—some more recent than others—I'm trying to tackle dating these days with a little less naivety and a little more faith. Dating boils down to a perfect recipe of perseverance, hope and amnesia from all of our heart-break history.

My sister put it perfectly: "Part of why I hate Valentine's Day is because I kind of love it."

During the last three years, Shorashim, in partnership with JUF, has expanded its regular Israel trip programming reach to young adults with special needs.

Shorashim started by working with KOACH to run a Taglit-Birthright Israel group for 18 to 26 year olds with Asperger's Syndrome in 2008.

The trip is now in its third year and is being spearheaded by KOACH's Associate Director Elyse Winick and Shorashim alum and Chicago native Darin Argentar. From the first year, this group has soared in popularity, and now draws a waitlist.

The 20 young adults who participated in the most recent trip had an amazing time. If you're interested in learning more about their journey, check out their blog.

Word of this trip spread and Shorashim was contacted by a group of parents from Los Angeles who wanted their 18 to 26 year olds with special needs to have a similar experience on a Taglit-Birthright Israel trip.

"The trip went really, really well. It exceeded our expectations," said Elizabeth Cohen, a parent of a participant and one of the trip's organizers.  "It was a great experience for the kids. They got to do what their peers do, and they made a connection with each other and Israel. 

Her son Zachary had a great time.

"It was fun seeing all the sites and seeing my family in Israel," Zachary Cohen said. "I liked all of it. It's a fun place to see."

A special needs expert, Lee Chernotsky led the trip.

"It was the journey of a lifetime," Lee said. "It was a trip that fostered growth and independence for all of our participants, and raised awareness on everything we can do, instead of what is challenging."

Lee met with each participant several times before the trip to set goals. He said every goal of every participant was met.

"We did everything from a disco cruise on the Kineret to crying at Yad Vashem," Lee said. "We learned a tremendous amount about ourselves. We will all be forever changed by the experience."

They are not the only ones. During the trip, the special needs group had an evening activity with one of the Chicago buses.

"It was such an amazing experience for each and every one of us," blogged Lauren J.  "We learned that our groups weren't so different from each other after all. We all saw the same sites and cities and had the same experiences, just at a different pace. Most importantly, we are all Jewish, and are all here to embrace our heritage and learn about our roots."

To read more about the LA trip, check out their blog.

Registration for Chicago Community Trips begins Feb. 14 for previous applicants and Feb. 15 for new applicants. For more information and to register: http://israelwithisraelis.com/

My life has become a series of markers, dates, finish lines, and moments in time.

The days no longer bleed into each other, but rather stand out, waiting to be counted, hoping to be acknowledged, and eager to be added to my list of memories, hardships, challenges, and victories.

The list is growing because I need it to, because I want it to, because I am not sure I remember how to live without the acknowledgment of what was and what is.

And so I honor, I remember, I celebrate and I mourn these makers, these dates, these finish lines.

The date I was told I have cancer.
The date I was told there was no sign of disease.
The date I was told I was infertile.
The date I had my eggs extracted.
The date I started treatment.
The date I finished treatment.
The date I thought I was going to die.
The date I knew I was going to live.
The date I entered the hospital for the first time.
The date I left the hospital for the last time.
The date I shared my story with the world.
The date I felt I had lost my voice.
The date when I could do the running man and the roger rabbit.
The date when all I could do was the twist.
The date when I was able to run for 13.1 miles.
The date when I was unable to climb a flight of stairs.
The date when I returned to work.
The date when I couldn't remember where I lived.
The date I started to accept and embrace this new self.
The date when I let myself mourn my former self.
The date my eyebrows mysteriously grew back.
The date when I decided to shave my head.
The date when I found refuge in running.
The date when I nearly passed out after walking a block.
The date when my white blood count was 0.0.
The date my blood count was 8.1.
The date when I raised $18,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
The date when I was billed $18,000 for a CT Scan.
The date when my toes reconnected with sand.
The date when I was unable to wiggle my toes.
The date when I felt grounded and still.
The date when I finally was able to take flight.
The date when I fell out of love.
The date where I found love again.
The date where I felt everything had been taken and the date where I felt everything had been found.

As I continue to choose to be surrounded by markers, by dates, by finish lines and by moments in time, I am reminded that it is the acknowledgment of these events, it is the list that keeps on growing, and it is the experiences of what was and what is that reminds me that I am here, that I am alive, that I am present and that I am ready for what is and what will be.

The New Year for trees is a great time of year to remind ourselves of the importance of eating locally and in season.

As we prepare to celebrate the New Year for trees, we are reminded of the relationship between humans and the land. As a chef, I understand the value of great produce and the beauty of a great bottle of olive oil and delicious wines. Tu Bishvat is a perfect time of year to remind ourselves to eat locally, in season and to celebrate responsible farming practices and the continued bounty from the earth.

Chicken with date and fig relish

For the relish

I love the harmony of sweet, sour and spice in this relish. The dates become soft and gooey and the crunch of the onions and pomegranate seeds are the perfect counter point to the quick cooking and brightly flavored chicken breasts.

1 cup red wine vinegar
½ teaspoon crushed red chili flakes
¼ cup honey
1 medium red onion, thinly sliced
2 cups pitted dates
1 cup dried figs, stemmed and diced
½ cup toasted almonds, coarsely chopped (optional)
2 tablespoons pomegranate molasses or syrup
1 tablespoon olive oil
½ cup pomegranate seeds
¼ cup chopped flat leaf parsley
Salt and pepper

1. Heat the red wine vinegar, crushed red chilies and honey until the mixture comes to a simmer. Add the sliced red onion and dates and remove from the heat. Allow the onion and dates to marinate in the pickling liquid for 30 minutes.

2. Remove the onion from the pickling liquid, reserving the liquid, and coarsely chop the onion and dates.

3. Add the remaining ingredients and 2 teaspoons of the pickling liquid.

4. Salt and pepper to taste.

For the marinade

Zest and juice of 1 lemon
Zest and juice of 1 orange
1 glove of garlic, grated on a microplane
1 medium shallot, finely minced
1 tablespoon honey
¼ cup olive oil
Salt and pepper

1. Whisk all of the ingredients for the marinade together.

For the chicken

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, pounded to ¼ inch thickness

Place the chicken in a medium container and pour the marinade over the pounded breasts. Place in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours but no more than 6 hours.

1. Remove the chicken breasts from the marinade and discard the marinade.

2. Heat a large sauté pan or griddle to medium high heat. Coat the bottom of the pan with olive oil.

3. Place the chicken breasts in the hot pan, be sure not to over crowd the pan or the chicken will not get crispy and brown. Cook the breasts on the first side for 3-5 minutes until they are browned and slightly crispy. Turn the breasts to the other side and cook an additional 3 minutes until the breast is lightly browned and cooked through (you can test this by gently pushing on the breast and checking for firmness). If it is firm-it is done.

4. Serve the chicken breasts with the relish and barley pilaf.

Herbed Barley Pilaf

4 ounces whole wheat capellini or thin spaghetti, broken into 1-inch segments
1 ½ cups barley
¼ cup chopped flat leaf parsley
¼ cup chopped fresh mint
¼ toasted pine nuts
3 tablespoons lemon juice
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper
Suggested garnishes: pomegranate seeds, lemon slices

1. Place the pasta in a sauce pan that is lightly coated with olive oil. Toast the pasta, stirring occasionally, until it is a dark brown color, but not black.

2. Add the barley to the pasta and add 3 cups of water and cook the barley, covered, over medium heat until the barley is soft but with an al dente texture, about 30 minutes. Transfer the barley mixture to a large mixing bowl.

3. Stir the rest of the ingredients with the barley and garnish with pomegranate seeds and thinly sliced lemons.

In the past, I spent my Valentine’s Days watching couple after couple glide into the restaurant I was working at, sliding up to the bar, their eyes beholding a sparkly, dreamy look. They appeared to be in another place altogether, alternating between gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes and frequent “5-second Frenchers.” I would always try to welcome them in with a few libations. Wine was the preferred beverage; though not always red-colored or even the clichéd ‘rose’ blush wine most commonly associated with Valentine’s Day. (Champagne or sparkling wine is most appropriate, actually, according to most food and beverage experts). One of the companions, usually the gentleman, would gaze ever so affectionately at his companion, while she would smile coyly and ever so delicately sip on her chardonnay.

Of course, I had the pleasure of meticulously rubbing out the deep red lipstick stain that would take more than a few runs through the glass washer, while Don Quijote over there managed to squeeze out a two dollar tip on $40 worth of wine and barely acknowledge my presence. I would never grumble— at least out loud. Instead, I would just imagine what it would feel like to have just one Valentine’s Day that did not end with a lonely frozen-dinner and movie, or with me finding some excuse to minimize what it’s all about, or worse have to work behind the bar and watch others celebrate it. And let’s not forget a phone call from mom, just to make sure I’m alright, that I’ll find the right [Jewish] girl, “Soon enough.”

Three years ago, I was single and talking about girls to my mother. This year, I am spending the day with my girlfriend, taking her out to dinner and having a wonderful evening of fun and laughter— and gifts, of course. I don’t think you need to have a significant other to appreciate this holiday and what it’s all about. Just open yourself up, you never know what’s around the corner.

So guys— dress nicely, pick a trendy place, grab a rose (or a bouquet), look clean and presentable, smile a lot and maintain genuine eye contact with your companion. Girls— try not to judge too harshly, compliment on how your companion looks and what place is chosen. Most importantly, whatever you do for Valentine’s Day— single, solo, group outing— have fun and enjoy it.

L’Chaim!

No, I'm not talking about wine. This is a full body workout that you can do at home with little equipment. I used a band and my bodyweight to get a quick workout. If you do each exercise for 30 seconds and repeat the circuit five times, only resting a minute at the end of each circuit, you will have burned a ton of calories in 30 minutes!

The exercises are:
• Wall sit
• Plank
• Walking lateral with band
• Wall press
• Lunges
• Hand walking
• Mountain climbers
• Knee lifts
• Jumping jacks

Check out this video for a simple circuit workout!

{{20736}}

Pictured is the author with her sister at her sister’s wedding.

Later this month, I'll be a bridesmaid for the ninth time.

I guess you could say standing up in weddings has become an extra-curricular activity of mine by default. I'm a bridesmaid about as often as people change their clocks for Daylight Saving and Standard Time—about twice a year.

My closet is filled with more long black dresses than Morticia Addams'; I've witnessed more ketubah signings than some rabbis; I've sauntered down more aisles than a Pam Am flight attendant. I've had my photo snapped by wedding photographers more times than Larry King; I've linked hands, dancing in circles with more people than a kindergarten teacher; and I've toasted brides and grooms with more bad jokes than a comedian on a cruise ship.

You would think I'd grow tired of the task, but actually I find it an honor each time I'm asked to stand up for a friend/sister. It's a testament to my friendships with each of these wonderful women who have asked me to celebrate their love and upcoming life's journey with them.

What I love about standing up in these particular weddings is how low-key my bride friends have been. In contrast to the wedding-obsessed culture we live in where four million people tuned in for Kim Kardashian's over-the-top nuptials—my friends shared a grounded sense of perspective at their own haymish weddings.

They saw the triviality of details like what color linens adorned the tables or whether quinoa will be paired with the tilapia option. Instead, they recognized the important stuff like that the wedding is really the launching pad for building wonderful homes with their beshert. They understand that it's all the days after the wedding—the marriage—that really count.

This isn't always the case. I've heard urban legends about—ahem—more "challenging" brides. One friend told me that a bride insisted all her bridesmaids wear the same brand of nylons at her wedding. Note to that bride: If a guest is close enough to a bridesmaid's legs to know the difference, they've got much bigger problems to deal with. Another bride insisted her maid of honor choose a less pretty dress to wear because the bride worried her friend would outshine her. These brides were drunk with power no person should have. Assuming the role of bride shouldn't transform you into ruthless dictator.

My older sister couldn't have approached her nuptials more differently than these bridezillas. Hers was the first wedding I ever stood up in—I was her maid of honor. When I gave the toast at her wedding, as soon as I reached the mike, I started sobbing—so emotional was I to watch my best friend/sister marry a wonderful mensch. The wedding guests obliged me for a full minute before I collected myself enough to deliver my speech. (I've since destroyed the videotape of the toast.)

And before my sister's reception, I recall taking pictures with the other wedding party attendants on a beautiful July 4^th weekend in the Twin Cities. The photographer wanted to film us in a garden outside the Minnesota State Capitol. We trekked through dirt to get to the garden, dressed in tuxedos and long ball gown skirts. My job was to hold up my sister's train away from the soil, but there was so much dirt that the bottom of her pristine white dress got soiled no matter how hard I tried to keep it clean. 

Other brides would have freaked out. But my sister just shrugged. She was marrying the kind, decent man she loved. All the rest was commentary.

A decade later, the dirt-covered dress is just a funny wedding story, and all that matters is she and her husband have a happy marriage that has produced three beautiful sons.

Ninth wedding? Bring it on. It's a mitzvah to dance at a wedding. In fact, Jewish tradition tells us that you should dance at as many weddings as possible. After all, there are unfortunately way too many sad occasions in this world (why else would we break a glass during a wedding ceremony?). So when we can, we should embrace the joys in life wherever we find them.

Is enough enough yet?

We have seen books… movies… songs (this one's NSFW, but it was the first one that came up)… magazines… T-shirts… puppets… even plays.

There is nothing wrong with kitsch. In spoonfuls of sugar. It's when kitsch becomes the meal that I have an issue. It's when Judaism itself is so medicinal it takes, well, this to get it down.

Jewish kitsch has been around for a very, very, very long time. And as you can see by these links, it has mostly been expressed by music.

But today, you can go through the entire year of Jewish holidays, including Shabbat, with kitsch. You can celebrate every part of the Jewish life-cycle with kitsch. It can even be there before a Jewish life has begun (these last two are seriously NSFW).

So when I see that certain Jews relate to their faith, tradition, and people primarily through kitsch, parody, and pop culture, I worry. I worry that some people are using joking-about-Judaism as their main way of identifying as Jewish. As being Jewish.

There is nothing wrong with a spoonful of sugar helping the medicine go down. The problem is when you see certain things as "medicine" when they are really the "sugar."

Judaism is not medicine. It is not an unappealing-but-necessary thing. I don't "take" Judaism because I'm sick and it will help me get better. It's not even an apple to help me keep the doctor away.

Judaism is not the medicine—it's the sugar. I don't feel that I'm put-upon because have to be Jewish. I'm lucky because I get to be Jewish.

I get to have a holiday almost every month, plus one every week. I get to have a role in of one of the longest-running shows in human existence. I get to claim the Torah. I get to claim several wonderful languages and musics and literary traditions and cuisines and yes, comedians. Plus a very special slice of the Earth that everybody else wants, just because we said it was special.

As I said, there is nothing wrong with poking fun at Judaism. We Jews have a very good sense of humor about ourselves. In fact, we're sorta famous for it.

But when we predominantly see Judaism through the lenses of humor and parody, it becomes hard to take it seriously at all. And when Jewish jokes become Judaism, I'm afraid that the joke will be on us.

Andy in 2004, March 2011 and Jan. 2012 

Pull out your driver's license and look at what you listed as your weight. Mine says 175. I got that license about 5 years ago. Never in my adult life has my scale read the number on my license. That is until the beginning of this year when I passed an important milestone. I actually weighed what my license said I weighed. In fact, as I write this post, I am actually four and a half pounds under that number.

Two years ago, I wrote a post called, "100 Reasons to Live," where I publically acknowledged my addiction to food and my hopes of beating it. It took some time to do the work and build up the courage to face my anxieties and fears and issues with food. I even gained some more pounds back after writing that piece. At the same time, I never gave up and the response I received from telling that story, continued to inspire me. In March of 2011, with the support of my wife, I went for more help re-joining a Weight Watchers Program. The scale began to dial back again.

Over the last year, I have lost over 50 pounds. Around 10 more pounds from here, and I will be within the recommended range for Body Mass Index of 25. I will have made the journey from just over 300 pounds in 2004, to just over 160, eight years later. For the first time in my life, I won't be considered medically overweight. For the first time ever, I won't be fat. It feels liberating to be relieved of all of that physical and emotional baggage.

The cat litter we usually buy (the kind in the large plastic buckets) weighs around 25 pounds. Imagine carrying one of those in each hand, all day, every day. That is what it means to be 50 pounds overweight. A window air-conditioning unit weighs around 50 pounds. Try taking two air-conditioning units out of your window and carrying one on each shoulder. Can you imagine how you would feel at the end of just one day? Imagine the extra strain on the joints, the muscles, and the heart. Now imagine that feeling every day, all day, all of your life. That is the feeling of being crushed by 100 pounds of extra weight.

Someone recently asked me if I feel like a whole new person from all this weight loss? You lose a lot with 100 pounds or 50 pounds or any pounds of weight loss for that matter, and in the process you gain perspective. My relationship to food, to my body and to others has forever been changed. Maybe I really am a whole new person. At the very least, I definitely lost the equivalent weight of one person.

We walk into the dining room, and heads turn. Diners stop eating and point. Faces light up. The wait staff, recognizing our arrival, scurries to the kitchen for the appropriate supplies. Ben, my two-and-a-half-year-old celebrity, leads me to an open table, stopping every so often to slap someone five or accept a small gift, usually a bag of oyster crackers. The scenario replays every week, sometimes twice a week, each time we visit my grandmothers at their respective independent living facilities.

Once we are settled at the table, the visitors trickle over to ruffle Ben’s hair, ask him how old he is, and compliment his excellent behavior. They shake his hand, ask him if his food is good, and sneak him cookies when they think I’m not looking. Always eager to please, Ben explains to his fans that he is two, that he is always a good boy, and that there are eggs and fruit on his plate. Sometimes he even grants hugs and kisses, if he’s in a particularly good mood.

After each person says goodbye, Ben will ask, “Why was he in a chair?” or “What was in her nose?” and I try to explain the inevitable deterioration of the human body in a way that a toddler can understand. I also breathe a sigh of relief that he somehow knows to hold his questions until after they are out of earshot.

Ben’s biggest fan is Wanda. Several months ago, much like the other admirers, Wanda began appearing at our table with presents. But Wanda, unlike the other admirers, gifted Matchbox cars and toy planes. She would pick up a trinket during the week and carry it around with her all day, every day, until she was able to give it to Ben.

My grandma told me that Wanda has great-grandchildren of her own but doesn’t see them often, and that she gets such pleasure just seeing Ben around. As a thank you for all of her generous gifts, Ben drew a Happy Holidays picture for her, which she told me she framed and hung on her wall.

I marvel at the amount of joy this child brings to Wanda and the rest of the residents, and am grateful that we have the opportunity to do a mitzvah simply by visiting my grandmothers. Ben happily doles out hugs, with no understanding that his is the only hug some of these people will get for awhile. The thought makes me want to hug him extra tight, and try to impress upon him the importance of these small acts of human kindness.

After one recent lunch, as we were walking out of the dining room, one of the ladies grabbed my arm and said, “I watched your son the whole time I was here, and I want you to know he made my day.”

Even if Ben is too young now to understand the power he has to do good, I will make sure to tell him about this lady, and about Wanda and all his other fans, in the hope that he makes the conscious choice throughout his life to continue performing these small acts of kindness.

Yesterday, for whatever reason, my order at Argo Tea was taking longer than expected. "No worries," I said to the girl behind the counter. "I was a coffee shop wench for four years. I understand."

"Coffee shop wench" wasn't my official title, but I do have a pretty outsized fondness for the time I spent behind the counter at Ex Libris, the subterranean pit stop in the basement of the Regenstein Library, which I used to call "the tomb with coolers." Ex Libris (the eX, more properly) has been on my mind lately. An article recently crossed my path showing off the new location: above ground, and full of natural light. Now the employees are "student baristas."

I'm torn between envy and old-timer rage, a position shared by my fellow alums—as it should be. My "coffee shop wenching" was the one constant throughout my four years of college, more so than friendships, coursework, extracurriculars, life plans and living situations. When I started, I was carting my music with me in a huge CD folder; Ex Libris was the first place I saw iPods in wide use. It was also the first place I saw people using Facebook. When I think about it, a lot happened in the world while I was descending those stairs for twenty hours or so per week.

I found out there were still openings for coveted student-run coffee shop jobs the second week of my first quarter at school, Fall 2002. I had never had a job before, but I desperately wanted to not rely on my parents for disposable income. I came to my interview dressed like I was up for an office job; Sue, the general manager at the time, was six feet tall with heavy eye makeup, tons of silver jewelry and long black hair. She kind of terrified me, but I got the job; later, we bonded over our love of Moby-dick and all things Melville. Turns out I was well suited to the work. I liked interacting with people, and once I got comfortable with things like stocking shelves and making coffee, a few broken carafes aside, I was happy there.

It was a good place to be a misfit: we played that up—why else would we spend so many of our extracurricular hours in a lightless sub-basement of a massive concrete Brutalist library? I used to blast Bjork, Tibetan monks and ear-shattering Jon Spencer Blues Explosion tracks on our three-foot speakers in protest of the constant rotation of Bon Jovi, System of a Down and Guns'n'Roses. (Music was a huge deal; I learned more about music and musical discoveries there than just about anywhere else.) I also once accidentally "berated" Sara Tanaka (Margaret Yang from Rushmore) for taking the wrong size coffee cup. (I didn't know who she was, and she paid for a medium and took a large or something—I just pointed out the mediums, and after she'd left, Rebecca asked me why I chased her away. "Now she'll never come back!") We often cast each other in movies or TV shows on the big chalkboard next to the counter; once I came in to find that in our Godfather lineup, I was Luca Brasi, he who wishes for masculine children and sleeps with the fishes.

Ex Libris taught me a lot about human nature: about people spilling whole gallons of milk and walking away hoping no one would notice; about customers constantly asking if we had milk or honey or sugar or spoons or microwaves, despite the huge signs and humming coolers indicating just that; about students who hadn't seen sunlight in two days emerging from the A-Level to demand coffee; about handling outside vendors with their own ideas about food delivery. There were the creepy customers, who braved keeping lines behind them to chat us up whenever and for however long they could, and there were awesome customers, who bantered with me for four years despite my never learning their names. And there were my coworkers, who embraced the make-it-yourself ethic in everything from gaming centers to get-togethers, to say the least.

As much as I'm cherry-picking the good parts, part of me is sad that no one else will have that experience. The new Ex Libris is going to be its own creature, which it should be, and of course, there are other student-run coffee shops on campus with a similar ethos to ours (though I'm obligated to dispute that they'll ever be a sufficient facsimile). Being an alumna hardly dictates that my way is the best way or that my experience is somehow no longer valid.

And let's be fair: for all that we did with that fluorescent-lit, cooler-humming, milk-spilled, cramped, decorated-by-collage, pumping-with-strange-music space—and what we did was mighty—I can't put down wanting access to sunlight.

Best of luck to the new iteration, Ex Libris. Have fun becoming what you'll be next.

Day one of cancer camp:

(For part one, click here.)

I remember standing around the BBQ supervising the cooking of dinner. I cleared a small corner for my tofu. "What is that?!" I seized on the opportunity to educate and attempt to convert the impressionable youths to vegetarianism. They were game to taste, but I think it's safe to say tofu has never converted a carnivore. The conversation drifted in and out of various topics – had I ever eaten bacon? How many years had they been coming to camp? How old was I? Did they have siblings? Had I had cancer? I stopped smiling. I felt fear and shame in answering, "No. No, I have never had cancer."

We encircled the campfire that night warmed by the orange firelight, bathed in bug spray, laughing and leaning into one another with a familiarity that is seldom ever achieved in just a day. The details of that first day – the activities, how our food tasted, if we swam – I can't remember any of that. But the feeling I had, the feeling of belonging, that feeling I can recall as if it is happening to me right now. It's that glorious feeling of being invited in, embraced and welcomed. A place where laughter comes easily and silliness is required, and kids can genuinely become best friends in a day because they share the battle wounds and the battle won with cancer. And it's the place where I stumbled upon my second family.

I have met some of the most amazing and courageous kids at camp – athletes, scholars, musicians, artists, dancers, writers and more – all with big dreams and ambitious plans for their future. And as incredible as they all are, they are also just like every other teen I've ever met – angsty, hormonal, dramatic – and I love that. I love that cancer, as insidious and devastating as it can be – cannot take that away. These kids are normal. They are superheroes. They are survivors.

After a few years at camp, my husband and I started a family. This kept me from returning for several summers. I ached to smell like campfire smoke and defend a meaningful life without bacon. The second that last kid was off my boob, I raced back to camp while my husband stayed back with our young brood of three. Although the faces around the campfire had changed, the feeling, the magic, the family, it had all just extended itself. The connections, the mighty connections that humans need in order to have meaning in life are for me, in the very soul of One Step at a Time Camp.

I have experienced the greatest love I have ever felt outside of my own children at camp. At camp, I have fallen deeply in love with wonderful kids, and sometimes, I have lost them. When that happens, a little part of me dies too. It's frightening to be reminded of the unfairness and fragility of life. To know it has nothing to do with goodness or big dreams, fairness, age or hope is an impossible thing to accept. At camp, devastating loss is a possibility. However, at camp, no one holds back for fear of losing. If anything, it creates a sense of urgency to open up more quickly. Love more easily. And let the bullshit slide because it's just not that important.

Being welcomed and embraced into this wonderful and wacky world of kid camp characters has brightened me. I have felt love and loss and laughter all at once. It has made me a better person. To those who I miss, I will never forget. And I am forever grateful for having had the gift of watching firelight dance in your eyes.

About five years ago, when I was an undergraduate student in Chicago, I was living in the dorms. I was actually a resident advisor in an apartment-style hall and I found this dorm to be incredibly fun and social despite the fact that the space really wasn’t conducive to building community. This was my sophomore year and I was just beginning to get involved with Jewish life on campus. The following year, I moved off campus and Hillel became my life. I recall spending most of my time in the Hillel room, socializing with my Jewish peers, goofing off, and time-to-time, engaging in powerful conversations about Judaism. It was totally awesome. In many ways, Hillel felt like a safe haven for me, a sanctuary if you will. Oddly enough, the dorm I had lived in the year before was called Sanctuary Hall. However, it lost its meaning quite quickly after one awful day.

I was told one morning that someone had carved a swastika into a very visible wall in the main hallway of Sanctuary. I was shocked, outraged, and completely devastated by this act of hatred. And as I sought support from the higher ups, I was overwhelmed with confusion and frustration as administrators kept telling me that it was probably the work of some ignorant kid. While this very well may have been the case, I felt that my sincere concern about this act of anti-Semitism was not being recognized. I got this constant feeling that they were thinking, “you’re being over-sensitive” or “it’s not a big deal, get over it and stop complaining.”

After really giving this some thought, I realized that by pooh-poohing it, or minimizing it, we say that swastikas and this type of behavior are okay. While I had such a wonderful experience in college, this is an example of an issue that, for me, remains unresolved and unsettled. I remember how deeply saddened I was, along with the other Jewish students, and how deserted we felt.

All we wanted was a statement from the university condemning acts of anti-Semitism and that is something we never received. This could have been an opportunity to educate, to teach the university community that this behavior and blatant ignorance are not acceptable. I couldn’t grapple with the fact that my school, one that promotes acceptance and diversity, wouldn’t want to tap into an opportunity to educate its students on issues of intolerance and hatred. I tried so hard to understand where the university was coming from, but no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that they knew what was best, I just couldn’t.

The reason I’ve been thinking about this is because I recently found out that a swastika was painted on a Jewish teen’s house in my hometown in Alabama. From what I understand, a Jewish teenage girl was harassed at her high school about her religion and received threatening texts and phone calls about her being Jewish. This incorrectly drawn swastika, along with other symbols including a Star of David, was found along the outside of her house. While again I was saddened to hear about yet another act of hatred towards this young woman, I also saw a response quite different from that of my experience. Even from Chicago, I read many articles and got emails about the immediate and powerful responses from not only the Birmingham Jewish community, but other religious communities too. Community members joined together to stand up against what happened to this young girl and what it represented. Not sure who coined this but I really do believe that response to an act can sometimes be just as powerful or even more powerful as the act itself.

It isn’t right to minimize an act of anti-Semitism as something some ignorant kid carved into a wall. Because, it isn’t. It is something so much more.

It's been about two years since I launched my BFF search. As you know, I spent 2010 furiously dating. 2011 was about keeping up those new friendships, and turning "just friends" into "good friends." Now that more time has passed, and some friendships have faded and others have stood the (short) test of time, I have a better perspective with which to look back and see what this search has really taught me.

Fifty-one women—and one fabulous gay man—later, I've learned some things. Some of my learnings suprised me, others not so much (spoiler alert! Don't interrupt other people with stories about yourself!) But to save you the work of weekly friend dates (though I'd highly recommend trying them monthly. It's so friendly!), I present to you the three things I know now:

1. Your husband and your best friend should be two different people.  As soon as I found local friends with whom to go to dinner and share girl talk, fights with my husband suddenly stopped. I realized over the year that I'd been trying to get out of Matt what I needed from a BFF—time to analyze an issue-of-the-week, and then rehash it twice more. With Matt, those conversations might quickly turn into a fight—I usually uttered something along the lines of, "If you loved me you'd keep talking about this!" I wanted to talk and talk and talk, while he was exhausted, being forced to say the same thing over and over. Men and women have different relationship needs, and trying to force one person to be everything is a recipe for disaster. As one new friend told me when we discussed how our partners weren't enough: "He can't be my girlfriend, he's my boyfriend.

2. In order to make new friends, you must be comfortable being alone.  I used to find activities that seemed fun and think, "I'd sign up if only had a friend to join me." Now I think, "I should sign up for that, maybe I'll meet someone." It's easy to stay on your couch when you don't have a nearby pal with whom to go out and conquer the world, but I learned the hard way that new friends don't just show up in your living room. If you're too nervous or embarrassed to go places by yourself, force yourself to do it anyway, at least once. People who share your interests might just turn out to be your new BFF.

3. People think friends should "just happen." They're wrong.  I can't count the number of people who, sure that they knew "The Secret of Friendship," told me, "You can't go looking for friends. They just happen." According to their friendship bible, trying to kick-start a relationship was horrible wrong. Sometimes friendship does just happen—you meet someone in line at the grocery store, you get to talking, and 10 years later you're still meeting at Nookies every Sunday morning. And those times are great. But you can't count on that. It's like romance. When meeting the love of your life just happens, that's fantastic. But sometimes you have to go on Match.com. Or get set-up. It takes some effort. And there's nothing wrong with that. 

Two years later (I did my Year of Friending in 2010) I've written my first book, MWF Seeking BFF, to document my search.

But more importantly, I have a slew of new local friends. I've got a cooking club and two book clubs. I've befriended my LEADS leader and one of my closest pals is the girl who brought me—finally!—to The Weiner's Circle after our first meeting.

As it turns out, those rumors about Chicago being a friendly place? All true.

Rachel Bertsche is a journalist living in Chicago. 'MWF Seeking BFF' is her first book. Read her blog at www.mwfseekingbff.com.

In this photo from 1983, my father-in-law wears 30 years' worth of medals from his service in the Soviet military.

My father-in-law died last week. He was 76 and had been suffering from the effects of cancer since August. His doctors had told him he had more than a year, and he was hoping to stick around until after my husband and I had kids.

But the cancer had other plans, and he wasted away in just about three weeks. This story is about what happened after.

The immediacy of their grief transferred some of the need to act onto my shoulders from those of my husband’s mother, brother, aunts, uncle, cousin, and niece.

With a gentleness and attention to detail that is his nature, my husband took care of his father’s final wishes. He contacted a mortuary and arranged a Jewish funeral. Of course, the funeral home—the only Jewish one in Indianapolis where my husband’s family lives—managed the actual service and burial.

(As a side note: Did you know it can cost thousands of dollars for a burial plot and a simple service? I’m even more convinced of the importance of planning for this type of thing.)

I was left with the small details and the need to somehow blend the Russian secular more familiar to the family with Jewish traditions surrounding death.

Here’s a breakdown:

• Jews traditionally don’t have flowers at funerals. Instead, we place small stones when we visit a gravesite. However, Russians are all about flowers. In this case, I learned how to make a funeral wreath with supplies from a craft store and some fresh and silk flowers.

• Jews traditionally don’t have an open casket. In fact, a strict reading of halacha, or Jewish law, forbids an open casket. But Russians tend to want to say goodbye to the person rather than to his casket. And it was important for my mother-in-law to see her husband of 47 years for one last time.

• Like Jews, Russians recognize the person’s life through speeches. In fact, one of my father-in-law’s friends wrote a poem for him that she recited at the funeral home. My husband also gave a brief eulogy for his father. And I translated for the non-Russian-speaking rabbi, who shared the details of my father-in-law’s life and read prayers and psalms.

• For both Jews and secular Russians, time at the cemetery plays an important role for closure. After the funeral service, the entire group took to the cars and drove to the cemetery. It was pouring rain—the kind of weather often used as background for sad events in movies. My husband recited the Mourner’s Kaddish. But instead of clumps of mud (and it was mud because it was pouring cats and dogs the entire day), the family and friends threw flowers onto the casket. That was the invention of the funeral home director, who told the family that the gravediggers would have to wait until the soil dried a bit to actually cover the grave.

• Jews sit the seven-day mourning period of shiva. It’s the furthest away from a celebration. Instead, it’s usually a chance for people to quietly pay their respects to the family of the deceased. Visitors are the ones who bring food to the mourners.

Russians go about it in a whole different way. At a pominki, a remembrance dinner following the funeral, the deceased’s friends and family gather to toast the person’s life and to remember fun times with him. Often, alcohol flows freely at these—perhaps giving rise to the stereotype of the alcoholic Russians.

I had arranged for the food to be delivered to a community center where those who went to the cemetery would join us. Together with a sister-in-law, we arranged tables and chairs and laid out the meal. For the next five or so hours, we played hostess, serving food and drink to about 40 people (mostly my father-in-law’s friends). They chatted with my mother-in-law and toasted her husband.

Though the mood was somber at the beginning, it seemed to change as the evening wore on. People were still conscious of the photo with a black ribbon across it (the traditional Russian way of marking that the person had died). But by hour three the stories had changed in tone somewhat. They were still about my father-in-law, but he was a secondary participant, not the hero of the story now. Still later, the stories, toasts and conversations had but a tangential relationship to the man who had died just two days before. Perhaps, that’s just human nature…

Looking back on last week, I now realize that a more fitting tribute to my father-in-law was the family dinner the next night. My husband and I sat together with his mother, his aunts, uncle, and brother and sister-in-law. We shared some of the hopes for the year, things my father-in-law would have liked to have seen happen.

As the rabbi said, my father-in-law was full of the kind of spirit that the Maccabees had—he persevered in the face of hardship (growing up Jewish in the Soviet Union; fighting cancer and enjoying the ride as much as he could). And we’re the keepers of that spirit. In the end, it doesn’t matter whether his funeral or burial were Russian-Jewish or just Jewish or just Russian. The most fitting tribute is continuing on the path he started for us.

Often we ask people to vote on the awards and sometimes we decide them ourselves. This year it seems to be a clear cut decision that the The Great Rabbino 2011/12 NFL Player of the Year is our very own Chicago Bear, Adam Podlesh.

The Bears punter was really the only Jewish NFL player to put up any significant stats. His season long was 70 yards, 21 inside the 20, an average of 43.9 which is a yard over his career average. He also had four touchbacks and a net of 40.4. Check out his website HERE.

All the other Jewish players we considered were offensive linemen who also deserve some praise. They are Kyle Kosier of the Dallas Cowboys and Brian De La Puente of the New Orleans Saints. Erik Lorig and Julian Edleman need to continue to re-establish themselves and should reach their potential in years to come.

Update: With a second round win by the San Francisco 49ers, the New Orleans Saints and Brian De La Puente were eliminated from the playoffs. The New England Patriot's Julian Edelman is the sole remaining football player with a Jewish parent. The Patriots destroyed Tim Tebow and the Denver Broncos and will play the Ravens this coming weekend.

Congrats to Podlesh!

And Let Us Say...Amen.

Right before the end of the year, I wrote a blog post for JUF News in which I reminisced about 2011 and shared my personal aspirations for 2012.

Like many people, one of my New Year's resolutions was to get in shape, although I purposely avoided using those words. Instead, I wrote that I wished to "commit myself to a yoga practice." (I've found that it's easier to achieve a goal when it's specific rather than global and abstract. What does "get in shape" even mean? Being fit enough to run a marathon? Running several miles every morning? Taking the stairs instead of the elevator?)

Like many people with full-time jobs, I had gotten lazy over recent months. I would come home from work and think, 'Oh, I'm tired, I worked today, and I don't have energy to exercise.' And then I'd eat pasta and all sorts of yummy carbs that nourished my palate but certainly didn't diminish my waistline.

By the time December '11 came around, I was certainly at the heaviest I'd ever been, and I wanted to make a change. So I wrote that I wished to "commit myself to a yoga practice." But here's the only problem:

I was too out of shape to commit myself to the yoga practice that I wanted! (I'd love to go to Core Power Yoga several times a week, but the introductory class was so brutal that I almost passed out.) So a consistent, challenging yoga practice was out of the question for now.

So I decided that I'd work out at least three times a week, not so much with a weight-loss goal as much of a fat-loss goal and the desire to change my attitude about fitness and health.

With some Googling, I found a training-only gym where you get one of three different trainers at every session, including a former NFL player. I've been going for over two weeks now, three times a week, and have already lost over 2% body fat.

It's too early for a pat on the back, but I'd have to say I'm proud of myself for choosing a realistic goal and sticking to it. My diet's still not perfect, but pasta is certainly no longer included in it. 

It feels good to stick to a goal, work hard and see progress. I wish all of you the best of luck in achieving your own New Year's resolutions. If they're really important, perhaps they should be life goals… not just yearly ones.

P.S. Who doesn't love a corny stock photo?

A friend-of-a-friend came late to the Golden Globes party I attended this past Sunday. She'd booked a first date for the night and joined us afterwards. Even though many of us at the party didn't know her well, we, of course, all jumped on her for details as soon as she walked in the door— movie stars just weren't holding our attention at that point in the evening. Like many first dates, hers was a bit of a disaster.

She told us— I'm paraphrasing here— that the guy couldn't make conversation, it was awkward and un-fun and only 30 minutes into the date he asked her for plans the next night. Overall, let's just say she couldn't wait to leave and get to the party. We all strongly agreed with her that you should NEVER ask someone for a second date 30 minutes into the first date (especially for the next night!) because it reeks of desperation. This launched us into a conversation about the dos and don'ts of first dates. It was enlightening for this wanna-be matchmaker (who hasn't been on a first date in over half a decade) so I decided to spend part of Monday asking others for their take. The results were fascinating.

I'm not going to lie, there were some differences of opinion, not just between the sexes, and one person I polled responded with, "My advice is don't worry about dos and don'ts," which I also think is a valid point. But while I agree dating games are bad, some general rules are ok— especially for the dating clueless, aka the guy above.  

So compiled below in no particular order are the results of my research. I'm not going to give details and examples for each— there are too many— but I did add my own commentary in italics (couldn't help myself) when I thought it was particularly apropos. Also just because it is listed here doesn't mean I entirely agree with it. Feel free to add your advice and comments at the end.

