OyChicago articles

Ian Cooper, expanding his horizons

The majority of Jewish Americans entering their 20s rarely contemplate taking the opportunity to defend their country and serve in the military. Not so for Jewish Israelis, who are required to serve between two and three years in the Israel Defense Forces once they’ve turned 18. For these Chicago Jews, the idea of serving in the IDF was so meaningful that they each found their own unique way of defending the Jewish State.

When Ian Cooper exited the door of the synagogue on Masada after completing his Bar Mitzvah ceremony, he saw a group of Israeli soldiers and experienced a feeling that stays with him to this day.

“They stood there in total silence, in respect to the moment, and when it was over and I came out, they gave me an incredibly warm reception,” Cooper says. “That feeling of brotherhood and warmth was something I never forgot.”

Then, while he was in high school, he spent two months in Israel and made the decision to come back after college to volunteer in the IDF. But after visiting countless college campuses with his twin sister, he realized that his destiny was to go to Israel after high school and go into the IDF at the same age as his Israeli counterparts.

Cooper left for Israel soon after his high school graduation and served for 27 months. Unable to serve in a combat unit due to health issues, he took on the job of a non-commissioned officer in a small education base in Jerusalem’s Old City and ran week-long educational programs on Jerusalem for other soldiers. Not long after being honored as an outstanding soldier, he returned to the United States and began attending Northwestern University.

Cooper attributes his time in the IDF to opening his eyes to issues he’d never before contemplated and exposing him to entirely new experiences.

“I never thought that I would run the equivalent of a marathon with full gear, but it's possible,” he says. “There aren't really any limits to what we can accomplish as human beings as long as we don't restrict ourselves. I never would have had the opportunity to attend a Yemenite Passover Seder, which was way different from what I had experienced growing up. They say the Israeli army is the great equalizer – it brings people from all different religious and ethnic backgrounds and socioeconomic classes together and forces them to get along.”

After graduating Northwestern and bouncing around the world for several years, Cooper is back living in Israel. He works full-time as a licensed tour guide, a passion he realized during his time in the IDF.

“[Serving] is something that I can look back on in pride and say that I pitched in to make sure that we Jews have a place to call home – and not let a bunch of other people here take on the burden for me,” he says.

Stephanie Goldfarb (second from the left) volunteering for the IDF

Extending Birthright

After going on birthright in the summer of 2005, Stephanie Goldfarb extended her stay without much of a thought of what she wanted to do. She had the idea to volunteer for the IDF, and after contacting Sar-El, an Israeli volunteer program, she was handed a uniform and sent off to work.

“Birthright had really solidified my ties to Israel, but once I got into the army, it was a whole different perspective,” Goldfarb says. “It really made me value everything we have in the States—to see so many people my age running around with guns, it made me appreciate more what I have here.”

Goldfarb volunteered with the IDF for a total of three weeks, splitting her time between bases in northern and southern Israel. She did mostly behind-the-scenes work, toiling in warehouses and making packs full of ready-to-eat food, water bottles, clothes and blankets for soldiers who were stationed across the country.

Because she was in Israel during the Gaza disengagement, Goldfarb says that even the sometimes rudimentary work was fulfilling because she knew it was contributing to the overall success of the IDF.

“I felt really proud because I was giving time to the Israeli army during a very sensitive time in history,” she says. “Everyone there had friends who were out there working in the field and in peoples’ homes, and it was exciting to be a part of the whole operation.”

Mark Furman, serving in Israel

Making Aliyah

Above anything else, Mark Furman attributes a “feeling” to pushing him toward making aliyah and moving permanently to Israel. Serving in the IDF was not a primary reason for his decision to make the move, but his strong desire to defend Israel played a large role in expediting his journey overseas.

“Israel has been on my mind most of my adult life, and I didn’t want to regret not living here,” Furman says. “I knew that if I’d made aliyah after the age of 25, I wouldn’t be required to serve at all, so I moved to Israel a month before my birthday.”

Furman trained in both northern Israel and the Negev during the six-month service that is required for all new immigrants who make aliyah between the ages of 22 and 25. He went through basic training and ulpan (intensive Hebrew study) before receiving more in-depth training on how to operate an M71 cannon, considered the most accurate and reliable in the IDF.

Beyond the obvious lessons—he quips that he doesn’t think his suburban life in Chicago would have taught him how to shoot an 80 pound mortar out of a large cannon —Furman gained the confidence of knowing he could play an active role in defending his country.

“During the Second Lebanon War, when I was packing my things before the aliyah, I heard plenty of young people in the U.S. beating their chests and pledging to defend Israel,” he says. “I felt powerless because I could only hope that everything would be all right. Now, I know that if I’m needed, I’m just a phone call away from doing something real.”

