OyChicago blog

Like so many other Jewish little girls on Purim, my big sister and I would both dress up for our annual Purim carnival as Queen Esther. The morning of the carnival, my mom would dress us in regal dresses, bright red lipstick, and a homemade crown or sparkly tiara my mom had bought for this very occasion--and only this occasion--so as to raise grounded daughters the rest of the year.

And in households down the street, the Jewish boys I knew would dress as the male hero of Purim--Mordechai.

Our costumes were a fun way to reinforce the attributes of these Jewish heroes who were brave, and stood up for what's right.

But then, after a couple hours at the carnival, we'd reach our Purim fill. The combs at the ends of the tiara would start to scratch the backs of our ears, the lipstick would smear on girls too young to pull off crimson red, and our bellies would ache from cotton candy and hamentaschen overload. At that point, we'd go home, take off our royal dresses, and return to our comfy play clothes--still brave girls--minus the fancy costumes. And being ourselves, it turned out, was pretty nice too.

Thirty years later, my generation of Queen Esthers and Mordechais are all grown up, but we're still working on taking off our masks.

For most people, learning to be comfortable in our own skin, becoming our authentic selves, is a lifelong work in progress.

In some ways, media today--particularly social media--has made it all the easier to don a mask. On Facebook, for instance, we package ourselves exactly the way we want the public to see us--as the shiniest, happiest-looking versions of ourselves. As we scroll through our newsfeeds of our friends' adorable babies and dogs, or better yet, the baby posed with the family dog, brides and grooms so perfect they might as well perch themselves on top of a wedding cake, and pictures of us sipping piña coladas on the beach, things look fantastic.

Yet, that's just it. Those pictures are fantasy. As someone once told me, "I wish I was having as much fun in real life as I am on Facebook." Because, come on, get real. No one's that happy all the time.

But it's not all fake. Despite the virtual masks we sometimes wear, society can be an easier place to be real and open these days than in the past--if we choose to.

As the world grows smaller, we're revealing ourselves and relating to one another in a way that often makes us feel less alone. In this age of sharing (and over-sharing), some of us are shedding light on the parts of us that aren't so shiny and happy all the time. In the world's biggest group therapy session, we're electronically sharing our emotional, mental, and physical struggles with each other more than ever before. We're bonding over our shared human experiences of love, loss, failure and success, spiritual growth, and purpose. We're more likely to admit that life isn't only sunshine and rainbows--and that makes each of us feel less alone in whatever we're going through.

A couple of years ago, I wrote a blog post about my mom's struggle with--and, thank God, her triumph over--bipolar disorder. My mom post garnered more "likes" and positive response than any other piece I'd written in 15 years. For months, people would approach me with their personal mental health struggles. Before that time, I had rarely spoken or written in a public forum about the previously stigmatized illness.

But then I figured times have changed and her illness is no longer shrouded in darkness, and it's something so many people are touched by. Plus, I realized that being open could go a long way in helping people face whatever hardships they're dealing with.

It's wonderful to teach our kids to embody the bravery of heroes like Esther and Mordechai, and it's exciting to dress up as someone else every now and then.

But when the tiara starts to itch and we grow tired of our disguises, let's remember that the best and bravest face to wear at the end of the day is our own.

Last weekend, a high schooler I work with asked me when I graduated from college. I told her 2012.

"Wow! That was soooo long ago," she said, without a gleam of sarcasm.

Was it? As I processed that it has been almost four years since I was last a student -- in the formal sense at least -- it seemed hard to believe for a moment. My days of late nights in the library, marathons of student org meetings, and, of course, happy hours and frat parties, however, seem exceedingly far behind me.

Still, as a young professional, I find myself reflecting on college and school in general quite often. As I wrapped up my conversation with this student, I started to think about what I learned in college, both within and beyond the classroom.

This also led me to think of all of the things that I wish I had learned, but never learned in any level of school. There are many professional and life skills more beneficial in our daily lives than physics and calculus, which I think I managed to never take nonetheless, but that is beside the point.

The skills that 20-somethings need to know go beyond what is conveyed in textbooks. Although I am fairly confident this is something every Millennial who enjoys crafting prose has touched upon at some point, I am beyond confident that it's still all too relevant, which is why I present to you my list of top 10 things I wish were taught in school.