- Good night kiss is fine, but not required. Obviously nothing more than this is Ok. 
- Play conversation "ping-pong." Take turns talking to each other; make the conversation go back and forth.
- Don't drink too much. Stick to wine and beer or just one hard liquor drink. No shots. 
- Don't come off as desperate.
- Don't dominate the conversation.
- Don't talk politics.
- Do bring something nice like flowers. Maybe save this for a second or third date, but flowers go far. 
- Don't duck on the bill if you suggested the venue. Also don't say, "You can get the next one." Especially when you don't mean it. Don't pretend to offer to pay.
- Have manners and respect for each other. A friend recently went on a four+ hour dinner date with a guy. They bantered all night, made out and she left feeling fantastic. He never called. That's rude. If you go on a date and have a great time but later decide you are not interested, have the courtesy to let someone know. It's called karma folks. 
- Do stick to American cuisine. My friend's date once got sick at an Indian restaurant a la Along Cam Polly, so I have to agree this is a good idea. 
- Don't not ask questions.
- Don't go somewhere too loud that's not conducive to talking.
- Guys should compliment a girl right away. This should go both ways. Who doesn't like a compliment? 
- Do check for allergies.
- Don't pick somewhere super expensive.
- Don't wear too high of heels.
- Do wear skirts and dresses.
- Do get your nails done.
- Don't wear anything too crazy.
- Don't not wear makeup, but don't wear too much makeup.
- If the guy decides to go somewhere that is BYOB, the girl can offer to bring wine/beer. I think this is better for a second or third date. 
- Don't mention exes.
- Don't ask the other person what they are doing the next day a half hour into the date.
- Don't go to Boston market. This is a true story. My friend once had a date at Boston Market. To make matters worse, he didn't even offer to buy her a side of mashed potatoes or a coke. They just loitered in the back of the restaurant. And believe it or not, this guy had the chutzpah to ask her out a second time after this date! 
- Don't complain about your job.
- Do be interested in talking about your job.
- Do meet the girl there.
- Do always open door for girl and lead her to the table.
- Do let the girl order first.
- Don't be rude to the wait staff.
- Do tip well.
- Don't text before a first date. Always call to set up plans. 
- Don't use your cell phone on a first date.

So I’m engaged, and I’m getting all sorts of advice about the wedding. The advice includes:

The food is most important!
The band or D.J. has to be excellent.
Don’t feel like you need to invite anyone you don’t want to be there!
And much, much more.

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m not so into being a bride or the mandates that go with it. But I have succumbed to tradition and will spend much of the next several months of my life helping to plan one wedding in Israel and one reception in South Bend.

Now I’m not complaining. I feel very lucky to have found love and count my blessings every day. I’m also marrying an extraordinary man who reminds me when I’m stressed out that the wedding isn’t really important, what’s important is that we love each other and want to get married.

But then I started thinking, how the hell does marriage work? While people have not held back their views on wedding cake or my dress, no one really talks about marriage after the wedding.

I started asking for advice via Facebook and my blog and I’ve gotten some really incredible answers (50 so far!) that I will share with you before the big day in March. They have mostly been incredibly thoughtful— especially from the husbands.

But for now, I’m still gathering wisdom.

So tell me (anonymously, if you want), what advice, based on your personal experience, would you give to ensure a happy marriage? Please include how old are you and how long have you been married.

And thank you in advance for helping me write my March blog post and for giving me advice.

I named my car "Lois" when I bought her. The reasons for her naming are two-fold. One, I thought it would be cute to play on the whole Superman (Clark Kent) and Lois Lane idea—a tribute to my childhood love of Superman movies—because I've been working as reporter for a majority of the time I've lived in Chicago. Two, I happen to be a huge fan of the TV series, Family Guy.

Sadly, my car excursions have not matched the adventures Lois Lane had in the movies; ironically, I've developed a love-hate with Lois, my car, much akin to the relationship Family Guy character Stewie Griffin has with his mother, Lois.

As of recent, I've been hating on Lois because she has not been cooperating. Lois doesn't have many years on her and her mileage isn't terribly high for her age, but for the last couple months she's been nothing but trouble. Her temper flared up in October when she needed a grocery list of maintenance work, followed by engine trouble in December and more engine trouble this week. Not to mention, I got rear-ended by a sketchy fellow in December who no longer has a working phone. I don't think Lois is a lemon, but she's got issues.

I usually have fewer grievances with Lois, and more complaints about the road, itself. In the spirit of Family Guy, I must say, commuting really "grinds my gears." Everyone has a repertoire of commuter horror stories and rants. Just ask anyone what it's like for them to get to work, and they can't stop talking. I am one of those people. When I first moved back to Chicago after college I was a slave to the not-so-glorious Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) and could be found stomping my feet at the bus stop as full buses passed by during rush hour in the cold. Or, I might have been spotted pulling my hair out on a broken-down bus on Lake Shore Drive (and I wasn't even one of the Snow-pocalypse 2011 victims). With public transit cuts during the past few years, I can only imagine how fun it must be for commuters now. The people watching opportunities, however, made riding the CTA somewhat worthwhile.

I bought Lois when I started reporting in the suburbs. I only had to be in the office a few days a week, and could work in the field or at home the other days. I had my share of I-290 trips—a.k.a. the "death trap"—which included the "strangler" exit near Harlem Avenue. I also had to report in suburbs spanning Skokie to Gurnee. I had my share of driving and Lois generally had a daily workout, but she was a champ.

I'm now at a job in the suburbs, in which I follow the same commute every day. One would think Lois now breathes easy and I know what to expect every morning. However, my commute on I-94/U.S. Route 41 has proven to be the most treacherous of all. I drive through familiar territory, as I grew up in the northern suburbs. However, the traffic is preposterous. I travel a distance of about 22 miles from home to work and it takes about an hour and 30 minutes on average each way during rush hour. I spend three hours a day in my car to drive 44 miles. If we work 261 days out of the year, not counting holidays, for me that means 783 hours a year spent in my car, give or take a Thanksgiving or Yom Kippur. When did I have time to calculate all of this? In my car, of course.

I'm a bit of a voyeur when it comes to public spaces. I love air travel because I enjoy people watching in airports and examining people on airplanes. I was a bit like that on public transit, too. I miss the days, when I could sit sleepily on the bus and watch people play with their phones, complain about their boyfriends and pretend to read magazines while inching away from their seatmates. On public transit, you're not alone, but you try your best to pretend you are and get a sneak peek into others' lives.

In my car, I'm yelling at traffic (but really to myself), on a road filled with people with big attitudes and small clutches. Other drivers are more in your business than the half-naked trench coat guy sitting next to you on the El.

My morning commute sets the tone for my entire day. My alarm goes off, I grab the remote and flip on the local news for a traffic report. If there is a fleck of snow on the ground, I know there will be an overturned truck, several lanes blocked and no end in sight.

We all have our Zen moments during the commute when we've blissfully passed the split, strangler or accident that was holding us up. I can gauge my entire commute, for instance, on what time I pass through the I-90-94 split. If radio personalities Eric and Kathy on WTMX are already announcing their "Mix Morning Mind Bender," I'm in big trouble.

I also find inner peace while traveling with Lois, singing at the top of my lungs to Adele, rock-a-cappella mix CDS and… (I've shared too much).

My friend at work pointed out that there are some days when you can tell the world is downright angry. Drivers tail your bumper, beep, cut you off, pass you shaking their fists, forget to signal and flip you off. You would think they had no regard for whether their car survived the morning commute, let alone another human being. This is all before I've had my morning coffee and I don't know what to do with these people and their a.m. rage—perhaps, it stems from them not yet having their coffee either. Perhaps, too, toll booths in Illinois should include coffee fill-ups and refills—we're certainly paying enough. We need our fuel too, Illinois. If Lois gets a drink, so do I.

Have you ever thought about what type of animal you would be? Not in terms of similarity in appearance, but in terms of behavior and personality? I really had never given much thought to this, but my boyfriend recently asked me this question as we were strolling through the Shedd Aquarium. I had to give it some thought, and a few minutes later, I decided on a Cheetah because they’re swift and seemingly graceful animals. I associated with the cheetah because I feel like I can address issues quickly, and move on through my life gracefully. Plus, the cheetah has a beautiful fur coat. We chatted about my new animal persona for a minute, had a few laughs, and then moved on to the penguins and belugas.

As random as the question may have sounded at the time, I’ve continued to consider my answer over these past few weeks, and the whole idea of “which animal would you be” has caused me to start considering my personality and behavior more deeply. In preparing to write to you Oy!sters today, I did some research on cheetahs, and realized that in many ways, I’m actually opposite of a cheetah. You see, although beautiful and fast, cheetahs are only fast (the fastest animal in the world) for short distances, and are not built for long distance running. I happened to run distance track and cross-country in high school and appreciate the ability to build up that type of stamina and endurance. In distance running, I actually developed a deeper relationship with myself, as I learned my potential and limits. Also, cheetahs do not easily adapt to new environments and female cheetahs are isolationists; they live alone and avoid each other. I, on the other hand, LOVE change and value my ability to adapt to different situations. I am also very social and love spending time with my girlfriends. I would go crazy with all of that alone time.

So, now I’m back to the drawing board to come up with my animal alter ego. I know this may sound silly, like who cares? But in fact, this little project my boyfriend gave me has helped me to think about myself in a deeper way than I do on a regular basis— something I appreciate and am enjoying.

What animal would you be?

In 2010 and 2011 when I was fighting cancer, I made a list of hopes and dreams that I hoped to achieve after I completed treatment and started to rebuild my life.

With 2012 just beginning, I am again reminded of the importance of evaluating where I was, where I am, and where I would like to be.

Here was my hopes and dreams list for 2011 (in no particular order) with status updates.
1. Get into remission- Completed/a constant work in progress
2. Remember what it feels like to be tied up and to eventually become untied- Completed/in progress
3. Run in the middle of a rain storm with all my clothes on- Completed
4. Put my toes in the sand- Completed
5. Drink a glass of wine while watching the sunset over the ocean- Completed
6. Travel with Neely- Pending
7. Train and complete a half marathon- Completed
8. Raise over $18,000 for Leukemia and Lymphoma Society- Completed
9. Meet my Angel Ann in a foreign city- Pending
10. Start my own non-profit- Completed
11. Become a regular contributor for a major publication- Completed
12. Host a dance party for all my family and friends to celebrate life- Completed
13. Travel to Steamboat Colorado and revisit the hikes I struggled to finish when my body was being ravaged by cancer- Completed
14. Eat healthy every day (with some room for mistakes)- In progress
15. Remember how being sick feels- In progress
16. Thank God every day- In progress
17. Express my gratitude frequently and in meaningful ways- In progress
18. Find love again- A constant work in progress
19. Dance every day- In progress
20. Sing every day- In progress
21. Be thankful for waking up- In progress
22. Be thankful for falling asleep- In progress
23. To heal- A constant work in progress

And here is my list of hopes and dreams for 2012 (which also include all the points that are in progress from the list above).
1. To appreciate what it means to wiggle my toes.
2. To feel challenged emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually.
3. To find new ways to give.
4. To nurture the relationships I have and be open to unexpected new ones.
5. To share what it means to see in hyper-color.
6. To remember life’s fragility and continuously celebrate a life elevated.
7. To take risks, but not act impulsively.
8. To confront my fears head on, and remember that I have a tool kit and a community of cheerleaders that can help navigate future challenges.
9. To capture moments with a lens, but not at the cost of being present.
10. To live mindfully.
11. To find meaning in suffering.
12. To look for opportunities that will continue to add to my feelings of fulfillment.
13. To plan, but not at the cost of spontaneity.
14. To dream big.
15. To love wholeheartedly.
16. To remember that the jitterbug is just as meaningful as a good old fashion slow dance.
17. To remember it’s ok to tiptoe.
18. To remind my family and friends how much they mean to me.
19. To venture outside of my comfort zone.
20. To remember the value of saying, “I am sorry.”
21. To continue to nurture the communication between my mind and body.
22. To learn, accept and celebrate this new body.
23. To remember the power of twisting.

Here’s to a year filled with hopes and dreams and everything in between. Happy New Year. 

Each year I eagerly anticipate the proclamation of the New Year’s eating trends. This is a big deal for me as I always like to be up on what is going on in the culinary world. And just like anyone looking to purchase new clothing waits to see what the new “black” is this year, I, as a chef, am looking for direction.

I am proud to say that for many years I was already au courrant and perfectly in step. There were also a lot of years where I was “been there, done that” and that is never a good place to be because most people cannot remember what they ate yesterday much less a year ago.

This year’s trends are not very surprising given the economy. It seems as though we will be eating at home more often and craving old fashioned dishes. Dust off your Jello molds folks.

The trend that stuck out the most was the emphasis on ethnic food replacing gourmet food. At first I was thrilled. I love ethnic food and am quite accomplished at many different ethnic cuisines. I can make several different killer moles, tacos and flans. Mexican food— check. I am classically trained in French food and can whip up old school and modern French dishes with flair. French food— check. I am skilled at Asian sauces and can stir-fry and make noodles and dumplings dishes with the best. Asian food— check. The list can go on and on until I get to Jewish food. Then I am stumped. I cannot even name a dish that is quintessentially Jewish.

Ethnic food speaks of local flavor, produce and terrain (European dishes tend to be longer cooking due to heavy amounts of trees and firewood than dishes from less heavily wooded countries where the food is cooked quickly). But, since Jews are spread out all over the world, our food is as diverse as the flavors of hummus at Whole Foods. What is Black Bean Hummus anyway?

While diversity is a good thing in most situations, I would like us to have a cuisine, something we can point to and claim as our own. Often, when discussing what is for dinner, the question goes like this: well, do you want Italian or Mexican? With each option, a flavor and dish comes to mind. No one asks: do you want sushi or Jewish? We have one language that we pray in, but why don’t we have a dish that is ours?

I know we have Kashrut and trust me; it governs my days, home, work and thoughts. I get Kashrut and it makes sense to me, but it is not a dish. It is the rules of the road to make a dish, but it is not a flavor. I also know that we have our share of long cooking Sabbath dishes. From cholent to hamim, we have our specialty meal eaten on one day of the week. But I do not really see this as an ethnic food. Not like a taco or ravioli is.

If you are worried that this would get boring, having only one dish, I think that the variations and other dishes that came from that one would eventually amount to an entire menu of Jewdishes. All we need is one dish to get the ball rolling.

I am going to take a first shot at it. I have ideas:

1. Let’s be honest. Jews like meat. Any dish would have to include meat. I know many vegetarians and love them all dearly, but they are in a vast minority of meat eaters. Sorry!

2. I am voting for meatballs in the dish. Everyone likes meatballs. Meatballs also have a retro feel and old fashioned dishes are in this year as well. Not only are we getting a dish— we are even trendy!

3. I am also voting for turkey as the protein. Beef is not green and the modern, health and planet conscientious Jew would vote for turkey over red meat.

4. To be inclusive of the Sephardic community (Ashkenazim got meatballs) I am adding saffron and some spices in deference to the Jews from sunnier climes.

5. I am adding chick peas as a nod to the Middle East.

6. After careful consideration, I wrote the recipe below. I wrote some ingredients as a “pinch” figuring that everyone could decide how much that is for themselves. I know there are a lot of ingredients, but there are a lot of Jews from a lot of places and this has to reflect all of us. I hope you enjoy this Jewdish.

For the meatballs

1 pound ground turkey
½ cup fresh soft bread crumbs, I use leftover challah and whirr it up in my food processor
3 tablespoons cold water
1 whole egg, whisked
¼ cup chopped fresh mint + additional for garnish
¼ cup chopped fresh parsley + additional for garnish
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro + additional for garnish
2 tablespoons chopped fresh dill
2 tablespoons chopped fresh savory or fresh oregano
¼ cup chopped scallions
1 teaspoon kosher salt
Freshly cracked Pepper

1. Mix all of the ingredients for the meatballs together in a mixing bowl. Form into meatballs.

2. Heat a large sauté pan, lightly coated with olive oil, over medium heat. Brown the meatballs in batches. Transfer the meatballs to a Dutch oven or casserole.

For the braising liquid

1 large red onion, thinly sliced
1 fennel bulb, sliced
3 medium carrots, sliced
5 cloves garlic, minced
½ cup golden raisins
1 cup cooked chick peas
1 32-ounce can whole peeled tomatoes and their juices
2 tablespoons tomato paste
½ cup chicken stock
3 teaspoons freshly ground coriander
1 teaspoon freshly ground cumin
2 teaspoons freshly ground cinnamon
Pinch freshly ground cardamom
Pinch crushed red chilies
Pinch saffron threads
Kosher salt and freshly cracked pepper

Preheat oven to 325

1. Add all of the ingredients for the braising liquid to the Dutch oven or casserole with the meatballs. Bake, uncovered for 45 minutes to 1 hour or until the meatballs are cooked through and the vegetables are tender.

Serve with Israeli couscous— of course.

You may not know this, but chances are you’ve had a kosher cocktail at one point or another. I’m serious. No, you did not have a rabbi for a bartender. No, it was not because it was served on Shabbat. And no, your drink was probably not blessed, either.

Believe it or not, kosher cocktails are not as elusive as you think. Mixology, or the art and science of cocktails, has noticed an emerging trend amongst cocktail brewers, particularly those of the Jewish faith. As the industry grows, so does its perception of a quality cocktail, which brings us to the topic of what is a kosher cocktail and where we can find one.

Let me start from the beginning. Before mixology even became a widely accepted term, bartenders were making drinks that satisfied their customers, plain and simple. Either you carried good whiskey or you didn’t. Let’s not forget our cultural association with drinking establishments and libations even had (and in some places still do) racial and stereotypical undertones, even refusing to serve particular people. While those times may not have fully past us as of yet, the majority of the bartending and cocktail world has changed.

The paradigm has dramatically shifted toward a more crafted, focused approach to cocktails that permit anyone that wishes to take advantage of the opportunities to sample a mixologist’s carefully crafted cocktail. Now, mixologists can carve a customized, delicious liquid journey that takes the unexpected guest through, for instance, memories involving the first time they ever had a particular piece of candy.

But not every cocktail out there can be kosher. In my experience as a mixologist and a Jew, I made two major discoveries about kashrut and its relation to mixology and the beverage crafting world. The first has to do with how we define and apply the concept of kosher in everyday life. The second one refers to how the actual application of kosher concepts and principles are already being used in bars and restaurants all over the country.

Most people have had a kosher cocktail without realizing it. How is this possible, you ask? Well, let’s take a look at what makes a cocktail kosher. Sure, you need to use alcohol that has been “Star-K approved” or has a kosher designation to it, and you also need to be careful which liqueurs—sweeteners like triple sec and vermouth, you use, since the majority are not kosher.

As Jews, we know that tradition tells us God intended us to procure the first fruits of our harvest for Him as a way to give thanks and show appreciation for giving us the Promised Land. If we look at kosher in this way, it no longer holds the one-dimensional perception of food and beverage consumption and preparation laws, but a way of living and respecting the land and fruits and harvests that bear from them. If we treat our cocktail ingredients in the same fashion God commanded us to do all those year ago, each of us can enjoy the finest and freshest fruits of the harvest, too. Along these lines, we can now look at cocktails and the emerging sustainability trend and find a lot of common ground.

For instance, mixologists that tend to use handcrafted distilleries for liquor and local, as well as tap sustainable farm resources and carefully select ingredients for their drinks can create an experience unlike any other. Furthermore, many mixologists are taking this idea to the next level by employing sustainable products like herbs and fresh produce. When I see the similarities between kosher and sustainability, how applicable it is to nearly any well-organized bar or restaurant, I see a growing potential for kosher cocktails to become more widely accepted amongst the masses. As long as the bar has the proper ingredients and the bartender or mixologist has the knowledge, a kosher cocktail will not be far behind.

So the next time you attend an establishment that has an acclaimed bar program, or if you’re in the mood to whip up your own at home, always know that the taste of a kosher cocktail is within your reach. Here are two recipes to get your started. Keep raising those glasses!

L’Chaim!

The Kosher Kosmopolitan

Those that like fruity cocktails will enjoy the kosher approach to this classy and classic cocktail, called the Cosmopolitan. Can we make it kosher and add a little Jewish twist? You bet! Check out the ingredients...you know pomegranate is considered to be the fruit Eve bit from the Tree of Knowledge?

1 ¼ oz Absolut or SKYY Citrus/Lemon vodka (certified kosher)
¾ oz Leroux (kosher) triple sec 
½ to ⅓ oz fresh squeezed lime juice
¼ oz fresh Pomegranate juice (POM Wonderful is kosher!)
Lemon Twist (garnish)
Pomegranate seeds (optional – for garnish)

Place all ingredients (except for seeds) into a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake vigorously for a few seconds until well chilled. Drop pomegranate seeds into the bottom of the martini glass. Strain (lime and pomegranate juice pulp), garnish and serve.

The Sufganiyah

A fried, jelly filled doughnut (symbolic of the holiday’s oily theme), topped with powdered sugar, was the inspiration for this Chanukah cocktail. Its name comes from the Hebrew word for “sponge” because of the treat’s spongy texture. This was my first crack at kosher cocktail creation, way back when I was a rookie bartender! This was conceived to be a delicate and well balanced dessert cocktail that reminded me of the sweet memories of Hannukah. All the ingredients can be made kosher or are already certified kosher, and yes, Frangelico—a hazelnut liqueur—is permitted!

1 oz SKYY Infusions Raspberry Vodka
1 oz SKYY Infusions Grape Vodka
¾ oz Chamboard
½ oz simple syrup
1 oz heavy cream (can substitute 1%; skim or soy not recommended)
Splash of fresh cranberry juice
Squeeze of fresh lemon juice
Powdered sugar
4-6 drops Frangelico
Pinch of nutmeg

Add ingredients to shaker half filled with ice. Shake vigorously and continuously for 30 seconds, or until shaker is extremely cold. Rim cocktail glass with powdered sugar. Pour, float Frangelico on top, and garnish with pinch of nutmeg.

"Pot bellies are sexy," was a line from Pulp Fiction, and I'm not sure how many of us would agree with that statement. I have never had a client request a pot belly, unless they were talking about the cookies from Potbelly's (which are unhealthy and amazing). Everyone wants a flat stomach and why not shoot for the ultimate health magazine cover, a six pack. The chiseled look of a cover model is attainable, but not easy. 

We all have rectus abdominals (the six pack muscles), except most of us have a layer of skin and fat over those muscles. Functionally speaking, those muscles aren't the most important abdominal muscles, but we want them to show. The main purpose of those muscles is to flex the spine, but if you're reading this article, you're probably more interested in how to look good at the beach. Let's get right into the best way to have a lean mid-section.

The genetically gifted

As the old Maybelline ad said, "…Maybe she's born with it." The easiest way to a six pack—good genetics. The best abs I've seen on anyone was an eight pack. I was a lifeguard at the time, and this 12 year old African American girl was ripped. Do you think she worked out all the time? No. Sure, she was active but she was genetically gifted. Depending on your build, an eight, six or even a four pack might be extremely difficult to maintain. However, having a flat stomach is something we can all obtain.

Since most of us are not born with it, we have to work extremely hard to stay in shape and crunches alone are not going to get you those abs.

Crunches will not give you cover-model abs (and might hurt you)

The newest, bad exercise is the crunch. It happens every so often, the so-called fitness experts say, "STOP…" and everyone does. With that said, I'm not a huge fan of crunches. If you look at how we all sit, and watch our shoulders slump forward, we only make that posture worse when we crunch. Additionally, repeatedly bending at the spine is asking for a repetitive motion injury. I'm not saying don't crunch, but it's not the best abdominal exercise. I prefer the following:

- Planks
- Side Planks
- Wood Choppers
- Reverse Wood Choppers
- Push ups
- Slow Mountain Climbers

However, those exercises, as well as crunches, will not get you a six pack. You need to strengthen your abs with those exercises, but that's only a small part of the awesome ab equation. The trick to having your abs stick out like a "True Blood" cast member is having low body fat. And there are two ways to trim the fat:

- Diet
- Exercise

Burn it

The reason most basketball players have great abs is that they burn a ton of calories. Sprinting up and down the court is a great way to burn calories. You can do the same thing on a treadmill, bike, rowing machine, outdoor path, swimming, circuit training… Are you following my lead?

The new buzz in the fitness industry is metabolic training. Metabolic training, to most trainers, is simply circuit training. Usually the workout is really hard exercises followed by a short period of rest and then it picks up again. Although this paragraph might make me seem, anti-metabolic training, I really like training people this way. I just don't believe there is a one-size-fits-all workout. For many people a circuit will be a great way to get in shape, but some people might be better served with another routine.

Sample Circuit:

30 jumping jacks

As many pushups as you can do (in good form) in 30 seconds

20 walking lunges

8-12 repetitions of a rowing exercise

15 squat jumps

45 seconds in a plank position

1 minute jumping rope

This is a basic routine that you can repeat 3-4 times and burn a ton of calories with little equipment. If you have knee or shoulder issues, you might have to cut out the jumping and pushups.

The D word

When I say diet I don't mean fat flush or South Beach, and definitely not Nutri-system (super high sodium). I mean how you eat every single day. You do not have to starve yourself to get a flat stomach. Many body builders don't even have great abs until a month or two before their competition. The reason for that—they eat very carefully. Their diet is actually extremely unhealthy. They drastically cut carbs, and even dehydrate themselves to look leaner. I'm not encouraging starvation and dehydration; I want people to understand that a certain look is very difficult to obtain, let alone maintain.

Eating healthy is easy. Avoiding sugar and empty calories, is hard. If you really want a great mid-section, cut down on the calories. There are many ways to do that. In my opinion, the two best ways to cut calorie are:

1. Portion control
2. Eat less refined carbohydrates (white bread, white rice, white pasta, white potatoes, sugary treats)

Learning the proper portion and sticking by that is not easy. If you eat food that is high in natural fiber, that helps to keep you full longer. A portion of cookies might taste great, but because of the way the simple sugar is absorbed in your body, you will be hungry faster than if you ate a handful of almonds. Here are some ideas for snacks:

- One handful of nuts
- Almond butter on an apple
- Sweet potato
- Cottage cheese and pineapple
- String cheese
- Broccoli with melted cheese

Most of those snacks combine protein, fiber and fat, which help keep you full longer. Your meals should be similarly planned. If you are really confused, or have food allergies a consultation with a nutritionist can be a big help.

In conclusion, a lean mid-section is very attainable, but it takes time and hard work. The boring truth, consistently exercise and eat healthy and it will happen. 

“Sure. I’ll do it.” Sometimes that’s all you need to say to open yourself to a whole new perspective. At least that’s what happened to me. I was in a staff meeting summer of 1998. I loved my job. I was hanging out with teenagers, teaching them about the ways of the world. I was going into classrooms and helping kids dialogue about things they cared about. I got to wear overalls and jeans to work every day. Kids thought I was cool. I thought I was cool. I was a newlywed. I had a house. I had a dog. Life was good. I knew what I knew and I was content with that.

A co-worker came into the staff room meeting all breathless with excitement announcing she had had the most amazing week of her life. I didn’t really know this woman, but I paid attention because she had entered so dramatically. “I went to this camp,” she said. “It’s a camp for kids with cancer and they’re looking for volunteers for next summer. Anyone interested?” The room was dead silent. I don’t know if it was the word “cancer” or the word “volunteer” that muted the place, but there were no bites. Except for me, as I heard myself saying, “sure. I’ll do it.” And that next summer, my life truly changed.

The camp was divided by age groups. I took on the 13-16 year olds in a camping program. We were to cook our own food, put up and sleep in our own tents and use the bathroom in the woods. (Or a porta potty, but given the choice, who the hell would do that?) I had no formal outdoor camping experience except for a little excursion in Israel— where I peed on my shoes regularly— and don’t recall any tents being involved for shelter. Oh. And one other time where I camped with some hard core camping friends who made fun of me for shaving my legs each day and bringing a magnifying mirror and tweezers to shape my brows. So, obviously, this was an odd choice for me. Luckily my tent mate was my co-worker, who, now a year later, I knew well, and she came with a queen size air mattress. Yesssssssss!

I hadn’t thought too much about the cancer part of things. I was just excited to be doing something different. But when I told people what I had volunteered for, they were very taken aback. Faces got all squished up with concern. People would suddenly turn somber and ask me how I was going to, “deal with that?” I had no answer. I had no reference point. I had never, to my knowledge, met a kid with cancer. I started to wonder how these kids were going to be different than my kids that I worked with on a daily basis. Then I started to fret that maybe due to my lack of experience with this particular population, I wouldn’t be affective. Doubt crept into my mind. The drive to Lake Geneva went too quickly. I was there before I knew it. And I couldn’t turn back. I stepped out of the car both frightened and excited. And I was 100% naive as to how meeting and falling in love with these kids, was going to change my life forever…

(For part two, click here.)

Some claim to have had spiritual experiences at movies, but I doubt that anyone with a spiritual crisis would seek advice from a film director rather than a rabbi. Still, rabbis have had rough going at the cinema, with screenwriters and film-makers often taking rabbis to task for being hypocritical, mean, or just plain useless. Here is a recent history of rabbis on film: 

The Frisco Kid (1979)

In this comedy, Gene Wilder plays a rabbi from a Polish shtetl who is sent to be the new spiritual leader of a new congregation in Gold Rush-era San Francisco. After landing in New York, he finds he has to make the cross-country trip on land. He finds a surprising guide in the form of a train robber played by Harrison Ford (in between his Han Solo and Indy roles). This is one of the last times a rabbi is sympathetically portrayed in an American film, and even here Rabbi Avram is a naïve, spineless rube for the first three-quarters of the film.

The Outside Chance of Maximilian Glick (1988)

Talk about plans backfiring... Max wants a bike for his bar mitzvah; his helicopter parents get him a piano instead. But his fellow piano student is a cute Christian girl. D'oh! Max turns for guidance to his rabbi, played by Saul Rubinek (now Artie on Warehouse 13). Just this once, we have a rabbi who uses humor- and respect for his charge- to steer a young Jewish man on his way. Oh, did I mention this is a Canadian film?

Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989)

A classic of cynicism, this Woody Allen work is about a man who does something bad, then considers doing something worse to cover it up. Much of the cast (Martin Landau, Claire Bloom, Joanna Gleason, Jerry Orbach) and most of the characters are Jewish. But all you need to know about the rabbi in this movie is that he's blind.

Pi (1998)

Darren Aronofsky, who would go on to direct The Wrestler and The Black Swan, first directed this thriller about, well, math. Our hero cobbles together a supercomputer in his apartment to calculate pi to the last digit. We expect rapacious stock-market players to pounce on him, to learn the algorithm of making fast fortunes. But equally ravenous kabbalistic rabbis also descend on him, desperate to know the secrets of the universe. One even tells him: "Who do you think you are? You are only a vessel from our God. You are carrying a delivery that was meant for us!"

Keeping the Faith (2000)

Ben Stiller plays Rabbi Jake, and Ed Norton plays Father Brian- and both are in love with their childhood friend, Anna, played by Jenna Elfman. Now, Brian can't have her because, well, he's a priest and he can't have anyone. But Jake can't, either, because she's not Jewish. And how would that look, the congregation's young hip rabbi dating a non-Jewish woman? In the end Anna and Jake fall in love and he finds out that she had been taking conversion classes all along.

The Holy Land (2001)

In this Israeli piece, a young yeshiva student is having a, well, hard time focusing on his studies due to his rampaging adolescent hormones. So what does his rabbi tell him to do? To get it out of his system, of course, by visiting a prostitute. We can just imagine the student's next letter home: "Dear folks, I love school and I am learning a lot! Please send more money for my extracurricular activities fee."

Stolen Summer (2002)

A Catholic boy decides to amend his errant ways and prove himself to his priest by bringing another kid to Jesus. To make his challenge extra-worthy, he sets his sights on a terminally ill rabbi's son. When the rabbi, played by Kevin Pollak, finds out about his son's new friend, he is unable at first to rebuff the friend's influence on his own kid. For instance, when his son crosses himself and says Grace at the dinner table, the rabbi-father does not explain why Jews don't do that and remind him of the "HaMotzi." No, he simply tells his son, basically, to "cut that out." Another teaching moment down the drain.

Lucky Number Slevin (2006)

A mistaken-identity caper, in which a man is unwittingly caught between two crime bosses. One of whom, played by Ben Kingsley, is called… "The Rabbi." Why? Because he's a rabbi. Now, while we all know that some mobsters were Jews (Bugsy Siegel, Meyer Lansky), how many were rabbis? Yet, this is a rabbi who finds nothing amiss about ordering a sandwich from the kosher deli while also ordering executions.

A Serious Man (2009)

The Coen Brothers revisit the world of their childhoods in this story of a studious professor, played by Michael Stuhlbarg, who lets everyone walk all over him- his kids, his boss, his students, his wife, her boyfriend… He realizes he needs spiritual guidance. So he turns to one rabbi and another, each of whom is only capable of ladling out anecdotes and platitudes. Eventually, one rabbi is able to actually connect with the professor's pothead son… and does it not through Jewish values, parables, or scriptures, but through Jefferson Airplane lyrics. 

The Rabbi's Cat (2011)

This animation is based on a graphic-novel series. In Medieval Algeria, the rabbi's cat swallows his other pet, a parrot, and gains the power of speech. Even coming at an understanding of the universe from the point of view of an animal, the cat is able to debate religion and philosophy with his owner in a way the good-natured scholar cannot always refute.

Religion has usually fared poorly at the hands of movie-makers. But rabbis in particular seem the target of Hollywood, especially in the last decade or so. They are shown as out-of-touch and ineffectual, self-involved and self-righteous. Rabbis seem to need a PR push in Hollywood; maybe they could find some struggling Jewish screenwriter and give him a grant to write about a great rabbi, maybe from the book " The Greatest Rabbis Hall of Fame."

For the future, maybe they need to figure out which kids in their classes are most likely to grow up to be screenwriters and just give them good grades. 

Tuesday night, as my husband Mike and I lit the candles for the first night of Chanukah, for some reason I started thinking about  those candle lighting ceremonies everyone did for their bar and bat mitzvahs. You know, there was a cheesy poem, and for each candle a different family member, or important figure in your life, came up and the DJ played a song to match?

As I watched the candles burn, I thought about how in the story of Chanukah each candle represents another day of light and a small miracle. In a year that was filled with tough times and sadness, I thought about the flickers of light that were brought into our lives and what I would dedicate each candle to this Chanukah. So, in no particular order, here is my Lights of Chanukah 2011 candle lighting ceremony:

Candle 1: The weather we've had in Chicago this winter has been a small miracle. Barely any snow and it's almost the end of December? I dedicate this candle to you, mother nature.

Candle 2: Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit got to come home after five years in captivity. This candle goes to Gilad on the first Chanukah in five years that he can spend with friends and family.

Candle 3: I dedicate this candle to my friend and yours, Siri. She brought light into our lives by teaching us how to tie a bowtie, showing us a picture of a weasel, and so much more. Siri, your answers to our inane and stupid questions brought many a smile to our faces, so this candle is for you.

Candle 4: For the next candle, I'd like to call up Congresswoman Gabby Giffords, whose story of recovery brings light to one of this year's darkest events.

Candle 5: This candle is for Crumbs cupcakes—thanks for coming to Chicago. Your gigantic cupcakes bring much happiness and add to our celebrations (and our bellies).

Candle 6: I light this next candle in honor of the NBA season being back on. Chicagoans everywhere who have given up on the Bears now have something to look forward to—the Bulls. 

Candle 7: This one goes out to my favorite YouTube sensation of the year, Sophia Grace and Rosie. Your spirits are infectious as the Nicki Minaj song you sing (here they are on Ellen). You're beyond adorable with your pink tutus and sparkly crowns, and I can't wait to see what you do next!

Candle 8: I've saved the last candle for all the people who have brought light into my life personally this year: My husband, for being an amazing partner for this adventure of a year; My family, for throwing me the most kickass wedding and for being there to celebrate; my friends and colleagues who've made me laugh, joined me for brunches and glasses of wine and been a shoulder to lean on; and lastly to all of you, Oy! readers, for encouraging us to continue writing and doing what we do.

Wishing you all a very Happy Chanukah and a new year filled with lots of light! See ya in 2012!

The Kotel

I’ve been thinking about the Wall. No, not the Pink Floyd album. And not the security barrier that prevents terrorists from infiltrating Israel.

The Kotel. The Western Wall. The Wailing Wall. Whatever you want to call it, the Wall is a symbol not only of Jerusalem but of Judaism to many.

Except when I look at the Wall, I see a place that has been imbued with meaning by people. I see a collection of stones that surely witnessed some of the world’s greatest tragedies and triumphs, but one that remains a collection of stones. I see a place that allocates barely a third of the space to women (and has a million conditions for women to even approach the wall—cue the ultra-Orthodox women policing one’s attire so it’s “modest enough” to pray there). I see a place where history stands still and where feminism—the idea that men and women are meant to enjoy equal rights—is forgotten or, worse, can feel forbidden. I see a place where I don’t feel the spiritual awakening many claim.

My spirituality, my sense of Jewishness and my personal understanding of my people’s history just don’t fit there.

As Jews, we are supposed to feel a strong connection to the Kotel. I’ve been at conferences in Israel that were so packed that no visit was scheduled. And yet my fellow participants made special detours from their itineraries to trek into the heart of the Old City and touch the Kotel—sometimes very late at night because that was the only time available.

Where does that connection come from? Is it from years of being told of the Kotel’s significance? Or is it because there actually is some higher power that is concentrated in the Kotel and I just haven’t felt it?

For me, the connection to my people is clearer when I stroll the streets and parks of Tel Aviv and hike in the fields and hills of the Galilee. I feel that connection when I sit at a café, everyone around me chattering in rapid-fire Hebrew, even if I don’t understand more than every 10th word. I feel it in Jerusalem, too, just not at the Kotel. The connection is clearer at places like Kol HaNeshama, the Progressive synagogue in Baka, where a children’s choir performed Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” during a Friday night service last time I was there.

The Kotel’s staid adherence to centuries-old tradition does not convey the vibrancy of the State of Israel and modern Jews. That vibrancy is clearer in the shuk, especially right before the onset of Shabbat: The scurrying of people trying to finish last-minute shopping for their Friday dinner—whether they’re religious or not; the yells of the merchants calling out steep discounts at the end of the day; the smells of tomatoes and sweet peppers so fresh they probably were ripped off the bush just that morning; the pungent aroma of spices; the delicious odors emanating from Marzipan bakery (the provider of world’s best rugelach).

Leading a Rosh Hashanah celebration in the woods while sitting atop the rocks at Devil's Lake in Wisconsin in September 2009

Of course, the other connection to Jewish peoplehood is right here at home, and one needs not travel to Jerusalem to feel it. When my husband and I gather with friends for Shabbat dinner; when we celebrate Tu B’Shevat—the once obscure Jewish holiday celebrating trees and nature’s bounty—with a haggadah we compiled ourselves; when we read about Exodus and add our own stories of migration; when we honor Rosh Hashanah while camping in the woods, by reading a new take on Unetaneh Tokef and the celebrated Israel writer Yehuda Amichai’s poetry. Those experiences have drawn me ever closer to my already strong pride and love for being Jewish.

Perhaps one day, when the Kotel is more inclusive of all sorts of Jewish traditions; when women can pray and read the Torah on equal footing with men; when there’s a place at the Wall where families can pray together rather than being separated into a women’s and men’s sections, I might reconsider my connection.

For now, however, it remains a collection of stones with lots of stories to tell. Sure, they’ve got the prayers and hopes and dreams of thousands of people. But I feel more comfortable leaving mine elsewhere.

We’re on Oy!cation! See you in the new year!

{{20566}}

I had a rude awakening this morning. I spent the night in Lakeview at the home of the guy I'm dating. Around 6:15 a.m. he dropped me off at my car on his way to work. It was parked right on Sheridan Road, among a slew of other parked cars. The scene looked completely normal. I opened my car door to put a bag in the backseat and I saw that the box holding my brand new GMAT prep course books, which had been unopened the night before, was open.

Considering that it was the crack of dawn and I was groggy, I took a moment to make sure I was thinking straight and that I had not opened up the box the night before and had just forgotten.

I then started to panic when I simultaneously noticed that the items in my trunk were rustled about— the pieces started to come together.

A half second later I looked up and realized the glass of the rear passenger window was completely smashed in and shattered everywhere.

Then the real panic kicked in.

Even though I park on the streets of Chicago every day, this had never happened to me before, and I was alone, in the dark. My car held nothing valuable, and nothing seemed to be missing, even my radio/CD player was still there. However, I was now standing there, by my broken-into car with my wallet, iPhone and laptop. My mind started racing— what if the people who did this were still nearby, waiting for people to enter their cars carrying their purses, etc. I started running and frantically called the guy I'm seeing in a complete panic.

Minutes later, he returned to calm me down and help me out. I pride myself on thinking things through and being calm in times of crisis— needless to say, this wasn't one of those times. This break-in, something that probably happens hundreds of times per day in this city, completely threw me for a loop.

