A Blob of Something Different

Ouch.

2011-12-12T11:33:00.001-05:00

It's a scene I've witnessed many times in my life. Only this time it took a painful twist.

I'm talking to a coworker, playing Jewish Geography. "Do you know Raizy Finkel? I think she lives right near you?"

I nod. "Sure I know her! And I also know her granddaughter, Suri-"

She cuts me off before I get to finish, to explain how I know said granddaughter. "Oy, Suri. Nebach she needs a shidduch already."

The end of my sentence dies in my throat. "-she was a classmate of mine in high school."

Ouch. Just ouch.

Shidduch Priorities

2011-09-22T10:38:00.001-04:00

They're moving around all the people in my department soon, and I kind of hope that I wind up very, very far from the lady who currently sits next to me.

It's not her abrasive nature that makes me want to distance myself from her. And while I heartily dislike it when she leans over me to loudly talk to the guy sitting opposite me (even when I'm on the phone!), that's not enough of a reason for me to want to move away from her.

And really, it's not her ultra loud voice either. It's what she talks about, namely, shidduchim. I have, in the past, heard of people who spend about 90 percent of their time devoted to shidduchim, but I had always assumed people like that were basically like Santa Clause or sensitive males: merely urban legends.

Until I met Mrs. Fried (not her real name.) Mrs Fried manages to discuss shidduchim more in a single day than the average human does in a lifetime. Her children are all married, so I'm not sure exactly who she's matching up (trading?), but she obviously never runs out of hapless singles to negotiate on behalf of.

And it's not just her shidduch talk that bothers me. Mrs. Fried represents everything I hate about the shidduch system. I routinely hear her matching problems over people: "Well he was divorced and she was (nebach) sick so they can go out." If that doesn't sound bad, here's a classic gem from Mrs. Fried. I file this under "things I can't believe even though I heard them with my own ears."

She said, on the phone, on one of her many, MANY, shidduch calls, (I quote. I promise.):

"Yeah so they're looking for someone with a lot of money...also for good middos."

Ten Years Ago Today

2011-09-11T12:13:00.001-04:00

Ten years ago today, I sat in my classroom, learning about Rosh Hashana. Chaya came in late that day, her brother's bris had been that morning.

If Chaya looked nervous or anxious when she came in, I didn't notice. She was always a "goody-goody," not the kind of girl who would disrupt the class. Not even to relate news of this magnitude. So Chaya took out her notebook and began to take notes.

And for that one blissful hour, myself, my classmates and my teacher where unaware of the way our lives had turned upside down.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. The principal stood there, asked the teacher to come outside for a minute. Miss Gold looked unalarmed as she headed to the door. Just as she stepped outside, Chaya saw fit to finally stand up and make her announcement. I'll never forget her face, the look of alarm, mixed with the look of I-don't-really-know-what-is-going-on.

"Two planes hit the twin towers and they fell down. Another plane hit the Pentagon in Washington and it's still on fire."

I scanned her face for a glimmer of a smile, a hint of a joke, but there was nothing. I was hoping desperately hoping for a way out, a way to not believe that something like this could have happened. "Maybe," I thought to myself, "maybe they were accidents."

Even in my mind it sounded ridiculous.

Miss Gold walked back into the room, shaking. Clearly a year in seminary and a week or so of teaching experience isn't adequate to prepare you for a moment like that. We all looked to her for some kind of affirmation. Finally, Miss Gold found her voice, and said, "ta-take out your Tehillims."

The rest of the day is a jumbled mess of disconnected memories. I wish I could say that I remember the moment I learned that a heinous act of terror had been perpetrated against my country, that innocent lives had been taken, simply for the crime of going to work in our capitalist country.

But I don't. I remember sitting huddled around the radio with my family that night, listening in horror to news reports. I remember thinking that we looked like those pictures from World War Two, where families did exactly the same. "But this is different," I thought to myself, "they were in the middle of a war."

I wish I remembered the moment I realized I was wrong, the moment I realized that we were in a war too. But I don't.

I remember desperately listening to news reports, rabbis, teachers, parents, anyone who might be able to give some answers. But none came.

I wasn't old enough to really split my memories into the pre-9|11 and post-9|11 events. I don't remember flying in an era where every passenger was not a potential monster who would use the plane to carry out the most devastating and horrific act. My flying memories involve serious security: removing my shoes, throwing out my drinks, and all kinds of other restrictions placed on us by people so desperately depraved that they've been able to turn innocent items into potential bombs.

But in the back of my mind, I do have the memories of a time when New York's skyline didn't have a glaringly gaping hole. I can remember a time when "war" was something that happened in the "olden days."

My children however, will not have those memories. They will be born into a world where airplanes are scary, potential bombs. They will be born into a world where extremists have managed to instill fear in the hearts of travelers. They will be born into a world that has seen horror and terror in ways we wouldn't have imagined 11 years ago.

And so it's not just a memory. 9|11 isn't just an event that occurred ten years ago. It's the mark of the time that our lives all changed. We can't ever go back to where we were ten years ago. Not us, nor future generations.

Repost: The Mourner's Chair- a Tisha B'av Poem

2011-08-08T20:18:00.001-04:00

Looking around the world,
We forget what it's about,
Yes there are some troubles,
But we are comfortable, no doubt.

We look around at life,
At the good times that we see,
We look at all the wealth we have,
Every luxury that could be.

So we become complacent,
Our Galus-cast away.
Minor problems crop up,
And only then we pray.

We ask Hashem for this and that,
But do we know what we need?
If we'd only Daven properly,
Then surely He would heed.

We ask for a good shidduch,
A job and a bit of wealth,
We ask for children who make us proud,
We ask Hashem for health.

But what we really need,
Yet always seem to forget,
Is to see the light of Moshiach,
A light we haven't seen yet.

Sometimes it's a shake-up,
That makes us stand back and say,
How can we have let ourselves
Slip up along the way?

How can we have let ourselves,
Forget why we are here?
Why are we not working,
To bring Mashiach near?

I walk into the shiva house,
And sit down among loud wails;
And I listen in silence as those chairs
Tell us their terrible tales.

Yes the chairs, they tell of pain,
That I can not comprehend.
The pain these chairs see constantly,
They know we need an end.

I may not see much suffering,
When we look at only me,
But think about those mourner's chairs-
That witness suffering collectively.

While we've become complacent,
In a Galus that we can bare,
We must strain to listen to the tales
That come from the mourner's chair.

How many tears has this chair seen?
How many families torn apart?
How many newly orphaned kids,
Crying from the depths of their heart?

Look at these low chairs,
They hold mourners every day.
They never see the easy side,
Of our Galus cast away.

They see the pain of loss,
Of a loved one torn away,
They see the pain of a widow,
Whose world has now turned grey.