Disclaimer: Although I am fully capable of doing some of these things (Microsoft Office is my everything -- is that weird to say? Probably.), please know that if anyone asked me to do my taxes alone or change a tire, I would be more lost than Nemo.

1. How to do your taxes

2. How to change a tire

3. How to jump a car

4. How to make an effective budget

5. How to use Microsoft Office

6. How to effectively manage stress

7. How to unplug/disconnect from technology

8. How to understand insurance policies (yes -- all kinds, people need to know more)

9. How to invest your money

10. How to hang a picture without damaging the wall

I could probably go on for pages on things that I wish I would've learned in school, but I will leave you with this. Life skills are just as important as academic knowledge, and let's hope the next generation can collectively become more functioning adults. Until then, I am off to Google picture-hanging techniques or something like that.

^{Esther beseeches King Ahasuerus to revoke his decree against the Jews}

If someone pushed a button that released a fleet of nuclear missiles all over the United States and then quickly shot down each one saving everyone from utter destruction, would we call them a hero? Would everyone cheer for joy at their "savior" who saved them from imminent death and destruction and appoint them as the leader of our people for his great care and love of our nation?

No, we'd lock them up! The nerve of them to put us all through the horrifying traumatic experience of potentially we were all going to die! Who cares if they stopped it? It's their fault it happened!

All of this sounds very logical. Then we come to the holiday of Purim. We're all familiar with the story how Haman (Booo!!!) wanted to wipe out the Jews. He set up a date that every Jew in the entire land of Persia was going to be killed. Then Mordecai and Esther make this unbelievable divinely staged rescue of the entire nation, and everyone is saved.

But wait one minute -- we're skipping one step. The story actually says, toward the beginning, "When Haman (minor egomaniac) saw that Mordecai (our beloved protagonist) did not bow down and prostrate himself before him (serious narcissism issues going on), Haman was filled with rage (the ancient anger management groups weren't helping) … so Haman sought to destroy all the Jews throughout the entire kingdom …"

Wait a minute? The whole stage of destruction was set by our beloved hero? Yup. And we celebrate his victory for the Jewish people of stopping this destruction. Wasn't it all his fault?

We had another moment of blame opportunity in our history where things didn't go so well, all the way back in the beginning of the Torah. A quick recap: G-d says, "Don't eat the fruit." Snake says, "Eat the fruit." Eve eats. Adam eats. G-d confronts them, "Adam, what happened?" Adam says, "It was the woman." G-d says, "Eve, what happened?" Eve says, "It was the snake." And everyone gets punished happily ever after.

Why were they punished? Weren't they just pointing out the truth?

The difference between these two stories is all about taking responsibility. Adam and Eve had a choice not to eat, but they blamed others for their misbehavior. They didn't accept responsibility and they were punished.

In the story of Purim, the Jewish people could easily have shirked their responsibility for this decree of destruction and blamed Mordecai. But let's look a little deeper. Haman was angry because Mordecai wasn't bowing down. Why wasn't he bowing down? The Talmud tells us that Haman wore an idol around his neck. Everyone else acquiesced. Everyone bowing down was inevitably bowing to an idol, which constituted a complete abandonment of the most basic tenet of Judaism, our belief in one G-d. That belief was being put to the test. Mordecai was the only one who actually passed it.

Deep down, everyone knew this truth. Instead of covering up their angst and fears with blame, they took responsibility for their behavior They recognized that their bowing down was an abandonment of their faith and heritage. The Jewish people accepted responsibility and realized it was incumbent upon them to preserve Judaism for all future generations. Subsequently Mordecai and Esther led them toward a path of teshuvah, which literally means "return" but is better understood to mean acceptance of responsibility and a commitment to change.

This is a beautiful lesson of Purim. We have two ways to approach our challenges in life: We can look at our difficulties and complain about all the challenges we see, or we can accept responsibility for our reality and make a commitment to change just like our ancestors did.

There is a fantastic opportunity for anyone who wants to enjoy and experience the Purim spirit this year in Chicago. Join us at the Downtown Purim Lunch and Learn at noon on Thursday, March 24 at JUF building, 30 S. Wells St. There will be a reading of the Scroll of Esther, accompanied by a slideshow with translation, and insights to help us internalize the deep messages and lessons of our Jewish heritage.