Coincidentally, my dad called at the exact same time all of this was happening. I explained what had happened (obviously, and somewhat uncomfortably having to admit the reason for why my car was parked where it was), and he helped me with the insurance company, etc. My insurance is covering the large majority of the expense, and my car will be fixed by tomorrow morning.

Everything is fine, but I can't help that sickening feeling of violation. Knowing a random person(s) damaged my property, opened my personal package, and rummaged through my glove compartment, console and trunk. It's an awful feeling to be faced with the reality that people live their lives doing things like this. The timing is also ironic, happening at the time of year when we try to come together, be thankful for what we have and respect our neighbors. While living in the great city of Chicago, we usually feel safe in our day-to-day lives, but we are still in a very large, international city, and realistically, there's crime.

I was reminded that not everyone's as well-meaning as we would hope. This holiday season, I'm especially grateful for the many wonderful people in my life who enhance it and fulfill it, well aware that unfortunately, not everyone lives by the same moral code we would hope for in our society.

During my fifth holiday party this past weekend, it struck me that for all the drinking and eating and celebrating that goes on during this season, the holidays are actually a great time of year for dating (and for this wannabe matchmaker to set folks up)!

Back when I was still single, I used to dread the holiday season because it meant going home and facing well-meaning, but annoying comments and questions from loved ones wondering why I didn’t have a boyfriend. Don’t let these folks get you down. With all of the festivities taking place during December, this is actually one of the best times of the year to meet new people and go on dates…so that by Passover you have a different answer for Great Aunt Ruthie.

The biggest holiday party of the season took place a few Saturdays ago and while it’s already been covered here , here and here, I know of three potential first dates that I set up that night and I’m sure with 2,600 people in attendance those weren’t the only ones!

Now don’t feel too bad if you missed out on that great potential dating opportunity because the Matzo Bash is right around the corner. Here is the link to buy your tickets— get them soon as prices are going up.

And if giant holiday parties aren’t really your style, there’s plenty of smaller house and bar parties to attend. This past Friday I went a friend’s festivus and brought a few single girlfriends with me (as did many others in attendance.) By the end of the night, a few folks had exchanged numbers and I know for sure two of them are going out on their first date tonight! While you might not think there will be anyone new to meet at a smaller party, you really never know. So don’t get the holiday blues or turn into scrooge and skip out on any of these great events!

To keep you focused and in the holiday spirit, here are some of my tips for landing dates during the party season:

- Say, “yes” to every party invite you receive, whether it’s from your boss, your neighbor downstairs or your best friend. You never know who you are going to meet at one of these bashes. If you have two parties in the same evening, try to hit both, so you can expand your odds of meeting someone new to snuggle with during the cold months ahead.

- Plan a few holiday party outfits in advance. The holiday season can be long and tiring with lots of parties on week nights after work. To cut down on the temptation to just lie on the couch at home watching TV, have some rotating outfits on hand. This way you’ll be less likely to want to stay in and use the excuse, “I have nothing to wear.” Plus, planning ahead will help ensure you don’t wear the same outfit twice in front of the same group of friends. God forbid.

- Don’t be afraid of theme outfits/parties. The ugly sweater party is never going out of style, so go ahead and just embrace it all: ugly sweaters, reindeer headbands and menorah glasses. These all make great conversation starters and make going up the cute guy or gal in the bar a little easier.

Now let’s get dating. This is actually my favorite time. There is so much to do in Chicago that is fun, unconventional and fosters way more conversation than say, just going to a movie. Here are some great first dates for the holidays:

- Saving your cash for holiday presents? Why not grab a hot cocoa and take a stroll through the ZooLights display at the Lincoln Park Zoo.

- Don’t think because it’s cold out you can’t still be active! This year, Chicago has FOUR ice skating rinks available to the public. Millenium Park, Navy Pier, Daley Bicentennial Plaza and Wrigley Field all offer rinks, for more information check out this list of skating rinks.

- Being outside not your style? Go see a holiday-themed play! Who says Jews can’t celebrate Christmas? Check out a showing of the new play, A Christmas Story, The Musical! The lyrics are written by MOT Benj Pasek. For ticket information, visit The Chicago Theatre box office or call 1 (800) 745-3000.

- Do a little holiday shopping on your date at the Christkindlmarket at Daley Plaza.

- Tour the Sauganash neighborhood holiday lights. Grab another cup of cocoa and a car and take a drive. You can make it a game to spot the tackiest, prettiest, most unconventionally decorated house.

- Make a ginger bread house or bake some cookies. Stay-in on a particularly cold evening and bake some holiday themed treats with your new sweetie.

Hope some of these ideas help gets you through the holiday season and adds a little perspective to this time of year. Feel free to share your own advice and ideas below!

Happy Chanukah, everyone!

While it would be easy to ignore the craze, Tim Tebow-mania is everywhere. As I like to say, he is the "best, worst player I have ever seen." While he throws a horrible deep ball, he misses receivers like no one else ever has, and his reckless style will eventually get him hurt, the kid is a winner. Tebow wins. And the last time I checked, winning is what pro football is all about.

Clearly Tebow is not Jewish. In fact, he is a firm believer in Christianity. But what Tebow has done has brought religion, prayer, and deep faith onto the 50 yard line. Do his prayers help the Broncos win? Is God watching down on them and protecting Tebow and his teammates? I am not sure, but it certainly hasn't hurt. If anything, it seems to have centered Tebow and kept him focus. No one has been more watched and scrutinized. Yet, Tebow remained confident and poised. He remained centered. His faith was a big part of that.

If God and religion certainly have a place on the field, Tebow has used it to help himself. Now he has a football and religious following. Tebow has helped draw attention to faith and hopefully to a better world (even the football world). A world with less players that stomp on people's heads and instead play with a healthy competitive edge. He has helped players find an outward connection to their faith. And maybe, just maybe, this will rub off on the Jewish athletes.

While I hate what he did to the Bears this weekend and while I think there are so many problems with his game, he wins, he is fun to watch, and ultimately he is a role model. So yes I have been Tebowed and I am on board to watch the Broncos play and pray their way into the playoffs.

And Let Us Say...Amen.

10. He wants to be in Old Spice commercials for the Super Bowl.

9. Waxing hurts.

8. He had a bet with Mitt Romney that the Bears would win on Sunday.

7. He got sick of being called a Rabbi.

6. He had put on weight and people thought he was Santa Claus.

5. He just found out that you don't need a beard to be religious.

4. The hair care products didn't last long enough to cover the gray.

3. It was itchy.

2. He saw himself on this new Bravo show and thought it was time to rethink how he observes Judaism.

1. It's easier to eat a jelly doughnut without having to worry about it getting in your beard. 

Best of luck to you Matisyahu. I like your music with or without facial hair. I especially liked when you sang with the PS22 Chorus. I hope wherever your spiritual journey takes you, it takes you to the recording studio.

His eyes were warm and for some reason following me
as I walked through the metal detector.
I turned and somehow found myself in conversation
abstractly
and he was saying something to me
and it felt as if i had come into the conversation midway
helter skelter.
"Moshav Meir,"
he says as I look on in confusion.
"Moshav Meir," he repeats, glowing eyes waiting for a response.
Have I heard of it? I ask… "Well yes... well yes, I have, well yes, someone randomly told me about it, well yes."
And he puts his hands together, cupped in classic Israeli fashion, eyes shining and says, "They're the best people, the best."
And I wonder why
Why he is telling me this
What he knows
What God knows
Where we should go
Where we should go next.
We are never here we are never resting.
Always going.
All roads lead to Moshav Meir
I suppose.
And after a conversation that seemed to last a while
But perhaps, only another minute
Yet a minute with a radiating security guard that wants to tell you how he tries to keep kashrus and wants to be religious as I assure him that he is doing well, as he looks at me in my tiechel and little baby in praise, and I glow, a responsible young adult.
Well then
A minute like that is a long minute indeed.
I walk away, eventually, immediately, and it barely hits me anymore
That a security guard here
cares about my wellbeing
tells me about keeping kashrus.
And back there, in America, no one cares whether you come out dead or alive
Unless it's on their watch.
And they have no business telling you where to go or what to live
and anyone with shining eyes is shown the way out.
But here, it's not scary.
Here, it's shining.
Here, it glows.

The days leading up to my scan— and the 18 hour wait for results— took a noticeable emotional and physical toll.

We were in a holding pattern— waiting for life to potentially shift— for our worlds to be turned upside down.

This time I felt I had that much more to lose.

My life since cancer has been a state of elevation, of hyper-color vision, and filled with immense gratitude.

My life since cancer has shown me what it feels like to be deeply loved, supported, and cared for.

My life since cancer has been filled with clarity, meaning and fulfillment. 

I didn't want to lose all that I had since been given.

I didn't want to part with this new self, this new state of being, this new life.

As I deliberated over my potential losses, I realized the critical importance of reframing my thoughts in order to get through the wait.

My scan-xiety is a symptomatic reminder that my survival, fight and journey is continuous.
As a cancer survivor, I have to accept that I am and will always be reliant on the system. I am and will always be a part of this community.

It is this system— this community— that continues to keep me alive, that continues to keep me strong, and will be there to brace my potential fall.

This morning I received the news that my scans are clean and that I continue to be in remission.
As I slowly exhale, and tiptoe into celebration, I do so with the knowledge and appreciation of life's fragility.

And it is that knowledge that drives my deep appreciation and gratitude for this community, this experience, this moment.

Thank you for your love, support, and prayers.

I needed you, I felt you, I am grateful for you.

So I'm totally afraid of being that annoying mommy writer who only writes about her kids and then I looked at the last few things I've written and found that I already am that person. How did this happen? I have so many other things to talk about. Don't I?

Being a stay at home mom for a full year now, I have to say that the struggle to find purpose in my life does center around raising happy and healthy children. It is literally the first thing written on my to-do list, so that I know that even if I don't get to anything else, I am still being a productive person in the world. But finding a purpose in my life goes far beyond those two little ones. I have had this nagging little whine in my head for as long as I can remember: what are you doing with your life, anyway?

When I worked in the Jewish nonprofit world, I had a purpose every day: raising money to help people in need. I went to work and thought about the Jewish community and the larger community that needed food, housing, health care, education, you name it. Working in a philanthropic field kept me in touch with a larger purpose.

Now I'm way more self-centered. I think about my family, my daughters. I think about my artwork and the new business I launched this fall. I think about going to yoga, sometimes actually going to yoga. I practice my cello. I think about how I became this mommy writer and how the hell did I let that happen?

And then I wrote this really boring post about how I'm starting a tradition on my daughters' birthday next week (again about the kids, really?) of donating $18 in each of their names to a different nonprofit each year. Eventually they will be able to choose the charities they contribute to and hopefully this will instill in them a love of helping others, or at least a habit of doing so. Believe me, it was really boring.

But it did get me thinking about philanthropy and how giving – even in a small way – is something that enriches life and offers a sense of purpose. Turns out I've been doing that all year - giving to different causes and volunteering when possible. Teaching the value of philanthropy to my children is just another way of giving back, part of the larger purpose of my life. Hey, maybe there are a couple of purposes out there.

I'll spare you the boring post and just give a couple of shout outs: 1) to my friend Rachel, from whom I am stealing the birthday giving idea; and 2) to the JUF Chanukah Coat Club, which received the very first donation in the names of Violet and Autumn Hinkley-Wolfman. They were born on the first night of Chanukah two years ago, so really the choice was easy. I hope that when they look back at the first page in their birthday donation scrapbook they will feel proud about helping to keep other children warm this winter.

And now I'm going to think about all the other things floating around in my head, so that maybe next time I will write about social change, or affordable health care, or the environment. You know, the stuff that matters, like your kids.

It happens to all of us. Some of us sooner than others, and there's nothing you can do about it. Yes, this article is about aging—you're never too young to start taking good care of your mind and body.

In college, I thought my eyes might be the reason the chalkboard was fuzzy. I went to my parents' eye doctor, and not to brag, but my eyes were 20/15 and the doctor said, "It's the chalkboard. You have better than perfect vision." And so I went on my way, thinking well, at least I have that.

Several years later, my wife, who has had glasses since middle school, said "one day it will happen to you." And she said it smiling, like she was excited that one day my vision would go. Never having had glasses, I always wanted a pair. I think people in glasses look smart and give off this vibe that says:

● I read Dostoevsky

● I travel the world

● Small talk is for the birds

● And of course, I read nutritional labels (you need glasses, that font is small)

The last time I faced this type of change was in sixth grade. I was going to my locker when my friend Noah looked at me and did a double take, "You got braces?" Being slightly nervous and embarrassed, I begged him not to say anything. He responded with a bigger smile, "Don't worry." Although he said the right words, his deceptive grin didn't ease my angst. I walked into class with my lips glued together.

Everything seemed normal, except, why is Noah standing on a chair? "Hey everybody," Noah said. "Ronny got braces." And, so my awkward stage began.

Noah probably would call me four eyes today, but I don't really care. Maybe that's the upside to growing old; you care less about the little things like glasses, braces, and the occasional zit. As you age there are more important things to worry about. I'm not going to tackle saving for retirement or social security, but I will discuss a few anti-aging techniques.

1. My anti-aging mental super powers

2. Train your muscles for life

3. Nutrition tips for a long, healthy life

My anti-aging mental super powers

When my dad turned 50, I bought him this book, "Brain Fitness: Anti-Aging Strategies for Achieving Super Mind-Power." Like many books in that genre, the main takeaway is use your brain or lose it. Even at our age, if you have a family history of Alzheimer's or Dementia it's very important to exercise your mind. Several studies have shown mental workouts can help keep your mind sharp. It's best to mix them up—like muscles, your brain adapts to the game/puzzle…so if you always do word scramble, do a crossword puzzle once a week. Here are some easy brain fitness tips from the book:

● Once a week wear your watch on your other hand

● Learn a new language

● Do Sudoku or a crossword puzzle several times a week

● Tackle one brain teaser a week

● Exercise daily—keeping the heart and muscles moving helps with brain function

● Download mind/memory games for your smart phone

● Check out Brain Matrix website for more information

Train your muscles for life

There's no reason you cannot build and maintain your physique as you grow older. More important than bulging biceps and six pack abs, is functional strength and flexibility like the ability to bend down and remove dishes from the dish washer and place them in cupboards. Exercise such as yoga, Pilates, and swimming are helpful to keep joints limber. Swimming in particular is great, as water is very therapeutic. Pumping iron has also been linked to keeping your mind healthy, there is still more research to do, but it's a very positive sign.

The number one recommendation to avoid bone loss is weight bearing exercise. If your mom has osteoporosis, it's important you lift weights. Walking, elliptical trainer, and swimming are other examples of weight baring exercises that might help your lower body fight off degeneration.

I cannot stress enough the importance of mixing up your routine. Every 4 -6 weeks you should change your workout routine. There are two reasons for that: 1) Your body adapts to how you train. If you always do the same thing, your body learns how to get through the workout easily. By mixing up the routine your body is confused and you end up burning more calories and building more muscle. 2) It's good for your joints, tendons, and ligaments (connective tissue for muscles). Although your muscles get stronger from lifting weights, it can take a toll on your connective tissue. I see this with older power lifters who have beaten up shoulders and knees from too many bench presses and squats.

Nutrition tips for a long, healthy life

I often hear, "I work out so I can eat whatever I want." That phrase is very flawed. Yes, you can eat whatever you want, but the most important take away here is PORTION CONTROL. Carbs are not making you fat—eating too much of them is. 

For years the Mediterranean diet has been very popular with dieters. It stresses healthy fats, lean meats, lots of fish, and vegetables. In my opinion, keep it easy:

● Drink lots of water (good for your skin, digestion, muscles…)

● Increase your fruit and veggie consumption

● Eat lean proteins

● Eat more whole grains and less white breads and rice

● Try: brown rice, quinoa, bulgur, Chia, and steel cut oats

● If a cookie is calling your name, eat it! The caveat, a normal size cookie which you could fit in your palm. A cookie the size of your face should be shared.

● Drink pop in very small moderation. Studies have even suggested that diet soda reduces bone density.

I was having a party. A "women only" drinks and nosh potluck party. My husband was in Utah on a hiking/biking extravaganza with some guy friends. The kids were having a sleepover at grandmas. I cleaned and organized for a week. I baked. I fretted about wine choice. But I was so excited. I'm not sure if it has to do with being younger, being single, not having kids or what, but something that has significantly changed for me as I have gotten older and married with kids is that the precious alone time with my women friends has declined tremendously. And I miss it. My husband and I as a couple, have found "couple" friends and I enjoy that company, as well. But there is something different that happens in a circle of women when no men are present. There's energy and an ease in that kind of space that's invigorating to me. I feel it provides a balance that I really need. All this being said, bringing a bunch of women together can also cause drama. So maybe I shouldn't have been surprised when I got a strange phone call from one of my friends a few hours before the gathering. But I was.

On the day of my party, I was surrounded by what felt like 1,000 kids in costumes. I was at a pre-halloween party. My phone was vibrating. Voicemail. I plugged one ear and strained to hear the message. It was my friend whom I've known for 19 years saying she was in my neighborhood and could she come over now (3 hours early) and leave when the party started? This made zero sense to me. She lives 20 minutes from me – hardly a haul – and why the hell would she come 3 hours early and then dash? I found the quietest spot I could and called her back. She repeated her nonsense message. "Why would you want to do that? Why would you come before the party – 3 hours early no less – and then leave at the start?" "Well, everyone is going to be married. And you will all be talking about your kids. And dirty diapers. And I have nothing to say. Nothing in common with them." I was aghast.

"First of all," I said curtly, "you don't even know most of these women! How do you know what they will talk about?" She reminded me of my husband's 40^th birthday party where she sat with my parents and grandparents to avoid all the couples. (I did not choose to point out that my parents and grandparents are couples, too.) "Yes. I remember you did that. But these are women. We all have that in common. There will be no spouses." Undeterred she said, "But everyone is a mom. Right? Everyone will be talking about their kids. And soccer. And carpool. I mean, I have nothing to say to that." My response? "You know what? No! No you may not come to my house early. Put on your big girl pants and suck it up! I'm married and a mom and the last thing I want to talk about when I have time with other women is my kids – or carpool, or soccer. You are a, a, racist against moms! See you at 8!" And I hung up the phone. I returned to the 1,000 kids in costume.

I was seething. What the hell? Who did this chick think she was? And worse, who did she think I was? I felt attacked for my life choices. That somehow by my becoming a wife and mother, I had given up my being a woman. I was now seen as someone who couldn't have a conversation about anything that was unrelated to my children. I called another girlfriend. I relayed the incident. I was yelling, in my minivan, in the suburbs, with my 4 costumed children drunk with sugar overload in the back. My friend listened intently. "This is not about you." She finally said. "She's feeling self-conscious about her life. If you are really her friend, you need to call her back and apologize. But if you don't really care either way, do nothing." I was stunned. About her? I didn't say anything about her. She attacked me! I included her! I attempted the mantra of, "it's not about you. It's not about you." I sounded semi-authentic.

I called my friend back. I told her (nicely this time) that no, she could not come early and that she would be fine. That I invited her because she was a girlfriend and this was a gathering of girlfriends. I assured her that while I could not guarantee what each and every conversation would be about, that the women who were coming were interesting, thoughtful and had more to them then a detailed account of the daily ups and downs of motherhood. She came. She had fun. She met another single friend and they made a date. I also got her a gift for her cat. I think she forgave my harshness.

Looking back I see how deeply I was triggered by what my friend had been implying. What she said about me is how I protest being seen and portrayed. I often say, that although I live in the burbs, in a house, in an affluent community and stay at home to raise 4 kids, I am most definitely not like everybody else in my same situation. I feel the need to separate myself from all the stereotypes that are married (if you will) to my life place. Things in fact that may be true about me. Fact is, I am a wife, a stay at home mom and my kids are my life, and I'm wondering as I write this why I feel the need to defend that or put distance between that and myself. Because I may be a suburbanite, mini-van driving mom, but when I've got a pomegranate martini in hand, I'm a well-rounded friend and I throw a damn good party at that.

So my first idea for a blog post was a list of Christmas songs and carols written by Jews. But it turns out that subject has been very, very well-documented. (I did compile a list from these sources, and tacked it on to the bottom of this post, if you are curious.)

Instead, I tried to find out what Jews today do on Christmas. Turns out, this matter is the subject of not a few online videos. Here are my favorites, one for every candle of Chanukah. (Now, some of the language in these is NSFW. But why are you watching videos at the office anyway?! Get back to work- it's a short month!)

1. "South Park": "A Lonely Jew on Christmas"
Kyle Broflovski, the only Jewish member of the South Park foursome, sings this lament on Jewish alienation on this pervasive, even smothering, holiday. And we feel the poor little guy's pain. But what could he do about it? His fellow Jewish YouTubers have this to say:

2. Chuck Brodsky: "On Christmas, I Got Nothing"
First, Kyle must realize that he is not alone. For instance, Chuck here, even as an adult, still recalls the childhood sting of being left out in the gift department. A great folksinger, he once worked on a kibbutz. His work is usually pretty pointed, with songs about everything from pollution to road rage. He also writes many songs about unusual baseball figures- some of whom, like Max Patkin and Moe Berg, were Jewish.

3. Sarah Silverman: "Give the Jew Girl Toys"
Meanwhile, Sarah wants toys on Christmas, too. But rather than pout about not having any, she takes a more proactive approach. (When Sarah wants toys, Santa, you'd better just hand them over… if you know what's good for ya.)

4. Brandon Walker: "Chinese Food on Christmas"
Of course, rather than focus on getting another Transformer or Furby, one could make one's own celebration with the resources at hand, with one's similarly sidelined palls. Are there any Chinese restaurants in South Park?

5. The Chixie Dix: "All I Want for Christmas is to Be Jewish"
And if Kyle can't find any Jews to go with, would a potential Jew do? Some Christians, like these alt-country singers, also feel put out by all the fuss made on Christmas, and actually wish for a more simple, pure, untainted holiday. Some might even be looking for a guy like Kyle to chill with.

6. Melissa McQueen: "All I Want for Christmas is Jews"
So might this Mariah Carey wannabe, although she is too old for Kyle. The guy in the last song wanted to become Jewish, but she just wants to hang out with Jewish celebrities and be Jewish-by-association. So that's another kind of person Kyle might find to accompany him for some dim sum.

7. Kugelplex: "Yiddish Rudolph"
That failing, Kyle might avoid being lonely by actually attending a Christmas party and watching some classic videos with his classmates. But that still doesn't mean he has to "do" Christmas their way. For instance, he can reclaim a famous Christmas song written by his fellow Jews… by singing it in a Jewish way. That should make a keen Christmas memory for his hosts!

8. Jewmongous: "Reuben, The Hook-Nosed Reindeer"
Or he could make up his own words… and follow the footsteps of Jews who specialized in novelty songs, such as Mickey Katz, Allan Sherman, Tom Lehrer, Shel Silverstein, and Andy Samberg. Or this guy, Sean Altman. Altman's old a cappella group, Rockapella, is best known for their "Carmen Sandiego" theme song, but his solo material is far less child-friendly. (And this little ditty isn't even the worst of them.)

9. MC Jew C and Lil Mitzvah: "Merry Hanukkah"
Of course, another reaction to Christmas and the dismissive effect it has on many Jews is good ol' anger. Why seek out other Jews, or wanna-be Jews, or wanna-be-with-Jews? Why not just rail against the system, and like these rappers fight back with a personal war on the all-encompassing Christmas "spirit."

So that's what Jews do for Christmas- deal with the loneliness, alienation, and lack of presents though friendship, sarcasm … and plate after plate of moo goo gai pan. Oh, and by making videos about what Jews do on Christmas. 

For those who did want a handy-dandy guide to which Christmas songs were written by Jews:

- "White Christmas" by Irving Berlin, who also wrote the winter classic "I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm."

- "The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting…)" by Mel Torme and Bob Wells.

- "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" by Johnny Marks, who also wrote "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" and "A Holly Jolly Christmas."

- "Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow" by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne, who also wrote "The Christmas Waltz."

- "We Need a Little Christmas" by Jerry Herman.

- "Santa Baby," music and lyrics by Joan Ellen Javits and Philip Springer.

- "It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year" by George Wyle and Edward Pola.

- "Silver Bells" by Jay Livingston (Jewish) and Ray Evans (not).

- "Winter Wonderland" by Richard B. Smith (not sure) and Felix Bernard (yes).

- "Sleigh Ride" Leroy Anderson (no) and Mitchell Parish (yes).

- "I'll Be Home For Christmas" Walter Kent (yes), Buck Ram (yes) and Kim Gannon (no).

- "There's No Place Like Home For The Holidays" Bob Allen (not sure) and Al Stillman (yes).

- "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch" Albert Hague (yes) and Theodore "Dr. Seuss" Geisel (no).

(Some of this list was researched by Nate Bloom.)

Those of you that tuned in to my post last month were treated to an un-OY-fficial match up of DC vs. Chicago. In a tight race, I graciously called it a draw between the Gem of the Midwest and the Jewel of the Mid-Atlantic. Stephen Richer of Gather the Jews, a DC based website, brought on a full challenge to my results, claiming DC as the definitive winner to this civic battle. Richer gave DC ten extra points out of 10 categories! Frankly, I could easily pick apart most of his analysis, but there is no need, because I can easily come up with nine more categories where Chicago bests DC proving it to be at least as good a city:

1. Chicago is sportier: Chicago has won more major sports championships than any other U.S. city besides L.A. and New York. DC did not even make the top 10! And for those of you that want to dis the Cubs (who won all of their championships over 100 years ago,more people came out to see the Cubs lose last year than to see the National’s win.

2. Chicago is tougher on the weather:According to this article from President Obama’s first winter in Chicago, he dissed DC at a press conference for being a little too quick to cancel school on account of a little bit of ice. Chicago knows winter and knows how to handle it!

3. Chicago is worldlier: So the Bureau of Expositions has sanctioned over 50 official World Expositions, since 1850. Two have been in Chicago (1893 Columbian and 1933 Century of Progress). Zero have been in Washington… well, not totally true. In 1974 SPOKANE, Washington hosted one. How does it feel to be bested by SPOKANE, DC!

4. Chicago is Nobel-er!: So nobelprize.org allows you to sort Nobel Prize laureates into all kinds of lists. So I compared DC area winners with Chicago area winners. Based on the institutions associated with the winners: Chicago=20 and DC=7. Richer went to the University of Chicago, so when it comes to education, he should know that University of Chicago alone claims 16 Nobel Prizes awards for smarty-ness!

5. Chicago is well guided!: I had the unfortunate experience to hop onto a DC Double Decker Bus tour only to find that the tour was delivered by a well scripted RECORDING! When I worked for Chicago Trolley and Double Decker we always had live tour guides showing the sights and sharing the stories on top of the bus. DC=Fail here!

6. Chicago is funnier!: Chicago takes this category hands down. Second City, IO Chicago, the Annoyance are all Chicago originals featuring some of the funniest. Tina Fey, Tim Meadows, Chris Farley, Amy Pholer all trained in Chicago’s finest comedy venues.

7. Chicago is safer!: According to the most reliable source on statistics-the Movies , Chicago is safer. DC is the 3rd most destroyed city in movie history, while Chicago is the 9th. By that rationale, you are more likely to wake up to an alien invasion or zombie apocalypse in DC than Chicago! Stay safe and stay in Chicago.

8. Chicago is better represented: Illinois has 2 senators and 19 congressmen (13 of which are Chicago area districts). How many voting representatives in DC? ZERO! The license plates in DC read - “Taxation Without Representation” for a reason!

9. Chicago is bigger!: More people and more city! And as everyone knows, size does matter!

For those of you that have been keeping score, this battle between two writers trying to come up with random factoid about two cities is tied once again. Let’s face it, we could go back and forth like this forever. For the sake of our readers on the shores of Lake Michigan and the banks of the Potomac alike, it might be best if we just admit that both cities have their pros and cons and that we all sleep better knowing that at least neither one is as expensive as New York!

Two summers ago, I wrote an Oy! post highlighting my summer reading plans. It's been awhile since then and I just got my latest obsession-the new Amazon Kindle Fire. Now if you remember my last post, I talked about how much I love reading BOOKS— my office at home is covered in bookshelves— and was never going to convert to an e-reader. Well, things change. People change. And my boyfriend bought me this amazing toy for my birthday in October and I'm a total convert.

I know I'm late to join the e-reader bandwagon, but since the Fire is so new, I feel like it's still ok to tell you all how cool it is and why you should get one, too.

The positives: Normally a loyal Mac girl, I had reservations about not choosing the iPad, but for a third of the price, I've got to say I'm pretty happy with my choice. Besides getting books instantly to my Kindle, this thing makes renting movies and TV shows a cinch— all it takes is a click and it's cheaper than On Demand and Netflix's! I can also browse the internet, create my own magazine pages and subscribe to my magazines on the Kindle. I can rent books free from the library, share readers with my friends and there is a 99 cent book of the day deal; so believe it or not, the Fire is actually saving me money!

The negative: I no longer can read on the El because I'm terrified I will either drop it, lose it or have it stolen. This seriously cuts into my reading time and makes it harder to get out of bed in the morning (a. because I stay up later reading and b. because I have nothing to look forward to on the commute to work).

Review done, here's my list of books to e-read by the fireplace (not the train) this winter. Feel free to make your own recommendations and post them at the bottom:

In the Garden of Beasts by Erik Larson— If you loved Devil in the White City, you need to read Larson's newest book about America's first ambassador to Nazi Germany, Chicagoan William E. Dodd and his family who in July 1933 find themselves living in the heart of Hitler's Berlin. This non-fiction book offers a fascinating and at times horrifying and frustrating account of the United States relationship with Nazi Germany leading up to World War II.

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrad— Not to include two non-fictions books here about the same time period, but Hillenbrad's latest book, which took seven years to come out, is currently at the top of my reading list. I loved Seabiscuit and I can't wait to start Unbroken about an army air forces bomber who crashes into the Pacific Ocean during World War II.

Thank You, Notes by Jimmy Fallon— With YLD's Big Event only a few weeks away, I thought I'd check out this year's performer's latest book.

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins— If you haven't read this series yet, immediately stop what you are doing and go read them. I read each book in a day because you just can't put them down. The first movie is coming out in March and it promises to be a blockbuster, so make sure you read the book now. Check out the movie trailer. 

The Lady of the Rivers by Philippa Gregory— So last time, I told all you Oy!sters to read The Red Queen  the second book in Gregory's cousin's war series about Elizabeth Woodville and the Plantagenet family. Well, this is the third book in the trilogy— only it's a prequel to the first book instead of the concluding book I'd been waiting to read for over a year! Gregory explains on her website:

Whilst many of you (myself included) were expecting a book on Elizabeth of York called The White Princess to follow The Red Queen, gloriously, the research has taken me down a slightly altered path and so Jacquetta's book, currently called The Rivers Woman, will be released in autumn 2011.

I'm still going to read it and you should, too. On a positive note, this is now the first book in the series, so if you like historical fiction and haven't read her other books, you can still start here.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald— Last time I ended with a favorite classic, so I think I'll do the same thing this time around. Since the movie is coming out this spring, the timing feels right to re-read one of my all-time faves, The Great Gatsby. I already own a few versions (I'm a nerd) of the actual book, so for a classic I might have to return to the real thing and skip the Fire.

When I was choosing colleges, my mom made her qualifications very clear. First, of course, I had to go somewhere that was right for me, intellectually, personality-wise, cost-wise, etc. But vying for top consideration was this: My mom wanted to visit me somewhere she could go shopping.

This was never actually going to be a problem. I grew up in a small town two hours from anything, and I always wanted to live in a city (for many reasons, not all of them shopping-related). A decent mall was an hour away, and Columbus, Ohio, with its stores, airport and restaurants, was 80-miles just getting there. Going shopping was a grand day out, a giddy affair bookended by a great car trip, often just me and my mom.

It's no surprise that an activity I associate so closely with happiness should become a go-to for cheering myself up. I don't do retail therapy by blowing triple digits at Express (though I have been known to stagger out of a bookstore, dazed and loaded down with totally justifiable additions to my shelves). Instead, more and more I seem to be gravitating toward single, special purchases. There's a handmade leather belt on Etsy cut and dyed to look like the f-holes on a violin. I'm still floored by how beautiful it is, and I've been lusting after it for well over a year. Timbuk2 makes my favorite bags: even though I don't particularly need one, I'm really itching for one of their customizable backpacks. (It would be great for travel!) Vivien of Holloway, Nudeedudee and Rocket Originals make the most smashing vintage repro, and I can't tell you how tempting it is to dump all the clothes I own now and start over with a dedicated wardrobe straight from the '30s and '40s. Don't even talk to me about John Fluevog.

I hover over these buys, though: I stew in them and put them off, as some future reward for some future accomplishment or occasion. To get all analytical for a moment—my mom is a psychologist, after all—perhaps that's a throwback to those trips to Columbus: the drive and the delay are bound up in the payoff. But let's get real, friends: this is not about why I don't buy things when I want them. Because this week I broke the pattern, and let me tell you, the payoff has been great.

See, my mom has been fighting cancer for three and a half years now. Yesterday was a big test, one that would tell us if the new treatment is working like we've been hoping it is. It's a pretty anxiety-inducing set-up, and even if you're not consciously thinking about it, you feel it under your skin. November was also a stressful month for me on its own, and I still have a mountain of other tasks to scale.

The day before yesterday, I happened on a link: a high schooler covering a Shakespeare soliloquy on a ukulele. Not just any soliloquy: Hamlet's "To be, or not to be," touching on some of the darkest, most profound soul-dredging stuff available to us as human beings. The cover is awesome. It's so cheery, you can't help but smile. It's sweet, but it's the last thing from manufactured. And that's the thing: even the undiscovered country sounds sunny on a ukulele. I'm beginning to suspect that it is actually impossible to be sad with a uke in hand.

So, rather than liking the idea and putting it on a shelf, to be cashed in at a later date, yesterday I headed to the Old Town School of Folk Music and strolled out with a Lanikai pineapple ukulele in hand. Why not? Eight years of piano lessons aside, I've never played a stringed instrument before, and it's been years since I've played music at all, but that's okay. Ukulele is known for being both easy and forgiving, and I have to tell you, it's a lot of fun.

It wasn't a huge purchase—I've actually spent more on pants for work wardrobes—but, satisfyingly, it felt like a bigger purchase than it was. Being able to walk home and open the case, prop open the learn-it-yourself book and start strumming was glorious. And there's so much to look forward to: ukulele covers of all your favorite songs probably exist somewhere on YouTube, and the very helpful guys from Old Town were quite excited to show off Metallica for Ukulele. Anything is possible now.

The danger, of course, is that having given myself permission to actually enjoy a non-incidental purchase spontaneously, I'm now furiously calculating whether I can squeeze in the backpack, the belt, the tea dress, the shoes. Sending in my rent check this morning will probably temper those impulses, but more importantly, I think it's time to just soak up this purchase for a while. As it turns out, my mom's test yesterday came back looking great. That alone makes the world a sunnier place, but I'm not going to lie: having a ukulele doesn't hurt.

I LOVE the holiday season. I love the festive feeling you get when you're making your Thanksgiving menu or listening to holiday music when out running errands. I love the smell of turkey roasting in the oven and of the latkes my dad would fry every year in our garage (because heaven forbid the smell permeates our home - you know that never comes out).

But more important than the presents, the food and the festivities, to me the holidays are a time for family traditions and sharing quality time with loved ones.

While I'm not so newly wed (it's been four years already - where does the time go?), I've found thus far that one of the biggest challenges in relationships is the merging of family traditions, particularly in November and December.

My family makes a huge deal of Thanksgiving - it's always at my parents and every year we gather all of the Friedsons and the Aizens and the Jacobsons around one big table for a dinnertime feast. Even though nearly everyone lives in Cleveland (or did at least - now we have a growing Chicago contingent and a lone New Yorker), it's when we would take the big photo of the grandchildren that would become calendars for our grandparents. My dad cooks the turkey, my mom makes her challah stuffing and mushroom gravy, and Nana always brings the cranberry Jello mold (which sounds disgusting but surprisingly isn't). We sit down around 5:30 for dinner around a big table and stuff ourselves to the point of bursting. It's all very predictable but it's US.

My husband's family traditions are completely different. David's stepmom is one of five sisters, and they all come together at Aunt Amy's house around 1:00 pm, bringing all sorts of yummy treats, which range from honey-baked ham to oyster stuffing to macaroni and cheese. Of course, there's turkey and green beans and pumpkin pie, too. The food is set up buffet style, and everyone hangs out (and pigs out) all afternoon, with the men in the basement watching football, the women upstairs eating and chatting. End result is certainly the same - stuffed to the point of feeling ill (in a good way of course), but totally different.

The December holidays are equally opposite. My family has a low-key Chanukah Party, with latkes and a goofy $10 gift exchange, and that's about it. David's parents have a menorah and a Christmas tree, and both holidays are celebrated in style with lots of presents and huge family get togethers and feasting that rivals the Thanksgiving spread.

The challenge is not so much about different family trends in gift-giving or favorite foods. It's adjusting to the idea that you won't always be with your family on Thanksgiving day - and helping your family adjust to the idea that you won't always be there for every holiday. AND it's getting used to the idea that you ARE with family - they're just not the same family that you were with as a child. Because his family is now your family, too.

Merging holiday traditions is tough. For us, we've come to the agreement of switching back and forth each year.  And for this year, work commitments are keeping us in Chicago for November AND December which meant finding new ways to celebrate instead of visiting family. It meant making friends the new family.

So far, it has been a blast. We feasted on Thanksgiving day with friends, and between four people, we had over a dozen dishes - because of course everyone wanted to share their favorite foods that their families have every year. Who knows what December will bring (besides the inevitable burnout on all things retail and Christmas music related).  Moreover, I know next year will be a whole new different adventure. But the merging of families, favorite foods, fun times and a new future together are what makes the ride worthwhile. 

Shalom y'all. I bet that's something you don't hear that often in Chicago. Let me introduce myself. My name is Abby and I am originally from Birmingham, Alabama. And yes, there are Jews in Alabama. In fact, there is quite a wonderful Jewish community down south and I hope to share more about this community in blogs to come.

So, I've been living in Chicago now for around six years and it has become my new home. I started my Chicago experience by attending DePaul University (the largest Catholic university in the country) and now I'm getting my doctorate in clinical psych at the Adler School of Professional Psychology. In the midst of being a full-fledged grad student, seeing clients, and preparing myself professionally, I am getting married, this July to be exact. And to make it even more interesting, my fiancé is Catholic.

I am so excited to be getting married. I am happy, I am in love and I’m actually really enjoying the wedding planning process. But that doesn’t mean I don’t encounter certain experiences that pose challenges and frustrations as I prepare to get married. Here is where I rant.

It is so funny how people (those who I'd consider acquaintances rather than actual friends) find out I'm marrying a young Catholic man, and immediately they ask how we are going to raise our children. That question OF COURSE is a very important one, but I find that question just as invasive as me asking an acquaintance, "boxers or briefs?" or "how much money do you make?" But alas, I usually respond with a cute, “we’re working on it.”

As someone who has been very involved in "interfaith" everything for years, from interfaith dialogues to interfaith trips to France, my fiancé and I have chosen to open this conversation up to our peers because we don’t have the answers. We are rather in an active search for those answers and I figure, let’s engage in a communal dialogue with those who may be able to guide us in this journey. And who knows, maybe our experience will shed some light for others contemplating how to raise children in an interfaith family.

These questions about religion and children, as annoying as they may be, weigh heavily on us both. But they also pose a very unique opportunity for both of us to reacquaint ourselves with the religions that have shaped the very people that we are. They pose an opportunity for me to remember what it is about Judaism that is striking, what literally moves me, motivates me, and challenges me. The thing is, my fiancé and I love the fact that the other loves their religion. As we move along in this process of exploring how to raise our children, we find that these conversations are actually strengthening our relationship. We acknowledge that these are the types of conversations that probably should be happening with all couples, even those from the same tradition. In my opinion, it takes some degree of "chutzpah" to put it out there and work through some of the most challenging of issues with each other, to explore the complexities of religion, marriage, and children, all at the mere age of 23.