To contact Ian Cooper about touring Israel, e-mail  walkisrael@gmail.com

Polly, lookin' pretty sweet

People generally have nice things to say about me. They call me sweet and friendly… I’ve even heard “you’re just a doll” more than once, but I didn’t let it go to my head, because that’s not what dolls do.

But suddenly, I just don’t feel like living up to those lofty adjectives. Don’t get me wrong; I like being sweet. Saying thank you to the bus driver or holding the door open for a mom pushing a stroller are, apparently, unusual acts of kindness these days. But, if I’m honest with myself – and if you watch Oprah, you know it’s all about honesty, girl – the adjective that seems to be fitting me like a glove these days is bitter.

I’ve been trying to fight it, but bitterness may be my destiny. See, I’m named after Great-Grandma Pauline: a woman who had a great sense of humor and took it in stride when her sons made moonshine in the bathtub and her daughters let the Shabbat chickens run free. Not a bad lady to be named after, right? Everyone called her Grandma Polly.

So, I’m Polly. The definition of which is bitter. Seriously, look it up.

As a name, Bitter is bad. My sister is Gracious and Merciful, but we just call her Jane. Undeniable proof of blatant favoritism and another reason to be bitter, but not today’s focus.

So, you may ask, “What’s got you so bitter, Bitter?”

Dating.

I know, I know, that sounds frivolous during this time in history. There are so many important issues worthy of our discussion and debate; war, politics, energy prices, poverty, education, global warming… the list is endless. Being bitter about dating seems pretty low on that list of Upsetting Things.

But in reality, a side effect of war and all the other serious issues of our day is that it makes the singles among us feel a little more single. If you’re not married or dating someone, you miss out on those quiet moments spent talking about things that really matter to you, whether they’re on the world stage, or the little things, like when Trader Joe’s was out of my favorite chocolate yogurt. Does anyone care what a bummer that was? No, not even the people at Trader Joe’s, though it’s nice that they pretend to. But a boyfriend or husband will listen… or at least physically be there, so we can talk to a figurative wall instead of a literal one.

Dating is just plain frustrating for every single single person I know, and it’s especially frustrating if you’re looking for someone Jewish, simply because we don’t have numbers on our side. We try to keep our heads held high, but we can’t help it; occasionally we’re hit by a flood of bitterness.

Here’s an example: Whenever I mention to anyone who’s married that dating is frustrating, they say something like this: “You should try Jdate. I hear people meet all the time on Jdate.”

My response: “Really? Cool. Hey, I know! In my essay ‘About Me,’ I’ll say that I’m just as comfortable in jeans as I am dressing up for a night on the town; in ’My ideal relationship,’ I’ll say that I think communication is really, really important for any relationship to work. I’m both brilliant and original! That’s certainly a combination and that any Jewish fellow would be happy to find in a Jewess! Thanks for the advice! See you at my wedding!”

Okay, I don’t actually say that, but that’s what my bitter mind thinks. The sweet me says, “Yeah. Jdate. Thanks.”

Of course I’ve gone on Jdate! Yes, some guys were nice, some were odd, and some started out as nice until I met them and they morphed into weirdos before my very eyes. Just a tip, guys: Tell a girl that your marriage lasted only two weeks because your wife was a vegan, an alcoholic and not sure of her sexuality before the first date or after the 10th, not on the actual first date. True, if you tell girls before, not as many of them will meet you for coffee, but all you need is the one who does. That’s free advice. You’re welcome.

I tried Jewish speed-dating, too, and was completely nervous before it started. But then I ran into a girl I went to day camp with and hadn’t seen for 25 years, so it started taking on a more adventurous feel. Who else might I meet? Thirty-six possibilities in two hours? Bring it on!

There were actually a few guys I could’ve talked to for a lot longer than the three minutes we were allowed. But with others, it was like being hungry and standing in front of the microwave; as fast as the time goes, it’s just not fast enough.

At the end of the night, though, I was feeling pretty good. I’d written down the names of nine guys I’d be interested in seeing again.

One of the nine put my name down. One. Out. Of. Nine. The friend who I went with had five matches; my camp friend, seven. (And my one put down their names, too… his criteria seemed to be tall, short, blonde, brunette, loves skiing, hates skiing, breathing.)

The question is, how do you meet your beshert? At work? Through friends? Should your parents set you up? Should their friends set you up? Do you meet guys at the grocery store, or running by the lake? Leaving my iPod at home would probably help, but isn’t it possible to have it all: Foo Fighters and a great date?