How much pain have we all faced,
When we join it all together,
Oh how bad this storm seems now!
How much longer can we weather?

We know we can't continue,
We can't go on this way.
We need Moshiach here,
We need him here today.

This Tisha B'av we'll cry along,
We'll join the mourners in their tears,
We'll ask for an end to this Galus,
That has plagued us for all these years.

We won't become complacent,
We won't forget the chairs,
We won't let ourselves forget,
The mourners and their tears.

We must Daven, we must beg,
We must try to change our ways,
We must look within us and try to see,
A yearning for better days.

Some Talk About Pictures

2011-07-04T16:14:00.001-04:00

Let’s talk about pictures.

And by that, I don’t mean taking pictures. There are numerous places online to find a wide variety of photography advice; this isn’t one of them.

I refer, naturally, to the infamous shidduch picture. One might consider this picture a mere part of the larger scale self depreciating device commonly known as the shidduch resume, but I beg to differ. After all, the two don’t have to go hand in hand.

Or do they?

I will attempt to be impartial in the following discussion, despite my strong feelings about the issue.

Let’s talk first about people who insist upon a picture. As one single male put it: “When I travel far for a date, I insist on seeing a picture first, that way I know she won’t be DOA.” Now, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong (and I’m sure plenty will,) but that seems to be serious objectification of women. If she’s pretty, but incredibly stupid, the date won’t be DOA?

On the other hand, it’s hard to know in advance if your date will be a blithering idiot. Sure, you can ask people, but your information will only be as accurate as the honesty level of the people you speak with. A picture, however, never lies. Or does it?

Let’s leave aside Photoshop for a minute, and discuss the picture itself. Almost anyone, no matter how fat, ugly, pimply or otherwise blemished they may be, can get themselves made up, find a decent photographer, get the coloring all right, and manage to get an unedited (technically, anyway) photo of themselves. Let’s talk this scenario through. A young man and his ever scrupulous mother receive the picture of a lovely looking young woman. All of the other information seems to check out, and the date is arranged.

The day arrives and the young man gets his first glance of the woman he thought he’d seen a picture of. The full talents of the photographer sink in, as the man spends the rest of the date trying to figure out how the girl in front of him managed to look the way she did in the picture. You might say that this case sounds extreme, even blown out of proportion, but the issue is the same. How many non-photogenic, yet beautiful girls get passed over from the pictures?

I’ve conceded partially on the resume issue. I will, however skeptically and unhappily, send a list of references and other basic facts about myself (and by facts, I don’t mean opinions) to any interested parties. But I draw the line at opinions…and pictures. My mother might sneak one to people on occasion, but I haven’t knowingly sent one. I don’t think I am that ugly that nobody would look in my direction, but I just don’t think that me and everything I am and represent can be properly conveyed by a bunch of pixels patched together on a piece of paper. I’m not married yet, or even engaged, so perhaps my strategy is faulty, but I won’t budge. Not on this.

And if you can’t deal with it, don’t date me.

Many don't. I can handle it.

Top Ten Banned Foods

2011-06-21T18:35:00.001-04:00

Today's post started, innocently enough, with a tweet. As usual, I was complaining about something. In this case, it was a nasty smell coming from a coworker's desk.

I noted that certain foods should be illegal in a closed office setting. Immediately, people started to agree. And what I discovered is that certain items are universally disliked by anyone who sits at a desk all day.

Here's what I came up with, with the help of my twitter followers. Notably, JustStam had a number of additions.

Here goes:

10) Anything with Tabasco sauce in/on it.

9) Goat cheese, or, for that matter, any stinky cheese. (If you don't know what I mean, ask a french friend.)

8) Burnt popcorn.

7) Egg salad.

6) Anything flavored with vinegar (even chips!) Specifically, balsamic vinegar.

5) Indian food. Definitely the worst of the ethnic cuisines, though a special mention should be made for chinese food before a certain hour, say, 11:30 am.

4) Raw onions.

3) Tuna.

2) Sardines.

1) Herring. No joke, people in my office eat this. I have considered filing a sexual harassment complaint, because obviously no woman in the world can stand the sight, smell or taste of it.

What foods make you cringe when a coworker pulls it out?

Top Ten Words to Live By

2011-06-14T09:15:00.000-04:00

Presented by Stam here. Go read her pearls of wisdom!

Still One

2011-06-07T16:25:00.001-04:00

I'm driving along the Garden State Parkway, trying to get to my sister's house for yom tov. As I drive, I'm trying to think of something to write about shavuos.

And suddenly, a beautiful idea lands in my lap in the form of a strange driver in a red pickup truck motioning violently in my direction. Eventually I get the hint and pull over, not a moment to soon. The front driver's side tire is flat.

And when I say flat, I don't mean a little low on air. My tire is shredded. My first thought is "it's a good thing I don't leave just enough time to get there before yom tov!" My second thought is "ohmygosh I'm alone on the garden state parkway with a flat tire. What the heck do I do now."

I wasn't even finished dialing my father in a panic when a car suddenly pulled over to the shoulder. A frum couple got out to help. Just as my father picked up the phone, another car pulled up. A frum man got out and offered help.

Thankfully, flat tires aren't exactly my area of expertise, so they helped me through it. The man found a service to come within the half an hour and change my tire. The woman from the other car smiled and encouraged me that it would be ok.

Eventually, the roadside assistance was scheduled to come, and the couple got ready to leave, after ensuring that the other man would stay with me.

Before they left, they asked me if I had any cash to pay the tow truck. With a sinking heart, I dug through my wallet to confirm what I already knew: I had five dollars to my name.

With a big smile and no hesitation, he pulled out his wallet and handed me a fifty dollar bill. I'd never met them before, and suddenly they're lending me a wad of cash.

I settled in to wait, a nice frum, albeit strange man with me. He encouraged me, called the towing company for updates, and waited to make sure I'd be ok.

About twenty minutes into my wait, a New Jersey state trooper pulls over to see if we need help. "It's a tendency within your community," he noted, "to stop and help each other out."

I was blown away. The cop, not feeling like the big strong hero he wanted to be, said it with resentment. But inside, I feel nothing but pride. "Mi Ka'amcha Yisroel," I think to myself. How many times has this cop seen a scene such as this one unfold on the side of the highway? How clearly he knows that people won't drive by and assume things are ok! He wasn't there the whole time, but I'm sure he wouldn't be surprised that (so far) four different cars have stopped to offer help.

On erev shavuos, I find it particularly touching. "Vayichan sham yisroel neged Hahar...k'ish echad b'lev echad." Like one man, with one heart, the Jews accepted the Torah. And like one man, with one heart, the Jewish people continue to fulfill the commandments, doing Chesed, making a kidush Hashem...the list goes on.