I won't lie. There is a certain degree of fear and anxiety that comes along with these conversations. We have openly talked about these fears particularly the fear of one child choosing one religion over the other and the resentment that will mostly likely surface (whether we like it or not).

I will say that I had a plan as a kid. I remember thinking how great it would be to see my own kids reciting Torah on the bima having their bar and bat mitzvahs, growing into little Jewish adults. This still may happen but the possibility that it might not pan out the way I envisioned is somewhat painful to think about. And that is the harsh reality that I openly struggle with. My fiancé equally deals with his own fears, his own plans that he had growing up, and how to reconcile it all is quite difficult.

I am now learning that both Judaism and Catholicism can be a part of our family and we couldn't be living in a greater time to be a part of an interfaith marriage and family. Chicago has so many outlets for Catholic-Jewish families and I couldn't be more grateful. Old St. Pat's Church actually has a Sunday school that is run by interfaith parents. Basically, the parents teach both traditions to their kids. What a cool opportunity to literally be a part of your kids' Jewish and Catholic educational experience.

Despite all the hard stuff, I think about how great this program is, to actually learn with your kids as opposed to dropping them off at the door step and simply asking them afterwards, "how was class?" I think it's fascinating to think about this as a definite possibility for us, to see our kids becoming active participants in the religions of their parents, and to watch their religions develop in whatever form that ends up being. These are experiences I truly look forward to.

On a personal note, I've learned the basic ideals of what I want for our kids, especially when I think about what I am and what I'm not willing to sacrifice. I want our kids to be exposed to Judaism. I want our kids to be exposed to Catholicism. But above all, I want our kids to be exposed to traditions that give them reasons to believe. I want our kids to be as lucky as my fiancé and I have been, to be a part of traditions that have molded us into happy and thoughtful people, people who care about finding meaning in the world and care about the community around us. I do hope that in the coming months and years that we will find more clarity. But until then, right now I can say that I am invested and willing to have the hard conversations because I am in this for the long haul.

When I was on my full-fledged BFF search, going on 52 dates in 52 weeks, people often asked me if I'd call off the hounds if I found The One. There were a few times when I considered it. I'd meet someone so fantastic and wonderful that I'd want to give up on everyone else and just dedicate all my time to that budding friendship.

And then I'd learn that she planned on moving.

Longtime readers of this blog know that when it comes to friends I believe in quality and quantity. Having one great friend is awesome and certainly a bajillion times better than none, but I wanted a handful. 

Greedy? Maybe. But people move. Or they have babies and are suddenly less available. I really wanted a friendship safety net.

My major year of dating was in 2010. I made a good amount of buddies during those 12 months, and in the 10 months since, I've made another, maybe, five friends. My calendar is blessedly full.

So the question is: Does the time ever come to stop looking?

For me, the answer is no. I've trained myself to be a people-meeter. (I truly believe this. Being friendly and meeting new people is something I was once kind of bad at, and now I rock. Sorry, but I do. If you think you're bad at being outgoing and talking to strangers, just force yourself to do it. Soon it'll become second nature. I promise.) There might still be a lady soul mate out there for me.

But here's a line that comes up a lot: I don't have time for new friends.

Or: I have too many friends as it is.

Or: So, are you done yet?

As if I'm cooking a meatloaf rather than establishing lifelong connections, here.

I get it. Time is precious and people want to use it on their already existing friends. But it would seem so odd to me, at this point, to just be like "Enough! I deem the search over! Class dismissed!"

Have I shared here the story of the British journalist who met a guy with a one-in-one-out friend policy? He maintained only six friends at a time, and one day sent the journalist a note saying he had an opening. Would she be interested in being his friend?

Lovely, right?

In hopes of never becoming that British twit, I'll keep looking, dating, and hanging with my new pals. Viva la amigos! But I'm wondering, have you ever consciously decided to stop looking for new friends? Ever decided your dance card was full?

With Thanksgiving coming up tomorrow, there's no way I can avoid writing a blog about the holiday of turkeys, cranberries and too many relatives cramped in one space.

I was trying to think of lessons I've learned over the years, and I've come up with three ways to relieve some of the stress that comes along with celebrating Thanksgiving. None of these are particularly innovative or groundbreaking lessons, but nevertheless, I thought I'd share.

1. Remember, there are no such things as carbs, calories, or cholesterol on Thanksgiving (or any major holiday, for that matter). Sure, most of us will eat enough to comfortably hibernate through the winter. Sure, you might feel a button pop off your pants after finishing dessert. So what? You'll work it off next week anyway. You might worry about what and how much you're eating on Thanksgiving, but honestly, I'd rather not stress about it. (Who am I kidding, I am just powerless to resist turkey and cranberry sauce… or dessert.)  Regardless of culture, food has always given people something to bond over and Thanksgiving is the holiday to experience a variety of wonderful culinary treats. Plus, if your grandma catches you avoiding certain dishes, she'll just pile them on your plate anyway.

2. Accept that your crazy relatives will never get any less crazy. When you pack many relatives, young and old, into one room, things are bound to get stressful, especially when you haven't seen some of them since last year's Thanksgiving. There's always a wacky or tactless relative that points out how much weight you've gained since you last saw each other. An older relative, like a grandparent, will probably pester you about finding a nice Jewish man or woman to marry and have children with. Dealing with many family members all at once can be stressful and frustrating, but at the same time, you should know what to expect by now - and be grateful for it. Everyone's family can drive them crazy, especially during the holidays. But if you take into consideration that some people aren't lucky enough to have a family to celebrate with, or that god forbid, someone may not be around for next year's Thanksgiving, you'll have a much different perspective. Take the stress with a grain of salt, and the whole experience becomes more pleasant and memorable.

3. Help clean up after the feast (especially if you didn't cook!) I admit it, I don't cook. But having been raised with a father and grandfather as obsessed with order, organization and cleanliness as Monica Geller on "Friends," I sure know how to clean. And since I don't do much preparing for Thanksgiving outside of setting plates and silverware, my job comes after all the food is gobbled up (clever, right?). If you are a guest at someone's home, cleaning up helps ensure that the hosts don't regret inviting you and might do so again next year. Anyone who has ever had a celebration at their home knows that cleaning up after is enough to make you reconsider ever hosting again. And as silly as it may sound, I like helping my family clean after all the guests have gone home. It makes me realize that no matter how annoying it is to vacuum the dining room carpet or clean the dishes, I'm grateful to have had another memorable Thanksgiving with people I love. And if you're one of those people worried about how much weight you've gained from your Thanksgiving meal, cleaning is a great opportunity to burn off some calories!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Recently, I was flipping through my channels and saw a Lingerie Football League game on MTV2 (don't worry I don't frequently watch that channel). Yes, the women are dressed in less than modest attire, but once the whistle is blown they hit hard and bruise just like the men. It dawned on me that I had heard rumors that a former campmate of mine was on the Chicago team. Turns out that wasn't entirely true. Julie Farby, the girl all the guys had crushes on at Camp Ramah, had tried out but unfortunately did not make it. Farby was always an athlete. She was one of the stars of the girls’ basketball and softball team and we were on sports staff together as counselors. Farby took her passion for sports to the field in her tryout and here is her experience.

1) Tell The Great Rabbino a little bit about yourself. Did you play sports growing up?
I always loved playing sports. You name it, I played it. Basketball, softball, tennis, volleyball, pretty much my entire childhood consisted of me playing some organized sport or another. Sometimes that included me being the only girl on the team, which I didn't really mind— though I'm not sure how the boys felt about it. No one likes being shown up by a girl, but I think once the novelty wore off, they treated me like anyone else on the team.

2) What made you decide to try out for the Lingerie Football League?
I honestly didn't even know the league existed until like a month before the tryouts when I saw a video of one of last year's LFL game online. I was pretty much blown away by the idea that there was actually a league where girls got payed to play real tackle football live on MTV2. It was right up my alley. As a journalist, I was used to skimpy pay; the skimpy uniforms, on the other hand, would take some getting used to. But it looked like so much fun, I couldn't resist.

3) What were tryouts like?
Tryouts were really intense. Athletically, I hadn't done much since playing Lacrosse my freshman year in college, and some intramural softball and basketball leagues after that, so I wasn't sure what to expect. About 160 girls showed up to the tryouts, where we had to run the 40, do a variety of strength, skill and endurance tests, including pass, catch, and tackle drills, and by the end of the day, they had cut all but 35 or so of us. Those who made it past the first round were invited back to an increasingly intense week of mini-camp, where they narrowed the field even more. The remaining 30 of us were invited to come back to an even more grueling training camp, which lasted two more weeks, until they had the 20 players they needed to fill their roster. With a bunch of returning veterans, roster space was unfortunately limited, and as a result, my LFL journey ended after training camp. But for someone who had never played football in their life, wasn't a marathon runner or a fitness instructor, I think I did pretty well. I definitely learned a lot, too. But some skills you can't teach. Like either you are okay with tackling and getting tackled or you're not. I fall into the former. If I see you with the ball, rest assured I'm coming for you, and you're going down one way or another.

4) What was the most surprising thing about your experience?
The most surprising thing about the whole experience was definitely the level of competition. I thought it would maybe be more about looks than anything else, but that simply wasn't the case. These girls are real athletes, some of them have played football before, some haven't, but pretty much everyone was serious about making the team, and it showed. This was not a powder puff league that's for sure. These girls are elite athletes and work as hard as anyone I've seen. The skill level was very impressive. Watch a game and I guarantee you'll agree these girls are the real deal.

5) Do you think Chicago will embrace the team like it has other sports?
Chicago is a great sports town so I can't believe they wouldn't love the Bliss, too. The team's been around for like two or three years and seems to be growing along with the league in general, which is obviously good to see. I mean what more could you want than watching a bunch of beautiful, bad ass, lingerie clad women play real, hard-nose, smash mouth football? At the very least, they sure look a hell of a lot better in spandex than some of the Bears. And have certainly been more competitive than the Cubs these past two years. Haha, just kidding. But I honestly think Chicago is one of the greatest sports cities in the nation. Just ask them, they'll tell you!

6) What’s next in the athletic career of Julie Farby?
Hopefully, the next step in my athletic career is actually making it on the active roster and onto the football field. The Bliss have had a rough start this year, currently sitting at 0-2 after two tough home losses, something they had never done before. I'd like to think some Julie Farby is just what they need! In the meantime, I've been working hard to get in shape, hone my football skills, and do whatever I can to ensure myself a spot on the squad. I can't do anything about the fact that at 5'4" 115 lbs, I am definitely undersized, even for a league that plays in glorified bikinis. But while I may not be big, I can certainly play big, and that is exactly what I intend to do.

7) Who is your favorite Chicago athlete of all-time?
Wow, that's a hard question because there's so many Chicago athletes I love. I guess I'd have to say Frank Thomas and Ozzie Guillen (as a player) were some of my old-school favorites, along with the obligatory Walter Payton/Michael Jordan answer because seriously how can you leave those two out? Other than that, I am a huge Brian Urlacher and Paul Konerko fan because they've just been quietly awesome for years now. And of course Chicago's own MVP D-Rose. How can you not love the guy? He is so exciting to watch and will hopefully be bringing some titles home- that is if they ever end the lockout and actually play a game. I think Chicago sports in general have some bright days ahead of them, hopefully the Bliss included.

8) What do you do off the field?
When not taking snaps, I write a blog called Democralypse Now which I like to describe as an equal-opportunity satirist exposing stupidity in government and politics, one hilariously scathing post at a time. Like Stephen Colbert…only hotter.

Thank you to Farby for the interview. Best of luck at next year's tryouts. I am sure The Great Rabbino fans will be rooting and watching for you.

And Let Us Say...Amen.

I had a Blackberry on death row after getting the battery wet and needed a new phone desperately. I'd been waiting for countless months until the new iPhone came out. But, I contemplated buying an iPhone with trepidation, because I've killed nearly every phone I've owned with water, by way of sewer grate, washing machine and the list goes on. My Blackberry went from its normal state of dropping calls, to going midnight black whenever I spoke with someone for more than five minutes. I love to talk and found myself tragically "speechless."

I drank the Apple Kool-Aid after using a Mac laptop at my last job and after observing friends coo over their iPhones. For most of my life I've been a PC girl. But, when I was little, my family had an Apple IIGS. I could play Wheel of Fortune on it, and a very ghetto avatar of Vanna White would clap. At school, I lived out my thrill-seeking elementary school days playing Oregon Trail in the computer lab with classmates. When I was in junior high, I found it mind boggling that I could talk with friends via AOL Instant Messenger on dial-up. In 2011, here I was making my triumphant return to Apple ownership, and in an anticlimactic turn, Apple delivered the 4S iPhone and not the 5 version. The iPhone 5 was rumored to have a 3D pop-out screen and a 3D pop-out light-keyboard.

I got my mitts on the 4S, and Siri and I are quickly falling in love. She's not perfect, but she can read me my text messages and deliver them too. If I tell her, "I love you," she has sarcastic and delightful responses like "Oh, stop," "You are the wind beneath my wings" and "Our love of each other is like two long shadows kissing without hope of reality." She proves that technology can be simultaneously frightening, poetic and wistful. Siri is my sassy robot BFF.

The Blackberry ("Crackberry") and the iPhone have been blamed for people's deteriorating social skills and newfound inability to disconnect from work. Now that I've joined the Apple cult, I can report that the iPhone is both amazing and creepy. Not only can I tell my phone robot what to do, I can choose to never disconnect myself from social media, and my phone can geographically track my every move, including where I am when taking photographs. Perhaps we should start shaking the "Apple" tree to find Big Brother. 

The same week I got the phone, I went on a work trip to Los Angeles to attend a fabulously nerdy blog and technology conference. I found myself surrounded by thousands of "computer geeks" who totally got what I was only beginning to comprehend after emerging from my apparent Blackberry rock. As per usual, attendees sat through sessions like school children in study hall passing notes via Twitter. I've been on "the Twitter," as my Twitter-challenged friends like to call it; I understand its perks. But, who was really listening to the sessions? Who's listening to each other while tweeting at dinner, posting to Facebook while with friends or playing "Angry Birds" at parties?  

Guy Kawasaki, who worked closely with Steve Jobs at Apple, spoke at the conference about how Google+ is the future. It's predicted, he said, that everything we do on the Internet will ultimately converge into one complex, indexed Google identity. To reluctantly quote Melissa Gorga from the Real Housewives of New Jersey, everything we do is literally "on display."

If you've recovered from gagging, think about reality TV's growth alongside the expansion of our capabilities on the Internet and alongside our growing desire to showcase ourselves via social media. Facebook, which started when I was a sophomore or junior in college, is so embedded in our collective culture now; people now want to be stars in their own lives. I think we're increasingly finding ourselves in a voyeuristic feedback loop with little substance. Rarely have people commented on the prevalent social media and reality TV freak shows until Kim Kardashian's wedding-divorce debacle, resulting in the first substantial public outcry I've witnessed. 

I can ask Siri to think for me. I can tell my car to unlock for me. I can tell my TiVo to tape for me. Meanwhile, I can't get my mail courier to drop off my mail when my door label falls off. I think artificial intelligence is making some of us dumber. The pace at which we consume information is making us impatient. The monetary and social capital we afford to those without talent is too great. Our priorities are all off. I love my new phone, but I think it's making me more ADD than my Blackberry did. I am part of a generation with more information at our fingertips than ever before, yet I think many of us are overloaded and lack the drive, and perhaps the mental muscles, for skepticism.

I grew up with the weekly observance of Shabbat in my home and Friday night dinners were a break from the week's distractions, when my family and I could enjoy a long meal together with real conversation. Now, I don't often observe the Sabbath unless I'm visiting my family or attending a Jewish event. However, my roommate, with a modern Orthodox background, has sought out new ways to observe. She has stayed overnight with either a rabbi's family or an Orthodox family for Shabbat, after connections she made through a Jewish educational group. Recently, she went to the family's house and spent the night with other guests to observe the Sabbath. She and the guests didn't necessarily know each other or the hosts very well. In observance of the Sabbath, my roommate reported that she and others "unplugged"-they had a 24-hour break from cell phones and computers. My roommate said staying with these families provided a meaningful connection; she spent time with their children and enjoyed a meal that lasted several hours with rich conversation. She described it as becoming part of the family, relaxing and escaping from technology. She said "unplugging" helped her to feel engaged and connected.  

It's scarcely fathomable for many of us to put our phones in "airplane mode" while flying, let alone unplug completely. My roommate placed herself in a situation where she didn't know the hosts and guests, and let herself get to know them without Google stalking, Facebook stalking, Twitter and the like. Perhaps it's archaic by modern standards, but people have been getting to know each other in real life ("IRL" for you acronym geeks) for centuries. Our online personas sometimes create an artificial blockade and we can't just talk without researching each other first.

I'm not shaking my finger at technology or social media. The out-pouring of emotion and sentiments after Steve Jobs' passing speaks to a global desire to stay "connected." And, Siri might take over the world someday, after all. (Don't anger the robots.) However, I miss some of what makes us human, too.

One of my favorite shows on TV is House, MD. I find entertainment and comfort in its formulaic medical mystery plot which includes a side story that reveals a personal side to one or more of the characters. My boyfriend ridicules the show and says that anyone could make five guesses as how to treat someone medically, and eventually get it right.

Dr. House treats without waiting or even testing for medical problems. He and his team listen to a list of symptoms and then diagnose and treat some obscure illness before another symptom emerges that refutes the previous theory. Dr. House himself is a recovering addict and demonstrates sociopathic behaviors.

I thought of Dr. House when the Wall Street Journal published a report about the pretty drastic spread of Americans taking psychiatric drugs including a sharp rise in antipsychotics and ADHD medications.

If the laws of supply and demand apply to psychiatric medication, the increase would be due to the medication being helpful. You wouldn’t take ibuprofen unless it helped your pain. The same would seem to be true for psychiatric medication.

But here is the question that is harder to answer.

Why are Americans so depressed? Why are we obsese? Why are we anxious? Why are we OCD? Are these issues more prevalent today than ever in history, and what happens when these medications, as they may, stop working?

Previous generations had to deal with their siblings dying from the flu and childbirth. They starved during the Great Depression. They were drafted into foreign wars.

They didn’t have TIVO.

Our lives are considerably easier, yet overall we are more depressed and anxious.

Perhaps unlike our great or great-great grandparents, our expectations for life are just too high. They rejoiced in penicillin and a good meal. According to Buddhism, the extinction of desire is Nirvana. If we want less would we eat less, obsess less, be less disappointed?

I know it’s not so simple. The brain is a complicated place. It just scares me that we focus so much on the cure when our understanding of the causes is so much less certain.

It’s like Dr. House is treating us for psychiatric problems, and if you’ve ever watched the show, that can’t be good public policy.

{{20442}}

I’m stressed that I didn’t complete everything on my to-do list at work yesterday, and I didn’t have time to pick up my dry cleaning, so I have to fit that in today. I also have a date tonight—what am I going to wear? …

These sorts of thoughts occupy our minds daily, the minutia of day-to-day life. It all seems so important in the moment, like life would end without completing that to-do list. Even though really, life as we know it will likely continue, regardless of what gets crossed off. But, what if it didn’t?

In my prior job, I worked with a sweet, generous and hard-working woman who managed our office. One day, as we were about to leave the office, she got a phone call, on her cell, from her doctor. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Her life changed in a matter of seconds and her previous stresses, like her to-do list and errands, became abstract and lost the type of significance they held in her life just moments before. She focused more on family, her treatment, and getting enough rest. The to-do list and errands later took on meaning, not because they seemed important the way they did before, but because they sometimes helped her feel healthy and fulfilled, distracting her from fear and pain. Her view on life and priorities shifted, and at that time I truly learned about our mortality, and my view on life started to shift, too.

A couple weeks ago I went shoe shopping at Nordstrom. Although I went for brown leather riding boots, I got side-tracked by a pair of plush moccasin boots. I didn’t purchase the boots because they didn’t seem too practical for trudging through the Chicago snow. This was kind of a dilemma, because they were so cute, but I couldn’t justify the expense if I couldn’t get through the snow in them. The other day, while driving back into the city from the burbs, my mind somehow fell on these boots again and eventually my mind wandered to, “But what if I couldn’t trudge through the snow? What if, physically, I couldn’t navigate the snow?” Now this would be a legitimate dilemma. I brought myself back to earth, criticizing myself for fixating on such a silly material possession …

About four years ago, a dear friend of mine stumbled upon an ill-marked construction site and fell several feet. Due to serious spinal cord injuries, he now will rely on a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Recently, I had a conversation with him and he told me that now, his life is all about “perspective.” He no longer stresses over the little things and allows himself to appreciate what brings him happiness, even if it’s just short-term gratification. Life’s too short to worry about every little thing and it’s also too short to disregard what’s going to bring us pleasure. I think we forget that, and I think those of us who are lucky, and I mean really lucky enough to have our health and physical capabilities, too easily forget that in our daily lives.

This Thanksgiving, I’m grateful for my health and loved ones, but I’d also like to thank those who have touched me and taught me strength by example. I’m thankful for the perspective they have given me and how they have reminded me to enjoy the pleasures in life that often go un-noticed due to the minor stresses and concerns running through our brains like a ticker tape. This holiday season, as we’re reminded about all we should be thankful for, let’s also try to remember not to sweat the small stuff.

This is my second year as the Turkey Talk expert and I could not be more excited. I have to admit that after the glamour of last year’s Turkey Talk (I had solved all of last year’s frenzy of turkey troubles), I went through a period of withdrawal. I waited for more emails, I hoped for phone calls, I even prompted strangers in the grocery store to tell me their kitchen enigmas. I was ready, willing and able.

For those of you who do not know, here is the skinny. The very popular and informative www.Koshereye.com has teamed up with the folks at David Elliot Poultry Farms, myself and Avrum Wiseman to provide home cooks everywhere with Thanksgiving tips, recipes, advice and expert advice for solving your turkey troubles.

This is the zenith of the year for me. I love Thanksgiving and for most of my life, I have loved helping people prepare fabulous meals. I realized that the turkey presents challenges for most home cooks and I want to help you. Most folks only cook a whole turkey only once a year. The turkey is this large, slippery thing that is finicky to cook, hard to manage, and can somehow end up dry and undercooked all at the same time.

Thanksgiving, while not a Jewish holiday, is an important holiday for American Jews. It is the day when we can celebrate exactly the same as everyone else. We can jump in the car after dinner and visit friends, have the ballgame on in the background and eat much the same menu, with a few tweaks here and there, as any other American. This great country allows us to do all of that and to celebrate our Jewish holidays Jewishly, and I as a patriotic, American-Jew am going to have my turkey and eat it, too.

I hope that if you have turkey troubles, kitchen conundrums and other culinary enigmas, you will tune in to Koshereye and give us a shout out, check out my blog www.cheflauraskosher.com and have a wonderful and thankful Thanksgiving.

I’m always looking for healthy products, something that will give me a bigger bang for my nutritional buck. I took a wild night out recently and strolled the aisles of Whole Foods, and found a litany of items I’ve never seen before. My main objective was to buy some milk, but I made a few other purchases. One of which was a cool product I saw online called, Garden Good, from Mama Jess. It’s a pasta sauce that has carrots and sweet potato listed as ingredients—being a nutrition geek, I thought that was awesome. We made some quinoa pasta, tossed the sauce on top, and really enjoyed it! The next step was to interview Mama Jess, a local health food expert. Our short phone call ran long and I learned a ton!

Tell us about your background: 
I come from a food science background. I worked in food development, brokerage, and with ingredients. I developed a lot of food products, but never got to launch my own brand. My past experience was a big help. I always wanted to lunch my own product. 

What was your inspiration for Garden Good and Bean Good? 
My children were my inspiration, hands down. When my son suddenly stopped eating carrots and sweet potatoes. I worked on recipes to get more vegetables into both my sons’ diets. Garden Good was a family favorite. My husband once joked, you should sell this, and here we are.  

I created Bean Good because I love beans. They are a great source of protein and fiber. And, most kids do not like beans so this is an easy way to get them into their diets.

This sounds a little like Jessica Seinfeld—did she influence you? 
I really like what Jessica is doing. People often think that I’m her because of my products and first name, but these are all my recipes, and my ideas. I do like her cookbook and have made a few things. I thought it was a little time consuming for the average mom. I wanted a product that was easy for parents and nutritious.

What do you think of all the Fiber One bars and other products with Inulin and Chicory Root? 
Real fiber from fruits, vegetables, and grains fills you up with less. The fiber, in Fiber One bars, is not natural, and I always prefer the natural route.

What about fiber powders? 
I’m not against powders and fiber supplements; I prefer to get my fiber from food. There’s a connection when you chew your food that sends a message to your brain that you are getting full. It’s also important to read the labels and make sure you aren’t getting fillers or artificial ingredients added to your supplement.  

What’s the biggest problem for children: portion control, food choices, or something else? 
Hands down, the number one problem is advertising of junk food. With the dyes, artificial everything, they pull in children and it starts at a very early age. It is going to take years to change this, along with legislation. And it will be a very expensive battle. Everything falls on parents, and it’s hard when [advertisers have] basically brainwashed our children. 

The number two issue is vegetables. Only four percent of kids are eating enough veggies. It’s one of the reasons I created my two current products.

The organic movement is gaining more and more steam, more products, like yours, are organic. Do we need all organic diets? 
I don’t think everything needs to be organic, but I recommend using the dirty dozen list and buying those products organic. The only argument against organics is cost but for your family it might be worth it. There’s a study I recently read, where they gave children non-organic food, then all organic diets for a week, tested their urine, and after a week of organic eating, there were no pesticides in their urine.  

Right now everyone has some vitamin-filled product. What’s your feeling on that? 
In the industry, we refer to that, as “fairy dust.” It’s all marketing. Some companies use such a small amount that it really has no effect. It’s much better to eat whole foods and vegetables. You get much more out of it than a drink or even a smoothie.

If you did the Oprah favorite things episode, what foods would you list?

1. GoodBelly: Digestive health is very important and GoodBelly has great products that contain probiotics, which aid in digestion. If you are going to give your children a yogurt product, they have a great selection. During cold and flu season I make sure we eat more probiotics. I like their juice drink and their GoodBelly Shots.

2. Z-Bars: I buy these bars for my kids. My favorite flavor is the s’mores. These are great because they have no high fructose corn syrup or artificial sweeteners. And actually taste really good.

3. Lara Bars: They make my favorite granola bars. They are all natural and taste great.

4. Tinkyada Rice Pasta: I love their penne pasta. It has a great pasta taste and it fills you up a lot better than regular pasta. It’s also good for those with gluten allergies.

5. Quinoa: I love quinoa. I’ve been eating it for a while, and it’s great to see more people talking about it and using it.

What’s the future of Mama Jess? 
Brown rice, snap, crackle, pop! I’ve been experimenting to try and get that same taste and sound, from brown rice cereal as Rice Crispy cereal. When something is fun to eat, kids like it, and that noise is definitely fun. The problem is that cereal turns right into sugar and your children get no nutrition. That might be my next product. You could also use it to make Rice Crispy Treats.

Even with a quick game of word association, Jess is a complex carb girl:
Cookie: Kashi makes my favorite
Tomato: Sauce
Carbs: Whole grain
Treadmill: The gym

Aside from having read children’s books to my younger sister and cousins, and then my own kids, I actually took a class in children’s literature in college, much to my parents’ joy. Also, there are tons of lists about which books to read to your kids, but no lists of the ones not to. I know for many of you Oy!sters, I’m probably ripping on some of your favorite childhood stories, but try to bear with me—I mean this all in good fun.

1. “Goodnight Moon” by Margaret Wise Brown 

It starts off fine, with a list of things in a child’s room. Although, why a “great green room”? Aren’t kids’ bedrooms small and cozy? And is no one upset at the “mouse” loose in a baby’s room? If it’s a pet, why isn’t it caged? Anyway, the book has a simple task— relist all of these things and say goodnight to them to help a child ease from wakefulness to slumber. But it fails in this task. It adds things that were not listed at first: light, clocks, socks, stars, air, the Moon itself. It leaves out the telephone, the very first thing mentioned. It rhymes “Moon” with… “Moon.” It adds “Good night, nobody”— a blank page!— when there is not “nobody” there. In fact, there is a lady whispering “Hush,” who is then acknowledged. And why is there a “bowl of mush” in the bedroom? How many times do I have to say it: No food in the bedroom!  

A better choice? “Goodnight, Gorilla,” by Peggy Rathmann

This adorable, mostly wordless book showcases a clever gorilla child who figures out how to sleep in a nice cozy human bed instead of his cage. It’s a good metaphor for kids who want to sleep in their parents’ bed, gently explaining they have beds of their own where they belong.

2. “Runaway Bunny” by Margaret Wise Brown 

This time, she gives us a baby bunny who is trying to individuate and declare a sense of self, imagining himself running away. The mother bunny will not allow this liberty, even in the abstract. He is not even allowed to entertain the notion of freedom. No matter what form he changes himself into, she will change form to suit, in a way that captures him and brings him back. She does not say, “When you turn into a fish, where will you swim? What places do you want to see?” She says, “I will turn into a fisherman and catch you.” This fear/hatred of her child’s freedom is more than Big Brother-ish, which would imply endless watchfulness. No, this reminds me of the quote: “It can’t be bargained with. It can’t be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever.” Which is about The Terminator.

A better choice? “Blueberries for Sal” by Robert McCloskey

A mother and daughter go blueberry picking on a lovely day. Also, a mother bear and her cub. The children end up getting separated, with each unwittingly following the wrong parent. The resolution is handled with care, and children learn not to stray… but that if they do, their parents will find them.

3. “Guess How Much I Love You?” by Sam McBratney 

More parent-child bunny dysfunctionality. This time Little Nutbrown Hare (is “nutbrown” even a color?) declares his love for Big Nutbrown Hare with expressions like, “I love you how high I can jump!” Does the parent hare say, “Aww, how sweet! Thank you, baby!” Or “What a clever way to say how much you love me! I love you, too.” Nope! He says “I love you how high I can jump!” Which, as is he is Big, is much, much higher. In fact, the entire book consists of the adult one-upping the child with his superior, adult-level size, strength, and wit. But why the competition? Why insist that his child fall short, and must love him less, simply because he is smaller? Can’t a Little creature love as largely as a Big one? And wouldn’t that be a better book— “I can love you, Parent, just as much as you love me… even though I am not as big!”

A better choice? “Pat the Bunny” by Dorothy Kunhardt

While the baby interacts with the pages, she also relates to her parents. Daddy has a scratchy face! Mommy’s ring is too big! There is a sense of warmth, closeness, and playfulness. No one is better or worse—everyone does what they can do, and that’s wonderful.

4. “Love You Forever” by Robert Munsch   

This one truly makes me ill. A mother holds her baby son and tells him: “I love you forever. I love you for always. As long as you’re living, my baby you’ll be.” Aww! But then she keeps doing this as he grows up. He’s a kid, he’s a teenager, he’s a young adult. Still, she cradles him in his sleep and tells him this. Then he’s a grown man, and he moves into a house across town. So she’s done, right? Nope! She drives over in the middle of the night. She breaks into his house, sits on his bed, cradles him in his sleep, and tells him, “As long as you’re living, my baby you’ll be.” At which point, he wakes up and screams, “Leave me alone, you psycho! Why do you think I moved across town? Why do you think I never got married? Do you know how high my analysis bills are?!” Except… he doesn’t. It is too late for him and he’s doomed. She eventually grows too old for this ritual. So now he drives over to her place in the middle of the night, holds her, and tells her, “As long as you’re living, my mommy you’ll be.” Now just look what you did… you made Dr. Freud cry!

A better choice? “Counting Kisses” by Karen Katz

Books on letters, numbers, colors, shapes, and objects abound. But along with “counting,” this book teaches the members of the family and parts of the body, basic elements of a baby’s world… and ones that are arguably more important than animal sounds. Everyone gets a turn to kiss the baby goodnight until she is all kissed out.

5. “The Giving Tree” by Shel Silverstein 

This should not be read to children. This should be handed out to members of Codependence Anonymous as a case study. It’s about a tree who loves a boy. He eats her apples and plays in her branches. Then he grows up, gets married… and builds a house out of those branches. Then he retires and cuts her down to make a canoe out of her trunk. When he is ready to die, he comes and sits on the stump, which is all she had left. And no matter how much he uses her, how much he takes, how little (actually nothing) he gives back, she loves him! Because that’s who she is. The one thing he’s made from her from the start is a doormat. If this is supposed to be the model for a parent, we’re going to have a whole lot of bratty, take-y kids running around. Oh, wait.

A better choice? Anything else by Shel Silverstein

Silverstein’s books of poetry-plus-cartoons for kids are the best since Dr. Seuss’. It’s just a shame that “Giving Tree” has become so popular, while better storybooks of Shel’s like the “Missing Piece Meets the Big O” and “Lafcadio, The Lion Who Shot Back,” are less well-known.

Year after year, these same books get trotted out as “best for babies.” Yet how many adults have examined them with a critical eye, and noticed what messages we are really sending kids when we read them? Some of the best-loved books of baby-dom are, in fact, teaching our kids all the wrong things.

There’s no better place in Chicago to watch professional sports while sipping unlimited Bloody Mary’s on a Sunday morning than Timothy O’Tooles.  This pub has it all, with a comedy club on Wednesday nights, great daily specials, and some of the most remarkable bar food in the city.

Timothy O’Tooles has two locations, with one in Gurnee near Six Flags Great America, and the other in Streeterville.  In a recent article by Metromix, the pub beat out Joe’s Bar on Weed Street for the title of “Best Bears Bar” and if you can take a hint from that, you would know that it’s a wonderful place to watch any Chicago sports team.  Locals have been flocking to the pub since 1992 and with the magnitude of Irish bars in the city, after 15 years, this one is a keeper.  There really is a flat screen TV everywhere you look.

The list goes on about the daily specials they offer but one of them is to note.  They have an unlimited Bloody Mary and Mimosa bar on Saturdays and Sundays from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m.  They provide you with the vodka, and then you do the rest with choices such as pickles, olives, and more than 40 different hot sauces.  Not only will the drinks flow, but also the Breakfast Nacho’s and Rise & Shine Burger will do the trick to get your day started off right.  If brunch isn’t your thing, then lunch and dinner have the likes of their award winning spicy Buffalo wings, Michigan Avenue salad, and a Pub Fish & Chips, all for reasonable prices.  If you want more expensive, there are options.  If you want cheaper, there are options.  However, if you want crazy, there’s the Big Timmy Challenge.  

The Big Timmy Challenge isn’t as extreme as it might sound, but nonetheless, it’s something to be proud of if you can down it.  For $19.99, you need to consume two-half pound burger patties piled high with toppings served with fries and onion rings.  If you were wondering what you get for finishing it, you get a Timothy O’Tooles t-shirt and a stomachache. 

In Chicago, it’s important that bar owners look out for their patrons and offers the best craft and micro-brews at a reasonable price.  This pub nails down the winner for an all-around venue with its beer choices such as Duvel, Three Floyd’s, a great supply of Goose Island Brews, as well as many other domestic, import and locals, 32 in total.  They also have wonderful specials such as their homemade O’Tooles Famous Holy Water or Roq Candy Martini, which features, Absolut Vodka, Hpnotiq Liqueur, sweet and sour and a splash of pineapple juice.

In their backroom, which features another bar, you can watch comedy on Wednesday nights.  As opposed to going to Second City or Improv Olympics, this show is done by up-and-coming artists like Marty DeRosa and Michael Sanchez, both very funny.  Audience members can have dinner and drinks while watching standup.  Comedians You Should Know is $5 online and $10 at the door.  If comedy isn’t in your taste, then you can jam out with Karaoke on Tuesday nights! 

With all Timothy O’Tooles has to offer, you are covered almost every day of the week.  Check out the menu and events coming up HERE.

I labeled my second child an anxious baby. My background is in psychology and I get it. I know what labels can do to people. So, I of course had consciously decided when I became a mom, I was going to try very hard not to label my children. However good my intentions were, my follow through on the notion was eh. I have a variety of different labels for each kid depending on the day. Some labels, which would be used on a good day, would indicate their talent, particular interest area or my feelings of specific, individual, affection towards them. Other labels are a little less flattering. And, of course, in my mind they are secret labels. My kids don’t outwardly know that I think this way. But I am aware that sometimes it seeps into their consciousness and some of the roles/risks and approaches they take in life mirror this. Whether I like it or not.

I couldn’t leave the house much because he refused a bottle. If we left him with a sitter or good intentioned friends, we would never see the sitter again and would have to pay friends. In all fairness, he was just a baby. But in truth, he was incredibly difficult to soothe. He slept terribly. I slept in his rocking chair more than I slept in my bed. After two years of this, I was ready to die. Someone suggested he was lonely. We moved him and his crib in with his big brother. Upon arrival, he declared, “I want to be a BIG boy!” So we broke down the crib and put him in a twin bed with rails. This is the part where the kid realizes he is no longer behind bars and begins a two year ritual of running into his parents room four to five times a night screaming, yelling, crying about one thing or another. In turn, I screamed, cried and yelled a lot myself. It was a special time. Hallmark moments all around.

As he got older, my son started talking about being afraid. Afraid of people, dogs, monsters, dying—you name it, he worried about it. His eyes would fill with tears at the prospect of going to the circus because he had never been before. Going to a play with Grandma was nerve racking. No sleepovers. New situations brought about fantasies of how totally terrible he JUST KNEW fill-in-the-blank would be. A trip we talked about taking as a whole family back to his sister’s birthplace in Ethiopia was a no-go for him because he was terrified of all the shots. We came to expect and deal with resistance around just about any new situation. He was the one we had to coax. He was our frightened child.

We were always quick to reassure him. Make phone calls ahead to make people aware that he was nervous/sensitive/scared. We did our best to cushion the big, bad world for him. I invented pixie dust—my MAC eye glitter that I put in a small crystal heart-shaped ring holder. I told him it was magic. I told him it would give him sweet dreams. I would put a tiny bit on his forehead every night. Some mornings he would come down to breakfast and it would be obvious that he had gotten out of bed after I kissed him goodnight because his entire face would be dusted in glimmer. I spent a great deal of time fearing anxiety was going to swallow him up. That fear would rule his life. And then suddenly, right under my nose, he morphed into a kid of courage.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was gradual. And completely initiated in his own time. But I realize as he was changing I was hanging on to who I had decided he was. If he demonstrated bravery, I was surprised. And looking back I realize he showed courage often, but I wasn’t bringing that into the definition of him. I thought of it as a moment. A fluke. The latest came when my son managed (cause “unknown”) to cut the tip of his tongue with a scissors. The blood was unbelievable. My oldest near fainted and threw towels at me while gagging and covering his eyes. My youngest boy exclaimed, “He cut off his tongue?!” But my frightened kid? Cool as a cucumber. As we rode to the ER in the rain, he bled into towel after towel asking level headed questions. He took the shot in his tongue, in his arm and the stitches that followed without flinching. It was unbelievable. And that was my frightened son.

So I’ve been contemplating. How many more lessons do I need in order to learn that holding on to my preconceived notions of how I see my children only limits my ability to experience the here and now? They are growing, changing, emerging right under my nose. If I spend too much time trying to anticipate what’s going to happen or who they are going to become, I think I might just miss out on who they are in this very moment, who, for all intents and purposes is who they are. And today—today, my son says he wants to go to Ethiopia.

Earlier this year, my wife got a “too good to pass up” job offer outside of our nation’s capital.  She arrived in April to start work, and I figured it would be reasonably good form for our new marriage if we lived together, so I quit my job in Chicago and headed for the East Coast.  Now that I have been living here for six months, I thought I would do a head-to-head comparison. 

DC vs. Chicago:  Which city is better? (an un-OY-ficial match-up)

Origins
Chicago:  Founded around the turn of the 19^th century from a muddy swamp on the shores of Lake Michigan.
DC :  Also founded around that time, also in a swamp along the banks of the Potomac.
Winner:  DRAW (pretty much the same start)

Namesake
Chicago:  Native American name for a smelly wild onion that grew in the area. 
DC:  Named for George Washington, our nation’s first President.
Winner:  DC (Smelly Onion? Really?)