In an effort to change course, I thought I could start going by my Hebrew name: Miriam. I looked that up, and guess what? “Sea of bitterness.” In Hebrew, my bitterness only grows, and now it’s filling a sea.

So from now on, call me Angelina Jolie Levy… “little angel” and “pretty.” She’s had seems to have some luck. Let’s see what happens.

Polly Levy spent 8 years in Los Angeles where she wrote for Suddenly Susan, and was a Script Coordinator for Frasier, Gilmore Girls and some other TV shows no one has ever heard of.
Now living in Chicago, she is a Senior Content Producer at NogginLabs, where she writes online e-learning courses. In addition, she freelances for the website development company Azavar Technologies.
When not complaining about dating in writing, she can be found complaining about dating at brunch, at the movies, and while shopping. Complaining about dating is off-limits, however, while on actual dates.

Nathan, writing something hilarious

When he is busy at work as head writer of The Onion’s A.V Club, Nathan Rabin may or may not be wearing pants. He co-authored the 2002 A.V Club interview collection, Tenacity of the Cockroach , as well as an upcoming book to be published by Scribner, which also will be publishing his solo debut, The Big Rewind: A Pop Culture Memoir, sometime in 2009. Rabin lives in Chicago with two cats.

So if Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure changed your life, you’re an Onion lover or you enjoy ribs, Nathan Rabin is a Jew You Should Know!

1. What did you want to be when you grew up?
Like a lot of young people, I cycled through dream job aspirations pretty rapidly, hitting all the usual suspects: baseball player, movie star, FBI agent, cartoonist, robot, dragon, princess, ninja, robot and also Robot Ninja Princess. For a long time I thought I wanted to be either a Senator or a police officer. Then I realized that I hated authority figures, and didn’t really want to become one.

When I was 12-years-old I had a Road to Damascus moment watching Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. I was going through a particularly tumultuous period in my home life, but for two glorious hours all I cared about was the fate of Bill S. Preston Esquire and Theodore Logan. I decided right then and there that I wanted to be a part of anything that could give people so much unfettered joy. In that moment a film critic was born.

2. What do you love about what you do today?
What don’t I love about my job? It’s pretty fucking sweet. I get to talk to famous people, watch ridiculous movies and write about all the weird pop ephemera that obsess me. Also, I don’t have to wear pants for it, which is odd, since I work out of an office.

3. What are you reading?
Sammy Davis Jr’s Yes I Can. It’s best known to my generation as the book that made Krusty The Klown’s rabbi father appreciate the spiritual richness of show business. It’s also quite Jewy in the best possible way.

4. What’s your favorite place to eat in Chicago?
I appeared on Check, Please a while back, where I raved incoherently about Fat Willy’s having “the best brisket in the world.” That was my sad little catch phrase: “The best brisket in the world!” So, Fat Willy’s. Yeah, that works.

5. If money and logistical reality played no part, what would you invent?
A machine that would allow you to operate a television from several feet away. They haven’t invented that yet, have they? I don’t really keep up with the times. If that doesn’t work how about coffee with the caffeine removed? Or Pepsi you can see through? They’re all fine ideas.

6. Ability to fly or ability to be invisible?
I’m one of those clichéd souls who continually dreams of flight. Also, whenever someone is given the gift of invisibility they invariably turn into a lecherous, greed-ridden monster. So I’m going to have to go with flight.

7. If I scrolled through your iPod, what guilty pleasure would I find?
I am all about a promising young singer/songwriter named T-Pain. You’re probably not familiar with his music—he’s flying low under the radar at this point—but he’s the gentleman who sounds like a robot on top 40 radio. I am not too proud to concede that I have more than one version of “Buy U A Drank” on my iPod and that I listen to them regularly.

8. What’s your favorite Jewish thing to do in Chicago—in words, how do you Jew?
That is a good question, and one that made me realize just how secular of a Jew I really am. I guess for me the Jewiest place in all of my Chicago is my dad’s apartment, where I go every Friday night for the most half-assed of Shabbat dinners. We’re all about improvising.

For example: one night my dad couldn’t find a yarmulke so he put a paper napkin over his head to light the candles. That quickly went awry when the napkin caught fire and had to be doused with wine. Oh, the hilarity that ensued! So yeah, for me at least my dad’s apartment is the epicenter of the Chicago Jewish community. Definitely, Shabbat dinner with my dad is my favorite Jewish thing to do in Chicago.

Annie (front and center) shows us it's hip to be square

When Annie Coleman takes the stage in her cowboy boots and bright red lipstick instructing people to form squares for ”Dip the Oyster,” some couples fall right into place, secure in their knowledge that a square is composed of four pairs and that your position at the dance's start is "home." Many of these confident types are rockin' cowboy hats.