^{Photo credit: Shahar Azran}

Growing up in the Chicago Jewish community, I was raised with a deep sense of pride in our history. I was taught how to love my community and to love my city because of its rich cultural history. Chicago's Jewish community is marked by people who really care about each other and I knew growing up that I was never alone.

Since making aliyah and moving to Israel three years ago, I've realized how fortunate I was to have spent not only my childhood, but also my formative college years, in such a tight-knit place. Yet, in Israel, I feel a distinctly different sense of fulfillment.

One of my Jewish heroes, the educator and visionary Avraham Infeld, says that "being Jewish is like having a five-legged table" standing on memory, family, covenant, Israel, and Hebrew. Interestingly, Infeld refers to Jewish "memory," as opposed to Jewish "history," because unlike a history book, he explains that memory is a living thing driving us forward constantly.

Living in Israel, this sentiment proves true for me on a daily basis. I feel as though I am tapping into a living, vibrant communal memory.

Today, when I ride the bus in Jerusalem, the thousands of years of Jewish memory passing by my window are also pulsing through my veins, bringing me in and making me part of it. These quiet, passing moments help validate my decision to move to Israel, because at the end of the day, it was a choice I made -- and it wasn't easy.

I've always had a deep connection to Israel. I participated in Jewish life in ways that will sound very familiar to many of my peers. I was raised in a religious Zionist household, studied in Israel after high school, served as president and Israel Intern of my campus Hillel, and already had family and friends living in Israel when I made aliyah.

Still, aliyah is an individual decision, and everyone has to make it for her or himself.

I have also realized that, like with any major life decision, whether it's graduating school or moving to a new city, you have to really want it in order to succeed. Otherwise, it can be too easy to get discouraged. That's just human nature. When it comes to Israel, people talk about the wars and the violence and the bureaucracy and the supposedly rude disposition of Israelis, but knowing these issues in the abstract versus dealing with them in real life are two different things.

No one prepares you for when the IDF enters Gaza and you have loved ones fighting there. No one prepares you for when terror attacks start happening on a daily basis, and you stop feeling comfortable wearing headphones while taking a walk or allowing yourself to doze off on the bus. And putting the waves of terror and violence aside, it's tough to prepare to take on a new identity of "immigrant," an identity I will carry for the rest of my life. I've been learning to embrace a new normal and everything that comes along with it as part of the journey. Just like Chicago, or any city, you can't have the good aspects without the challenging ones.

Ultimately, finding ways to remind yourself that you do, in fact, want to be in Israel is not as hard as you might think.

This country has a funny way of presenting us with striking moments of clarity and inspiration. I once had a cab driver who thought I was a native Israeli because of my Hebrew during the drive, only for me to get flustered and promptly forget the Hebrew word for "compliment." And I recall conversations with strangers on international flights that have reminded me that life is equally fragile wherever you are. Sometimes these moments will be fleeting, and sometimes they plant themselves firmly in your head.

One of those lasting moments came last April while I was working at Yad Vashem experiencing the national ceremony for Yom HaShoah, Israel's Holocaust Remembrance Day, for the first time. Each year, six Holocaust survivors are chosen to share their stories and light six torches symbolic of the six million Jews who were murdered in the Shoah. One of the torch-lighters was Avraham Harshalom, who told his story about surviving the camps, escaping to Israel and fighting to establish its independence. After the ceremony, I approached Avraham in awe just to say "thank you." I thanked him not only for his service to our country and his contribution to Jewish memory, but also for the stark reminder that living in Israel, today, right now, is a privilege not to be taken for granted, and it's something that I want.

History can be documented and catalogued on paper, sealed in a book or put on a shelf. Memory, on the other hand, can be fuzzy at times - but it moves us and it's personal. That is why I live in Israel, because being here makes my Jewish memory lucid and enduring and alive and provides me with endless motivation to continue embracing this journey.

^{Courtesy Katie Matanky}

Katie Matanky is a proud Chicago native living in Jerusalem and working in International Relations at Yad Vashem. She made Aliyah on the 50th Nefesh B'Nefesh charter flight, in 2013.

Learn more about the aliyah process at theSpring Aliyah Fair in Skokie on March 9.

I recently learned that some elementary school-aged children are asking their parents for permission to download a smartphone app called Musical.ly. This app allows users to create their own lip sync selfie music videos that can be shared, liked and commented on across social networks.

Yes -- elementary school children. The ones in question are in third and fourth grade.