Most Recognizable Politician
Chicago:  President Barack Obama 
DC:  President Barack Obama
Winner:  Draw (I have now seen the motorcade block miles of traffic in both cities!)

Pizza
Chicago:  Famous Chicago Deep Dish and Stuffed Crust Pizzas began here!  Uno’s, Giordano’s, Lou’s, Gino’s, just to name a few. 
DC:  A lot of specialty pizza places like Pete’s New Haven Style Apizza.  That’s New Haven, Connecticut, so it’s not really a DC original.  There’s also Amy’s Neapolitan Pizza.  Again, this is an imported style and isn’t Neapolitan a flavor of ice cream?
Winner:  Chicago (No contest!  Chicago has the best pizza!)

Museums
Chicago:  The Shedd Aquarium is the second largest aquarium in the country and the Art Institute has the second largest French Impressionist collection.  Most of the museums have occasional free days.
DC:  Home of the world’s largest museum complex, the Smithsonian, with 19 museums and galleries, nine research centers and the National Zoo (with pandas).  Did I mention they are all free, all the time, every day!
Winner:  DC (It’s hard to beat FREE!)

Most Visited Tourist Attraction
Chicago:  Navy Pier, visited by 8.6 million people every year.  Navy Pier has shops, the Shakespeare Theater, an indoor botanical garden, the IMAX, a convention center, a Ferris wheel and fireworks. 
DC:  The National Mall, visited by 25 million people every year.  The Mall is home to some of the most recognizable memorials and monuments in America— Lincoln, Washington, WWII, Korea, Vietnam are all a part of the mall.
Winner:  DC (Fireworks over Lake Michigan are pretty cool, but how can you compete with all that history and honor rolled into one park?  25 million people a year agree.)

Getting Around by Car
Chicago:  The streets are on a pretty simple and orderly grid that holds true throughout most of the city.  The blocks are mostly spaced out so that eight blocks is a mile and you can figure out approximate distances. 
DC:  The streets are in no order at all.  There are angled streets, curvy streets, traffic circles and streets that just start and stop without any real reason.  Some say DC streets were designed to keep foreign armies from ever being able to reach the Capitol.  It seems to have also made it impossible for current residents to get anywhere.
Winner:  Chicago (I’m still lost in DC—seriously. I’ve been driving for two days straight now, trying to find my home.)

Getting Around by Public Transit
Chicago:  Second biggest transit system in America.  $2.25 allows you to ride as far as you can get for as long as it takes.  It tends to be slow, smelly and often scary late at night.
DC:  One of the cleanest subways in the world thanks to strictly enforced no food policy.  The seats are cushy though, the floor is carpeted and the stations are air conditioned.  The whole thing shuts down at midnight during the week and has a complicated fare structure based on time and distance (over 400,000 possible fare combinations).
Winner:  DC (You do get what you pay for, but the few extra bucks get you a much more comfortable and almost luxurious ride.)

Famous Fires
Chicago:  The Great Chicago Fire of 1871, allegedly started by Mrs. O’Leary’s cow (though later theories attributed the fire to either a drunk guy with one leg or a meteor), burned and gave way to a new era of building that changed architecture forever. 
DC:  The Burning of Washington, during the War of 1812.  The British had captured our nation’s capital and burned some of the most important buildings in the capital including the Capitol, the White House and the U.S. Treasury building.  
Winner:  Chicago (Chicago gets the slight edge here because the fire had such an impact on the city’s history moving forward and because of the song that school children sing about the song.  Also Chicago now has its Fire Academy at the very spot the Great Chicago Fire started!)

2011 Disasters
Chicago:  Snowmageddon 2011 was the third largest snowfall in Chicago history.  Hundreds of people were left stranded for hours on Lake Shore Drive. 
DC:  This fall DC weathered an earthquake and a large tropical storm just a few days apart from each other.  The Earthquake knocked over a few lawn chairs and startled a few people, but no major damage was reported.  Tropical Storm Irene proved to be much more of a problem in other parts of the country.
Winner:  Chicago (I can’t imagine spending the night in my car on LSD!)

I could go on for days putting one city against the other; however I think for this match-up we’ll call it after 10 rounds.  I realize there are many other categories to look at, like beaches, parks and recreation, tallest buildings, mayors, other elected officials (by the way DC can’t actually elect any voting representatives in Congress, hence the license plate motto that reads “Taxation Without Representation”).  Perhaps those topics can be revisited in a future post.

And with five points for each win (I gave half a point to each during the draws) it looks like it’s a tie.  Really, a tie?  Hmm….

What’s the tiebreaker?  Perhaps those that know both cities well enough can add your comments and weigh in for the next un-OY-fficial match-up of Chicago vs. DC.  For the moment, though I am writing for Oy!Chicago, the jury is out as to which city is better, which makes this post:  To Be Continued…

Let’s be honest, I don’t usually use this space for anything other than my matchmaking musings, but I’m in the middle of participating in Do The Write Thing (DTWT), a three-day program held during the Jewish Federations of North America’s (JFNA) annual General Assembly (GA), which gathers young editors, writers and multimedia specialists for workshops on mainstream and Jewish journalism. The program is a joint project of the World Zionist Organization (WZO), American Zionist Movement (AZM), and the Jewish Agency for Israel (JAFI). I thought I’d share some of my insights and experiences as I go through the program as a student for a few days with my fellow Oy!sters.

First of all, I never thought I’d be in a space filled with so many Jews at once. I believe that there are 3,000 Jews from all over North America and Israel converged in Denver right now. Yesterday, during the opening plenary, you could barely see the people across the room. But you could feel the energy. One of my heroes, Congresswoman Debbie Wasserman Schultz spoke to the crowd about how important Israel is to her personally and to the President of the United States. She urged everyone in the room to recognize and appreciate the overwhelming bipartisan support for the Jewish State of Israel in the US government and to encourage our politicians to stop using, “Israel as a political football used for a partisan game.” She got a pretty good-sized standing ovation. The only standing ovation of the day, I might add.

This morning I attended a really fascinating session titled, What do Israelis Really Care About Anyway?” The panel included, the new editor-in-chief of Haaretz, Aluf Benn, Haviv Rettig Gur, chief spokesperson for JAFI, Rebecca Caspi, senior VP Israel and Overseas for JFNA and Amir Schaham, director of programming, Metrowest-Israel, United Jewish Communities of MetroWest, NJ.

So what did I learn?

• Israelis consider the greatest threat to the State of Israel to be the “social demise.” Fears of Iran ranked second. According to Caspi, worry over “the price of cottage cheese appeared many more times than the Iranian bomb.”

• More Israelis watching the finale of Master Chef than Bibi’s speech at the UN.

• 54% of Israelis believe Obama is pro-Israel

• 74% of Israelis believe the economic situation is good

• 62% of Israelis support recognition of any type of marriage in Israel

• 79% of Israelis supported the release of Gilad Shalit “We sat glued to our TVs till we saw him safely home,” said Caspi. “We cried and we are thrilled and every single one of us is nervous about the consequences.”

• Less than a quarter of Israelis are optimistic about peace. But, the vast majority of Israelis (70%) are in favor of the two state solution and massive withdrawal of territories if it leads to a complete and true lasting peace. However at this stage, most don’t think such an agreement could or would give Israelis peace right now.

On that note, while I still have many more sessions to attend and lots more to learn, I’m going to wrap this thing up so I can head to lunch. I hope this gives you a small flavor of what’s going on here…more from Denver soon! 

We prepped for weeks. Ben had the Halloween drill down cold. We fake knocked on our own front door to practice saying “trick or treat” and “thank you.” We dug his Halloween bag out of storage and explained that it would be filled with candy soon. He stared longingly at his costume, hanging on his closet door and prompting the daily question, “Halloween is today?” He was so sweetly excited.

Luckily for Ben, Halloween came early in the form of a preschool party and costume parade. Not to mention the party in his gymnastics class, the party at the Mom-Tot class, plus Halloween itself.

The class lined up to start the parade, little puppy dogs, fairy princesses and Spidermen eager to show off their costumes. When prompted to join his friends, my pirate meandered over, glancing back at the trucks and trains he would rather be smashing, a pout firmly planted on his face. We walked to the first classroom, full of four-year-olds, parent helpers and teachers, paraded through the crowd, and circled back to the door, ready for the next room. Except for the pirate, who had spotted a train set and decided to ditch the parade.

As his classmates went on to the next room, I coaxed, pleaded, and bribed the pirate to move on. The kids in the class watched as I tried to reason with a two-year-old, and the teachers obviously wanted to continue with their lessons. Ben got louder and more decisive each time he said, “Not leaving.” I finally picked him up, absorbing a brutal kick in the gut and a possibly blown eardrum, and walked towards the door. But before we got there, the sneaky pirate wriggled his way out of my arms and onto the floor, where he proceeded to throw the most epic tantrum I had ever seen.

I looked at Ben. I looked at the teachers. My mind went blank.

I scooped him up, held him so tightly neither of us could breathe, and dashed out of the room. When we were far enough away from the scene of the crime, I put him down. He sprinted back to the train table room, threw himself against the closed door, and continued to wail. I dragged him down the hallway, feeling more and more like The Mom Who Can’t Control Her Child, and wanting to melt into the carpet.

Ben’s teacher and classmates appeared at the end of the hall. He stopped crying, grabbed his pirate hat from the floor, and sprinted over. He grabbed his teacher’s hand, smiled, and asked if it was snack time yet.

I could only shake my head in awe at the classic toddler split personality, and brace myself for the party at gymnastics, the Mom-Tot class, and Halloween itself.

Listening to stories about my family is a surefire way to keep me enthralled. It has been since I was little. My parents had me quite late, and I missed out on knowing a huge segment of my relatives, including both my maternal grandparents. Stories are how I connect with that part of myself.

My parents like to say that our family business is storytelling. We all rely on it to some degree professionally, but we do it for fun at the drop of a hat. I had great uncles, the sons of immigrants, who used to jump off bridges into the Allegheny River in Pittsburgh, long before it was the most livable city in America. My grandfather, who was 6’4”, was hired to be a school principal on Kelly’s Island in Lake Erie because the previous principal had been tossed out a second-floor window. One that always blows me away is my father’s story of his great aunt, who, when he visited as a small boy, told him that she’d been sitting in that very chair when her father walked in, hung up his coat and hat and said, “They’ve done it, they’ve shot the president, Mr. Lincoln is dead.”

I have an insatiable appetite for these stories, as I suspect many of us do. I remember once asking my mother how far back our family remembers go. She said there used to be a saying, “cold as a Frenchman,” which we got because come spring, when my predecessors in Lithuania did the plowing, every year they turned up bones of Napoleonic soldiers who’d died marching against Russia.

Thanksgiving is prime storytelling time. Not only do you have all those hours waiting for the turkey to roast, you have those glorious, tryptophan-hazy post-meal evenings to sit around and let the conversation wander. I’m particularly looking forward to seeing my two young nieces who live in Seattle, who are at a wonderful age for asking questions about our family. We’re a far-flung bunch – I like to tell people that I’ve got one sibling in every time zone – but Thanksgiving has always been a great time to catch up.

There are other benefits to swapping stories over the holiday. Aside from Turkey Day and the inevitable crush of pre-Christmas mania, November is also National Family Health History Month. Family health history is one of those “secret weapons” in health care that, when used properly, can open up a whole field of potentially life-improving options. Preventive medicine loves family health histories. For instance, if you start talking about particular health issues that have appeared in multiple members of your family, you may wonder if you’re at risk for these issues yourself. They can range from diabetes and high blood pressure to an increased risk of developing cancer. Ashkenazi Jews are often particularly attentive to patterns of cancer in their families, because of increased incidence of cancer predisposition mutations in their BRCA genes. If you’ve learned that you’re a carrier for one of the “Jewish” genetic disorders, other family members may want to investigate testing too. This information is useful: your health care provider will always want to know if you’ve made some connections or discovered something new in your background.

I get it if the thought of talking about health issues, particularly scary ones, is kind of a downer for Thanksgiving. (My grandfather, who was a doctor, used to say that when he got together with older friends or relatives, it always became “the organ recital” – an exhaustive catalog of all their latest aches, pains, operations and embarrassing prescriptions.) But it doesn’t have to be excruciating. There are a number of free resources online to help get the conversation started. Even the act of putting together a family tree – a pedigree, in a medical context – is a great start and can be a fun activity, especially with a healthy dash of anecdotes. (And goodness knows I have a hard time keeping my gigantic, sprawling list of relatives straight in my head.)

This year is going to be nuts at the old homestead. My sister and her family are coming, and all five of us will be staying at our parents’ house, along with Gus, the 80-pound basset hound. In addition, I also have a serialized novel to keep writing, the GRE to study for and graduate school applications to map out. There are only so many hours in the day. But I am looking forward to the moment when I can sit down, look around at my family and pose my favorite question: “Hey, remember that time when…?”

I forgot about you
About the scar I want to repair
Representing the memories I have been trying to forget.

You are elevated, raised, tender
I hoped you would be flat, translucent, invisible.

It was only at 3:00 p.m. today that I remembered you.
You came up in the midst of scheduling appointments, arranging meetings, planning life.

And there you unexpectedly emerged—to remind me that this journey is not a sprint but rather is a marathon.

I need to slow down.
I need to breathe deep.
I need to refocus.

Life loses meaning when led by urgency.

As I prepare to remove the scar that holds the memories of the last 10 months
May I continue to remember that cancer does not define me but is a part of me.

As the scars heal, and my mind quiets—may cancer continue to wait till 3:00—be remembered by accident, and eventually become a profoundly meaningful afterthought.

I was chatting with a couple during last weekend’s wedding happy hour, when the male half referenced a budding actor that he was “friends with.”

Right on cue, his wife looked at him and said, “Are you friends? Or are you Facebook friends?”

Turns out this guy and the actor in question went to high school together. I’m not sure if they have spoken since. But on Facebook, they have extended and accepted connection requests.

My friend told me that he and his wife have this conversation all the time. He liberally throws around the “friend” label, she’s a bit more selective. Because of this, they’ve come up with some friendship criteria. Namely, if his wife–who he has been with for ten years–hasn’t met this person, or hasn’t at least heard of him, then he’s not a friend.

She’d never heard of the actor friend.

You can imagine how excited this conversation made me. It was pretty weird, actually.

If you’re in a long-term couple, I think this rule is right-on. If you’ve never had occasion to introduce someone to your partner–if you’ve never even seen fit to mention someone–then he probably isn’t really your friend. He’s your Facebook friend. Or, as the wife explained to her husband, “that’s not your friend, that’s someone you know.”

It’s amazing how often we confuse those two things.

Since the does-your-spouse-know-him criteria doesn’t work for everyone, I proposed this rule as well. If you haven’t spoken to someone, at least via email, in two years, then she’s not a friend. She’s a Facebook friend. She’s someone you know.

I keep trying to think of “friends” of mine who would break this rule. People I haven’t spoken to in two years  but I still consider my friends. I can’t.

What do you think of these friend-or-facebook-friend measures? Are they appropriate litmus tests? Is there a better one?

Schmoozing is part of my job description. I go to breakfasts, lunches, dinners and events in between to meet people. I build coalitions. I form new relationships and maintain existing ones.

My job stems from the American Jewish Committee’s longstanding belief that as a small minority in America, we Jews can only ensure our full participation in society, with all the rights and privileges that go along with that, if other minority groups enjoy the same rights and privileges. That’s the impetus for a lot of our diplomatic outreach, too: In addition to working with Chicago’s ethnic and religious communities, I’ve been getting to know Consuls General from Latin American countries (those years of Spanish are paying off!).

I meet people on their ground. Sometimes, I’m the first Jewish person they meet. Sometimes, I’m the next representative of an organization they know and respect. Mostly, the setting is cordial. We discuss political issues, but rarely do we get into outright arguments.

Which leads me to the question I’ve been mulling for the past couple of months: If we have a relationship but choose to avoid some subjects (the hard-hitting topics, for example), is it truly an equal relationship?

A couple of months ago, I listened to Eboo Patel, the founder and president of the Interfaith Youth Core, talk about the state of Muslim-Jewish relations in America. He spoke movingly about the most recent collaboration between Muslims and Jews – last year’s Cordoba Center debate and New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s impassioned defense of the “Ground Zero Mosque” (largely going against his party and his closest advisers). Cordoba, of course, calls to mind another era of Muslim-Jewish collaboration: the Center chose the name of the capital of the Al-Andalus Caliphate, whose rule marked the “Golden Age” of Muslim-Jewish relations in Spain between the eighth and tenth centuries when the two communities lived side by side in relative peace and made great contributions to the advancement of science, philosophy, medicine and culture.

Patel also pointed out that Jews and Muslims share many qualities: a deep connection to their history; an enduring set of values; a historical connection to the Middle East; a focus on family. The gist of Patel’s talk centered on finding safe ground, talking about successful collaborative efforts beyond the high-profile Cordoba case – such as an Iftar in the Synagogue, an increasingly popular event in which Muslims and Jews engage in their respective prayer and join for a festive meal celebrating the end of the Ramadan fast for the day.

And yet, the 800-pound gorilla remained all but invisible. Of course, Muslims and Jews have much more to talk about beyond the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Recognizing the myriad of existing opinions on the subject, it’s easy to choose to ignore it completely, to skirt the issue. But it’s engaging in debate on the difficult questions that tests the relationship and takes it to the next level.

The situation in the Middle East, with all its nuances, is not a topic for the first meeting. It might not even be a topic for the fifth or tenth encounter. But there has to be an understanding that eventually we will reach a level of cool-headedness and mutual respect – if not complete understanding – that would permit us to actually talk about the tiny speck of land in the Middle East that so many of us are so passionate about without getting into stereotypes and hateful speech and devolving into complete chaos.

As Jews, we are taught to welcome the stranger because “we were once strangers in a strange land.” As I schmooze my way through life, I keep this maxim close to my heart. Yes, we might disagree on pretty much everything. But we can do it respectfully. And we can still engage with each other regardless of the disagreement.

I still have vacation brain, so instead of a full length post today, I thought I’d share some photos from my trip last week to Costa Rica…and pretend I’m still there for a few more minutes of hiking, swimming and animal watching. Enjoy the pics!

My boyfriend Jason and I after taking a dip in La Fortuna Waterfall in Arenal on our first day in Costa Rica. We had to climb 500 steps to get back to the top. For those of you who’ve gone on the Birthright Israel Jilabon Hike, this was a lot like that.

The sign when you enter Arenal National Park, home to one of the many volcanoes in Costa Rica. This volcano is considered the second most active volcano in the world, second only to a volcano in Hawaii.

Us standing on top of volcanic craters leftover from the eruption that took place in 2001. Our tour guide said from this point, we’d have seven minutes to get out of the park if the volcano erupted. Great.

The wildlife in Costa Rica is amazing. This was one of the first of many lizards we saw while hiking.

The most colorful bird in Costa Rica, otherwise known as Toucan Sam. Did you know that Toucans mate for life, (my kind of bird) but they’re also mean?

Another cool looking lizard.

Crossing one of the hanging bridges in the rainforest in Arenal. This was my favorite hike in Costa Rica— if you plan a trip here, make sure to include the hanging bridges tour in Arenal in your itinerary.

This little guy is known as the blue jean frog and is extremely poisonous. He was sitting on a leaf about a foot from us on the trail in Arenal.

You can see monkeys everywhere you go in Costa Rica. This one is a Howler Monkey, he can be heard “howling” up to a mile away. After this picture was taken, one of his monkey friends decided to pee on the tourists next to us on the trail in Arenal. Glad we got out of his way!

This guy is called the Jesus Christ lizard because he can run on water. Unfortunately, he was being lazy and refused to “perform” for us. I think he resembles a miniature dinosaur.

We took a blow-up boat (so safe) down one of the many rivers in Costa Rica and ran into a bunch of these guys. They’re territorial (and mean) so you only see one at a time. We saw about a dozen on this river, which was about 11 too many for me.

My favorite moment of the trip was visiting a hermit family that lives on the river. The father is 99 years old and lives with two of his daughters on a farm. The house had dirt floors, no running water or electricity and only a roof. They fed us delicious homemade cheese, coffee and tortillas and I got to practice my rusty Spanish for a few hours. It was the highlight of the trip— even though I had to get past these guys to get there.

Jason took this photo right outside of our hotel room in Guancaste. There were more than a dozen parrots in the tree at the time. They started to take off when we came out of our room to go to dinner and that’s how he got this awesome shot.

This is one of the beaches in Manuel Antonio— my favorite area of Costa Rica. We barely got to spend an hour in the water before it started to downpour for ten hours straight. You can see it getting very ominous in the clouds.

The entrance to Manuel Antonio National Park. Another “must see” spot for anyone visiting Costa Rica. There are tons of trails and you can get lost (literally) for hours following the wildlife.

We saw this Spider Monkey in a tree as we were leaving the Manuel Antonio National Park. So adorable! Bye little guy, bye, bye Costa Rica!

Several weeks ago, I had a quarter-life crisis. (And I’m not technically old enough to be considered quarter-aged.)

I was sitting at my desk, doing some work, when an anxiety-provoking thought exploded in my brain: “You’re a grownup.”

“No, no, no,” I thought. I hadn’t even reached my first high school reunion. In my head, I started checking off qualities that I associated with being a grownup: paying your own bills? Check. Wearing professional attire more days of the week than not? Check. Feeling grumpy on Monday mornings and exuberant on Friday afternoons? Check.

It was official—I was a grownup.

I freaked out.

It’s funny. In my younger years, I was consciously aware of how much older I felt than my numeric age and how eager I was to be an adult. Unlike many of my peers, I couldn’t wait for high school to be over. I knew for a fact that those were not the best years of my life and counted down the days until graduation. I even boycotted the supposedly most important night of high school—prom.

I was passionate and hard-working in school because I longed for a career and to be taken seriously by the people I respected. My junior year of high school, I even skipped out on lunch in order to take an extra honors class. (It was totally dumb and unhealthy, but as I say, “It builds character.”)

So you would think that I’d be happy about high school and college being behind me. And for the most part, I am (although college truly was extraordinary). But realizing that I was finally at an age that I had always dreamt about, that I was never going to get my adolescence back and that I probably should have had more fun as a kid, shook me up.

There was only one thing to do and I had to do it right away. Instead of heading home after work, I took the train to a place that would have exactly what I needed: Uprise Skate Shop.

Yep.

I bought a skateboard.

It might sound crazy. Well, no, I’m pretty sure it does. I’m not the most nimble, athletic or coordinated person. I’m also not a teenage boy. But for me, a skateboard has a lot of meaning.

When I was a child, my parents (like many overbearing, well-meaning immigrant parents) were always afraid that I would get hurt, so they didn’t allow me to get certain things, mainly things with wheels that weren’t attached to me. I wasn’t allowed a scooter, and skateboards were completely out of the question (but rollerblades were acceptable.)

So when I was 14, I had my male, skateboarding best friend purchase a board for me online. It was the first significant time I actively did something my parents wouldn’t allow me to do. I had to do it. When I finally got on that board and rode down the streets, I felt like a rebel. I felt free.

Sure, I never learned how to do tricks and I never attempted to make anyone believe that I really knew what I was doing. But I loved how I felt on that board: young, reckless and independent.

Now, years later, I couldn’t wait to feel that again. I went outside my apartment, ready to ride the streets of Chicago, ready to release my inner child.

Ten minutes later, I was on the ground, chin and knuckles scraped up and bleeding. The board slid out from under me, leaving me to topple on the concrete. My face stung. Someone on the street stopped and asked if I was okay. And then all I could do was laugh.

I laughed because I had just spent money I should have saved, on a skateboard I would probably rarely ride, because I wanted to feel cool again.

But I’m grateful for the experience. I figured out that if you think you’re all grown up, you probably have a long way to go. Having a full-time job might make me more of an adult than I’ve ever been before, but it doesn’t mean that I have to lose my personality and my passion, or that life just goes downhill from here. It just means that when I’m not working, I should find things I love to do and have as much fun as possible (probably not on wheels though).

I haven’t stood on that skateboard since. It just lies around my apartment. The cats like to nap on it. But whenever I look at it, I laugh at my naiveté and foolishness.

I guess I’m not as grown up as I thought I was.

Whether a mother stays at home with a child or works, motherhood is a tough job. As a full-time working mamma, I often feel very torn between my two jobs. And I know that I’m not alone—virtually every friend and working mom I’ve had this conversation shares this feeling. And I couldn’t get through my crazy life without the support and honesty of they many working women—my friends, coworkers, pre-school moms—who have shared their feelings, experiences and great advice with me. I’m passing on some tips—some mine, some from much smarter women—in the hope that it helps a fellow mom, working at or in the home.

1. Embrace your inner half-ass. The best advice I have ever received was to embrace my inner half-ass. In other words, stop with the self-imposed stress of trying to be some sort of supermom able to work a 40+ hour work week, meet every want and need of my two-and-a-half-year-old, and still have time to bring about world peace. No one is going to ever write on my tombstone that I didn’t make gourmet dinners, only cleaned my house once a week (and I use the word clean loosely here), or didn’t serve as a school mom. And it doesn’t matter. My child is happy and loved—and that in of itself makes me one kick-ass mamma.

2. Have dinner (almost) every night with the family. It doesn’t matter if dinner (or breakfast) is take out or a three and a half minute microwave mac and cheese, carve out time to put work aside every day for the family.

3. Get the best childcare that you can afford. Yes, my nanny some months takes home more than half my paycheck. But I can’t tell you how much inner-peace it gives me to know that my daughter is with someone I completely trust, and that she adores. And selfishly, having someone in my home saves me valuable time picking up and dropping my daughter off at daycare, not having to worry when she is sick what to do, or sweating that 6 p.m. pick up deadline.

And, while this advice doesn’t apply to me (both of our families live far away), one of my friends strongly recommends that whatever child care arrangement you have, that you pay for it—don’t rely on the free sitting services of a family member or friend who might not be reliable, or follow your care instructions. In her case, she had relied on her mother who not only had a different parenting style, but had to abruptly stop when her father (my friend’s dad) became ill.

4. Form or join a working moms group. I know a couple of women who either joined or started a group for working moms, one of which was a group of working moms with kids at the same school. Having this working mom school group enables the women to feel part of the school community (not always easy when you aren’t picking up/dropping off your kids, or around to volunteer during the day), and has been a real source of moral support.

5. Press for a more flexible work schedule—and if the company says no, consider finding a new job. Companies are becoming more open to employees working from home, and flexible schedules. If your company is not one of these, ask—you just may be happily surprised at the response, and pave the way for your fellow employees. If this isn’t possible, consider finding a work situation that will better suit your situation.

6. Set up play dates on the weekends. Just because you can’t set up a play date during the week doesn’t mean you can’t aim for the weekends. Most stay-at-home moms get your schedule and would be happy to be flexible.

7. Remember to thank other moms for all they do to help the school and your kid. Just because a mom doesn’t work outside of the house doesn’t mean she is obligated to volunteer—or has all that much time either. A simple thank you goes a long way.

8. Set your priorities, and say no when you need to protect them. This can be really, really hard—especially when it’s saying no to your boss, or a loved one. But doing what is right for you and best for your family isn’t always easy—and your first job is to take care of you and your family. Set your boundaries and protect them—because if you don’t, no one else will.

9. Reach out to other parents for help when you need it. Don’t be afraid to ask other parents for help on days that schools are closed/close early. Many women have shared with me that other parents have really helped out when needed—help that is reciprocated on the weekend or at other times.

10. Tell your work-addicted, childless coworkers to get a life…nicely. I admit: I was the eager 20-something that would spend countless hours in the office past 5 p.m., trying to impress my boss and climb up the ladder. And yes, I may have rolled my eyes once or twice when my older coworkers left early to pick up their kids. But here’s the thing: no one ever explained to me that they were probably logging on from 10 to midnight, or in the office at the crack of dawn. Now I wish I had listened to my older colleagues who told me to spend more of my nights enjoying myself instead of working—because downtime truly is a luxury.

With the NBA lockout looking more likely, The Great Rabbino decided to look at who we would want to see in Israel (besides Jordan Farmar). Which NBA players would be the most intriguing stories and where should they go play.

Roger Mason Jr.
Mason Jr. played two years for Hapoel Jerusalem and that was really the last time they were relevant. Maybe Mason Jr.'s return would bring them back.

Joakim Noah
Noah's athleticism and laid back nature would fit well in Israel. Can't you just envision Noah playing for Hapoel Eilat kicking back on the beach?

Lawrence Frank
Frank's not a player but as coach he still needs to work. Bring him to Israel and watch him work his magic (I'm sure he is hoping to pull some rabbits out of his hat in Detroit anyway).

Will Bynum
Bynum had success for Maccabi Tel Aviv. Let's put him back in Tel Aviv for Hapoel Tel Aviv and see how he does.

Blake Griffin
Griffin is maybe the most exciting player in the NBA. His frame and athleticism would be attractive. Put them on Maccabi Tel Aviv and see how great he performs.

Deron Williams
Yes, we know DWill is in Turkey, but if we are looking at all NBA players, DWill fits in nicely. He wants to play and Israel likes passionate players. Also, many former Illini players have been bolting to Israel (Dee Brown, Brian Randle, Warren Carter, etc). Since will DWill is willing to take risks let’s put him on Maccabi Rishon LeZion who played against Maccabi Tel Aviv in the semi-finals. Maybe he puts them over.

Omri Casspi
The favorite son returns. Where else? To his original team Maccabi Tel Aviv.

Anthony Parker
You can't begin to talk about Israeli basketball without mentioning Anthony Parker. He is a legend in Israel and I am sure they would welcome him back. Again, bring him back to Maccabi Tel Aviv where he belongs.

Amare Stoudamire
Stoudamire talked a lot about Israel and his passion for Judaism. He spent a lot of time touring Jerusalem. Let’s bring him in for a year and have him play for Hapoel Jerusalem.

Lebron James
The games brightest star, James would bring credibility to Israeli ball. Maccabi Haifa is where I would like to see him. They have been trying new things (coming to the states for tryouts, TV shows, Jeremy Tyler, etc). James would be big news. Also, I would love to see him in his natural habitat, aka not surrounded by other stars.

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

Henry, my son, is almost three months old. He has beautiful chubby cheeks and fat thighs. No, he does not need a personal trainer, but I’m there if he needs me. We do make him exercise— don’t call DCFS, it’s just tummy time and moving his arms and legs around. His favorite thing to do is kick, so I’m thinking, future swimmer, martial arts expert, or maybe cyclist.

Now that my extra time is focused on watching Henry kick and trying to get him to smile, I understand the number one excuse to not work out: NO TIME! I hear this from everyone, especially new moms and dads. I have lost countless clients to newborns. I’m lucky— I hit the gym at lunch and if you can do that, it’s the way to go. I don’t have to wake up super early (unless Henry wakes me like he did today at 4 a.m.) or run to a packed gym at 5 p.m.

Since not everyone can workout at lunch, I have a few suggestions. My first idea, which might sound outrageous and look even sillier, is to exercise with your baby— it’s a great way to burn calories, build muscle and bond with your bundle of joy. (You can do these same exercises without a child using this medicine ball to workout while watching some TV.)

Babies love to move around. Obviously, you have to be extremely careful, hold them tight, and support their head/neck. Most pregnant mothers notice their baby does not move when they exercise, because it usually puts them to sleep. I’m not suggesting you go crazy, but dance with your baby, lift them over your head, do push-ups with them staring up at you, lunge with them. Check out this short video I made with Henry.

{{20341}}

If you work long hours, get home tired and hungry, exercising is unfortunately kicked to the curb. My suggestion is short bursts of exercise throughout the day. This might sound weirder then working out with your baby, but it works. There are several studies that have demonstrated the benefits of exercising sporadically, such as 10 push-ups when you get to the office, 20 squats when you go to the bathroom, plank for 30 seconds before you run out to lunch… If you do not have an office with a door that closes, it might be hard to do a lot of exercises, but shoot me a note and I can help you figure it out.

My last suggestion is family/friend fitness. Turn off the TV, grab a friend, spouse, or child, and get moving. It doesn’t matter if it’s a walk, bike ride, soccer at the park, a fun fitness video (in that case, turn the TV back on) or mall walking. Make physical activity part of your daily routine. And don’t forget to eat your vegetables.

18
Chai
Life.

Over the last 18 months I hoped for your arrival.
I conceptualized you when Cancer was privately dancing from cell to cell.
I dreamed of you when I was tied up, hooked up, strapped down.
I believed in you when I was checked out, recovering, rebuilding.
18
Chai
Life.
On Sept. 18, the hope, the dream, the belief that I would be able to lead a group of 18 young professionals to Austria was realized.
I wasn’t sure this day would come.
I wasn’t sure I would be able to be with you.
And yet there I was, and here I am.
18
Chai
Life.
As I explored Austria’s jaded past and wrestled with her current complexities, my relationship with Cancer changed.
She was no longer front and center.
She was no longer at the forefront of my mind.
She was no longer screaming.
18
Chai
Life.
As I allowed myself be present, I started to unlock the parts of myself that had been forgotten, the parts of myself that had been on hold, and the parts of myself that had been quieted.
Cancer’s cries were muffled.
Cancer’s song was but a murmur.
Cancer had become a shadow of her former self.
18
Chai
Life.
I had arrived!
The person I was before Cancer was reawakened.
The person I am now in spite of Cancer was celebrated.
The person I hope to be because of Cancer was contemplated.
18
Chai
Life.
As I walked through the streets of Vienna, and I discovered the lives lost, the stories untold, the moments taken,
I started to write a new chapter.
I started to tell a new story.
I started to create new moments that did not involve Cancer.
18.
Chai.
Life.
As I lost myself in the Jewish narratives of hardship, trauma, survival, and resilience, I found my story reflected in their stories—and their stories reflected in mine.
I was reminded of where I have been.
I was reminded of where I am at.
And I was reminded of how much further I have yet to go.
18.
Chai.
Life.
18, Chai, Life—I see you everywhere, you are beautiful, and I am forever grateful for you.
Cancer—while you may have quieted, you continue to show me that there is meaning in every moment, every experience, every victory, and every obstacle. There is meaning in overwhelming happiness, and there is meaning in intolerable suffering.
May this year you all choose to find meaning in your sea of moments.
I assure you, meaning is there, simply waiting for your discovery.
Here’s to 18.
Here’s to Chai.
Here’s to Life—with meaning.

Just when you thought you had run out of ideas about what to make for dinner, when you thought you had tried every chicken dish on the planet and you could not possibly face another stir fry, along comes not one, but two, kosher cooking magazines.

Is it a dream? Could this be real? Imagine not having to substitute ingredients in an effort to try to make a Martha Stewart recipe pareve, or taking out the treif and hoping that a dish comes out at least similar to what the magazine pictures show. Well, kosher eaters, it is true. There are two high quality kosher magazines available to us.

I know a lot of people use websites to find recipes. And I know that the old problem of dragging your computer over to your stove top in an effort to make your dish picture perfect is no longer a problem with iPads and other gadgets. But, with a magazine at your fingertips, the whole thing, pictures and all, can go with you everywhere.

I am sure you are thinking that pictures of gray gedempte meat and brown cholent are not appealing and who would want that anyway? Well, as a food writer for both magazines, I can assure you that these are both high quality publications. Think GOURMET or BON APPETIT goes kosher. The articles are modern, the pictures are gorgeous and the recipes are luscious (of course!), and these magazines are written just for us. Why, even the advertisements are kosher, it is awesome!

Here is the scary part for me. I am worried that people will tire of the magazines, or worse yet, not even bother to subscribe and then we will lose both of them. I wrote about this phenomenon when Whole Foods began carrying the Kosher Valley poultry products. I was practically jubilant when I saw a huge amount of fresh refrigerator space (a precious thing in a grocery store) in many local Whole Foods stores devoted to kosher chickens and turkeys. I was concerned then as well though that there would not be enough customers for the products and that the stores would devote less space or simply stop carrying the high quality poultry products. I was right. The kosher poultry section at Whole Foods is scanty at best with sporadic merchandise that is sometimes frozen, by the store in an effort not to have the products spoil.

Well, this is different and I am hoping that everyone even remotely interested in kosher food will check out these magazines.

You can subscribe online at: JOY OF KOSHER and BITAYAVON 

And while you are waiting for the mailman to bring your magazines, you can enjoy these recipes.

Caramelized Vegetable Tagine  

This satisfying and riotously colored dish will please all of your sukkot and Shabbat guests. I like to hollow out a pumpkin and roast it for 15 minutes, so that it is not raw, and then present the finished tagine in the beautiful, toasty-orange gourd for a big WOW presentation. I serve the tagine with my Pomegranate Glazed Chicken or braised pot roast.

Serves 10

Extra virgin Olive oil
1 large red onion, diced
6 garlic gloves, minced
1 cup diced fennel
2 cups diced butternut squash, cut into 1-inch dice
1 cup diced sweet potatoes, cut into 1-inch dice
1 cup diced russet potatoes, cut into 1-inch dice
1 cup sliced carrots
½ cup thinly sliced parsnips
½ cup sliced dried apricots
½ cup sliced dried figs
½ cup sliced pitted dates
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
3 teaspoons ground coriander
1 teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon ground cardamom
Pinch of crushed chili flakes 
⅓ cup tomato paste
1 cup barley
10 cups water
Salt and pepper
Suggested garnishes: toasted pumpkin seeds, pomegranate arils (seeds), cilantro and parsley leaves,

1. Preheat oven 350 fahrenheit.

2. Sauté the vegetables in batches until they are golden brown and crispy. Be sure to season each batch with salt and pepper.

3. Place all of the remaining ingredients and the vegetables in a large Dutch oven. Cover the tagine and cook for 1 ½ hours until the vegetables are cooked through and the barley is tender.

Pomegranate Lacquered Chicken  

Every chef and home cook has their favorite ingredient that they reach for over and over again. For me, it is pomegranate molasses. Pomegranate molasses or paste is the reduced juice of many pomegranates. It is thick and syrupy with a tart sweetness. I find that it makes a great marinade, vinaigrette, BBQ sauce, sorbet flavor and really just about anything! Find a brand that you like. Flavors can vary with each brand. Pomegranate molasses or paste can be found in Middle-eastern grocery stores or on-line. Most pomegranate molasses brands are kosher.

Serves 8+

For the chicken

2 whole chickens-cut up, on the bone
½ cup pomegranate molasses
3 tablespoon brown sugar
1 tablespoon tomato paste
¼ cup rich chicken stock
2 cloves garlic-minced finely
1 shallot-minced finely
Salt and pepper
Olive oil for sautéing
½ cup pomegranate arils for garnish
¼ cup flat leaf parsley, chopped

1. Preheat oven to 350 fahrenheit.

2. Place a large sauté pan over medium high heat. Add a small amount of olive oil to coat. Season the chicken with salt and pepper. Brown the chicken pieces, being careful not to overload the pan. Place the chicken in oven proof pans separating the white and dark meat.

3. Place a small saucepan over medium high heat and lightly coat with olive oil. Sauté the garlic and shallot until browned. Add the pomegranate molasses, sugar, tomato paste and chicken stock. Lower the heat to medium and stir ingredients together until combined and thickened (about 10 minutes).

4. Brush chicken pieces with pomegranate glaze. Roast chicken until cooked through, about 45 minutes for dark meat and 30-35 minutes for white meat. Re-glaze the chicken during cooking and when it is removed from the oven.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu greets Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit at the Tel Nof Air Force base in Israel shortly after his release from captivity, Oct. 18, 2011.

Gilad Shalit was reunited with his family shortly after crossing into Israel from Egypt after his release earlier in the day by his captors in Gaza, ending five years and four months in captivity.

First off, the word is “kvell”—one syllable, like “swell.” Second, there is one expression, “to kvell,” and another, “to schep nachas”; one does not “kvell nachas.” Good, good… Now we are ready to learn how to tell people that, as the Torah puts it, they have found favor in our eyes:

Aidel—refined: “The princess is so aidel; how could anyone have called her a ‘commoner’?”