The newcomers are wide-eyed, not entirely convinced that spending a Saturday night square dancing with dozens of 20 to 30-something hipsters (and a smattering of hardcore dancers who do-se-do without irony) is a great idea.

Coleman plays guitar and bassoon, sings and calls dances in The Golden Horse Square Dance Band, an ensemble that mixes classic country standards with unique country rebel and has attracted a dedicated set of groupies since its debut seven years ago.

This is no kitsch act. Coleman, a third-generation square dance caller, grew up in Oak Park but spent summers working in her family’s Westfield, Wisconsin resort, The Golden Horse Ranch—so she’s no stranger to leading a crowd of confused city folk.

Once Coleman starts breaking down a dance, even skeptics get caught up in the excitement. The caller is responsible for creating a bond between the musicians and the dancers to build a communal vibe. It’s a big task, but her genuine enthusiasm is contagious. Her ability to work the crowd is hereditary.

Founded by her grandfather Bob Coleman, Sr. in 1949, The Golden Horse Ranch was named after its roaming herd of Palomino horses. Families traveled to Westfield for one-week stays in self-sufficient cabins—that were never outfitted with TVs or telephones—and participated in riding and archery lessons. In the evenings, guests danced, sang by the campfire or took part in a talent show, ala Dirty Dancing. Until it closed in 1998, generations of families relied on the ranch as one place they could count on to remain the same year after year.

Drawn by more than horses and archery, guests returned because of the atmosphere. “The ranch was so open and warm,” says Coleman. “My grandma was [warm and welcoming]; it wasn’t like the resorts you think of today. Families shared tables and got to know each other; we took the chance out of meeting new people.” It’s that sense of community that Coleman is recreating in today’s urban bar scene when she encourages squares to get to know each other and swap members for each dance.

Revisiting her roots wasn’t something Coleman planned to do professionally. This whole thing started simply because she missed square dancing. So, on her 28th birthday, she decided to break out her old records and call for her party.

Calling for her friends, Coleman had one of those realizations you get when you’ve seen a movie as a kid and then watched it again as an adult. “I’d been calling since I was 13 and I never realized how sexual the songs are until I called with beer, surrounded by my friends. First, they all looked at me like, ‘Hey, you can call square dancing!’ and then like ‘Oooohhhhh, that’s kinda dirty.’ One of my favorite lines is from ‘Head Two Gents.’ “If I had a girl and she wouldn’t dance, I’d buy her a boat and send her afloat and paddle my own canoe.’”

News of Annie’s birthday bash traveled, and her friend Anthony Burton (pictured above in the white Good Guy hat) wanted to plan an official dance. Within a few weeks they had a band together and a gig. The original members of the band got together and learned the songs by listening to her scratchy old records.

That first public gig at Chicago’s Open End Gallery was going to be their last. They expected about sixty people—instead a couple hundred showed up. Since then, the Golden Horse Square Dance Band has hosted hootenannies at a number of Chicago bars and festivals, including Summer Dance in Grant Park and The Hideout Block Party; the Open End Barn Dance celebrated its seventh annual show last March.

Coleman has theories about why social dancing is so contagious. It’s less about the dancing and more about human connection. “It’s so easy to close yourself off in the city, to look at people and make snap judgments about who they are and who you’ll get along with. Square Dancing breaks down barriers and gets people talking; and, it’s less intimidating than some dancing because though there is a couple-y thing about it, it’s not one-on-one. You end up partners with everyone in the square,” she says.

Coleman’s biggest goal is to make people comfortable by creating a sense of community. “We’re all just humans and if you break down barriers you’ll meet people you’d never know you had anything in common with. I knew that from the ranch and have been searching for that feeling since the ranch closed.”

“The connections between what we’re doing and the ranch seem so obvious now but I didn’t realize it until it was all happening. We’re recreating that open spirit away from the ranch. After that first gig, I felt more open; I got so many hugs that night. It was just pure-ass uninhibited fun, people connecting with each other and having a good time.”

The most liberating thing about square dancing is that it’s not about getting the steps down perfectly or about being the best. As Coleman reminds us from the stage, it’s not even about doing the steps right—it’s about having a good time. She employs a casual style throughout the show, offering this constant reassurance to the rhythmically challenged: “If your square messes up, don’t worry about it, just find your way back home.” She knows the approach works—it’s exactly what she has done herself.

Today, Annie is taking her community-building skills off the dance floor and into the actual community with her newest venture, Living Room Realty.

Catch the Golden Horse Ranch Square Dance Band’s Kids show June 7th in Millennium Park Sat. and see them again July 18th as part of the Great Chicago Performers of Illinois, also in Millennium Park.