No longer are we standing at the foot of har sinai. No, today we sit at the edge of the highway. But the message, thousands of years later, is the same. We are indeed, K'ish echad b'lev echad.

Good yom tov!

Dating Secrets or Secrets in Dating

2011-05-30T17:38:00.001-04:00

We've discussed the Sibling Angle of Shidduchim in a previous post, but there's loads more to discuss. Let's start with a reminder of the gravity of a phenomenon I like to call The First First Date, or FFD.

As I've previously mentioned, this is the first date for a family, not an individual. This is, thankfully, a one time experience. If you are unlucky enough to be the eldest in your family, you will be most hard hit by the FFD. For a sibling, it's not as bad. Especially if they don't know about it.

Which leads me directly into my story. This didn't happen in my family, but it might have. It might have happened in yours. And that will lead us directly into an important lesson for all parents of shidduch aged children. But first, back to my story.

The Silver family (*name has been changed) was eagerly anticipating an engagement in their near future. They did, after all, have a daughter/sister who had recently come home from a year in seminary.

Gila Silver did everything right. She went to the right schools, she dressed in all of the right clothing. She never stepped out of her house, or even her bedroom for that matter, without her hair done and her makeup immaculate. She went to meet all of the right shadchanim, and got just the right job.

It was, therefore, no surprise when after a number of rejected matches, Gila had her first date scheduled. Gila and her parents were well aware of the teachings of our sages that brachos rest in things that are hidden from the eye. Besides, it would be SO embarrassing if it didn't work out and everyone would know.

And so Gila and her family made the fatal decision to keep her date a secret, even from her caboodle of younger brothers.

The plan seemed, to them, very simple. They were going away for shabbos. On Motzei shabbos the parents would invent an excuse to leave, encouraging their kids to stay until the next day, when a neighbor would take them home. "At the last second," Gila "decided" that she was tired and wanted to go home early too.

Everything worked as planned. The Silvers and their daughter Gila drove home triumphantly. The boys stayed at the shabbos hosts, with plans to stay until late Sunday, when, unbeknownst to them, their sister would be a couple of hours into her First Ever Date.

The next morning ushered in a frenzy of activity for Gila and her parents. Mrs. Silver polished every piece of furniture, even those in her basement playroom. "You can't be too careful," she thought to herself.

Gila did her hair carefully, pinning it back into the most tzniusdik style she could think of. She tried on every article of clothing in her closet before finally deciding on the same outfit she had decided on three weeks ago when the shadchan first called. She took out her tehillim and sat down to wait.

Mr. Silver hummed as he selected a tie to suit the occasion. "Tonight," he thought to himself, "I may meet my future son-in-law."

At 7:02 pm the doorbell rang. Mr. and Mrs. Silver gave eachother a nervous glance before hastening to open the door. The young man looked at them, and they looked at him. For a really long second, they stood and watched each other.

Finally, the young man sat at the table. They made small talk. In the next room, Gila said her last few feverish words of tehillim, then put it down and shyly made her way into the next room.

Just as Gila stepped into the room, there was a loud bang. The Silvers exchanged frantic looks as they turned to the door and the source of the noise.

It was with no small measure of horror that they watched their five younger sons pile exuberantly into the house. For those of you familiar with the ways of the yeshiva bochur, a picture is probably starting to form in your mind. For those of you not familiar, let me try to explain.

This wasn't a matter of five young men walking into a house. It was a matter of five exuberant teenage boys juggling monumental quantity of pekelach, staggering into the house. They dumped an odd assortment of hat boxes, suitcases, garment bags, tefillin bags and other miscellaneous junk on the floor, right in the entrance to the dining room.

At this point, they were still focused on their packages, and didn't have a chance to look up. It was only after they all cried out, very loudly, it would seem to Gila, "Suprise!! We got an earlier ride home!! Three hours early!" that they looked up and noticed the green shades of their parent's skin. Their sister at that point was pure white. The young man was, of course, bright red.

They finally realized what was in the middle of happening, and tried to step unobtrusively out of the room. It was a pretty hard task though, when you remember the mountain of dumped luggage in the doorway.

Suffice it to say that the young man and young woman did get married in the end, but not to each other.

And that, my friends, is the end.

The lesson should be self explanatory. My personal experience to follow.

Top Ten Pictures

2011-05-17T09:30:00.001-04:00

As you may have read yesterday, I'm kinda sick. But I wanted to do a Top Ten Tuesday (for a change...) so here goes.

Some of these pictures might look familiar, especially to those who follow me on twitter, but for the rest of you, enjoy.

Take THAT Teachers!

2011-05-16T20:45:00.001-04:00

I've marveled before at the differences between being an adult and a child, but today, as I crawl back into bed coughing and sneezing and feeling like a truck is parked on my lungs, I have to comment on this phenomenon once again.

You see, as a child, and then as a teenager, a sick day was decided on by my mother. It should be noted, at this time, that my mother has a very liberal view of sick days.

I'm pretty sure that some of my high school teachers were convinced that I'd gotten myself a part-time job; I certainly wasn't in school very much. Any time I stayed up late and felt a little too tired to drag myself out of bed in the morning, I put on a sick face and a sicker voice, and explained to my mother that I was too sick to go to school.

My school wasn't thrilled, but as long as my mother was writing notes to testify that I was sick, there was little they could do, short of accusing my mother of lying.

I've certainly shocked myself, so I'm sure my teachers would pinch themselves if they would see me now; I've become a ridiculously responsible adult.

In my last job, I barely took off from work in years on the job. It all worked out pretty nicely though, because just before I quit I had surgery, so I used up years of sick days while recuperating.

In the six months since I've started my new job, I took off one Friday due to illness. I've been sick since then, but I just work through it, tough it out.

Today was day five of being sick. I skipped work. It wasn't without much deliberation. I was fully dressed with my hair done, about to start doing my makeup, when I realized that I was about to collapse. With an uncomfortable sinking kind of feeling taking over my insides, I emailed my boss that I'm not coming in and collapsed into bed. I woke up at 1:30 and called the doctor. Turns out, I have bronchitis.

The doctor started to say something about if I don't feel better tomorrow. I shook my head and explained to him that it's not an option. I WILL feel better tomorrow. I have to. I have almost no paid leave time left, I have a growing pile of work to get through, and I know that the longer I'm out the tougher it's going to be.

Look at that- I've become responsible!

My high school teachers should only see me now.

Pleading My Case

2011-05-09T18:25:00.001-04:00

"I have a great boy for you!"

It's half hour into our first meeting ever, an the first mention of dating or marriage. I try to protest, to save her the words, but it's difficult. She's a lawyer by trade, and obviously prepared to plead her case.

"What makes you-" I start asking, but she cuts me off. "Let me tell you about him."