Chidush—innovation: “This odometer app is a real chidush; it totally changed my workout!”

Farbrent—intense: “I’ve never seen a bar mitzvah so farbrent over a tikkun olam project.”

Ferpitzed—dressed up: “Hoo-hah! Look at my little girl… all ferpitzed for the prom!”

Note: not to be confused with “fertootsed”:  over-dressed, overdone 

Freylach—festive: “A reggae band for a wedding? Well, it’ll keep things freilach!”

Ganef—clever one: My eight-year-old hacked the Wii to play my old Atari games, the ganef.”

Note: The original meaning is “thief,”so be clear you do not intend an insult. 

Gebenshed—blessed: “I heard your family is gebenshed with a new addition— Mazel tov!”

Gefelt—pleasing: “That white-noise generator is so gefelt— I love the ‘ocean’ setting.”

Geshmack—lip-smacking: “The guacamole there is geshsmack, and the burritos are great, too.”

Gezunt—robust: “That linebacker can eat a whole pizza and not show it, he’s so gezunt.”

Hano’oh—pleasure: “I get such hano’oh from my Mother’s Day bath beads, thanks so much.”

Heymish—homey: “I love how heymish these throw pillows make your studio apartment feel.”

Khap—insight: “What a khap, letting the kids dunk their veggies in ketchup.”

Kitsel—tickle: “That comic strip always gives me a good kitsel.”

Leibedikeh—lively: “Bubbie’s been feeling much more leibedikeh with her new hip.”

Lechen-di-finger—finger-licking: “This sauce! I just want to drink it, it’s so lechen-di-finger.”

Mamash—indeed: “Not too hot, no breeze, no clouds… this is mamash a day for golf.”

Mechayeh—a joy: “Your puppy is so friendly and bright— what a mechayah!”

Noch-amol—Encore!:  “Come on, noch-amol— one more strike and he’s outta there!”

Oht azoy—You got it, baby!: “Now that’s what a guitar is for! Oht azoy… play that thing!”

Richtiker cheifetz—the real deal: “My Dad had the richitker cheifetz... a cherry red, ’57 Caddy.”

Yasher-ko’ach—Nice job!: “Yasher-koach on winning that sales contest!”

Zies (rhymes with “peace”)—sweet: “A candlelight dinner for my birthday? You are so zies!”

Next: Ess, ess! How to Eat in Yiddish 

Correction to the “How to Kvetch” article. “Farblonget” means “lost, aimless,” not “blugeoned” as I had written. 

We sat quietly, Ben finally sleeping on my lap after nine hours of traveling by car and plane. I shifted a bit to ease the cramping in my back, but the squeak of the rubbery seat nearly woke him up, and I resigned myself to the discomfort. Having arrived in San Francisco mostly unscathed, Ben’s dad and uncles went off to collect luggage, rental car and snacks, leaving us to a few minutes of midnight snuggling at Baggage Claim.

Our adventure had started earlier that afternoon with a harried ride to Midway. Amidst the debate about the best way to get to the airport in rush hour traffic, I realized that Ben’s stroller was leaning against our garage door, where I had the foresight to leave it so that it would not be forgotten. The debate over directions turned into arguing over whether or not we had time to turn around, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the stroller represented a bad travel omen. I had been stressing for weeks about traveling with a two-year-old, and the trip couldn’t have started more hectically.

We pushed on, stroller-less. At the cheapo parking lot we unloaded an obscene amount of luggage and rode the shuttle to the airport, at which point I realized we had left Ben’s car seat strapped into the car. Unlike the stroller, the car seat was a mandatory component of our trip, so we stayed on the shuttle, rode back to the lot, unloaded the car seat, and rode back to the airport. Bad omen number two.

I waited for the next ominous warning as we made our way through baggage check and security. Ben enjoyed his first McDonalds dinner, and I did not enjoy our first airport diaper change. Car seat in tow, we boarded the plane omen-free.

Thankfully we did not forget the iPad, whose Angry Birds, Thomas the Tank apps, and Sesame Street episodes kept our kid quiet (though awake and eager to kick the seat in front of him) for the majority of the flight. The trip was free of whining and crying, much to the relief of every passenger (except for the kicked guy in front of us, who dealt with the situation by drinking excessively). I started to relax, and wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when Ben finally fell asleep just before we landed.

By the time we got to Baggage Claim, Ben was sound asleep in my arms, and I was eagerly anticipating a peaceful ride across the Golden Gate Bridge, and a cozy bed waiting for me in Santa Rosa.

Then I felt something warm and wet spreading over my lap. I closed my eyes, told myself I was imagining it, looked down, and promptly started to panic.

I looked around for my husband and my brothers, who had left me alone with the luggage and Ben, but saw no sign of them. The rubbery chair, now defiled by my child’s pee, squawked as I twisted and turned to keep my soaked clothes from touching my skin, all while holding a drenched toddler who I did not want to wake up.

My brother finally returned and helped me get a clean diaper and change of clothes from the suitcase. I changed Ben on the airport floor, desperate to get him clean as quickly as possible so that I could get clean as quickly as possible. I grabbed a fresh outfit from my luggage and made a break for the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with strangers while trying to follow the directional signage. A security guard snickered as I tried in vain to hide the enormous wet spot on my pants.

Alone in the bathroom stall, I started to laugh. Bad omen numbers one and two did not hold a candle to this, the epitome of a Traveling with Toddler Horror Story. Confident that the remainder of our journey could only get better, I tossed the soaked clothes in the trash and finished getting dressed. Applauding myself for my great attitude, I opened the bathroom door, heard Ben screaming “I WANT MY MOMMY” from across the airport, and promptly started crying.

In the United States, we’re often presented with two different views of cancer. Last month, the Chicago skyline was lit up teal, for ovarian cancer awareness; this month, it’s impossible to avoid the color pink. The other public face is that of the celebrity who recently passed away: yesterday, we lost Steve Jobs, founder of Apple and creator of nearly every gadget you hold dear, to pancreatic cancer.

Certainly these are engines for cancer awareness within our society, but all too often we tweet or we buy a snack with a pink ribbon on the label and that’s where our involvement ends. My fellow Jews, there’s more you need to know, and more that you can do to make cancer awareness work for you.

Ashkenazi Jews are at greatly increased risk for mutations in their BRCA genes. BRCA stands for BReast CAncer; these genes are responsible for keeping the cells in your breasts healthy. When these genes start to malfunction, sometimes in women as young as their early 20s, that individual’s lifetime risk of developing breast cancer, ovarian cancer or both is greatly increased when compared to the rest of the population. Women who discover, through genetic testing, that they are BRCA-positive often call themselves “previvors” – pre-survivors. They have a number of options for managing their situation, ranging from surveillance to surgery to remove their breasts and ovaries, reducing their lifetime risk of developing cancer from as high as 87% to the low single digits.

The truth is that these cancers are scary. They’re scary and they’re hard and they can be overwhelming, but we’re not helpless against them. One of the easiest and most important things you can do to fight hereditary cancer is to see if you recognize a pattern in your family health history. Draw up a pedigree using any of a number of free resources online. Pay attention to the age of onset, if you have a relative who had cancer or passed away because of it. If you’re concerned about a recurring pattern of cancer – or any other health issue – bring the pedigree to your doctor.

Unfortunately, many doctors may be skeptical or dismissive that someone in their 20s or 30s could be worried about cancer. Be firm, and insist that you want to pursue this. The Chicago Center for Jewish Genetic Disorders has a number of resources and educational programs to back you up. With hereditary cancer syndromes or with testing for “Jewish” genetic disorders such as Tay-Sachs disease, we have to be our own advocates. In both cases, prevention is the best medicine.

I wrote about cancer last October too, when I confessed that I couldn’t finish Gilda Radner’s autobiography. A year later, I stand by my message. Cancer is personal to me, and no amount of pink merchandise or trending topics will supplant the fact that knowledge is far more powerful than awareness alone. Educate yourself and your loved ones about breast self-exams and the symptoms of ovarian cancer. Stay on top of developing news about mammogram guidelines and other scientific advancements. And if you know someone who’s going through cancer treatment, ask them what they need, and help them, consistently, in whatever concrete way you can, no matter how small.

If you have questions, please get in touch with the Chicago Center for Jewish Genetic Disorders, which you can call during normal business hours at (312) 357-4718, or write to jewishgeneticsctr@juf.org. We take your calls and read all your emails, and will put you through to the professionals who can help you.

For those who follow my posts on Oy!Chicago, or if you’re forced to see my Facebook newsfeed photo-fest (sorry friends), you know that we recently made a life-altering purchase. No, we’re not new homeowners. We got a dog.

Not just any dog—a black labradoodle puppy. The world’s greatest and most adorable puppy (if I do say so myself). Miss Kenzie Puppy-face Underfoot Little Monster Friedman.

(Insert strange look here—yes, I am 100% certifiably nuts.)

Six weeks of puppy motherhood has taught me a lot already. In talking with friends who have a different kind of new baby—you know, the human kind—I’ve realized that raising a new puppy is not all that different from the changes that come with having a baby:

1) Sleepless nights. In Kenzie’s first couple weeks home, she did not sleep through the night. While it seemed like she was sleeping and napping constantly, up to 18-20 hours a day (just like a new baby), it never seemed that she could make it through the night. We would go out at 11 p.m. before bed and by 3 a.m. she’d need to get up and go out again. It’s crazy but I felt like I had mommy-style super hearing, and would notice immediately when she was whimpering and needed us.

2) Frequent visits to the doctor. Within only a few days of having a new baby, parents are already rushing to the pediatrician for well-baby visits and regular trips to the doctor for shots and check-ups. Same goes for our new pup. We’ve already had several vet visits—the first, a general check-up to get to know the veterinarian, and then several more for shots, and of course one visit due to an overreaction regarding fairly minor symptoms that were, in fact, nothing to be concerned about.

3) Always with the growing. New babies grow like weeds. You blink an eye, and it seems like they have outgrown all of their clothes (and goodness, next thing you know they are asking for the car keys and breaking curfew, I’m sure). Thank goodness, we don’t have to buy Kenzie clothes every time she grows because, holy cow, she just keeps growing (never mind the fact that David has outlawed dog clothes for the Kenz). In just six weeks she has more than doubled her weight and is hardly recognizable from the little nine pound pup we brought home from the breeder. Tipping the scale this morning at over 20 pounds, she is essentially gargantuan and is practically too big for me to lift.

4) Expensive! Babies need lots of things. Hugs and kisses. Diapers and formula. Car seats and cribs. Puppies come with a whole set of costs, both expected and unexpected, and parents of all kinds are more than happy to shell out the cash to make sure their babies have everything they need. Kibble, medicine, toys, a nice crate to hang out in, a doggy bed, a dog walker on days that we aren’t home for hours at a time—you catch my drift.

5) Love attention from Mom and Dad. Babies love cuddling with Mom and Dad—being held and soothed and showered with attention. Puppies are no different. Just as a baby will cry when they want to be held, a puppy will act out if they’re not feeling that they’re getting enough attention. But on the plus side, loving a new baby and loving a new puppy are both very easy things to do—since they’re so lovable of course.

I’m assuming that the greatest difference between getting a puppy and having a baby is that once you have a baby, your parents and grandparents stop nagging you about their dire need of grandchildren/great-grandchildren. The puppy did nothing in that regard—in fact, it just gave my grandparents an opportunity to tell us point blank that a puppy is not the kind of baby they had in mind.

While I’m certainly not a puppy or baby expert, I’m learning a lot about parenthood (at least the puppy version) as Kenzie grows. As everyone seems to say, it will hopefully be excellent training for the day down the road when my husband and I decide to bless Kenzie with a little sister or brother.

The Jewish Community Heroes campaign promotes the people in our community who make tikkun olam a guiding element of their everyday lives.

This year's Oy!Chicago (and JUF) nominee is local networker Shalom Klein, who has helped find jobs for nearly 100 Chicagoans this year.

Learn more about all the good work Shalom Klein does for the community (below) and vote for him and the other Chicago nominees here up to once a day.

Get connected: Meet Shalom Klein, chairman of Jewish B2B Networking 

You might say Shalom Klein was born to schmooze.

In fact, within hours of our interview, I already had several emails from Klein connecting me to people I should know.

It’s this passion for networking and entrepreneurial spirit that makes Klein so successful at what he does. As the chairman of Jewish B2B Networking, Klein spends his days (and most likely his nights) making connections for small businesses in the Chicago Jewish community.

About a year and a half ago, Klein left his PR job in New York to come home to Skokie and work for the family business—Moshe Klein & Associates, Ltd., which handles bookkeeping and accounting for small businesses. Klein said it’s his nature to stay in touch, and so he naturally began connecting people.

In June of 2010, Klein decided he wanted to introduce his clients, family and friends and held his first event at Slice of Life in Skokie. While he expected a small turnout of maybe 20 people, 75 people showed up.

“The outcome was great,” Klein said. “People were already doing business with people they met that day.”

And just like that, Jewish B2B Networking was born. In just nine months, Jewish B2B Networking has a mailing list of 12,000 people and over 3,000 people have come to events—plus, at least two or three dozen people have found jobs thanks to connections made during these events. Each month, hundreds of people show up for monthly networking meetings—175 people showed up to a speednetworking event at 7:30a.m.—and monthly networking open houses held at different businesses. Events are also being organized in Detroit and St. Louis.

“I believe we’ve tapped into the small business community,” Klein said. His events attract a diverse crowd, with about 80 percent looking to connect business to business, and about 20 percent looking for jobs.

A few months ago, Klein launched the website JewishB2Bnetworking.com where members can register for events, create profiles, search for jobs and post to a blog.

“The goal is stimulating the Jewish and Jewish-friendly small business community and people doing business with each other…[to] create that network and create business opportunities around Chicago,” he said.

Jewish B2B Networking and Jewish Vocational Service (JVS), a JUF agency, have been collaborating on programming, presentations and reaching out to the community—and according to Gail Gruen, executive director of JVS; they are planning more collaboration in the future.

Klein is also the publisher of Jewish Business News, a monthly publication with a circulation of 15,000 that he launched this January available at local businesses synagogues, kosher and kosher-style restaurants. Thousands of people have attended and benefited from his regular programming, including most recently “The Business Event,” a free business and employment expo which drew over 3,000 attendees. 

If you met yourself, would you want to be your BFF?

I think about this a lot. I heard somewhere that the usual answer is no--that we often don't like people who are too much like us. Which I can imagine might be true. If we want to be the expert on something, maybe it's annoying when someone else comes along with her know-it-all knowledge. Or maybe all the things we find frustrating about ourselves are uber-turn offs when it comes to someone else.

The other night I was at the library with my little brother reading a book from the kids series Judy Moody. In the book, Judy meets a girl who's a bizarro version of her. Amy Namey's name rhymes, so does Judy Moody's. Amy idolizes Nelly Bly, "woman reporter," while Judy's hero is Elizabeth Blackwell, the first female doctor. They both have funny speech ticks.

You get the point.

At first Judy can't stand Amy. She finds her little quirks obnoxious, until her friends point out that Amy and Judy might as well be twins. Judy's horrified by the fact that there's another her walking around, when she thought she was special. Soon, though, she talks to Amy--who invites her into the My-Name-Is-A-Poem club--and Judy decides they should be BFFs.

Then Chapter 2 ends.

At this point, my little bro got bored so I don't know what happened next. But the set up got me thinking.

That same night I was watching the season premiere of Glee, and a similar theme popped up. Rachel and Kurt show up to a mixer for a New York dramatic arts school, and meet a room full of people who might as well be them. They're not thrilled.

I'd like to think that if I met the bizarro me I'd want to be friends with her. After all, I like myself, right? I think I'm a pretty decent friend. And when I meet women with whom I share similarities, I go ahead and claim them as my BFF like it's nothing. (Well, claim is a strong word. They're not baggage.) But I can totally see how it might not go that way. We like being individuals, right? We want friends who complement us, not who are us.

I'm not entirely sure why I think about this as often as I do. But I think it matters when it comes to looking for pals. Do you look for a BFF who seems to share your brain? Or for someone totally different than you? Or both?

Free Book Alert! Want to read MWF Seeking BFF early? Goodreads is hosting a giveaway. Enter by October 10 to win one of 15 advance copies. 

With the Phillies' Joe Blanton headed to the 60 day DL and Placido Polanco going to the 15 day DL they called up Michael Schwimer (no relationship to David or so we think). Schwimer was 9-1 in AAA with 10 Saves and a 1.88 ERA. He had 86 strikeouts in 67 innings.

Schwimer is now finishing the season with the Phillies, but it is yet to be seen if he will be on the playoff roster.

A day after Michael Schwimer got the called up by the Phillies, the Boston Red Sox called up Ryan Lavarnway. Lavarnway, was swinging a hot bat in AAA. This season he has 30 homers between Double-A Portland and Triple-A Pawtucket while hitting .293. He's hit .301 in 55 games with the PawSox. Lavarnway also joined the roster when it expanded.

The third call up was Josh Satin of the Mets. Satin plays all over the infield. According to JewishBaseballNews.com, "Satin is versatile with the glove. He played 57 games at 3B this season, 44 at 2B, 20 at 1B, and another 12 as designated hitter. Though this will be the Hidden Hills, Calif., native’s first stint on an MLB roster, he had 6 at-bats with the Mets during Spring Training this year, going 2-for-6 with 1 HR and 2 RBIs."

Good luck to all three players who have a solid chance at starting in the big leagues next year.

And Let Us Say...Amen.

Corn smut, Mexican Truffles, Fungus, blight…Call it what you will, huitlacoche is just plain delicious.

The fungus spores infect the corn plant much the same way a mushroom spore infects wood. Considered a pest by many farmers, hutilacoche can decrease the yield of crops and can lower the value of corn. In Mexico and by many chefs, huitlacoche is considered a delicacy and highly prized. This was the case this week when I went to my favorite market stall and found a special basket of infected corn with fungus lovers huddled around it, all trying to find the most “infected” corn. I scooped up the precious ears and carried it back to my kitchen at Spertus.

My staff and I scraped off the fungus and corn kernels and a short while later feasted. The flavor of huitlacoche is sweet, woodsy and faintly mushroomy. Tasty! When you visit your favorite farmer’s market or corn stand ask for corn smut. If you can get past its ugly appearance you will be rewarded with an exotic wild mushroom flavor.

Huevos Rancheros con Huitlacoche  

Serves 6

1 cup huitlacoche (from about 6 ears of corn), scraped, rinsed and roughly chopped
1 medium red onion, chopped
2 garlic cloves, chopped
2 cups of corn kernels
1 cup Spicy Green Mole*
12 eggs
½ cup shredded cheese-Optional (I prefer white cheddar)
Salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 325

1. Place a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. Lightly coat the bottom of the pan with olive oil. Add the huitlacoche, onion and garlic. Sauté until the onion is lightly browned, (about 5 minutes). Add the corn kernels and the mole. Reduce the heat to medium low.

2. Crack the eggs into the sauce. Sprinkle cheese on top and place the sauté pan in the oven. Cook the huevos rancheros until the eggs are set but the yolks are still liquid.
Serve with warm tortillas and additional cheese.

*Spicy Green Mole  

3 pounds tomatillos, about 8 medium tomatillos, husked and rinsed
1 small red onion cut in half
1 Serrano pepper, stem removed
3 cloves of garlic, do not remove from the skin
1/3 cup shelled pumpkin seeds (pepitas)*
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
2 avocados, pitted
Juice of 2 limes
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
½ teaspoon hot sauce (optional)

1. Place the tomatillos, onion halves, Serrano pepper and garlic in a medium sauté pan. Heat the ingredients over high heat until the vegetables start to toast and blacken. Turn the vegetables to toast on all sides. Remove the vegetables as they turn black. Transfer the toasted vegetables to a blender or food processor.

2. Toast the pumpkin seeds in the same pan over medium high heat. The seeds will start to pop. Continue toasting until the seeds are light golden brown (about 2 minutes). Transfer the seeds to the blender.

3. Add the remaining ingredients to the blender and process until creamy and fairly smooth. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper.

*Pepitas can be found in Latin markets and many grocery stores.

The farm owners were busy making roasted tomatoes and canning salsa. Everything smelled fresh and tasted delicious. It was our annual trip to the farm in southwest Wisconsin. In our first 24 hours there, we picked apples and plums and raspberries and grapes and tomatoes and ate them right there next to the plants and trees. My daughters Violet and Autumn thought this was just about the best thing they’d ever done. I’m pretty sure they would have eaten tomatoes until their skin turned red if we had let them stay in the garden as long as they wanted.

On our second day it rained, and while everyone else was napping I got out my yoga mat to practice outside on the covered porch of our little house. My friend Becca describes yoga as a reset button – for both your body and your mind – and I couldn’t agree more. It feels therapeutic to stop everything and focus on your breath. My thoughts and my body both feel realigned afterward.

Sitting on the porch after my yoga practice I realized that going to the farm is like a reset button for the entire year. It seems right to make our trip close to Rosh Hashanah. As soon as we got to the farm it felt like everything stopped even though I was still physically racing up and down hills following toddlers who were chasing chickens. It felt slow like falling asleep when you’re not quite tired but your body is heavy from running around in the sun all day. Slow like toasting the perfect marshmallow over a dying fire. Slow like the opposite of my regular life.

I can’t think of a better place to stop our routine and reconnect with ourselves, nature, and family. This sense of stillness is something I find on my yoga mat, too. I know that wherever I am or whatever I am doing, I can always return to my mat and the deep breaths I find there, even if I can’t get to class. That feeling of centeredness is with me at all times – on the mat, at the farm, everywhere.

I suppose this is also like praying: finding a place inside yourself that you can come back to, a place to connect with God (or however you think about spirituality). I like this idea of finding something larger than yourself within yourself. Sometimes this place is hard to find, like when you are stressed about how your life has no purpose, or wondering what on earth it is about you that makes everyone think you are the nanny instead of the mom (just a couple random, hypothetical examples), but knowing that place is still in there (somewhere) can bring comfort and confidence and inspiration.

If the farm is an annual reset button, and yoga is an anytime reset button, then Shabbat is a weekly reset button. It’s a time each week to connect with ourselves and each other and slow down to remember what’s most important in our lives. Being at the farm reminded me that there are a number of paths to finding this feeling of stillness among the chaos of daily life. I’m sure there are other ways besides yoga and nature and Shabbat that help people find a way to connect and keep their sanity intact (feel free to share).

Now that we are back at home, the farm is still with me. Autumn and Violet are bawking like chickens and mooing like cows multiple times a day. The homemade tomato sauce is in the freezer and the calmness is in my mind. I plan on keeping the farm around all year. Tomato sauce and challah will be the reminders.

Despite being in Israel more times than I can count, I had never been to an Israeli wedding until this past week when my boyfriend’s best friend was married.

There isn’t one typical kind of wedding in Israel—every wedding reflects the couple’s religious values and familial influences. And this one was different than any of the 53 (I’m serious) other weddings that I have been to.

Let’s first start with the similarities. The bride looked incredible. Her dress was beautiful and was custom-made and not poofy. Ok, now you see why I don’t write for Vogue. All I know is that when I saw her, I immediately started to well up in tears. The wedding was held at a venue that mostly caters to weddings. It was beautifully decorated featuring great food, an open bar and a rocking DJ.

The differences were aplenty. Here were the top 10 + 1 for good luck.

1. The wedding was held on a Thursday night, because for many Israelis, that’s when the weekend starts.

2. The rabbi was not a major part of the ceremony (although you can’t have a wedding without him). He said the blessings and then was out of there, just as the bride (kallah) and groom (chatan) wanted it.

3. There is no wedding certificate because there is no civil marriage in Israel. The ketubah is the legally binding document.

4. When you enter there is a safe where you drop your cards with money (Israelis don’t really give gifts). To know how much money you are supposed to give, “there is an App for that.” The criteria includes:

a. How many are you? (single, couple, family)
b. What is your relationship to the bride or groom?
c. What is your profession?
d. Where was the wedding held?
e. What month was the wedding held?
f. What day was the wedding?

Then it provides you with the amount.

5. The bridal party is really just family, and they are the ones who stand under and by the chuppah.

6. It is normal for the guests to talk through the entire ceremony.

7. After the breaking of the glass, the crowd rushes the bride and groom with hugs and kisses.

8. Because this was a Mizrahi wedding (most of their family is from North Africa originally) there was the chair dance, but it wasn’t to the “Horah.” Instead of the mayim step, there is a Mizrahi step, more similar to “My Fat Greek Wedding” than “Fiddler on the Roof.”

9. While the women were wearing everything from jeans to formal wear, most of the guys were wearing jeans or khakis.

10. When you come with a date, it is normal to say, “B’karov etzlechem” which means “Your wedding will be soon.” It’s also normal for your neighbor and the guy at the gas station to say it when they see you walking out in fancy attire.

11. The bride and groom are going somewhere awesome like Thailand rather than relaxing (Hawaii).

Overall, my first Israeli wedding was tremendously fun and I wouldn’t mind going to 53 more!

It’s been a difficult and busy couple of months, with an intense work schedule and a death in the family after long-term illness. Without boring you or falling into shameless self-indulgence, I’m merely a bit tired.

I’m a “Type-A” girl and sometimes find myself off kilter when it comes to a work-life balance. As I type, I’m coming down with a cold, fall is upon us and I’m already in desperate need of a recalibration. Hopefully, I don’t sound like Alexander from the book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

As such, I’m particularly looking forward to the High Holidays this year. As a child with a limited attention span, I dreaded the seemingly endless hours spent in services, broken up by hallway breaks with my sisters and snatches of hard candy and gum from my mom’s purse.

As I’ve gotten older, the High Holidays have become a valuable opportunity in which I can sit still, and actually think about my life. The New Year reminds me of the chance to start fresh—whether it’s contemplating adjusting my daily schedule, or reconnecting with loved ones. In many ways, I think the Jewish New Year leaves room for reflection in ways New Year’s Day in January falls short. We have one life on this earth, and as we’re reminded with the Book of Life, we best be living it.

But the New Year isn’t just about self-improvement; it’s about making others’ lives a bit brighter through forgiveness, understanding and commitments to change—our promises during the Days of Awe. Sitting in services no longer feels like a marathon, but rather a time to sit in awe of life around me, of those sitting next to me, surrounding me, chanting with me.

I’m often reminded of a sermon my rabbi gave a few years back on Rosh Hashanah, recalling Jewish folklore, in which King Solomon is humbled by a phrase that could always be true in good times and bad: “This too shall pass,” or in Hebrew, Gam zeh ya'avor. There are supposedly many versions of this story, as is often true with folklore; I won’t retell the story for the sake of brevity. However, “This too shall pass” has been a phrase my mother has used with me throughout my life in times of difficulty. Similarly, her mother used the phrase with her. It wasn’t until I heard the sermon a few years ago, that I understood the duality of the saying—which made it resonate even more.

As the cliché goes, “Time heals all wounds.” However, I’ve also always been someone who’s keenly aware of when times are good—and to hold on while I can. Joy, like pain, is fleeting. I’d say many of us live our daily existences somewhere in the middle. It’s equally important, however, to remember the transient quality of pain and joy. Those moments are when we are most alive.  

When I went to Israel on Birthright I bought a silver ring with Hebrew letters carved in a shortened version of the phrase. I haven’t taken it off since. Still, sometimes I lose track of its meaning.

Every now and then, I have to remind myself: It’s time to breathe.

My initial thoughts about this month’s Oy! post weren’t gelling the way I had hoped, so I asked my friend Heather what I should write about. She said, “Whole Foods isn’t just a grocery store.” She is so right.

I live five minutes from the large Lincoln Park Whole Foods store. Hands down, this was the biggest bonus of moving into the neighborhood. The massive made-to-order foods section is always a convenient dinner option, giving me a great excuse to rarely cook, and the store offers so much more than simply groceries. There’s Tuesday Trivia night; the pub and wine bar; cooking classes; and I even saw a flier for yoga classes. 

This is not an ad for the LP Whole Foods, but admittedly, it is not the ordinary grocery store, or even the ordinary WF. Aside from all of its bells and whistles, my favorite aspect of WF is the way it brings people together. I know that statement sounds zany, especially for a store that simply sells overpriced natural foods and products, but it’s true. People socialize, go on dates, and shop there (not only for food, but for gifts, beauty products, and even Halloween costumes). I can’t think of another place that offers the same variety of experience and convenience.

My girlfriends and I have been frequenting WF for some time now, but about a month ago, we decided to make our visits a regular weekly occurrence, so we never go a week without catching up. WF has now become our version of the coffee shops on Seinfeld and Sex and the City. We choose from a variety of food genres at an affordable cost, we streamline our dinner plans with our grocery shopping, and there’s fantastic people watching, especially from a sneaky bird’s eye view on the mezzanine level. After a long day, WF is exactly what we have found we need. Yesterday, although stressed with busy season and tired from the already long week, I looked forward to convening at WF for some good food and conversation. I’m still trying to figure out what exactly makes it the perfect venue for that. We could have met anywhere – at one of our apartments or perhaps at Rockit, another one of our favorites, for some yummy truffle fries – but it probably would not have been the same. Our little cohort is not alone. The store continuously buzzes with singles, couples, moms and dads with their kids, and people from a variety of age brackets and cultures.

In life, especially in a big and busy city, we need something dependable, that we can always count on, even when everything else gets crazy. WF, certainly not just a grocery store, serves that purpose, and I’m grateful it’s just a five-minute walk away.

For young adult patients (ages 18-40) who are in the prime of their life, a cancer diagnosis can dramatically impact their trajectory in unique and specific ways. This demographic in particular has the misfortune of having to consider how cancer treatment will affect their fertility.

Historically, the medical field has focused their efforts on treating the disease, and has not spent enough time considering the individual as a whole. Young adult cancer survivors who are about to undergo treatment deserve to know the facts, deserve to know their odds, deserve to know what life can look like after cancer.

I would argue that understanding how your fertility will be affected, and what options are available, is just as important as understanding your cancer diagnosis and course of treatment. For young adult survivors, it is critical that fertility be discussed during the initial conversations with your primary care physician and/or oncologist.

Northwestern University’s Oncofertility Consortium, spearheaded by the brilliant Teresa Woodruff, provides young adult cancer patients with the necessary hope that there is life after cancer. Teresa and her team of experts are providing survivors with critical tools and resources for how to bring life into the world.

I am incredibly indebted to Northwestern University’s Oncofertility Consortium. I wholeheartedly believe that in learning about my risks and options, I was given the hope I needed to fight this disease.

I recently attended the Oncofertility Consortium’s five year gala where they premiered a short documentary showcasing their remarkable work. Featured in the film are leading reproductive specialists, oncologists and patients who have chosen to take their fertility into their own hands. It was an honor to be a part of this project, and I feel incredibly grateful to be a part of this beautiful community.

Learn more about the Oncofertility Consortium’s work here. 

A special thank you to Kristin Smith who helped guide me through this entire process. I do not know what I would have done without you. Thank you for your professionalism, your guidance, and your friendship.

When I was a freshman in high school, a fellow Jewish kid in my class—a guy with a tendency to tease tall girls like me—approached me at the start of the school year and gave me a great big hug.

“I’m sorry, Cindy, for anything mean I did or said to you last year,” he told me.

I hugged him back, shocked and confused by his admission of guilt. In the ninth grade milieu of angst and pride, an exchange like this was unheard of. He was taking seriously the Days of Awe—the 10-day period of introspection in between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur when Jews are supposed to ask the people in their lives for forgiveness—and I respected him for that.

His apology touched me because, well, he did have something to be sorry for, but was a big enough person to show remorse for his wrongdoing.

That freshman encounter has stuck with me all these years. When those 10 days of repentance approach each fall, I contemplate what I’ve done wrong and even ask some of the people in my life to forgive me for my indiscretions.

But sometimes I can’t help but think what do I have to be sorry for? After all, I’m a good person: I smile at babies I don’t know, I offer my seat on the subway more frequently than the typical rider, I’m nice to my mother, what more can I do? And I have a feeling that most of you fall into the same boat—after all Oy!Chicago is known for its kind readers.

But if we really delve, no matter how upstanding we are as people—as Jews—we all have sins to repent for.

The other day, I googled the Al Cheit prayer, the confession of our sins chanted as a community on Yom Kippur. Sure, every year, I’d pound my fist to my my chest and recite the prayer along with the rest of the community since that’s what we’re supposed to do. But I figured I was really asking God for forgiveness for the sins of that guy sitting in the pew ahead of me in shul, because what had I ever done wrong?

Smugly, as I was re-reading the prayer on my computer screen, scrolling through the list of sins, I anticipated there’d be only one or two that I’d committed.

Truth be told, there were a bunch.

Now, I’m confident that in the past year I have not committed “causeless hatred,” “evil inclination” or “embezzlement.” My parents must be so proud! At the same time, I do admit that I’ve “prattled my lips,” “passed judgment,” and—as certain members of my family might vouch for—I’ve been guilty once or twice of “obduracy.”

And I’ve got a feeling I’m not alone. Suddenly, I understand why we chant the prayer together as a “we.” No matter how decent we are, we’ve all racked up a laundry list of sins through the course of the year.

What’s beautiful about this season of reflection is that, as the year comes to a close, we can repent for what we’ve done wrong this past year and start over with a clean slate for the new year. We’re lucky to get to do a little better next year and even better the year after that.

I lost track of that high school classmate of mine some time ago, but every now and then I wonder what he’s up to. Something’s telling me each year he’s doing a little better too. 

Every culture has its own version of it. As long as there have been alcoholic beverages, there have been toasts. To me, a toast is a sign of etiquette and respect, a display of goodwill. Sometimes, simply raising one’s glass can say more about a person than words. As a child, I always pictured that well-dressed man in the center of the room, rising from his seat, his glass lifted ever so slightly above his head and his face pulled back into a grin that could be seen for miles. Then, he quotes Twain, Shakespeare, Aristotle, and all the people around him are frozen in time, captivated by his every syllable. When he finishes, the sound of champagne flutes clinking are drowned out only by the sounds of the crowd cheering and celebrating a momentous occasion, everyone in the room dancing and singing the night away, without a care in the world.

Whether it’s lifting one’s spirits when they are down or congratulating one’s accomplishments or milestones, toasts remind us of important events in our lives, much like bookmarks in a book. They may not always mark happy times, but they certainly mark the meaningful ones. I believe that there is a lot of value and significance in this shared experience. While the moment may seem somewhat superficial and fleeing on the surface, in reality it embodies so much more. At a wedding, a father can tell his daughter how much he really loves her by sharing a story about her with the closest people in her life. A best man can rip the groom to shreds with embarrassing stories, corny jokes and nicknames that only a best man can do well. Parents can congratulate their child on completing school, couples can celebrate an anniversary, soldiers can honor the fallen and the forgotten. Each toast holds a memory or experience that can elicit strong emotions and stir even the most tempered individuals.

We are a people, a community. To raise a glass to one another is to share in a bonding experience. It can bring people closer together, help reinforce strong fraternal or familial bonds, even mend broken relationships. We all want to feel like we belong, that we are acknowledged and valued by others and by ourselves. Most importantly, we want to have something to celebrate, something important that can be shared and enjoyed with others. Every time we say the blessing over the wine, we are essentially toasting God in thanks for giving us the fruits of the vine to enjoy. From prayers to weddings to bar mitzvahs, it is built in to the Jewish custom and tradition to give thanks and to celebrate the joyous occasions in our lives.

As Jews, it is customary for us to say, “L’Chaim!” after giving a toast. It makes sense to end such a moment with the timely phrase, “to life!” and subsequently quench our thirsts. In one motion, we can acknowledge to God and the world around us how thankful, how lucky, how happy, and most of all, how humble we are to be alive and to have opportunities to enrich both our own lives and the lives of those around us. We consecrate those feelings and beliefs with a physical connection towards one another via clinking of glasses. As the wine glasses are brought together, so symbolically are those grasping them, united in a common experience.

As 5771 draws to a close, let us all take a look back at this past year and raise a glass, to all the good times and the not-so-good, and be forever grateful for having lived through it all. As we raise our glasses simultaneously, we acknowledge that, as the “wine” symbolizes life itself, the whole bottle of life experience has been poured out, shared with others, and brought back together again, if only for a brief moment.

L’Chaim!!!!

I never had a bat mitzvah. Growing up, I did not belong to a synagogue. My family did nothing religiously organized. I married into a heavily community-affiliated Jewish family. I was married in their synagogue. My husband’s father was eulogized there. My children had their namings there and have attended the temple’s preschool. Our oldest is in Hebrew school and all but my youngest go to Sunday school there. Over the years, we have regularly attended Shabbat services for the kids and High Holy Day services there. I have made some friends and I have met some good people. But truth be told, after over 14 years, a connection to, or a soulful belonging within temple walls, has eluded me. Then one month ago, I found my connection to my Temple community. It was through the heart of the North Shore all the way to the South Side, in Englewood.

My husband and I have volunteered with young people in the Englewood community for many years. This spring, two of my Englewood students, whom I’ve known for the past four years, were accepted into college on scholarship. They are both the first in their families to go to college. The excitement in these kids was palatable. I was very, very proud of them. But, my excitement was a bit tempered when I found out from an Englewood community leader and mentor that the kids had received “the list.” That’s the list everybody gets telling you what you need to bring to college– from soap to a duvet and everything else in between. I remember that list– it represented the first step into my independence—and the argument that ensued between myself and my mom about my deep desire to buy light mint green sheets. She was attempting to dissuade me from my color choice as it would, “show every piece of dirt and dust!” I won the fight. (But she was right. Duh.) However, for my students, this list represented something else: an additional, unexpected roadblock. They had beaten the odds, earned scholarships through academic merit, and yet the reality set in that despite all that, they couldn’t afford the things they needed for school. They couldn’t afford the new beginning.

I was bereft. I was angry. But the larger issue for me was the injustice. And even larger, my issue was that here on the North Shore, I knew no one knew anything about it. So I called my friend, who is also a rabbi at my synagogue and I told her the story. She had been involved in many mitzvah projects over the years and I thought she might provide me with some guidance. A starting point. Anything. She listened intently and then asked me to email her the lists as well as a mini bio about each kid’s journey. I did. She then forwarded the information to about 30 people within our synagogue walls. The subject header read: “Want to help an incredible student go to college?” I was CCed in the email. Literally, within two minutes, someone emailed me offering $500. One minute later, I received an email donating $200. And it snowballed. People from the original email passed it on to friends and so on. In poured gift cards to Walmart, Bed Bath & Beyond and Target. Checks. Cash. Someone offered to bake cookies and brownies and mail them to the kids during the year like she did for her own daughter in college. Another person bought sheets and a duvet. Pillows, lamps, soap, shampoo, laundry baskets, hangers, cleaning supplies. It was soup to nuts. Every single item covered and then some. Then I received a call that someone wanted to buy a brand new laptop and right after that, another laptop had been secured for the other student— at a shiva no less!— by someone simply being moved by the sharing of the story of kids who so desperately want to make it.

I cried. I cried tears of gratitude and happiness. I was so unbelievably moved by the kindness of strangers who were in turn moved by these kids’ stories and motivated to take action to help them succeed. Englewood, geographically and culturally, can feel like a very far away land from the North Shore. It would be easy to turn away and pretend like the kids there don’t dream about growing up and being someone great, just like our kids do. What I feel happened, was that strangers made attachments to the hope. Bigger things were opened— much more than just wallets – doors, opportunities, hearts. The students were sent off with a sense that they are deserving and that people – strangers, who felt a world away from them— believe in them. As for me, as someone who has felt at a distance in connecting in the organized Jewish community, I also finally felt like less of a stranger myself.

There’s a group of people who every month visit a new, sometimes popular, more often lesser-known Chicago pizza restaurant. That group is known as the Windy City Pizza Club. Over the past 13 months, they’ve networked, the singles mingled, and they ate award-winning pizza at places like D’Agostino’s Pizza and Pub in Wrigleyville.