One parent told me that a friend of her daughter was sad because she made a video and nobody "liked" the video. Sure, we're all familiar with "likes" from our beloved Facebook, but a) most people I know didn't join Facebook until at least high school, and b) most people I know aren't recording selfie lip sync videos.

I can only imagine these poor girls, who probably shouldn't be quitting their day jobs (being a fourth grade student) to make these videos, probably the subject of teasing and maybe even that "nobody-liked-my-Facebook-post" feeling of loneliness. (Seriously, can more people please press "like" when I post my blog to Facebook? Please?)

These fourth grade kids have most likely not yet developed their public speaking inhibitions or their judgment about what is and isn't appropriate for the immortal Internet.

Boy, am I glad this kind of app -- or this technology in general -- wasn't around when I was busy trying to read about Ramona Quimby and Wayside School.

It makes me wonder … if this technology was around when I was an elementary school kid, what kind of videos of me would be easily searchable? App developers, take note!

Lia Does Her Homework. Join in once a week as you watch Lia work through math, English, and science assignments. Watch until the end for "extra credit!"

Lia Follows the Rules in Gym. You don't have to be the best athlete; just listening to the teacher and putting in a good effort is nice, too! Watch Lia's short videos as she studies the rules of soccer and shows up to class on time regularly.

Lia Plays Dress-Up. It's fun, it's wholesome, and it's not even Halloween or Purim! Jump into the costume box as we pretend we're princesses and Dorothy with our favorite friends.

Lia Gets Into a Fight. Not a fist fight, of course, but a petty elementary school girl fight! More enticing than Serial, this podcast will follow the ins and outs of which girls we're talking to this week and which ones we won't make eye contact with. Note: We NEVER talk to boys.

Lia Plans Her Birthday Party. What shall it be this year, YouTube fans? Should we have a jewelry-making party? How about a party where we jump into foam blocks at a gymnastics place? Or perhaps a pottery-painting party? Stick with us every step of the way as we tour venues, interview store owners and sample birthday cakes.

To the little girls hoping to become Musical.ly stars -- maybe just stay little girls a little while longer.

Imagine this for a moment.

You are the creator of something completely new, special and unique. Your creation is about to come into the universe, and you are given the task of choosing the name. You have some ideas, but the moment to decide is rapidly approaching.

What do you do?

My heart skipped a beat just thinking back to the very first time I recall ever thinking of baby names. I was in second grade.

I was already over a year into a very serious relationship with a girl that I cared very deeply about and felt very close to (in case you were wondering, yes -- it was reciprocal). Anyway, we were so certain of a relationship lasting (spoiler alert: it didn't) that one day we were working on a list of baby names that we liked for our children.

It was an impressive list. On one side of the paper was a list of girls' names, in purple or pink, and the other side had boys' names, drawn in blue. I don't recall all the names on the list, but it grew over time, with her and I exchanging the list between each other like a secret note. I smile remembering how she would pass me in the classroom and, on occasion, whisper something like, "I like Jacob," just to remind me which way she was leaning if it was going to be a boy.

Those were the days. It wasn't so hard back then to think of great Jewish names for children. Playing House is playing House, but as a husband and a father-to-be, it was not as I had imagined it as a second grade kid.

When my wife, Ashley, and I were considering names for our daughter-to-be, we were faced with that big decision for the first time. We had talked about it a lot over the course of our relationship and discovered a lot about what names mean to both of us. We both shared deep connections with loved ones who had passed, but now that having our daughter was imminent, the question was whether or not we could come to an agreement.

Early on, Ashley was not shy to point out that there was also the child's Hebrew name to consider, which she said she was more than happy to defer to me if she could choose the English name.

Nice try, hun.

Of course she was only joking, but she knew this was going to be a big deal for both of us, and it was nice that she respected what value the Hebrew name would bring to our child. We also wanted to enjoy the experience and savor the journey we were taking together. So, we did like any good Jewish parents would do and started going through every Jewish baby name book our parents gave us, while adding our favorites along the way, Jewish or not. 

We zoomed across countless websites that poured over every detail and described every back story and origin for the name you could possibly think of. We talked to everyone, and I mean everyone -- I even polled my then-third grade class for their favorites.