I try to object; but my objection is overruled. I know I'm in for a long opening statement, so I silently nod as I direct my thoughts to more exciting things. My thoughts are interrupted by little snippets of her arguments. "Amazing family," "wonderful parents," and "Well playing job" seem to be some of the keywords. I nod politely until she seems finished.

Cross-examine. "What does he do?"

She looks hesitant. I wait for an answer. "Weeeell, that's the thing. He has kind of an offbeat job."

"I'm not-" My objection is overruled once again."

A detailed description of said off-beat job is forthcoming. Again, I nod politely. The only thoughts I am capable of at this point are related to the amount of time being wasted.

She is finished. It's time for my closing arguments. "I'm looking for a learning boy."

Her face falls as she realizes that she hasn't yet found a suitable match for her cousin with the off-beat job. Case dismissed.

Big News

2011-05-03T21:46:00.001-04:00

I wasn't going to post about the events of the last week, but it struck me that someone would read my blog many years from now, and not know that some monumental events have recently occurred.

And so I will sum it all up this way, (via twitter.)

This past week, there was a birth certificate, a marriage certificate and a death certificate.

That's all folks.

Nachas and Chinuch

2011-05-03T21:42:00.001-04:00

I was with my three year old niece in a local grocery store. Out of the blue, her happy face fell. "Uh oh!," she breathed, obviously distressed.
I was concerned, "What is it?"
Cutie is not known for being shy. "There's MUSIC!" Tiny kid, huge voice; people turned to look.

I wasn't sure where she was going, and I wasn't going to guide her. "There is music."

She was obviously alarmed: "But it's sefirah!"

I beamed with pride at her brilliance; she only turned a couple of weeks ago. Then I did what a good aunt does. I told her to go ask Bubby.

I went home and shared the nachas moment with my family. My father was the one who came up with the interesting question.

Everyone has their own opinion about a cappella music. Some feel that there's no reason to avoid it during sefira. Others feel it follows the letter of the law, but is far outside the realm of the spirit. Others, like me, avoid it because they can't stand it.

But what about the chinuch issue? What does it tell our children? And, more importantly, what about children who aren't old enough or sophisticated enough to understand the difference between a cappella music and "real" music? What does it teach the kids about the lessons they bring home from morah?

Regarding issues such as music during sefirah, I've often heard "we don't have to be so strict with kids." But today... I wonder, shouldn't we raise out standards for the sake of educating our children?

What do you think?

Top Ten Dear Blank Letters

2011-04-12T12:17:00.001-04:00

The idea for this post has been floating around the outer recesses of my mind even before I discovered Dear Blank Please Blank. (No link because I'm on my iPhone, and more important because I'm not going to endorse the contents of this very funny but not always 100% kosher site.) I haven't done a Top Ten Tuesday in ages, and so I finally sat down to do this one. As funny as that site is, I don't think they would accept submissions related to Shul, yom tov, and shidduchim.

So here are mine. Enjoy, then add yours in the comments!

10) Dear Married friend trying to set me up with a loser,

Oh, how I wish you were still single so I could say "if he's so great, why don't YOU date him?"

Sincerely, single, not desperate.

9) Dear Brother-In-Law,

No offense or anything, but I hate when you come. I feel like I'm under bedroom arrest once my PJ's go on.

Sincerely, your wife's sister.

8) Dear Lady who davens in a loud stage whisper in shul,

Thanks for letting me know where they're up to, without having to embarrass myself and ask.

Sincerely, got here late.

7) Dear Robe Store Owners,

I asked you if you have this in the next size up, but you don't have to scream that across the hoards of pre-yom tov shoppers.

Sincerely, that's not my real size- it runs small!

6) Dear Shadchanim,

When I say "he doesn't sound right for me" and you say "no but he's perfect for you," please realize that I've known me at least twenty years longer than you have.

Sincerely, not gonna happen.

5) Dear Shower,

Oh, how I've missed you.

Sincerely, Motzei three day yom tov.

4) Dear Former high school classmate whom I haven't spoken to in years,

Just because we bump into each other in the grocery store, doesn't mean we have anything to talk about.

Sincerely, next time let's just nod politely.

3) Dear Frum world,

Yep, I wear my hair in a pony, even to weddings and on shabbos, I'm not a teacher, therapist or accountant, and I think for myself.

Sincerely, yes, I still think I'll get married.

2) Dear Erev yom tov shoppers,

There's no need to push. Contrary to popular belief, the world won't end if you don't get that last article of clothing or ingredients for one more kugel.

Sincerely, ouch, you stepped on my toe!

1) Dear Week before pesach,

I really don't like you.

Sincerely, overworked with nothing to eat.

Without Any Injustice

2011-04-11T22:13:00.001-04:00

In parshas Ha'azinu, the posuk says:

(I apologize for the English letters. I'm on my iPhone, which is an excuse for being terrible at Hebrew typing.)

"Kel Emunah ve'ein avel."

Describing Hashem, the pasuk says that He is a faithful King who causes no injustices. That seems to be repetitive. Wouldn't it be a fair assumption that a faithful king doesn't cause injustice?

The answer, simply, is that it's not. Here's why. Say the king of a particular country decrees that anyone who breaks a particular law will be thrown in jail for ten years. Not long after that, one of his servants breaks that specific law. There were witnesses, surveillance tapes and a non-coerced confession. The case was clear cut; the man was convicted and sentenced to ten years in prison.

Was the king being unfaithful? Surely not. He had ironclad evidence. The man was given a fair trial. He had been warned. And yet, there are some grave injustices being committed, and the best intentioned ruler in the world can't do anything about it.

You see, the man's wife, who knew nothing of his criminal ways, is stuck with a husband in jail, children to raise on her own, and the irreversible stigma that comes along with being married to a criminal.

And think of his poor children. They might be too young to comprehend the meaning of their father's crime, but despite their innocence, they are stripped of a father. They are left to grow up with people pointing and whispering behind their backs, and they did nothing wrong.

His parents, his siblings, his friends, even people who suffer in the smallest of ways due to his imprisonment- each of them is an injustice.

There may not be a solution for a king of flesh and blood, but for Hakadosh Baruch Hu this isn't a problem. Hashem doesn't "forget" the suffering of others when He doles out a punishment, nissayon, or any other form of hardship. Being the Melech Malchei Hamlachim, the omniscient and omnipotent Ruler that He is, Hashem is in the unique position to take every drop of pain and aggravation that any given person will endure as a result of the "punishment."

You see, if a person is sick, you know that G-d meant for him to get sick, but it's easy to forget that G-d also meant for his family to experience their pain, however minimal in comparison.

When you think about it, the whole concept is mind boggling. The web of people who's lives are affected by any given incident is seemingly endless, yet G-d is able to, and indeed He does, calculate each bit of pain.