D’Agostino’s Pizzeria has four locations throughout the Chicago area but their flagship location is at 1351 West Addison Street— just west of Wrigley Field. The location has been a pizza icon since 1968 when Joe and Jan D’Agostino opened the doors— not realizing then that their pub would soon be a Chicago Cubs pre-and-post-game legend. D’Agostino’s is known as the, “Best in Wrigleyville.” While the pizza isn’t to die for, everything else is fantastic.

The pizza is served four ways. There is the award-winning thin crust, which is paper thin and while tasty, lacks any fulfillment because of its lack of, well, everything. A fan favorite is the double thin crust, as this type of pizza has double the amount of cheese and dough, making it more, “Chicago” rather than Neapolitan. A frequent Windy City Pizza Club member David Stock said, “My shared medium olive thin crust tasted about the same as my Jewel brand frozen pizza I had a few days earlier. I will probably not go back here for pizza, but I could see myself coming back for a few beers and to watch a game on one of the many televisions.”

Unfortunately reviews like David’s are more and more common at D’Agostino’s. According to several critics that frequent pizza restaurants around the city, the pizza pubs in Chicago are moving away from the traditions that made them famous throughout the years. Regardless, there are others who would disagree and say that their pizza is as good as it gets.

From a personal experience, their stuffed cheese, and pan pizza do a little better as they are a mess of cheese, sweet tomato sauce, and whatever else you would like to add on to their supersize pies. If you really want to feel heavy and full, this is what you need. For someone to eat one of D’Agostino’s Pizza’s, you need to be okay with the heavy amount of grease, even if you’re only having a vegetable pizza. For newbie’s to D’Agostino’s, try the pan pizza— it’s great to share, very fulfilling, and goes well with an ice cold brew before or during a game. You can also get their pan pizza’s at Wrigley Field.

The restaurant is full of televisions, trains winding around the ceiling, red-checkered tablecloths, and a great menu that includes wonderful salads, like the DAGS Italian Salad or Walnut Gorgonzola Salad, which are both delicious to share as an appetizer. They also have pasta, sandwiches, and entrees like a jumbo fried shrimp dinner, and desserts to please. They have a chunky homemade chocolate chip cookie served warm with a gigantic Scoop of Homer’s vanilla ice cream topped with hot fudge for only $5.95.

Overall, the restaurant wasn’t a major hit with the club, but nonetheless, everyone agrees that it’s a place to go back to— just not for the pizza. The best part of the whole experience for everyone was the service. Sometimes, large group service is a problem anywhere you go, but with a friendly wait staff, cooks that are organized, and bartenders that can keep the pace flowing on a crowded day, D’Agostino’s Pizza and Pub has the push to keep Cubs, Sox, and fair-weather fans coming back for years to come.

For information on joining the Windy City Pizza Club, email Kevin at KevinFriduss@gmail.com.

There are at least 25 other good movies set in Chicago, so look for this post’s sequel in the months to come.

The PresenTense Coordinators and PresenTense staff at our training conference in Jerusalem this past summer. 

This past week, PresenTense announced that it will launch 13 social entrepreneur fellowships in 10 cities around the world.  Some of the fellowships are with existing partnerships and others are brand new.  By next summer, dozens of new social ventures will launch in Chicago, Washington DC, Cleveland, Kansas City, Jerusalem, Moscow, Boston, Philadelphia, New York, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.  Social entrepreneurs are individuals with innovative ideas that can better the community, and social ventures are the result of taking those ideas and developing a new project or organization that provides solutions to social problems.  The fellowships, run as part of the PresenTense- developed Community Entrepreneur Partnership, are owned and managed by local partners in each of the cities, including Federations, JCCs, and the JDC.

Probably the most beneficial part of the PresenTense program is that there are many ways to be involved.  If someone has a big idea to make the Jewish community better in some way, the fellowship provides training and support to help that person see it through to a launched venture.  Many people are not looking to start new ventures or projects, but are still just as excited about the next big idea.  For these folks there is the steering committee—a group of individuals responsible for helping the program take shape and driving it forward.  The steering committee recruits the fellows, promotes the program and leverages their individual networks to bring in help.  Lastly, there are opportunities for experienced professionals in the Jewish and general business/entrepreneurial communities to act as mentors and coaches for the group of fellows. 

The program culminates in a one of a kind event known as Launch Night.  At Launch Night, the entire community comes together to get a first look at what a group of social entrepreneurs has created!  What start as just ideas, turn into real ventures that have the potential to create lasting change in local communities and those abroad.  Over the past five years PresenTense has been operating this program, they have launched over 140 ventures around the world.

Some of the brightest stars have included Challah for Hunger, an organization devoted to making challah on college campuses and selling them to raise money for charities.  It now exists on over 40 college campuses and has raised over a quarter of a million dollars.  Meanwhile, the Warehouse is bringing in young Jews that feel unaffiliated and underserved by providing non-traditional spaces and worship opportunities for them and incorporating music and new media.  Lastly, On Both Feet was started in Boston to combine improvisational comedy and Jewish texts to create interactive training and experiential education programs.

Part of my new role at the Jewish Federation of Greater Washington is to coordinate the Washington DC fellowship.  Chicago’s fellowship will be coordinated by Sara Massarik, who, as it turns out, is a pretty amazing choice for the job!  I recently met Sara when we both attended coordinator training in Jerusalem over the summer.  She is bright, experienced and knows a lot of the right people to help this project move forward.  She also happens to care a great deal about the Jewish community in Chicago. 

Questions?  Know someone that wants to get involved?  There is an informational meeting coming up soon, so email Sara Massarik, Chicago Coordinator at smassarik@gojcc.org for more information.

For the Greater Washington DC community: Email Andy Kirschner, DC Coordinator at andrew.kirschner@shalomdc.org.

My parents have been telling me I should visit the National U.S. Air Force Museum at the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base for ages. It’s understandable: I spent about two and a half years living and breathing WWII paratroopers, thanks to Band of Brothers. Planes have never been a particular interest of mine, but my parents wanted to share what they’ve enjoyed on previous visits (we have a wonderful photo of my mother posing in front of a bomber decorated with a gorgeous pinup, “Strawberry Bitch”). When I came back to Ohio for a visit over Labor Day weekend, we dropped off Gus at the dog spa, took the day and drove the 90 minutes to Fairborn.

My first surprise was how enthralled I was by the early airplanes. The turn-of-the-century flying machines and First World War dogfighters were works of art; I was particularly taken with the beautiful grain of the wood propellers. (In August, after wanting desperately to do it since I was five, I finally got to go whale-watching in Massachusetts; laugh if you want, but there was something about those early planes that reminded me of the humpbacks we saw. They were incredibly graceful, even if some of them were literally made of balsa wood.) Seeing those artifacts in the flesh always fills me with a sense of awe—it doesn’t take much to look at the crumpled goggles and high-laced boots and imagine the people who dared flight when it was a much more dangerous proposition.

On the other side of the hangar (one of three that comprise the museum) were the WWII exhibits. This was where I recognized more, and it was an equally astounding experience. Spitfires! Jump boots! Glenn Miller’s glasses! A C-47, like they used over Normandy! Painted bomber jackets! Whizz! Bang! Pow! It’s easy to get caught up in the sheer neatness of browsing through all these artifacts; the past is right in front of you, and real people used these objects as everyday parts of their lives. It’s a shivery, immersive feeling that I really treasure; it’s the same feeling I get reading oral histories. This compass helped someone stationed in the Aleutian Islands. This cap kept a pilot warm over North Africa. This lighter belonged to a kid from Brooklyn who died at 21.

After two hours, everyone started getting antsy and wanting some lunch. There was a lot of museum left, but I’d seen most of what I’d come for, and there was only a little of the WWII hangar still to see. I went ahead while my parents examined a greatcoat worn through the Battle of the Bulge. The end of the exhibit was all Pacific bombers, with bronzed and bare-chested mannequins unloading crates and checking on machinery. The last airplane was monstrous, a gleaming silver behemoth nearly the size of a commercial plane. After weaving through a number of placards, I finally stumbled on the identifying signage.

I was standing in front of Bockscar, the plane that dropped Fat Man on Nagasaki. A replica atomic bomb was on display near the loading bay. All my excitement at the other artifacts shriveled up. Seventy thousand casualties happened under this plane. And then an impossibly brutal war ended. How do you reconcile that? I had to leave as soon as I could. To go from that to the gift shop was an exercise in emotional whiplash. I don’t think the mood wore off even as we were driving home.

I wasn’t prepared to see Bockscar, and I wasn’t prepared to be so overwhelmed. My relationship with the other exhibit items had been very innocent and uncritical, which, in retrospect, did a disservice to us both. The bomber was presented in a completely heroic context, but I had other things on my mind: the testimonies of Japanese and Americans who lived through the bombings and their aftermaths, as told to Studs Terkel in “The Good War”; and an article I’d read last month, contending that Japan surrendered because of Soviet entry into the Pacific Theater, and claiming that the destruction of cities has never been a deterrent in modern warfare.

It’s easy to get comfortable with a narrative. We are taught in most American schools that bombing Nagasaki saved countless lives and spared the world a much-prolonged conflict. That might be true. But there’s always something new to understand by demanding discussion of past events.

We’ve been asking a lot of questions as we prepare for the anniversary of 9/11: What happened? What did we do? What do we know now? What could we do better? The questions we’re asking this week shouldn’t be an annual exercise, but a continual one. What we do with how we answer is too important for us to simply remember and not engage.

Years ago, when I started dating David, the man who would end up being my husband, I knew that if this was the real deal, pets would be the great debate in our relationship.

He always had pets growing up—everything from dogs and cats to turtles and birds. The dog he had as a young child, a lab named Hershey, lived a long and fulfilling 14 years and was beloved by David and his family until she passed away a couple years ago.

I had a goldfish. His name was Sammy (although whether or not he was a “he” was unconfirmed). Sammy actually lived for five years, though it seems I did nearly everything I could to kill him sooner—I didn’t feed him regularly, his bowl wasn’t cleaned nearly enough, and as you can guess, we rarely spent much time together. I’m horribly allergic to cats, slightly scared of dogs and pretty much every other potential pet (excluding fish, obviously) grosses me out.

David would always point out dogs he liked and suggest potential breeds for us to get for our first pet. Once he warmed me up to the idea of a dog, it never seemed that we saw eye-to-eye. My allergies kept us restricted to only hypoallergenic breeds, ruling out dogs like huskies, bulldogs, and all the other “manly breeds” that David so admired. And besides, I didn’t want a huge, scary dog. I wanted something cute and cuddly, preferable the size of a small handbag (that would perhaps fit in a large handbag). When I suggested a mini-poodle, a cockapoo or a bichon, I was swiftly rejected—according to him, the Friedmans would not own a tiny dog that would leave my husband feeling emasculated.

The years passed and every few months, the topic would come up, we would disagree once more, and it would be tabled. But then this summer, David graduated from business school at the end of June and has several months off before he starts work on Halloween (it’s ok to be jealous—I am).

We realized that now, more than ever, was the perfect time to get and train a dog, while he had so much time at home. So the debate resumed, this time with more research and deeper thought. Because of my allergies, adopting or rescuing a dog was not a viable option. We started researching breeds and breeders, and discovered that there was such a thing as medium-sized dogs, dogs that are not too girly or manly and options that we could both fall in love with.

And let me tell you—looking at pictures of puppies on the internet is quite possibly one of the greatest things it has to offer.

In the end, we settled on looking for labradoodles or goldendoodles. We both compromised—we wouldn’t be getting a dog that would fit in my purse, but we wouldn’t be getting a 70 plus pound dog either. She’d be hypoallergenic, but fun and cute without being yippy or goofy looking.

And when we visited the breeder, it didn’t take long to fall head over heels. Pictured below is the fruit of our compromise, the world’s cutest and most amazing puppy of all time (from the most biased blogger ever, but that’s neither here nor there), Kenzie.

Last Friday, through the cloud of my sinus-y, phlegmy sickness-from-hell, I mentioned that I recently had a bit of a making friends aha moment.

Well, the clouds have parted, I can finally breathe through my noise and swallow without wincing, so I’m focused and ready to discuss.

Gretchen Rubin, in her Secrets of Adulthood, says that “the opposite of a great truth is also true.” (As it turns out, she borrowed this from physicist Niels Bohr, but let us not pretend that I am caught up on the work of physicists. In fact, I opted out of physics in high school.) Examples, for Rubin, include: “Control and mastery are key elements of happiness; so are novelty and challenge;” “The days are long, but the years are short;” “Happiness doesn’t always make me feel happier.”

I’ve always loved these truthful contradictions, because I believe in this “secret” wholeheartedly. I’ve gotten in many a tiff with my husband where he will say, “You’re contradicting yourself!” and I’ll say, “But I’m telling the truth!” It may not be logical, but it’s real.

When it comes to friend-making here’s my revelatory discovery, two truisms that contradict: “To make friends, you must be okay with being alone.”

Did I just blow your mind?

There are many reasons why this is true. First, back when I wasn’t as comfortable being alone, I often stayed in because I didn’t have anyone to go out with. So instead of going out, exploring, and talking to new people, I’d stay at home, peruse Facebook, and watch Friday Night Lights (R.I.P Riggins). As you can imagine, this exercise in TV watching didn’t bring me any new BFFs.

Also, when I wasn’t as cozy in the world of solo adventuring, I would see a sign for a class or an activity–say, a dance class or a flash mob–and I’d think: That looks like fun, I wish I had a friend to do it with. Now, my thought process has flipped. The new reaction to a posting for said class or flash mob is: That looks like fun. Maybe I’ll make a friend when I do it. See the difference? The first is restrictive–since I didn’t have a friend, I didn’t do it. The second offers possibility–do it anyway, and maybe (bonus!) make a new pal.

People often think they want friends because they hate being alone, when really you should want friends because you love company. There’s a difference. People who fear time with themselves, and thus find company in the arms of The Kardashians or even a good book (and I’m not knocking either one), will likely find themselves alone for far longer than those who embrace the solo lifestyle. Aside from the reasons above, people who are comfortable with themselves and don’t need a companion for every little thing, exude a confidence that attracts new friends. The opposite attitude can potentially project a neediness that turns others off. Something to think about…

Do you agree with this friend-making contradiction? Have you found that the more comfy you are by yourself, the easier it is to meet potential BFFs? Do you have another friend-making Secrets of Adulthood you are ready to share?

Twenty-seven days ago, Tanya Ester Avigyle came into this world, alert and alive, looking wide-eyed at me while I stared at her in disbelief, gasping, “oh my God, oh my God” on repeat for what felt like forever.

But this isn’t the story of the afterbirth; of the lessons and ways my mind has taken in this new abrupt identity and transformation, as physically my body recovers from shedding 25 lbs. in the span of a few minutes.

It’s the story of the sequence of events that led up to that, the frantic cab ride, the months of emotional and intellectual preparation, the fear of the unknown, that waiting and the waiting, the decision of to induce or not to induce as I approached 42 weeks, the days of being cooped up in a fourth floor Israel apartment in the heat of the summer, and the final day in which everything I had been hoping for in the last nine plus months came to fruition.

After learning about how labor and birth can be the ultimate spiritual, emotional and intellectual challenge, (check out the fantastic book Labor of Love) I decided that I wanted to take on the challenge of attempting to have a holistic birth experience; learning how to relax my body while it encountered the greatest pain of its life, learning how to release fear and embrace the unknown, learning how to trust that my body can do this, that it was meant to do this. I was going to try and give it my all, and try and do it without pain medication— as much as I could.

On the 10th of Av, August 10th, a day after Tisha B’Av, I awoke at 11 a.m., and started to feel my body experiencing some sort of inner pressure.

By 1 p.m. it was pretty obvious—I was finally going into labor.

I labored at home until I was ready to go to the hospital. They say it’s important to stay at home, in an environment of safety and familiarity as much as you can. The experience of being in a cold, unfamiliar hospital arena can cause a woman to tighten up, become afraid and complicate the labor thus slowing it down.

My husband came home excited and encouraged me throughout the entire thing, as I, in a fog, tried to visualize myself running track, with teammates, friends, even my track coach! (Where did he come from?) All rooting me on. “I can do it!” I chanted. “I can do it!” “You can do it!” My husband shouted back at me grinning. “You can do it!!”

By 6:30 it was becoming increasingly obvious that now was the time REALLY the time, as I realized that I was feeling the need to push, and that the baby was pretty ready to come into this world.

My duela arrived and the three of us quickly hailed a cab. It was the classic scene of a woman frantically huffing and puffing in the backseat of a taxi, as the cab driver according to my husband, was grinning from ear to ear, having the time of his life, with an excuse to drive as crazy as he wanted along the Israeli streets—an Israeli cab driver’s dream come true.

“Pray for me,” I shouted to my husband, calmly turning to the duela to explain, “God listens to him.” She laughed and nodded, “I’m sure He does.”

We arrived and my duela ran through the hallways with me in a wheelchair huffing and puffing. Being overcrowded, I’m taken into a room with two other women giving birth, sectioned off by a curtain, and the process of pushing begins.

“Imagine your child in your hands very soon,” the duela encourages, but this doesn’t help me because I never really have held a baby before and didn’t know what it felt like.

And so I dreamed of the only thing I knew—having Shabbos meals with my children, standing proudly at their bar mitzvah, watching them go to the chuppah… and as the pain came in waves, in my mind’s eye, I saw two golden challahs, and that’s what I concentrated on as my body swayed back and forth. I looked up to God and told Him, I’m doing this for you, so help me through this, knowing that it didn’t have to been painful if He didn’t want it to be.

Finally, the time had come, and as I lay on my back, she emerged, wide eyed, alert, and loving, reaching towards me as I stared at her in disbelief. Wait, what? What just happened? Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…

I had gotten through it without any medication, just with two golden challahs in my mind, a lot of love and support.

That’s the story. But here comes the real story, the reason why it all took place. Now comes the ultimate challenge. May it be revealed good. Hello, Tanya Ester Avigyle. Welcome to this world. Let’s get to work.

My wife gets mad at me— as she should— when I judge her sweet tooth. The truth is, I also have a mean sweet tooth. I try and avoid the office M&M’s and the giant sized cupcakes being sold in trucks and bakeries on every street corner, but I’m only human. I try to keep sugar at bay with small portions and I opt for freshly baked goods as opposed to boxed goodies.

When people ask me how to avoid sweets, I have one simple answer for them, eat what you want, but only take a taste. And if you know you are going to have a heavy meal, a Specialty’s Bakery cookie (my favorite) or something else dangerous, make sure it’s a day you’re working out. My other big tip, log your food. Write down everything you eat for one week and you will have a good understanding of your diet.

If you want more nutritional advice, turn to the experts. (I’m always happy to recommend a good nutritionist.) Recently, I met with one, sports nutrition expert Deb Ognar. I was curious to see if my post exercise chocolate milk was a good choice or just a tasty one. Here is some of what I learned:

The best thing to eat/drink after a workout
Recovery doesn't start until you rehydrate and refuel after long intense workouts. The recovery meal may be the most important meal of the day. If you are consistently training hard or working out multiple times in day, rapid recovery is a must. Eating within 30 minutes of finishing an intense workout can help an athlete recover faster, minimize chronic fatigue, and help train your muscles to store more fuel.

Nutritional components of recovery should include: fluids (24 ounces for every pound lost during a workout), carbohydrates (about half your weight in grams of carbohydrates), and protein (10-20 g). The carb to protein ratio should be around 3:1. Basically carbs should be the focus with a little protein added. Great recovery food/drinks include:
• chocolate milk (I win)
• sports bars
• peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
• granola bar
• graham crackers with peanut butter
• trail mix
• yogurt
• crackers and string cheese

Energy drinks
Energy drinks can give more immediate energy due to the high level of caffeine and sugar content. However, many energy drinks contain substances and other stimulants in them that can be dangerous. They usually have multiple stimulants in them that when combined can be dangerous. A few hazards of energy drinks:
• decreased concentration
• heart palpitations
• nervousness
• increased blood pressure

Safe ways to boost energy
Healthy ways to increase energy are: make sure you are well hydrated (dehydration causes fatigue), make sure you are getting enough sleep, eat a balanced healthy diet, eat every few hours (avoid skipping meals and snacks), and consume enough carbohydrates to support your activity level.

Do I really need to take my Flintstones (multivitamins)?
A multivitamin can give a person extra coverage if they don't consistently eat a varied diet. Although a multivitamin shouldn't be a substitute for whole foods, it can fill in some nutrient gaps that might be missing in the diet. The US Dietary Guidelines Advisory Committee identified vitamin D, calcium, iron, B-12, and folic acid as some nutrients that many Americans consume too little of.

How do you know if a supplement is safe?
If a label carries a USP or NSF seal then the supplement contains what is stated on the label. Also, NSF Certified for Sport is another independent company that does testing on products to confirm content, purity, and identifies banned substances.

Recommended supplements
Working with NCAA athletes, supplements are always a tricky area. Since they are not regulated by the government there is no guarantee that supplements are not contaminated or tainted with NCAA banned substances. If collegiate athletes decide to take supplements, they do so at their own risk, and are ultimately liable if something comes up in the product.

That said whey protein, which is naturally found in milk, yogurt, cottage cheese, and other dairy products, is rich in branched chain amino acids (BCAA). Whey protein has a higher content of leucine compared to other proteins. Leucine has been independently shown to stimulate muscle protein synthesis. Since during exercise the body uses a small amount of BCAAs, it would be helpful— as part of recovery nutrition— to replenish them. Bottom line—including a carbohydrate source and high quality protein (such as whey) post exercise (in a 3:1 ratio of carbohydrates to protein) in combination with resistance exercise can help with muscle mass gains and muscle recovery.

Creatine has been shown to increase lean mass, encourage strength gains, enhance recovery and increase endurance. Note that not only is it found in supplemental form, it can be also found naturally in meat, fish, and pork. Additionally, caffeine has been shown to aid performance in long endurance activity and might also improve performance in intense short duration exercise. Urinary caffeine levels exceeding (15ug/mL) is banned in NCAA athletics.

In a city known for deep dish pizza, hot dogs, and spicy fries at U.S. Cellular Field, a little know secret still remains at the ultimate popular sports bar in Wicker Park, Fifty/50.

After years of disgraced and so-so Buffalo wings at almost every bar in Chicago, we have finally found the ultimate wing. This wing isn’t like any other you have ever come across. This wing is quite large with choices such as regular or boneless and flavors such as buffalo, teriyaki, tangy BBQ, BBQ, or orange sauce. All in all, these wings have something to offer to anyone. You can go with the 8-piece ($9), 16-piece ($17) or massive 50-piece set for a sum of $45. The only warning that I have heard from frequent wing buyers is that each wing equals two, meaning, your order actually means double.

Fifty/50 is a three level sports bar with two bars and 12 flat screen televisions and mainly focuses on secret sauces, fried foods and sandwiches. Each floor has a slightly different feel—the main and lower levels consist of booths, high-tops and a bar while the top floor has regular four-person low tables. With owners like Greg Mohr and Scott Weiner (Joe’s Prime Steak and Seafood) and investors such as Yankees player Curtis Granderson and renowned chef Brian Storey, this sports pub is the real deal, and worth a try.

Not only is the food menu impressive, but they also are serving up 40 oz. beers that vary each week, as well as a bunch of domestic brews. The beer menu is tourist-like, meaning cheap, with very little craft and micro-brew items. Nonetheless, they always have daily deals such as $1 beer Mondays and fun events during March Madness and the Super Bowl that make for a lively atmosphere. They also have a DJ that regularly plays between commercials for big games.

If you’re a big sports fan and attending the Fifty/50 for a big game, be sure to arrive at least an hour early for a table, order the nachos and cheese fries for an appetizer, and then let the spicy wings and good times roll. By the way, if you’ve ever ordered wings at Wrigley Field, Fifty/50 supplies the wings of the Cubs!

I sat down last night looking for fodder for my latest blog post and tuned in to a new episode of Millionaire Matchmaker and then disillusionment hit me. Why am I still watching this show? I used to love to hear Patti and her wise cracks— she’d put those arrogant, Stepford-wife-seeking-men in their place! But now every episode feels exactly the same, and even worse, fake.

I happened to pick up the RedEye this past Monday on my commute to work and I read the story about Daniel Kibblesmith, a Chicagoan who works for Groupon who appeared as a bachelor looking for love on Monday’s episode. In the article, the author explains how Stanger’s camp reached out to Groupon’s PR team, ideally to get the founder on the show. Turns out he’s engaged, so Groupon’s camp offered up Daniel and they settled for him.

Interesting. So much for the idea that millionaires seek out Patti’s services. But what really irked me, was while Patti watched the tape of a perfectly nice, although nerdy, Chicago boy introducing himself to the club, Patti remarked, “give him his money back, I can’t help him.”

First of all, Patti, you claim to be a professional matchmaker, so you should be able to help anyone. Second of all, it says on the bottom of every episode, that none of the bachelors who appear on the show actually pay for your services, so don’t suddenly pretend they do just to embarrass them more.

Now I realize that’s how every episode of this show works and that people sign up willingly to participate knowing they could be embarrassed, but this time for whatever reason, I got upset at being duped— probably because it was a local guy.

Now Millionaire Matchmaker isn’t even really my biggest gripe. At least no one physically gets hurt. But this morning I got upset. Really upset. I turned on my computer and did what I do every morning over a bowl of Cheerios—check my email and read People.com. There it was, after weeks of speculation and criticism (that I agreed with), Bravo announced it is still moving forward with the second season of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills as planned. Here is the full statement from Bravo Media President Frances Berwick:

"Bravo will proceed with the Monday, September 5 premiere date of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Given that these episodes were filmed months ago, the producers of the show taped a brief interview this week with several cast members to introduce the premiere…Re-editing of the episodes is still underway."

For those of you who haven’t heard the news, one of the “househusbands” from the show recently committed suicide leaving behind a five-year-old daughter and 11 and 13 year old sons. His cast member wife spent last season sobbing to her cast-mates about how awful her marriage was, as the show vilified her spouse in every scene he appeared in. The second season is supposed to carry a similar plotline for her “character,” only this year she does file for divorce. Now, I’m not saying that this guy was totally innocent of all wrongdoing. I didn’t like him either when I watched last year. But in lieu of everything coming out about him now, how he put all of his money into building his wife up so she’d fit the shows’ wealthy mold, I’m starting to feel a little differently.

Here are some of his own words in a Daily Beast article:

“‘I didn't really understand what we were getting into.’ He said that times when he was shown leaving parties, disappointing his wife, were in fact late at night.  

He agreed that his decision to stay in the background of the show ‘backfired.’  

‘I’m going to be more engaging next season,’ Armstrong said. In person, he appeared more at ease than he had on camera and seemed eager to show reporters speaking with him at a party that he was kinder than audiences had seen him being.  

In a reunion special for the show, broadcast in early February, Armstrong responded to questions about what it was like watching his marital troubles on television. ‘It was difficult,’ he said. ‘The last three years have been very challenging for the entire country. I, candidly, have been working 80-hour weeks. It’s very easy to get preoccupied with kids and business and the day-to-day grind.’  

So, I do feel bad for the man, I don’t believe he understood exactly what he was getting himself into. Moreover, I feel horrible for his parents, who’ve now spoken out against the show, and most importantly for his children, who hopefully don’t yet know all the details of his passing. But inevitably now will, thanks to the show and media coverage. And it bothers me knowing that a new season of the show is about to premiere (so soon after) that will once again vilify a man who can’t even defend himself.

I understand that Bravo was counting on the show airing and a lot of fans will be disappointed. I, too, was really looking forward to another season with my favorite housewives, but when does it cross the line? Shouldn’t this be it?

As I see it, the show needs to be re-shot without Taylor Armstrong and her family, or somehow they need to both be edited out of all scenes and plotlines. But I’m not sure that’s going to happen.

So what do we as viewers do? Do we boycott shows like Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, or rather do we watch shows like Millionaire Matchmaker and Keeping up with the Kardashians that embrace their scripted-ness?

I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to tune in to the second season of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on Monday. I might see how they handle the first episode and go from there. But I’m curious to hear others thoughts…do you think Bravo has gone too far?

In early July, on one of the happiest and most perfect days I can remember, I got married!

After a year and a half of wedding planning and events—including showers, a bachelorette party, an auf ruf, a wonderful and warm wedding and an amazing honeymoon—suddenly, it’s two months later, it’s all over and I’m left with a sky high pile of thank you notes to write and a quickly fading tan…Oh yeah, and a new, caring, handsome and kind husband who I adore.

As we are in the midst of wedding season and coming up on a three-day weekend that is surely jam-packed with weddings and engagements, I thought I’d impart some of my wedding wisdom (I mean, I’ve been married a whole two months now, so I’m basically an expert) to all of you brides and grooms-to-be out there. Here are a few lessons I learned from this whole crazy process:

No matter how stressful the planning process may seem, it’s totally worth it.
I’ll admit that at the beginning, and through most of the planning process, I wasn’t so much into all this. Lucky for me, my mom was super organized and took the lead on the process—and I’m so grateful that she did. I promise, all the stress and fighting and tough decision-making is worth it when you get to that day.

The first few months after you get engaged are really exciting and fun, but they can also be the most stressful and overwhelming time. It’s totally normal to cry a lot (I definitely did), but once you figure out the major stuff—I recommend choosing your date, location and officiant first, then band or DJ, photographer and wedding coordinator, if you’re having one—you can take your time figuring out the rest.

Wake up on your wedding day with a smile on your face.
I spent a lot of time leading up to my wedding worrying about little things that I wish I hadn’t. You put so much stock and effort into this one day and there are so many factors you just can’t control—weather, traffic, if someone comes down with the flu—and it’s easy to get caught up in worry and anxiety.

My best advice for the day of is to just let all the stresses of the past few months (or years) of planning go.  This might sound a little crazy, but leading up to the wedding, I would envision myself waking up that morning happy and excited and ready to get married, instead of stressed, anxious and nervous.

Partly because of this, and partly because of the fact that once you wake up that morning there’s nothing left to worry about, it worked—I was the happy, excited and calm bride I had envisioned (now if only I could envision myself this calm all the time, I’d be in good shape.)

There will never be enough time.
Your wedding will fly by. I thought this was maybe just a cliché, but it’s true. You won’t have time to dance with everyone you want to, talk with everyone you want to, taste everything you want to—you probably won’t even get to see your dessert (I didn’t). So just do the best you can—people will understand. And try to have as much fun as you possibly can while at the same time being the most gracious bride or groom you can be.

Your friends are awesome. 
At least mine are. Our friends totally made our wedding. Good friends will be there for you all day and dance like idiots all night. Just be sure to thank them profusely and be sure to return the favor when it’s their big day. Same goes for family members—(shout out to my sister, who was the world’s best maid of honor.) 

Beat the post-wedding blues 
You’re married, now what?

This is definitely not the healthiest thing to do, but the first thing we did after our wedding was to eat anything and everything we wanted…I’m not sure how long this diet (I’m calling it the anti-diet) is acceptable, but we’re still doing it….maybe when our clothes stop fitting?

But seriously, I think the best way to beat post-wedding blues is to move on to the next big step in your lives as a couple. For us, it’s been searching for a new place to live that is big enough so we can start married life with a kitchen table. It’s also fun to get back your photos and videos—I sometimes find organizing my photos and memories helps me close an exciting chapter in my life and move on to the next.

That’s all from this newlywed. I’d love to hear what all of you have to say—comment below with your wedding advice:

Gabe Carimi  

Before the NFL Season starts, The Great Rabbino wants to look at the most compelling Jewish NFL stories for fans to follow over the season. Here are the top 10 stories:

10) Will Sage Rosenfels see playing time— Rosenfels is Eli Manning's backup, which means he probably won't see the field barring injury. But if that does happen, is Rosenfels truly the Giants QB2?

9) Binn back— Former Pro Bowler Charger's Long Snapper David Binn was out almost all of last season. Hopefully, this ageless wonder can come back to pro bowl form.

8) Pro Bowl punting— Adam Podlesh was last year's pro bowl alternate. This year he is in a new league on a team (our Chicago Bears) that shines on Special Teams. Will Podlesh finally bring some Jewish representation to the Pro Bowl?

7) L.A. Raiders in Oakland or LA? Make up your mind. Several Los Angeles groups want a football team in LA. Rumors have it; the Raiders are going back there. What does this mean for Al Davis?

6) New and improved Redskins— Like every year the Redskins and Daniel Synder make a ton of moves— maybe the biggest by moving huge man (and contract) Albert Haynesworth. Will this pay off? Rex Grossman sure seems to think so by claiming they would beat out the Eagles, Giants, and Cowboys for the division title. Good luck.

5) Can Antonio Garay keep it up— Garay has been a journeyman most of his career. But last year he performed and performed well. Is San Diego finally the place Garay remains consistent.

4) Will Julian Edelman see the field— Two years ago The Great Rabbino blew up in part because of Julian Edelman. Edelman, from Kent State, stepped in for the injured Wes Welker and performed at a high level. Last year, he was a virtually irrelevant. This one time up and coming receiver needs to bounce back and ask Brady for the ball.

3) Can the Bear Jew protect Cutler— The Bears selected Gabe Carimi in the first round for one reason; keep Jay Cutler off the ground. If Carimi is to prove that he was worth a #1 pick, he needs to do just that.

2) Which Taylor Mays will show up— We hear he is in ridiculous shape and we have seen sparks of greatness from Taylor Mays. We have also seen him disappear. With new coach Jim Harbaugh, how will Mays perform?

1) Super team— There is a lot of hype surrounding Jeffrey Lurie's Philadelphia Eagles. Are they a Super-Team? Are they Super Bowl Bound? Eagle fans are praying for a championship, but are they praying hard enough? A lot rest on the shoulders of Michael Vick and all the off-season moves Lurie's Eagles made.

And Let Us Say...Amen.

See below for a bunch of photos taken at the photo booth at the Oy!Chicago presents, “For the Love of Summer” party. Comment below on your favorites and to see the rest, click here for our Oy!Chicago Facebook album.

Hope all of you had fun and thanks for coming!!

I’m bummed August is rapidly coming to a close. Where did the summer go? June was a massive fail weather-wise and July and August simply flew by in a blur. I’m not quite ready to say goodbye to summer in Chicago—I never even made it to the beach.

Nonetheless, fall has always seemed to bring with it some magic. There’s something about that first nip in the air that permeates into our skin and although chilly, warms us.

When I was a kid, I loved visiting the apple orchard, stocking up on school supplies, carefully planning my outfits for the entire first week of school, and taking the special trip with my mother to the costume store to choose my Halloween costume. The beginning of a new school year opened up the door to endless possibilities and successes. I always felt fulfilled and determined, writing my first notes and homework assignments down in my trusty Chandler’s notebook with a brand new pen. During college, I continued to feel the same sense of endless possibilities I had felt during my younger years. I was eager to gain knowledge in the classroom, equally anticipated getting asked on dates by frat boys to the Vandy home games, and anxiously awaited other exciting happenings the year would add to my overall college experience. As I moved into my professional political career, fall continued to be special because it was election season—again, anything could happen.

Now, although I look forward to the crisp air and warm colors, I’m approaching the season more cautiously and perhaps more realistically. After all, in Chicago, fall is simply a brief precursor to a long, cold winter. Sometimes this depresses me, but maybe that’s also what makes the season magical, it’s so short and evanescent, but so lovely. Now though, it’s my busiest time at work, and although successfully completing the various projects is rewarding, it’s also intimidating and exhausting. The magic has faded somewhat with age and experience, but I still can’t help but anticipate the season, hopefully at least sprinkled with some magic. I look forward to quenching my thirst with fresh apple cider, actually following NFL football for the first time this year (that’s a goal, by the way), and most of all, I can’t wait to slip my skinny jeans, knee-high boots, fur scarf (sorry PETA, I had a weak moment while shopping a few Octobers ago in NYC), and tweed blazer back on— the lush fabrics, the deep jewel tones, the chic silhouettes— and for a couple fleeting months, no concerns of salt stains or water damage. Fall fashion is always magic.

Even if life now fades some of fall’s magical glow, it still does not fail to promise the thrill of new beginnings. This year, I’ll be celebrating my brother’s wedding (believe it or not, the first Jewish wedding this Jewish girl will have ever attended) and my five-year college reunion.

What are you looking forward to this fall? Let the magic begin!

The market stalls are bursting with produce. It seems as though everywhere I turn there is an abundance of riotously colored vegetables and fruit. The possibilities seem endless—so much food, so little time. I am happy this time of year in the market. I feel blessed to live near so many farmers and shoppers who share enthusiasm for high quality, local produce.

But, like all good things, this too will end. The season won’t taper off slowly and gracefully. One day not too far from this moment it will just end. The vines will simply not produce any more. The weather will turn cold and the party will be over. I like to hang on to remnants of summer and look to preserving some of the bounty. It is at this time of year, I start canning and pickling.

Refrigerator pickles are quick and simple. They tend to have a bright flavor and keep that summer feeling. I like to pickle beets, carrots, beans, peppers, tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, eggplant, cauliflower…you name it, I’ve pickled it!

These pickled veggies can be the star or co-star of your late summer meals. I add them to salads, garnish steaks with them and eat them with great cheeses and bread in the Sukkah (the holidays ARE coming). Hold on to summer for just a few more weeks by pickling the color and flavor or summer’s bounty.

Refrigerator Pickles
Basic Pickling Liquid 

2 cups Apple Cider vinegar
2 cups water
1 cup sugar
½ cup kosher salt
2 tablespoons mustard seeds
½ teaspoon dried chili flakes
½ teaspoon whole black peppercorns
½ teaspoon coriander seed
1 small cinnamon stick
several slices of peeled ginger

1. Bring the above mixture to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer until the sugar has dissolved. Cool completely.

2. Prep the vegetables that you are pickling by blanching and shocking them until they are tender or by roasting them in the case of beets until they are tender. Peel and cut to size. Arrange the vegetables in clean jars. Pour the pickling mixture over the vegetables to completely cover and seal with tight fitting lids. Refrigerate the pickled vegetables for one week before serving.

The refrigerator pickles can be stored, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 6 weeks.

So here we are— 11 weeks post-treatment, eight weeks post-infection, six weeks post-reconnection with the outside world.

It feels great to be back, but I am not really back.

So where exactly am I? And who exactly is this?

I feel as if I am living in gumby’s over-stretched body. I have one foot planted in the life that I used to lead, that is familiar, cancer-free, routine, and safe. The other foot is planted in a new life that is unfamiliar, cancerous, exciting, and frightening.

I am attempting to walk around with mismatched shoes and over-stretched limbs that are being yanked and pulled in opposing directions. I am working hard to get my feet and legs to communicate with one another, but they are both so opinionated!

The leg and foot that exists in the life that I used to lead has decided to go on a sprint, exploring the roads that are familiar, routine, comfortable and committed to memory. I run down these paths with a new found urgency and fear that one day I will be robbed of these memories, robbed of this space, robbed of this life.

And then there is the other leg and foot that is planted in this new territory, this new space, this new existence. This world operates at a slower pace, is filled with new emotions, new feelings, new ideas and a new perspective. All of my senses are magnified— I see and feel things differently. I bruise more easily.

Two legs, two feet, two worlds, two selves, that are sprinting and walking in vehemently opposed directions.

How can I really be back, when I am headed in opposite directions? How can I really be back, when part of me is choosing to live in a time before cancer? How can I really be back when the other part of me is trying to find my footing in a post-treatment world?

As I continue to try to live in both worlds, I am really living in neither.

As I work to find my footing, work to find my balance, work to integrate my two feet, my two legs, my two worlds, my two selves, I am still fighting cancer.

What many do not understand is that while I may not be tied up— I am still fighting. While I may not be awaiting another round of treatment— I am still fighting. While I may not be bound to my bed, mal-nourished and exhausted— I am still fighting.

I fight every day to be here, to be present, and to be alive.

I fight every day to live fully, live gratefully, and live mindfully.

I fight every day to hold on to the hope that Cancer will not return, will not reenter my body, will not reenter the life that I am trying to slowly, pragmatically and thoughtfully rebuild.

And perhaps it is that fear that is preventing me from taking these 2 feet, 2 legs, 2 worlds and 2 selves and integrating it into 1 life.

