It is windy but ass-melting hot the day Benny and I tie the knot under a Kemper Lakes weeping willow. Cantor Jeff sweats buckets as he sings Yhiyeh Tov. Rabbi Eleanor dashes to rescue the ketubah as it blows toward the water. And the chuppah corners fly off the poles nine times during our short ceremony.

After living in Boca Raton for nearly 30 years, my grandmother has moved back to Chicago. She brought 64 boxes of her most prized possessions with her, from the small kitten-shaped cookie jar to ancient, odorless potpourri satchels. My family, believing that she simply needed reminders of home, helped her unpack these items and find space for them in her cozy, one-bedroom apartment.

My first instinct when my Prince Charming asked me to marry him was to head down to City Hall for a no muss/no fuss wedding—at 10:30am to avoid the lunch rush. When my Mom, with tears in her eyes, asked me if I was not going to have her under the chuppah with me, I realized that I not only wanted her there, I wanted my Judaism there too. Chuppah, Mom and all.

Coming of age in a suburb where salt and pepper were considered exotic spices, I grew up eating corned beef on white bread with Miracle Whip. My parents served eggnog for Chanukah. I had never heard of kugel, kishke or knishes. The thought of chopped liver made my stomach roil. And don’t even get me started on tongue. When I became active in the Jewish community, this culture gap became embarrassing.

Second to “It’s not your baby,” it’s the next biggest English phrase that should stir emotion in the recipient. And sure, we’ve all used it and heard it. Some may have used it as a “get out of jail free pass” from the fight over you leering at the girl who just walked by. And we’ve all probably used it at the end of our phone conversations with mommy or daddy even without really thinking about it, more of an involuntary statement that always ends the conversation.

Surprising my grandma by showing up to her synagogue for Friday night services was great fun, but something felt out of place. The fancy birthday dinner we had for my grandma and her closest friends was a wonderful celebration, but we couldn’t help but notice my grandpa’s absence. For the first time, he wasn’t well enough to leave the nursing home to attend the celebrations.

My dear friend Aaron has finally fallen in love. He is a 39-year old Chicagoan; she’s an editor in Tel Aviv with strong sabra roots. He’s asking me for advice. Some days I want to tell him marriages between Americans and Israelis should be outlawed. Other days I want to say, follow your heart—just don’t expect it to be easy.

My grandmother always had an uncanny way with words, but even I was not anticipating her remark after shuffling through my high school prom pictures.“You look beautiful, honey, but he doesn’t look very Jewish.”

A very wise Miss Teen USA contestant once tried to explain why so few American students are able to locate states and/or countries on a map. Although I give her points for trying (“such as with the Iraq”), she wasn’t really able to illuminate the issue terribly clearly… But still, the initial question resonated with me.

Unlike most Jewish holidays with their “must do or not do”  restrictions, and themes of being hated, slaughtered or narrowly escaping, Shavuot has some bright features: It's the day that the Torah was given to us, it marks the beginning of the summer, it’s an agricultural holiday that celebrates the harvest—we get to eat delicious dairy food and indulge ourselves with cheesecakes and quiches. And, with the beautiful story of Megilat Ruth (Ruth’s scroll) setting the theme of loving kindness, it’s a pretty great holiday.

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.

I’ve known people who can boil something huge down to a single, explicit moment: The moment they realized what they wanted. The moment they fell in love. The moment they knew they believed in something. The moment that changed life as they knew it.

I finally broke down and joined JDate. After months of looking at the first page of people who matched my criteria—as many as you can see without joining—I decided to take the next step. I mean, the lady who’d be the horseradish to my gefilte fish could be right could be waiting for me right at the top of page two.

Maybe you keep kosher, or your coworkers do, or your best friend does. Maybe you'd like to grab a bite to eat before a show, or invite that cute guy in the adjacent cubicle out for dinner—or just eat lunch. 

I was standing at noon exactly. It was 8 p.m. in Israel. No one was there to stand with me. It was the loneliest and the weirdest “standing” I have ever experienced. The siren didn’t come from somewhere close.

My sometimes-combative relationship with food started during The Great Squash-Off of 1985. I was eight, my friend Bevin was over for dinner, and we were told we had to try to the squash. This was the first time in my life my dad insisted I eat something I didn’t want.

It is 3:45a.m., and after what seems like 54 feedings in the last 24 hours, we are both wide-awake. At three weeks old, he is a funny little thing, very new and tender with a Mohawk of spiky dark hair.

We had been dating for six months when I decided it was time for Joe and I to have “the talk.”  We sat on his couch for a long time, going through the familiar pattern of “What’s wrong?” and “Nothing” and silence before I was able to spit it out. “I want to raise my children Jewish.”

Change is possible. When I first came out to my grandmother, she told me that she was okay with it, but didn’t agree with gay marriage. Several years later, this same grandmother actually hosted our wedding at her home.

Since I left the security blanket of college about two years ago, my life has been full of change. I moved back home to the suburbs and got my first real job, and when I could no longer stand the suburbs, I moved out to Lincoln Park and started a new job. I went from in a relationship, to single, to in a relationship, both in real life and on my Facebook profile.