This thought is an incredible comfort to a person who is struggling, but there's another whole side to this thought, and that is the immense complexity if the calculations involved in Hashem's actions.

That's why I find myself horrified every time I hear people attempt to understand the inner workings of Hashem's plans.

You've probably heard the talk. An earthquake hits Japan, and immediately the thoughts of frum yidden turn to the bochurim imprisoned there. That's natural, even commendable. We want to ensure that our people are okay.

But as soon as people's thoughts turn to a possibly connection, they are stepping into dangerous territory. I'm not here to make an argument for or against a connection between the incarcerated bochurim and a natural disaster that uprooted an entire country. I'm simply trying to point out that none of us have a right to presume we know that.

How can you explain the thousands of people who lost their lives, most of whom were probably unaware of the bochurim involved in their country's legal system? And, however minor it may seem, how do you explain the frum man in New York who's small electronics store is unable to get stock of the many items manufactured in Japan? The ripple effects are endless, and we certainly have no right to presume to calculate it.

Perhaps the bochurim played a part in the disaster, but to make a statement such as "the reason they had another earthquake is that they didn't learn their lesson and release the bochurim" is nothing short of chutzpah. And when someone proclaimed that "someone should tell the Japanese that if they just release the bochurim the earthquakes will stop" I can't imagine they thought about what they were saying.

I think that this time of year, when we are trying to remember the incredible nissim that Hashem performed for us, it's important to remember that Hashem's power extends past the actions. Let's all try to remember that Hashem's love, care and careful calculations extend from the very first second of our perceived trouble, up until the very last ripple effect.

A New Method of Looking Into Shidduchim

2011-04-05T18:33:00.001-04:00

I was having a discussion with a woman I know about the idiocy of shidduchim and shadchanim, when she mentioned the following gem of a phone call.

It started when the Nosey Shadchan thought of a Shidduch for the woman's daughter. Before we get started though, I should probably note that her daughter is 17 years old; many years away from any form of shidduch related desperation.

That being said, the NS decided to give the boy a shot. And so she called. And she redt a ger to the mother of the 17 year old. Without even giving the mother a chance to express any sort of hesitation, she rushed to validate her suggestion.

"Aren't you or your husband geirim? Or ba'alei teshuvah?" Not to knock geirim, ba'alei Teshuvah, or anyone else of unremarkable ancestry, but the family in question is from a long line of prominent rabbinical figures, and so she answered, truthfully but emphatically, "No, we aren't."

The Shadchan didn't miss a beat. "Are you sure?!"

One can't help but laugh. Was it desperation? Or was it just the smooth-talking of a pushy Shadchan?

Either way, I say we should all take our bets on how long it will be before a normal, perhaps expected part of the looking-into-shidduchim process will be past-life regression therapy.

All I can say is, I hope I'm married before then.

Weddings and Pity- a Terrible Combination

2011-04-04T18:23:00.001-04:00

It's no secret that I hate weddings. I won't enumerate the various things I dislike about them; I've done that many times in the past. (Sorry, no links. I'm writing this on my iPhone.)

Tonight's wedding is worse than usual though. You may think I'm referring to lack of familiar faces I anticipate seeing, but you are mistaken. I hate weddings at which I don't know people, but that isn't the real problem.

If you were, however, thinking that the Choson is youger than me, causing me to dread this wedding, you are partially correct.

You're correct in assuming that it's because of the age difference between myself and the (very young) Choson and Kallah that will make this wedding worse than average, but the problem, as a matter of fact, is you.

Well, ok, not just you- that would be pretty silly. I don't know you. I don't know most of the people who think it should be torturous for me, but nonetheless, they are the collective problem.

If you've been reading this blog for a while, I'm pretty sure it won't come as a shock to you that I hate pity. Be it from high school girls who think I'm ancient, Nosey Shadchanim who had three kids when they were my age, or Chizuk Ladies who understand that I'm not getting any younger, pity makes me sick- any way you slice it.

And a night like tonight is a pity party for interested parties. (I'm starting to confuse myself now.) Doesn't it stand to reason that my feelings tonight should be a mixture of resentment, jealousy and sadness? Oh, wait, they aren't. Right now I feel a lot of boredom and just a wee bit of impatience.

"But even the- gasp- Choson is younger than you!" you may exclaim. Yep. And nothing I was looking for in a boy. Why should it bother me?

But thanks to the wonderous efforts of the annoying people I know, tonight will be a tedious blur of "im yirtzeh Hashem by you"s.

What's not to dread?

And The Number One Reason to Get Married Is...

2011-03-29T18:25:00.001-04:00

All this talk about why people should get married, I think it's about time somebody points out the number one reason:

To get out of shidduchim...

The Great Debate

2011-03-16T18:23:00.001-04:00

If you are one of those opportunistic people who follow me on twitter, you may already know of the In-Town versus Out-Of-Town arguments that take place on an extremely frequent basis.

It's never anything new. The In-Towners discuss the fast-paced life in NY, where kosher food and a mincha minyan are available on every corner. The Out-Of-Towners counter with their extreme politeness.

Personally, I don't get it. I'd rather have a rude guy throw a kosher hot dog at me than a really nice man inform me- in the most polite manner possible- that I'll have to go hungry.

Now before I go making the arguments for those really, really nice people in Hicksville, let me clarify something. I love New York. I've lived here my whole life, and can't imagine life elsewhere. That being said, I have to point out a drawback to life in the greatest city in the world.

One morning, when packing my lunch for the day, I realized that we didn't have any fruit in the house. Making a mental note to buy some in the local grocery store that night, I headed out to work.

As I've mentioned before, I usually spend my lunch break going walking through the area near my office (midtown manhattan). I walked into the local Daune Reade, picked out a drink, and headed the the cashier to pay. On my way, my eye fell on a colorful display of fruit.

"How expensive can it be?" I asked myself as I picked one up and headed to the checkout. The cashier smiled and welcomed me to the store. "how much are these," I inquired, pointing at the apple.
Her smile froze. "That's 99 cents."

My eyes popped out of my head, my mouth dropped open, and my vocal cords shut down. My lack of words didn't deter the woman from understanding my reaction. I was shocked. And horrified.
Her response? "You must not be from New York."

I am. And I am a cheapskate. Can those two go together? If not, maybe I should be on the next plane to Yehupitsville.

The Friendship That Almost Never Was

2011-03-10T12:25:00.001-05:00

My friend got married last night.

I know, it isn't news that my friend got married. It's news that she is my friend. I say that because I thought I killed any chance at friendship with Leah the first day we met.

But last night we danced, as close friends. I leaned over and whispered "remember the first day we met, when we were working on xyz project?" She nodded. "I was so snobby to you that day." She nodded again.