As I was perusing around the Internet one afternoon a Facebook page called Hallelujah: A global Jewish singing contest caught my eye. Interesting, who would not want to sing their way to win a free flight to Israel? “This is your chance to become a Jewish Star!” the website bellowed. I thought it was a great idea. Of course, most of us are already aware of the surge of talent competitions across the globe, mostly due to the recent successes of shows like, “American Idol,” “America’s Got Talent,” the UK’s “Pop Idol,” “The Voice” and “Britain’s Got Talent”. I find this recent global wave of talent shows and competitions both provocative and intriguing. Sure, many of them seem silly and mildly entertaining on the surface. But these shows are also a good way to connect to others across the globe more easily than ever before. Given the popularity of these types of shows,this competition seems like a great idea.

There is no better way to create and maintain a strong global Jewish community than through song and dance. So what better way to promote this concept than through a vocal competition where the winner gets to travel throughout the land of Israel, visit some of the greatest places on earth, share a love of everything musical and Jewish, and connect with countless other Jewish people across country lines and oceans?

So, what is this contest all about? Here’s what the website says:

“What is Hallelujah? The Hallelujah contest has been searching for the next Jewish Star. After hundreds of auditions from 62 countries, we are proud to present the 31 finalists from 14 countries. The finalists arrived in Israel ready to train and compete but also ready to learn about their Jewish roots through the sound of Hebrew songs. In this application you will find each singer's personal profile and original audition tape. On August 25, 2011 the finalists hit the big stage for the final blowout concert. The entire event will be broadcast live from the beautiful city of Ramat HaSharon, north of Tel Aviv.”

So cool! The contest not only promotes original songwriting by Jewish artists and amateurs alike, but it also plans and organizes a countrywide trip throughout. Although it’s too late to enter this year’s competition, there is still time to go to their website and vote on your favorite! The contestants hail from all over the world and incorporate all different types of musical and lyrical skills. You can satisfy your reality television temptations while simultaneously connecting with Jews everywhere in the world.

So go check out the finalists’ music videos on the website and cast your own vote for who should be flown to Israel to compete in a singing competition and travel across one of the greatest countries in the world. Who are you going to choose as the winner of this awesome competition? Or will YOU be next year’s “Hallelujah Star”?!

L’Chaim!

Add Andy Dick to the list of celebrities who feel perfectly free to toss around anti-Semitic slurs as cavalierly as if they were commenting on the weather. He just called Howard Stern a “miserly… money-grubbing Jew” with a “big, fat, hook nose.” I’m not sure how I feel defending Howard Stern in a war of words, but these comments are over the line.

Kanye West’s recent self-comparison to Hitler, to express how much he feels hated, is another recent example of this kind of nonsense.

And so Andy and Kanye join a list of celebrities who feel it is OK to dabble in Nazi and anti-Semitic terminology, a frustratingly growing trend.

For a while, it seemed, thankfully, to be ebbing. It has been years since Louis Farrakhan called Hitler “wickedly great” and Michael Jackson used the word “Jew” as a verb in his song “They Don’t Care About Us.”

In the past few years, though, it’s resurfaced. Mel Gibson, John Galliano, Charlie Sheen and Lars von Trier have recently all recently made negative remarks about Jews. So have non-entertainers Rick Sanchez, Michael Scheuer, and Helen Thomas.

What in the name of Simon Wiesenthal is going on here?

Some of this, the Kanye kind, reflects the super-sizing of American rhetoric. Unless your words are positioned in the extreme, they will not cut through the 24-7 chatter of TV, TMZ, and Twitter. And so we have sort of trained ourselves to speak in “big” terms. We overuse the words “awesome” and “from Hell” to describe things like coffee… and the state of the office coffee maker.

So Kanye is not, he feels, only as hated as much as, say, Pol Pot, Augusto Pinochet or Slobodan Milosevic. No, he is hated as much as Adolf Hitler.

You could argue, much of the rest of this anti-Semitic rhetoric is the backlash against “political correctness.” People feel that they are being edgy or bravely truthful (and not, you know, bigoted) when they tag whole countries, ethnicities or religious communities with certain traits. It’s socially and societally wrong to do it, so they know they will be seen as brazen and iconoclastic if they do it. (Personally, I am hoping my one-year-old, who isn’t doing the “catch me being bad” thing yet, outgrows this phase by the time he can ride a bike.)

It is true that “PC” has been taken to somewhat silly extremes in some quarters. But political correctness—what used to simply be called “sensitivity”—was itself a reaction to the insensitivity and simple inaccuracy of popular terminology. “Fireman” had to give way to “firefighter” because, today, some firefighters are not men.

Now, I did read 1984, and I am a George Carlin fan, and I am aware of the dangers of euphemizing all the meaning out of our language. Bending over backward to be sensitive can lead to intellectual dishonesty, the obfuscation of potentially harmful policies, and even bad medical advice.

But at the same time, I understand that “names” can hurt just as much as “sticks and stones.” Yes, “vertically challenged” is a very stilted way to say “short,” but springing back to the other end of the spectrum is not the answer. The way to combat over-reaching sensitivity is not by being purposefully insensitive. There is a viable, medium stance that is both honest and kind.

Avoiding any negative rhetoric about a particular group of people is not a matter of freedom of speech. Or even, necessarily, one of hate speech. It’s a matter of being a decent human being. It’s a matter of knowing that just because you can say something doesn’t mean you should.

It’s not censorship if you decide, because you have a heart as well as a brain: “You know what? This thing I could say is not going to come off well. I’m just gonna think that thought in my mind and not say it out of my mouth.” That’s just manners.

So, celebrities, when it comes to mouthing off, maybe you should heed the words of my second-favorite Abraham— Mr. Lincoln: “’Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt.”

In 1998 my friends and I did what your average 21 year old does at 2 a.m., we ordered food. My friend placed the order under the name Kritdaddy, because I needed another nickname. We thought it was hilarious when I picked up the order and tried my hardest not to laugh when I said, “I’m Kritdaddy.” Fast forward to July 18, 2011 and I receive a text message, “Kritdaddy has a brand new meaning.” And it does, I’m now a father to Henry (aka King Henry, Handsome Henry, and Smoosh face).  If having a child wasn’t a big enough change, we also moved out of the city, to Glenview.

A horribly selfish and loud neighbor guided us to the suburbs. It was bound to happen at some point. Eventually we were going to head north. Our plan was to live in the city for a few more years, maybe five, but here we are—minutes from Target, malls, and the Metra. And with a baby, that's very convenient.

I wasn't sure if I would really like it. I've been hopping on buses, walking to sushi spots and running across the street for groceries for over 12 years. The city boasts a sexy skyline, killer restaurants, and a quick commute to work. How can a burb compete with that, and there's no Jerry's Sandwich Shop.

The suburbs are not horrible though. There are definitely perks, like the clean and timely Metra, and the quiet. We don't hear bass blasting so loud it shakes our ceiling, there's no El rocking our windows, and the only live music comes from signing in the shower. Here's a quick comparison of the city vs the northern suburbs:

The winner? It's a draw. I still love the city, there's nothing like living in walking distance from everything you need, and the burbs are great. What are your thoughts? If you have restaurant ideas, or any fun suggestions for the North Shore, send them my way. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy suburbia and being a Kritdaddy.

After two weeks at my new job at the Jewish Federation of Greater Washington, I was sent to Israel for a training conference, but was lucky enough to get a few extra days to tour around on my own. I have always been infatuated with the beauty of Israel and the rich connection of the land and people to the history of the Jews. On this particular trip, I got to experience a lot of this firsthand.

I took a day out of my schedule to visit an area about 30 minutes outside of Jerusalem, called Beit Shemesh and some of the surrounding area. Since it was DC’s partnership region, the Jewish Agency helped me get a tour of the area. My guide for the day was Amit, and soon after she picked me up I was treated to a piece of biblical history. We passed by the ancient spot were Samson was born, between Tzorah and Eshta'ol. Samson was one of the heroes in the Book of Judges—think long hair and big muscles. I recognized the names of these places right away because I read the story for my Haftorah when I became a bar mitzvah. It was exciting to find this connection from the words I chanted 20 years ago when I entered Jewish adulthood to my work today.

Further down the highway, Amit pointed out the very hill believed to be the spot were David slung a rock, killing the mighty Goliath. She mentioned a river bed nearby that tour guides will bring groups in order to show them the very spot where he found the rock.

Later in our day, as we were driving back from a winery tour, Amit looked out the window and remarked at the beauty before us. "Many people see a dry and desolate desert here," she said, "but to me it looks biblical."

The following day, I took a half day and walked over to the City of David. From a description in my guidebook, the underground tour of ancient ruins and the journey back into biblical history sounded pretty interesting. It was close to 100 degrees in Jerusalem that day and the idea of getting underground and wading knee deep in the waters down in Hezikiah’s Tunnel, was the perfect way to beat the heat. The 3D movie to open the tour and the archaeological exploration certainly lived up to the hype. What I didn’t expect was how much I was going to take away from our guide. She was young, enthusiastic and had complete faith and love for the place we were exploring together. As she shared the story and history of how King David came to build his palace on what was likely the place we were standing, it was impossible to not be drawn in. I felt like this guide loved the story so much that she wanted nothing more in life than to have the chance to visit King David’s palace and meet him live and in person. He was one of her personal heroes and this place was truly her favorite.

During my stay, I was walking distance from the old city, so I was able to walk there each day. I visited the Kotel a few different times on this trip, more than I ever had before. When I think back to my first trip to Israel over six years ago on Birthright, visiting the Kotel was an inspiring highlight. It was a place where I had a real religious and spiritual moment. This trip was different because instead of touring on a whirlwind schedule, I was able to see things on my own schedule. It allowed me to understand the Kotel and perhaps all of Jerusalem in a different light.

I thought a lot about what it meant for Jews to visit the Wall. Walking up to the Wall and touching it, I thought about the image of Israeli soldiers during the 1967 Six Day War, reaching the wall and touching it for the first time, and breaking down in tears. I found myself thinking less spiritually, less religiously and more about my love for the state of Israel.

Everyone here at Oy!Chicago would like to say mazel tov to Marcy Nehorai and her husband, Elad, who are now proud parents of a healthy baby girl. Little Tanya Esther Avigayil Nehorai. What a cutie! Mazel tov Marcy and Elad, we hope she brings you much nachas!

My hometown has an admirable, almost perverse dedication to shopping local. During my high school years, “Support your local economy” bumper stickers were as ubiquitous as college logos and Dave Matthews Band sprites. It’s a lifestyle that I cling to in Chicago: indies over chains, always always always. If I have the option to support an independent business over a corporation, I will. (This doesn’t always work, but I’m not ashamed of my H&M-loving ways. A girl and her budget need to choose their battles sometimes, and clothing is a different story than, say, jewelry, food or entertainment.)

This month marks the last sad gasp of Borders, at once the bane of many a mom’n’pop store and sometimes the only place to get books for miles around, if you live in certain parts of the country. Plenty of people, including former employees, are speaking up about why they’re not surprised to see it go, and plenty of others are lamenting its downfall. (As for myself, one of my fondest memories of Borders actually has nothing to do with being inside one. I passed by the store on North Avenue while riding the Brown Line on the night of the final Harry Potter book release, and the entire place looked like one big party.) But the fact remains that 11,000 bookselling jobs will be gone in this country by Labor Day, and the publishing industry is struggling enough as it is.

This is a great opportunity for consumers (us!) to remember that Chicago is home to some of the most fabulous independent bookstores out there. If you know and love the business below, I hope you find yourself nodding along, and if you’re not familiar with these great shops yet, I hope you have a fabulous time discovering them!

57th Street Books (1301 East 57th St., Hyde Park) is, admittedly, my best beloved in this city. This unassuming subterranean storefront opens up into rooms and room and rooms of shelves, all full of the most fantastic selections in any genre, field or interest you could imagine. There’s always some incredible author event going on, and I’ve definitely found surprise autographed copies of some really big names while browsing. 57th Street is part of the Seminary Co-op, and the equally magnificent academic bookstore is just a few blocks away in its new digs (5751 S. Woodlawn Ave.)

Unabridged Bookstore (3251 N. Broadway, Lakeview) is my home away from Hyde Park. I almost never manage to leave this place without a new hardback I’d have never discovered if not for their great displays at the front of the store. Their online newsletter is equally culpable; I always wind up with three or four new titles on my to-read list when it comes.

Women and Children First (5233 N. Clark St., Andersonville) is a smaller store, but it more than makes up for size with selection. If you’re into socially conscious material, whether it’s an exposé of political injustice or simply great works by overlooked writers, you’ll find it here.

Open Books (213 W. Institute Pl., River North) is actually a nonprofit organization dedicated to literacy in the Chicago area. They operate a beautiful storefront run by volunteers just off the Chicago Brown Line stop, and all merchandise comes from donations. Books + good causes = win-win all around.

Some of my favorite bookstores in the city are actually comic shops. I consider Chicago Comics(3244 N. Clark St., Lakeview) my own personal grand dame of sequential storytelling. Don’t be intimidated by the idea of comics or being “nerdy” (which is the best and only way to be, as far as I’m concerned): the staff is always helpful and eager to share the best and brightest from this awesome art form. It’s not all just superheroes too – you’ll find incredible stories touching on everything from immigrant experiences to civil rights to new interpretations of the Great Books themselves.

Comics will absolutely surprise and delight you if you let them. Alley Cat Comics (5304 N. Clark St. – Rear, Andersonville) only just opened, but they won me over with one chance visit, not just because of their super charming location (look for the neat ironwork sign in the alley that leads to the store!), but because they had a print copy of my favorite webcomic ever (Gunnerkrigg Court, for the curious) in stock, without anyone having to order it by special request. Alley Cat Comics has also been running a weekly free movie night on Saturdays, so keep an eye on them for more great events.

All of these indies, I’d like to add, will happily order anything you want, not to mention you’ll get to talk to a real human being about what you want. If avoiding real human beings is how you like your book-shopping, I promise you, powells.com has the selection of Amazon and much less of the evilness (search “Amazon fail” for a taste).

I know I’ve missed dozens of other great local indies in Chicago. If you’ve got one that should be on this list, let me know in the comments! I’m always thrilled to find my way to another locally owned bookstore. IndieBound, another great website, also makes it easy to find your nearest independent sellers, no matter where you are. Borders may be on the way out, but bookstores don’t have to be. Just because it’s on a bumper sticker doesn’t mean it’s not true – support your local economy! Independent booksellers and other readers will thank you for it.

It’s Tuesday night. I’m home alone all week for the first time in our new apartment.

On one hand, it’s peaceful having the whole three bedroom place to myself—no one to cook for or clean up after, no one to check in with before making impromptu plans. On the other hand, it’s a bit eerie being alone in a new apartment, especially when you’re still getting used to the building and neighborhood noises.

We’ve all been there. We’ve experienced the hardwood floors that squeak in certain places, air conditioning that kicks on with a boom, the gentle humming of the refrigerator. We’ve been awoken by honking horns or the not-so-gentle rumble of the garbage trunk way too early on a Friday morning. We’ve heard the crying baby next door or the pitter patter of puppy feet upstairs.

But what happens when the noises you hear aren’t part of the inevitable cacophony of your existence—when they are noises that just can’t settle in to the background noise of life?

What happens when the things that go bump in the night aren’t things, but people? People who could use a volume switch, or a mute button, particularly before 7 a.m. on weekdays. People who don’t know that screaming is meant for the adult film industry and not for the room directly above my bedroom….

Yes. You guessed it. IT. My neighbor upstairs who I have barely spoken to, other than “Hi, how are you?” We barely know each other but I feel like I know them if you know what I mean. Ew.

I know this seems like I’m making a big deal over nothing, but it’s been happening four to five times per week (and sometimes twice in a morning—you go neighbor girl!). It literally shakes my bed and cannot be slept through. And thank goodness they aren’t into role play or screaming dirty words in the heat of the moment, but Oh. My. Goodness. Keep your sex life to a dull roar please.

So here is the question Oy!sters. And don’t be shy – I know it’s scary to comment out in the blogosphere, but I’m at a loss of what to do.

Do I say something? Can I say something? If you think I should say something, how do I say it without being awkward/rude/inappropriate/etc?

Help! 

It’s been two decades since my bat mitzvah.

How did that happen? It feels like yesterday, well maybe not yesterday, but last week for sure, when I was up on the pulpit chanting the Torah portion in my poofy floral dress.

Of the kids in my Hebrew class, I had the most rock star Torah portion—Bereshit—the story of creation. You know the one about God creating the sun, the moon, and the stars? Unlike most tween girls who declare the “theme” of their bat mitzvahs as “ballet” or “Broadway show tunes” or “the color pink,” my bat mitzvah theme was “Let there be Light!” My guest sign-in board was decked with glittery sketches of the sun and moon, designed by my artist grandfather, the concept of illumination front and center during my rite of passage weekend.

I think a lot about those steps in between my light-themed bat mitzvah and where I am now, sitting here writing this very post. We all have “full circle” moments that lead us from our meandering paths of life to the place we’re at today.

Reflect on the decisions, the big and small ones, you’ve made over your lifetime. Often, you never realize how what seems like an insignificant decision can ultimately lead you through a different journey.

In my professional career, I decided last minute to show up at my college’s magazine job fair where JUF News happened to be recruiting that day. Without attending that fair, I probably never would have found my job as editor of that publication. And, in my dating career, I recall my friends dragging me to go dancing one night following a dinner out, even though I was tired and wanted to go home. I humored them and joined them at a club and met a wonderful man who I dated for a while. And, although we’re no longer together, I may not have met other special people in my life without having met him.

Small decisions can make the difference in life and death too. Recently, I heard about a family friend who was visiting Chicago for a weekend. Just as he arrived at O’Hare to fly home, he had a heart attack. A cardiologist happened to be walking by and stepped in with a defibrillator mounted nearby and saved our friend’s life. Only a few minutes before, he’d been sitting in a cab, where no life-saving measures would have been available. The difference of a few minutes, perhaps the cab driver taking a shorter route to the airport—or speeding (a common occurrence in Chicago cabs)—probably saved his life.

The alternate journeys life takes is dramatized in the 1998 British-American romantic comedy film Sliding Doors. In the movie, starring Gwyneth Paltrow, the plot splits into two parallel universes. In one, after being fired from her job, Paltrow’s character Helen catches an early train home from work and catches her boyfriend cheating on her. Helen dumps him and starts life anew with a new job, a new circle of friends, and, ultimately, a new love. In the second scenario, she misses the train and gets home after her boyfriend’s mistress leaves, and stays with him, in the dark about his cheating. The film conveys how one tiny event, catching or missing a train, changes the course of history for Helen.

While I believe in free will, I find comfort in the concept of beshert, knowing—hoping—that some of the choices we make and that which is beshert work in harmony. Perhaps some of the steps along our journey are out of our hands, preordained by God, a force bigger than all of us. Perhaps who we’re meant to meet, what we’re meant to do, and who we’re meant to become is written in the stars, a subject I sang about at my bat mitzvah all those years ago. 

This weekend marked another stop on the annual wedding circuit. I’m told that this phase of my life (we’re attending seven weddings in 2011, six of which are out of town) will slow down in a couple of years, but since I’ve already got four weddings lined up for 2012, I don’t see that happening soon.

Saturday’s affair was one of my closest friends from college’s nuptials. Which meant the entire weekend consisted of bonding with my besties and reminiscing about the old days. After I got home last night, I spent some time analyzing the difference between time with old friends and new.

A year and a half ago, I would have come home close to tears, totally bummed that I didn’t have anyone in Chicago who measured up to my college BFFs. But now I have Chicago friends. I may still be searching for The One, but I’ve racked up plenty of pals here–people I could invite to last-minute brunch, even if they couldn’t attend. Still, there is a noticeable difference between hanging out with the college crowd and hanging out with my new friends, and I think the culprit is, simply, time.

I met my college friends 11 years ago. It’s hard to believe that it’s been that long. For three of those years we lived together, spending every waking moment by each other’s sides. A friend and I were laughing over the weekend at how even though we were roommates and took classes together and went out as a group at night, whenever I’d run into her at the gym during our college days, I’d stop her mid-run and she’d stand on the side of the treadmill so we could “catch up.” You know, since the hour earlier when we’d hung out.

There’s no adult equivalent to that college set up. You grow up, you live alone or with a romantic partner or roommate, but the days of eight girls sharing one home? Those are over. Unless you’re in a brothel.

And in all that time together, you make memories. It’s inevitable. So I spent a good majority of this weekend reminiscing. We laughed about awkward date stories (mine included), embarrassing moments, and, I must admit, there was some toilet humor in there too. And by some, I mean a lot.

In looking back at the weekend, and at old friends versus new, it’s become clear that time with the oldies is often about strolling down memory lane. Of course we talk about our current lives and what we hope for the future, but even those conversations are rooted in a shared history. With new friends, even after a year, there’s still so much getting to know each other. And the learning curve is higher, because we don’t live together and we’ll never spend the 24/7 time together that college friends do.

One isn’t necessarily better than the other. I cherish time with my college BFFs more than anything in the world. It’s so comfortable, being with people who know you so completely and will always, always, laugh with you. But I adore my new friends, too. They’re different, and it seems I’m lucky, finally, to have both.

Do you get nostalgic about old friend reunions? If you had to, would you choose old friends or new? (Remember my friend, who made the case for new friends being better than old ones?)

Unlike Alex Epstein, the Russian-born Israeli author whose first book I reviewed for Oy! and whose prodigious imagination gives birth to a seemingly unending supply of fantastical characters and settings, fiction is not my strong suit.

But inspired by Epstein’s latest offering, the sublimely translated Lunar Savings Time (watch for a review in Oy! soon), I challenged myself to explore fiction-writing before I dismiss it as an aspiration beyond my imagination and skills. That’s why I joined Birthright Israel NEXT’s latest creative offering—a Jewish Writers Workshop. Led by Stephanie Friedman, program director at the Writer’s Studio of the Graham School of General Studies at the University of Chicago, the workshop is both a safe place to get your writing critiqued and a four-part series exploring the work of great Jewish writers: Malamud, Paley, Keret, Bezmozgis, etc. In our two sessions so far, we’ve discussed what makes a writer a Jewish author and what makes the work of fiction a Jewish story. No consensus on the subject just yet—imagine that! The opinions are as varied as the books on the shelves at Noble Tree Coffee where we meet (Chekhov next to a physics manual).

I’m due to submit my story next Tuesday. And until about a week ago, my page remained as blank as when I started the workshop two months ago. I had trouble even coming up with a concept, much less actually contriving an entire story around it. (We even got writing prompts. In case you’re interested, we were asked to write a dialogue-based story or, following a reading of Malamud’s “The Talking Horse,” a fabulist story. Participants can also work on their own stories already in progress.)

Unlike the angels, ghosts, Zen masters and kings who like to rearrange libraries that populate Epstein’s stories, the characters that finally popped into my mind are decidedly less out of this world. Still, the story of how this story came about might be worth Epstein. In fact, it’s less a story than the transcript of a very detailed and persistent dream. I hardly ever remember them beyond the few short minutes between sleep and complete wakefulness, so I’m left with the surety that my mind must have taken this challenge seriously.

I’ve been honing the story since scribbling the basic outline last Thursday; the details keep revealing themselves, coming into my mind in spurts, sending me scrambling for the nearest pen and paper. (Luckily, I always keep writing utensils in my purse and on my bedside table.) The only things that came clearly were the first and last sentences. With them, I woke up itching for a pen, trying to capture the specific words that appeared in my dream.

As I’ve dwelled on the story, I’ve realized I also need to read more short fiction (among other things one can do to be a better writer). I happened upon the perfect venue to realize this goal: The Poetry Foundation’s Printers Ball, an annual celebration of printing and the written word held last Friday at the historic Ludington Building in the South Loop. It was a feast of literary proportions. (I’ve always wanted to write something this pretentious-sounding, but in this case—it’s true.) I picked up a bagful of anthologies and literary mags from the apparently burgeoning local lit scene. I’m savoring the stories, going through the anthologies little by little, getting inspired.

Of course, one short story—especially one of questionable quality and as yet unfinished—does not make me a fiction writer. In fact, as a journalist by training, I’ve always preferred having a factual starting point. But it’s been fun to challenge myself to try something utterly new and experience for myself that the birth pangs of of fiction are never painless.

Hi. My name is Karen Flayhart, I’m 37 years old, and I’m at camp.

If hell exists, camp would be my version of it.

My first Jewish camp experience began this Sunday when I arrived at camp with my husband—who is teaching at the camp the next two weeks—and our two and a half year old daughter. Unlike her mother, she loves camp.

Having never been a good camper—I went to a total wuss camp—I pretty much knew I’d spend the next couple of weeks moanin’ and complainin’. But as I laid in bed last night, trying not to think about all the buggies that might be hiding in the mattress (I miss DDT), I realized that I finally got the awesome impact that Jewish camp has on these kids lives—impact that I had heard about, but had never personally experienced.

(Especially since the last time I was at camp, I was singing songs about having Jesus in my heart. I don’t think those songs will work here.)

Everywhere I look at camp—in addition to seeing incredibly filthy flip-flopped feet (really, wear sneakers kids)—I see future Rabbis, Cantors, Temple Presidents, Jewish Professional Workers, and Community Leaders. I see kids of all ages praying morning, afternoon and night out in the open air. Last night, I watched them support and cheer for each other during the talent contest—something that almost anywhere else would be considered social suicide to participate in.

It made me realize that as a kid I really missed out—too concerned with what other kids thought, too afraid to be myself, to embrace the nerd that I am. I admire these kids for their courage and confidence.

I’ve seen how the camp environment nurtures these young kids, giving them a place where they are accepted for who they are, and where they can love being Jewish. Here at camp, it’s cool to speak Hebrew, to love Judaism and Israel, and want Judaism to forever be part of their lives.

And let’s face it: our Jewish community really, really, really needs these kids. We need their joy and excitement, for them to believe for at least 15 more years that they can and will make the world a better place.

As adults, it’s not only our job to make sure that they have places like camp to nurture their spirits, but to give them the tools and the resources so that they can pursue their dreams.

Providing Jewish experiences such as camp, or trips to Israel for kids, isn’t just about helping to shape Jewish identities, or ensuring there is a generation after us that gives a shit about being Jewish, staying Jewish, and raising Jewish kids.

It’s about realizing that we are now the adults—yes, even at age 37, not 57—who are supposed to help give kids opportunities to pursue their dreams—the real chance to fix what’s broken in this world.

It’s our turn to pony up. After all, we did help fuck things up.

The truth is, despite all the great stuff around me, I’ll never like being at camp myself. One word: “port-o-potties”. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate and love the impact Jewish camp has on our kids and on our community. You don’t have to have been born Jewish or attended Jewish camp to get it, or give to it.

(In case you haven’t gotten my o-so-subtle message, I’m advocating for you to dig into your wallet and give—ideally to JUF which helps support Jewish experiences and programs for Jewish kids and young adults, but it’s really none of my business where your money goes. Please, just give.)

I’ll try to remember all this tonight while I’m forced to eat nasty ass food while fighting off mosquitos enjoying nature.

Mom: please send tequila.

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 build up 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.

And Let Us Say...Amen.
- Jeremy Fine
For more please check out www.TheGreatRabbino.com  

A Birthright trip in 2006 sparked my initial passion for Israel. In July 2010, I returned with a friend for a two-week vacation. After these memorable visits, Israel had become a special place for me. These short trips sparked a desire to spend an extended period of time in Israel in order to immerse myself within the fabric of Israeli life. I was accepted into the MBA program at the University of Texas in December 2010 and decided to leave my job in Chicago and work in Israel until school started in the fall.

Unfortunately, I was hitting roadblocks trying to coordinate the logistics of living and working in Israel. I came across an organization called Career Israel that arranged housing and Ulpan (Hebrew) classes, provided health insurance, and offered me a list of internships that would fit my career goals. In addition, the program included trips throughout the country and a wide range of educational speakers. I put my faith in the program, booked a flight to Israel, and was ready to spend the next five months living in Tel Aviv.

It is said that when you visit Israel, you don’t feel like a tourist, you feel like you are coming home. I was amazed at how generous, warm, and hospitable people were. This was evident during the first few hours after I arrived in Tel Aviv. I went to a store to buy sheets and towels for my apartment and began talking to Rachel, a saleswoman at the store. Like every mother, she instructed me to wash the sheets and towels before using them. When I told her that probably was not going to happen, she asked me to come back tomorrow to pick up my linens. I returned to the store the next day to find my recent purchases washed and neatly folded in a bag. Rachel told me to come by every few weeks so she could check up on me and see what I learned in my Hebrew classes. I’ve never heard of an encounter at Bed Bath & Beyond like that. Rachel was only the first of the many Israeli “mothers” I met who looked after me during my stay in Israel.

I worked for a company called StarTAU, Tel Aviv University’s Entrepreneurship Center as their Foreign Relations Manager. We provided assistance to aspiring entrepreneurs starting their own companies. Because StarTAU itself was a newer company, I was given opportunities to start new initiatives. My projects included establishing links with foreign embassies, investors, and companies in order to raise sponsorship money. I helped organize the first International Business Week conference that brought 20 international students to Israel, where they learned about entrepreneurship and Israeli business culture. I also established the Global Networking Forum, which provided a platform for young professionals in Tel Aviv to network with one another. Our first event had over 150 people from 16 countries. My co-workers welcomed me as part of their team, and I quickly learned that “taklas” (to the point) is a key component of the Israeli business culture. My co-workers became close friends. We socialized after work, and I celebrated holidays with their families.

I lived in an efficiency apartment in central Tel Aviv. After a few months in Tel Aviv I felt like a local. Rarely could I get on a bus, go into a bar or café, or walk down the street without running into someone I knew. In my building there were young people from every corner of the world. Discussing Jewish experiences with new friends from Turkey, Russia, Spain, Brazil, Argentina, Venezuela, Australia, Canada and England reinforced my belief in the common bonds Jews throughout the world share. Career Israel arranged trips where we had the opportunity to experience the entire country together. Some of my favorites included Jerusalem, the Negev, Haifa, Ein Gedi, Sderot, and the Golan Heights.

The most unique aspect of my time in Israel was having the opportunity to see Israel as an Israeli. My Israeli friends invited me out with their friends and into their families’ homes. I spent Passover in Haifa, Maimuna and Lag Baomer in Yavne, Shavuot in Hertzilya, and Shabbats in Holon, Netanya, Jerusalem, and Ramat Gan. Being in Israel I saw the sadness of the country on Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) and Yom Hazikaron (Memorial for Fallen Soldiers and Terror Victims), and the pure joy celebrated on Yom Haatzmaut (Independence Day). Despite my Ulpan classes, my Hebrew never became very fluent and the English of many of my friends’ families were only slightly better than my Hebrew. Despite this obstacle, we would figure out ways to communicate. I would play shesh besh (batgamon) and listen to Mizrachi music with the men of the house. (I attended many concerts over the five months. Eyal Golan and Moshe Peretz were two of my favorites.) I would help clear the dishes from the dining room table and give hugs to my friends’ mothers and grandmothers which was always a big hit.

When I left my job in Chicago I could have gone anywhere to live and work prior to starting business school. I chose Israel because not only could I gain valuable international work experience, but I could also explore my heritage. After living in Israel for the past five months, I have not only learned more about Judaism as a religion, but also the unique history of the Jewish people. All of our ancestors continued to practice their beliefs and customs despite hardships because they felt it was important to carry on the Jewish traditions. I heard first hand from families that had lived in Morocco, Iran, and Iraq for generations leaving their homes to escape persecution, and literally walking to Israel. Hearing stories like these, I have become even more passionate in my support of Israel as a safe Jewish state.

My experience in Israel vastly exceeded my expectations. The view walking down Bograshov of the Mediterranean Sea, the night sky and quietness of the Negev, the openness of the Golan, and the rush I felt walking up to the Western Wall are all experiences I will never forget. I can say with full confidence that leaving my job and traveling to the other side of the globe without knowing many people was the best decision I have ever made. Culturally, religiously, socially, and professionally I grew as a person. My experience gave me a firm understanding of the political situation in Israel and the Middle East, and a better grasp of the religious, cultural, and historical aspects of Judaism. Along with all of this, I have made life-long friends and had a blast. I would encourage anyone to jump at the chance of a similar life-changing experience.

Last night while watching one of my many reality show guilty pleasures, Giuliana and Bill, I came up with the topic for my latest dating post…  And my boyfriend thinks nothing productive comes from me watching so much TV! 

Let me preface this by saying that I love Giluliana and Bill as a couple.  I think they’re adorable together— probably why I’m a sucker for the show— and I respect the relationship that they appear to have with each other.  I’ve even read their book, “I Do, Now What?: Secrets, Stories, and Advice from a Madly-in-Love Couple” and no, I’m not married, but I borrowed it from your blogger-in-chief who now is, so I think that makes it ok.

In this particular episode, Bill and Giuliana travel to London, so Giuliana can cover the royal wedding. While there, Bill insists they immerse themselves in the culture and drags an unwilling Giuliana and four of her female friends to a traditional English lunch of fish and chips.  Bill foots the check for everyone and they’re all impressed with his gentlemanly ways— forgetting that they’re being forced to eat fried foods.  While thanking Bill for paying the bill (pun kind-of intended), Bill launches into a story about when he and Giuliana first started dating. 

He brings up their second date and how they went out for a nice dinner.

At this point, Giuliana interrupts to ask, “Are you going to tell them about how we slept together on the second date?”

Apparently they did “it” or it might have been on the third date that “it” happened, no one seems to be clear on the issue.  It’s a funny moment in reality TV that I felt like re-telling even though it has nothing to do with today’s dating etiquette blog post.  (You all already know how I feel about that kind of behavior.)

Anyway, Bill brags, “I was going to tell them about how you excused yourself to go to the bathroom and secretly paid the check.” 

Now in my opinion, that is one classy move! Her friends seem to agree and impressed respond by saying, “Giuliana did that because she already knew how much she really liked you.”  It’s very sweet.

So I’ve been having this debate with friends for years.  I have girlfriends that will drop a new guy fast if he isn’t quick to pay the bill for at least the first three dates.  Alternately, I know plenty of guys who if they don’t see the girl do the “pretend to reach for her wallet move” won’t bother calling her again.  Clearly, I haven’t set up any of these friends with each other. 

I even know of one relationship that had a quick demise because after more than a dozen dates, the girl still had never offered to pay for anything— even a coffee.

Giuliana, on the other hand, handled the situation beautifully and made a real impact on her now husband.  She declared right away that she wasn’t after his money and that she liked him enough to grab the bill and she did it in a creative— dare I say it— romantic way.  Single girls, pay attention.  You can learn a lot from her moves!  I’d even suggest that it saved their relationship from fizzling out after the quick intimacy.  But I get that it’s not that easy for everyone.  

So Oy! readers tell me: who should pay for the date and when?  Have you ever pulled Giuliana’s move?  How’d it turn out for you?

Finally, I have to give a shout out to my girl Patti Stanger whose show Millionaire Matchmaker premieres Monday, August 15.  Rumor has it: this season Patti isn’t just helping other single folks find their one true love, but is back in the market herself.  Is love in store for the matchmaker?  You know I’ll stay tuned to find out and I’m sure I’ll end up blogging all the details.

I received the text while I was at the gym, “Amy Winehouse died.” During the 20 minute walk from my gym to my home I thought about Amy’s music, how short her life was, how I had dressed up as her for Halloween a few years ago (as did a million other people), how sad it was that she never overcame her addiction and then tried to estimate the number of times I had listened to really her only album “Back to Black.” I’d guess 180 times in one year.

So when I got home and turned on my computer I wasn’t surprised but still a little taken aback about the vitriolic commentary about Amy Winehouse and how she did not deserve media attention because, among other reasons, she was a “crack addict” and a huge tragedy had just occurred in Norway.

When someone is controversial, disliked or detested, there is a new form of Negative Mourning. Their death becomes fodder for criticism of their lives, repeated in some form millions of times via social media. Not that no one has ever spoken ill of the dead, but the numbers of people who do and can now publicly, are almost deafening.

The flurry of activity on Facebook and Twitter about Amy Winehouse made me think about just how much public mourning has changed, even since 9-11 when Americans proudly waved American flags, watched a star-studded telethon, read the heart-wrenching New York Times biographies of those who were killed, and watched the funerals of the brave New York City first responders on cable news.

Can you imagine if 9-11 had happened in 2011 instead of 2001? What would it have looked like on Facebook or Twitter? What will it look like this year when we commemorate the 10^th anniversary of the tragedy?

Public mourning has changed so significantly this century. Twenty years ago, one might publicly mourn by doing one, or all of the following: a. reading an obituary b. sending a card c. making a donation in the person’s name d. attending a funeral and shiva. In addition, in the Jewish community you might help make a minyan (10 person quorum) so that a friend could say kaddish, the traditional memorial prayer on the anniversary of a family member’s death.

In the event of a leader’s death, like Yitzhak Rabin, there were vigils held, sometimes for days.

Today, the death of a public or private person is up for lengthy discussion online. While there has always been “letters to the editor,” this sort of banter on the dead, outside of really important contributors to our society, is probably unprecedented in human history.   

The same is true for ordinary losses.

When two people who I cared for very much died this summer, I felt a need to publish two blog posts about them. I requested that the eulogist from one of the funerals post his words onto Facebook for those who hadn’t been able to make the funeral. All of these posts were welcomed and well received. Those who commented on them wrote beautiful notes, because these were two very righteous people. 

I’ve also seen others post news of a loved ones’ death, and receive tremendous Facebook support and condolences. My only concern is that do these people receive the same comfort that the traditional means of public mourning provides. Is the “RIP Mrs. X” the same as a phone call or a hug at a funeral, wake or shiva. Someday, it might be all we do. For now though, I think we have to consider whether the comment is really closer to doing almost nothing at all depending on the relationship. The same is true for something like Holocaust Memorial Day. Does clicking on a Facebook page or changing your status to dedicate it to 6 million who died in the Holocaust the same as attending a memorial service or going to a museum? I don’t know.

Next week there is Jewish Holiday called Tisha B’Av, which commemorates catastrophes faced by the Jewish people where there was tremendous suffering and loss of life. If you observe the holiday, it is carefully choreographed to feel sadness and hope for redemption.

If the holiday were to be discussed on Twitter, the dialogue would probably shift from the suffering of the persecuted to:

“It’s going to happen again if we continue Sinat Chinam.”

“Why do we still celebrate this holiday? Israel is a state now.”

“Did the prophets predict that this would happen anyways?”

I think because of social media we are losing our ability to authentically be sad, empathize, or celebratory without being flooded with other’s editorial commentary. I wonder what the world will be like if authentic emotion will one day be extinct. What will happen then?

The answer may be in the beautiful Amy Winehouse song, zichrona v’livracha.

My sister’s favorite dinner conversation topic of late consists of her explaining to me, with an air of elitism, that she’s a member of “Generation X” and I’m a “Millennial.” Her theories about our supposed generational differences, and thus her superiority, derive from a combination of conversations she has had with friends, Wikipedia research and her obsession with author Jonathan Franzen’s 2011 commencement speech to Kenyon College.

Mostly, I think she and her friends—former Smashing Pumpkins- and Jesus Jones-loving grunge folk—like to sit around in their still-tattered flannels (now considered hipster—what great revenge on the formerly rebellious garb), and discuss how they are the scrappy generation, and those after them are not. According to my sister and her Doc Martin-loving cohort, members of Generation Y (who she insists are now miraculously Millennials) are lazy, need constant affirmation and happen to be great with technology. While I grew up with computers and I am comfortable with technology in ways that my sister has not caught up to, I resent, rather than resemble much of what “defines” a Millennial. I also don’t understand how I got lumped with the iCarly generation. Let’s keep Generation Y where I can see it, and leave the five-year-old computer wiz’s to the Millennials. My sister and I get into some fork slinging every time she brings this topic up with a smirk.

However, I will say that us, Generation Y-ers or “Millennials” (should you wish to accept that title despite birth-year discrepancies), are facing some new challenges. In a shortened essay reprint of Franzen’s speech in the New York Times, entitled “Liking Is for Cowards, Go for What Hurts,” he described consumers’ affection/love relationship with their cell phones, and other social media devices such as Facebook.