Now, figuring out how Ashley and I were going to come together to make this decision was another challenge. After soliciting more advice, we went with an idea where we started in separate rooms and each wrote our own lists. Then we exchanged lists in the same room and circled the ones we loved, crossed out the ones we absolutely could not negotiate, and left the rest as options.

I confess that it took me much longer to draft my list than Ashley, because I think she already had her list in her head for a long time, but the plan worked. When we swapped lists, it was astonishing how close we were to agreement, and there wasn't one name that both of us agreed we had to have. So we went back and forth on a handful of names, all the way through our move out to the suburbs weeks before the delivery, even into July 4th weekend, which was more than a week before the due date. At that point, the only thing we were both in agreement over was to not decide until we met her -- whatever felt right among the choices we both liked would win.

Well, she couldn't wait to get her name, because on July 5, 2014, our daughter came into the universe healthy and with eyes wide open. In time (about 10 minutes later), we looked at each other, then at our daughter, and knew in our hearts what she would be called.

We introduced her to our families as Emma Bayla, named after my grandfathers Edward Silver and Samuel Edward Moffic, and Ashley's grandmother Barbara. Her Hebrew name, which we also chose together, is Adiya, meaning "G-d's Jewel." We couldn't be prouder and happier with our decision, though in a way, we believe she chose it for herself. This weekend she turns 20 months old, and happily squeals her name loud and proud, "Emma! Emma!"

As for our son coming in April -- well, that's a whole other blog.

Until next time, L'Chaim!

Every Sunday morning, I sit down in front of my steaming cappuccino and plan my menu for the week. It's a piece of my week that I look forward to. Typically, I'm overwhelmed with ideas thanks to my daily Facebook feed of bloggers, but every once in a while I get stumped -- and it is typically when I get to the word chicken.

Chicken breasts can get quite blah after a while. Plus, considering it is the only animal protein (other than fish and eggs) that I allow in the house, I have to be creative!

On one of those Sunday mornings, I chose to sip my cappuccino in front of the TV as I watched a riveting episode of the Shahs of Sunset, a guilty pleasure of mine. It just so happened that in the latest installment of the Shahs, they were sitting around an ornately decorated table in the reunion special. And as they threw one jab after another at each other, I was distracted by the gorgeous food on the table. Yellow rice. Grilled meats. Yogurt sauce. This all reminded me how very much I love Persian cuisine.

In the summer, I frequently grill up chicken tawook very similar to Azita's joojeh kebob. The yogurt gives the chicken a perfectly delicate texture and a slightly tangy flavor. It's fantastic on the grill.

But of course I found a way to improve this.

I used a yogurt marinade along with lots of garlic, onions, cilantro, parsley, lemon juice and salt and pepper. I also added some gorgeous saffron that gives this dish a distinct yellow color.

Saffron is really pricey, but fortunately you will only need a few threads. And Costco recently started carrying it for a nice price. If you cannot find saffron, you can cheat and add some turmeric to the mix instead to give it a nice color. 1 tablespoon or so will do.

Saffron Yogurt and Garlic Marinated Chicken
By Girl and the Kitchen

INGREDIENTS

2 pounds of chicken breast cut in half so they are thinner (you can also use boneless, skinless chicken thighs but use 3 pounds)
1½ cups of yogurt
8 garlic cloves
1 large onion peeled and cut in half
½ a cup of water
8 threads of saffron steeped in a ¼ cup of water or 1 tbsp of turmeric
a handful of cilantro
juice of one lemon
salt and pepper to taste
4 tablespoons of butter
more olive oil for frying

INSTRUCTIONS

1. Before adding the saffron to the chicken, you have to steep it like a tea in hot water. It will start to release it's beautiful golden color.

2. Place yogurt, water, garlic, onion, saffron or turmeric, cilantro and lemon into a blender or a food processor and pulse until smooth. Taste for salt and pepper and add as necessary.

3. Place chicken cutlets into a sealable bag and add yogurt mixture on top.

4. Close the bag and swish the mixture around so everything is evenly covered. Let stand for 60 minutes to 24 hours.

5. Place butter and olive oil into a pan, ensuring that the butter melts.

6. Over medium heat, fry the chicken on one side for about 5 minutes or until golden brown.

7. At this point, you can either turn over the chicken and cook on the other side or place into a 450-degree oven for 5 minutes.

8. If grilling, cut the chicken into large cubes and marinate. Then place on skewers and allow for it to grill for 6 minutes on each on a high flame.