I originally met Leah at work. I wasn't pleased to have her work with me, and I'm afraid I made that perfectly clear. The first day she was there, we had a project to work on. It was complicated and difficult, and it would have been easier to do it myself than train her in and do the project simultaneously.

I'm sure she sensed my resentment. And I know she noticed me texting all afternoon. But I hope she doesn't know that I was texting about her. I was complaining to everybody I could think of that my new coworker was a total MP. After all, I texted, who comes to work with her hair all fancy and a full face of makeup.

It's been almost two years, yet I still remember being horrified at her fancy looks, annoyed by her over friendliness, and frustrated at her lack of experience.

But looking back, it's really kind of funny. Had I not started the day with a lousy attitude and a disgusting amount of self centeredness, I might have realized that I was intimidating. I had been there for forever, I knew everything there was to know about the job, and everyone knew it.

And perhaps, had I bothered to think of anything other than myself, I would have realized that her fancy clothes, fancy hair and full face of makeup was a desperate attempt to impress me.

Years later, after months of friendship and many a day seeing Leah's mode of dress, I can laugh about the way Leah started wearing her hair in a pony, little or no makeup, and even slinky skirts pretty soon after that day.

And it is only now, after hours of conversation, after many late nights spent shmoozing, that I can acknowledge the bond that we share, that I can admit that Leah is one of the most interesting conversationalists I've encountered in a while.

It wasn't until my drive home from Leah's wedding that I thought about the way things might have turned out. I could have continued to be a ridiculous snob. We could have turned into a pair of coworkers that merely tolerated each-other, instead of close friends.

Alls well that ends well, I told myself, in a desperate attempt to validate my actions and placate my guilt. But it didn't work. Because a happy outcome doesn't mitigate the problem.

Imagine a scenario where the unfriendly feelings stayed. She would have spent her days feeling a mixture of resentment and probably anger at my attitude. I would have continued on my path of annoyance, frustration and snobiness. When I finally quit, we would have exchanged a polite goodbye, never to speak to each other again.

And last night, she would have gotten married, only I wouldn't have been there. I probably wouldn't even know the event was taking place.

Here's the part that bothers me most of all. Had this scenario played out, neither of us would have ever known what we were missing, what could have developed.

And that makes me wonder. How many friendships have I killed? How many people do I consider mere acquaintances, when they could have been good friends?

I don't think we can ever understand the consequences of our actions, but sometimes life gives us reminders. If a bad mood and negative attitude almost killed a great friendship, imagine what a nasty comment might do. We never know what the future holds, but thinking about it might just help the outcomes.

Top Ten Signs Your Coworker is Over The Hill

2011-03-01T10:53:00.001-05:00

10) She puts on her glasses to squint at her blackberry.

9) He takes frequent naps at his desk.

7) When giving out her email address, she specifies "all lowercase."

6) The ringer on his phone is set to Sonic Boom level.

5) She collectively refers to the rest of the employees as "you young people."

4) He takes off a lot of time to go to doctors appointments. And he discusses them extensively when he comes back.

3) When at your desk, she exclaims repeatedly that you do things so quickly on the computer.

2) He spends a lot of time reminiscing about how different things were when he entered the work force 40 years ago.

1) He has a copy of 'Outlook 2007 for Dummies' on his desk. And he refers to it often.

Top Ten Ways To Spot a Tourist

2011-02-22T16:45:00.001-05:00

Until recently, I sat in my office during my lunch break, using my phone, talking, or killing time some other way. Then one day I decided that people all over the world dream of visiting NYC, and spend a huge amount of their money doing it, yet here I am, in the heart of manhattan, day after day after day. And I don't appreciate it at all.

So lately, I've taken to walking during my lunch break. I have so much fun "people watching" as I like to call it. (The exercise-I walk fast- is a nice bonus too.) Lately I've been noticing that tourists and New Yorkers are different species. Here are Top Ten ways to spot a tourist:

10) They buy things from street vendors without haggling or trying to get a discount of any sort.

9) They have a camera on a strap around their neck. And they're wearing an I-Love-NY tee-shirt.

8) They look shocked that there is a man cursing into a public telephone at the top of his lungs.

7) They stand at street corners taking pictures of the tall, tall buildings.

6) The roll these huge suitcases along the street, and they look thrilled to be doing it.

5) They walk really slowly. They probably talk slowly too, though you generally can't see that.

4) They look surprised, rather than alarmed, when a random stranger smiles at them.

3) They stand on the sidewalk until the walk sign actually appears. And they look scandalized that there are natives already across the street by then.

2) They actually notice, and seem both fascinated and terrified by the homeless man standing at the corner singing into an old flute as if it's a mic.

1) They can't recognize a Jew when choosing someone from whom to ask directions to the nearest Burger King.

How do you spot a tourist in NYC?

I'm Feeling Old. Again.

2011-02-19T20:24:00.001-05:00

She looks up at me with her sweet, 9 year old eyes. "You know which book I really like? A light for Greytowers. Did you ever read it?"

"I did," I replied. "But not for a long time. I probably haven't read it since I was your age."

She looked puzzled. "That can't be. The book isn't THAT old."

Suddenly her eyes weren't so sweet anymore. Way to make me feel old, kid.

Hereby, Forthwith, and All That Other Stuff

2011-02-09T23:42:00.001-05:00

That's it. I quit.

Seriously, when I applied, I had no idea what I was signing up for. The toilet paper, the toothbrush- they have nothing on me. This job is the pits, plain and simple.

My first interview feels like yesterday. It started with MP elbow deep in my drawer, scrounging for what she deemed "appropriate" for the occasion. My hair was scrutinized, ("you'll have to wear it down.) My makeup was subject to strict critique, ("not too much, you don't want to look like a clown, but not too little; you need to look put together.") Then we tackled my shoes. Don't even get me started.

I arrived at the interview exactly on time. As I walked in, I tried not to think about MP's opinion of such compulsive behavior. ("You don't want to look too desperate.") Keeping all of the (unsolicited) advice in my mind, I walked in. I like to think I appeared natural, but not overconfident. Smiley, but not smug.

The lady who conducted my interview was pleasant enough, but underneath her friendly demeanor I could tell that she was asking some pretty pointed questions.

I won't relive the follow up interviews. Suffice it to day that I did not enjoy them. Not at all. The end, I repeatedly told myself, will justify the means.

Yet as the whole process dragged on, I started to lose hope. Maybe I won't get this job. Maybe I don't even want this job.

And hear I sit, thoroughly absorbed in this business, and it doesn't live up to the hype. It doesn't live up to any of the glorious expectations. Others seem happy here, but I think this job is a heap of abuse.

And I've had enough. Why did I sign up for a position that would constantly occupy my thoughts, cause such misery, and pay so little? When did shidduchim turn into a full time job anyway?

And so I quit. Hereby, forthwith, and all that other stuff. Who else is jumping ship?

The Benefit of a Date

2011-01-31T07:57:00.001-05:00

(I'm posting this from my iPhone, so I'm going to have to post the link the old fashioned way. If anyone knows of an app that will let me do a hyperlink on here, I'm all ears, er, eyes.)

Bad4 posted a long and very good post about the benefits of shidduchim. (You can read it here: http://badforshidduchim.wordpress.com/2011/01/31/why-shidduch-dating-is-awesome/) However, she missed one very important and simple benefit.

I used to think it was only my family that had moments like these. Two of the married siblings were there for shabbos, along with their very cute but very messy brood. Toys are strewn about all of the main lingo areas of the house. The yeshivah bochurim were home for an off shabbos, and left a trail of hats, laundry and other miscellaneous paraphernalia in their wake. A mess like that is rather unmotivating, and so it idles.

And that's where shidduchim are useful. A friend of the family, who has a number of children in shidduchim once looked at her (to put it kindly) untidy house and proclaimed: "what this house needs is a date." Yep. A date. A deadline to buckle down and clean up the mess.

And that, my friends, is the number one benefit to shidduchim.

Top Ten Ways To Entertain The Morah

2011-01-25T12:45:00.001-05:00

The Morahs always claim to have an educational reason for asking, but between you, me, and the world wide web, it's for entertainment purposes only.

I spent a couple of summers as a daycamp counselor for toddlers, and my favorite thing to do was ask the kids what they want to be when they grow up. Sometimes in the end of summer pamphlet they sent out, I'd write the responses down to share a laugh with the mothers. The problem is that most kids say boring things like a mommy or a morah.

I once had a kid who said she wanted to be a marriage counselor, but it's less funny when you put it in context; her mother was exactly that.

I hope for my niece's morah's sale that she asks my niece what she wants to be when she grows up. See, my niece will do anything for nosh. And lucky for me, the last time I was at her house I brought lots of it along with me.

It took quite a few twizzlers, but by the end of shabbos, when asked what she wants to be when she grows up, my niece answered confidently: "a politician." She even learned to say "I have a dream!"

I figured it would be good for a laugh when morah asks. Then I figured that we could think of a bunch of ways to make Morah laugh. So here are Top Ten answers to...

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

10) A politician
9) a Marine Biologist
8) Uncle Moishy
7) A Shadchan
6) Justin Bieber
5) A Taxidermist
4) A Chasidishe Rebbe
3) The Biggest Loser
2) A Guinea Pig
1) A Tax Payer

Some rejected ideas included: Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, Drill Sergeant, Dog Walker, Psychotherapist, IRS Agent, Plumber, Lady Gaga, Used Car Salesman, NYC Taxi Driver, Polymer Scientist, Pulitzer Prize Winner, Nobel Peace Prize Winner, Michelle Obama, Mortician, Fisherman, Gas Station Attendant, Pope, Barbie, A JAP, a Neurosurgeon, a bunny rabbit, a dump truck and a calculator, among others.

Have you ever heard any really funny responses to this question? Bonus points for anyone who videos a kid saying any of these! (I'd post the video of my niece saying her career ambition, but I do want to be allowed to visit again...)

Strange Customs

2011-01-24T14:54:00.001-05:00

So many of our practices and customs have become a regular part of our life. We get used to them to the point where we don't realize how odd they can look to an outsider.

That's how it was for me, anyhow. Then Kelly (*not her real name) moved into my area at work. Everyone else in the area are frum yidden, so needless to say, Kelly finds our discussions both confusing and amusing.

Take, for example, the birth of Esther's grandson, and her preparations for the upcoming bris. Leaving aside the entertaining conversation we had with Kelly about the custom of bris milah, Kelly found something else confusing.

"Your daughter had a baby?" she inquired. Esther nodded.
"So," Kelly continued, "why didn't you bring in some booze and say that word- what's that word that the guys always say when someone has a baby?"
"Lechaim?" I offered.
"Yeah, why don't you bring in booze and say lehayim?"

Esther didn't have much of an explanation, and so the matter was put to rest until the next day,

The timing was kind of ironic, when you think about it. You see, the very next morning, one of the guys who works near me had a family member's yartzeit. He commemorated it, as usual, by bringing a bottle of scotch and a big box of rugalach.

Kelly saw the treats and exclaimed excitedly "Oh, someone had a baby and they are making a lehayim!"

One of the men that had stopped by for some refreshments offered her an explanation. "Actually, nobody had a baby. Somebody died." thinking he was being sarcastic, Kelly started to laugh. She stopped though when nobody else laughed.

I took pity on her and explained. "He isn't joking. Somebody actually did die." her confusion at that point was complete. "You mean they're drinking booze to celebrate that someone DIED?"

I nodded. She wanted an explanation, but suddenly everyone got busy with work. Some things are better left unexplained.

Every Breath That I Take

2011-01-19T14:36:00.001-05:00

I know, I know. It's an old story. We never seem to appreciate the good things we have until they're gone.

This comes up in many ways. A person who's value isn't appreciated until they go on vacation, a store we don't realize we like so much until they've closed down, a product we expected to find in the store until it lost its hechsher. The list goes on. And on.

But one place where this phenomenon sticks out more than any other is in the area of breathing and the common cold. About 95% of my mornings start out the same way; I wake up, contemplate calling in sick to work, decide that being tired doesn't qualify as sick, get out of bed... I won't bore you with the details of my morning, but I assure you that nowhere in my morning routine is there a time slot for "think about my breathing."

And then it happens. I catch a cold. A common cold, as they call it. And then I wake up, wondering why I can't breathe. My mad dash for a tissue is accompanied by runny eyes and a runnier nose. And, being the non-morning person that I am, it takes me a couple of minutes to process the difference. I can't breathe. Not like I usually do.

And each time I get a cold, this goes on for a couple of days. I cant breathe. This is weird. Wow, I normally breathe without thinking about it? And then, inevitably, there is the morning where I wake up with a clear nose, clear eyes, and I don't need to put my face up to the light to make myself sneeze. "One second," I think to myself. "Something is different."

And then it hits me. For a change, I am thinking about how easy it is for me to breathe. And I like it this way. I think I should do it more often. It's kind of nice, thinking about what I have, instead of what is missing.

Top Ten Times You Shouldn't Pick Up Your Phone

2011-01-11T06:00:00.002-05:00

In an interesting reversal of roles, I helped Bad4 in the compilation of a Top Ten list. It wasboth interesting and frustrating to see my ideas nixed, and I bet she has a better idea of how tough it can be to come up with a good top ten list.

Anyhow, check it out here.

What You Didn't Think About

2011-01-10T12:44:00.001-05:00

It was a little over a year ago that I wrote a letter to a yid. That letter was a joyous one. I was proud to write it, proud to have wittnessed it, proud to consider that man my "brother."

Today I have a completely different letter to write. I don't want to write it. I don't want to call attention to the wrongful act I saw commited last night. But, once again, I bore witness to the "other side" of an action that was commited by a fellow yid. Only this time I am not proud to call him that. This time I am writing to publicise what he did, only in the hopes that perhaps one other yid will think before they do something like this.

Dear Yid,

I know it was a cold and snowy night. I was armed with warm boots, warm coat and warm gloves, and still the treck from my parking spot to the entrance of the rest area on the Garden State Parkway was frigid and miserable. I understand wanting to park closer to the door. But I would have never actually entertained thoughts of doing it.

And yet, there I was, approaching the door, and I saw the sight I wished I hadn't. But even if I had walked in two or three minutes later, it would have effected me. You see, when you parked next to the door, rather than in a legal spot, you weren't just risking a ticket. You were angering the lady who works there, who witnessed you pulling up. You were in a haste to get out of the cold, so you missed her reaction, but I didn't.

"Must be handicapped," she declared.

I looked at your hastily retreating back, and then at her rolling eyes, and I could practically feel the scorn. Her eyes then turned to me, and the blame reflected in them was obvious. Her eyes were talking. They were screaming at me, "you Jews. Why don't you follow the rules." It was at that moment that I wished you didn't have a big black yarmulka perched on your head, that you didn't have a pair of tzitzis dangling behind you, that you didn't look so Jewish. But you did, and so do I, and so the blame for this incident fell on not only your shoulders, but on mine, and every other (religious) Jew in the world.
It's a tough job, being an embassidor to the Jewish nation, to our G-d, but every time you don that yarmulka or dress like a religious Jew, you take that responsibility onto your shoulders. And tonight, as you parked illegally, without thinking about how others would react, about who would see you, you took that responsibility and threw it away. For what? For a few seconds of warmth?

I walked past that woman, feeling her eyes on me as I went. When I came out, she still stood there, at the door. And your car still sat there, illegally, at the curb. And her eyes still spoke volumes.

Her glare followed me to my car. The entire time that I walked through the cold snowy ground, the very same walk you saw fit to avoid, I thought about the ramifications of your actions. It might seem petty, but to her it wasn't. She witnessed hundreds of cars pull up, park in an ordinary spot, and walk through the snow to the rest area's entrance. And then you pulled up, but you had to be different.

I'm sure you didn't realize that you're a representative to an entire nation. I'm sure you never expected your action to be noticed, much less cared about. If you had, I like to think you would have done something different. And that's why I write this letter. Perhaps you will never read it, but somebody will. Somebody who will think two or three times before committing an act that will make other look down upon our nation. And maybe, just maybe, this very same woman will one day receive the chance to see the good side of a yid's behavior.

Sincerely,
SD

Top Ten Auto-Corrects

2011-01-04T20:54:00.000-05:00

Last week's post discussed my exciting new phone. This week's is dedicated to an aggravating feature for all iPhone users, but particularly for those who speak "yeshivish."

Stam was nice enough to let me help her with the first entries onGevalt! Auto Correct, a spinoff of a non-Jewish site with a name not fit for a G-rated blog.

In honor of Tuesday, there are ten posts up there to get you started. Keep checking back, submit your own GAC stories, and spread the word. There isn't a frum iPhone owner who won't acknowledge the necessity of this site.

Do I Have a Dreaded Disease?

2011-01-03T12:10:00.003-05:00

I don't generally read Family First's Advice Line column, both because I despise advice columns and because I find they mostly don't apply to my stage of life.

This week's topic jumped out at me, and I'm slightly surprised that nobody seems to have been commenting on it.

The question comes from a worried mother who says that her daughter is (nebach) 22 years old and insists she isn't ready yet for marriage. Her question, in a lot more words, was basically "what can I do to make her ready."

To the magazine's credit, the first two responses were fairly intelligent. The first responder wrote that not all young adults feel ready to get married at the time that peer pressure expects it of them, but there MAY be a bigger issue behind it. The second responder was great. He called the mother out on her question, questioning her motives in asking. As much as a yiddishe mama wants to see eineklach, she can't rush her kid into it.

The third responder, however, really bugged me. I wonder if anyone else found her response disturbing. In her answer, she equated the daughter's unreadiness to get married to appendicitis. "Would you wait to get your child medical care because they insisted they're 'not ready yet?'" she asks.

Untreated appendicitis can be fatal. Is she saying the same thing about wanting to wait before getting married? Perhaps my life is over because I'm not married yet.

Don't get me wrong. I do want to get married. But I'm not desperate. I like my life now. I enjoy my job, my independence. If I would meet someone that would be worth giving it all away for- sure, I'd give it up. But I'm not pining for a man in my life now.

Am I ill according to societal norms? Am I the only one who thinks it is absurd to expect all people to be ready for marriage at the same time?

Top Ten iPhone Observations

2010-12-28T14:40:00.001-05:00

It's been a week since I posted, but for a change I have a good reason. And by good, I mean great.

[clears throat]

I finally, and I mean FINALLY got an iPhone. "It's about time," you are probably thinking to yourself. Indeed it is. And so, I spent the last week learning about my new toy, and have come to the following ten conclusions.

10) The lack of tactile keys is not my favorite feature. In fact, had AT&T offered a decent Android phone with tactile keys, it would have probably tipped the scales in favor of it. That being said, the on-screen keyboard for the iPhone is intelligent enough to redeem itself.

9) On a related note, I forgot how well my old touch knew me. It's so odd having to remember to get rid of their suggestion when I type a word like shabbos, yeshivish, heimishe, or even something as basic as shidduchim or shadchan. (Well, ok, it learned Shidduch pretty quickly.)

8) In some ways, going from an iPod touch to an iPhone is barely any different. Web browser? The same. Email? The same. Favorite Apps? The same. But when you take my favorite gadget in the world, add a phone, texting and a camera, how could anything go wrong?

7) Up until a week ago, as I left my house in the morning, I frantically checked google reader, twitter and my email, because that was it for most of the day. Now, I don't have to do that. I can check all of those, and more, calmly and peacefully all the way to work. And every time I'm on hold. And during my coffee break. And...

6) Oddly, not having to search for wifi to do all of the web-based stuff I want to do has made me LESS addicted, not more as I feared. I guess it makes sense. I don't need to worry that I might miss the only good wifi for hours.

5) Texting on my iPhone doesn't feel like texting. It feels more like IMing or something.

4) I love having a decent camera on my phone. My old phone had the poorest quality camera you can imagine. Now I need a free app that will allow me to post blog posts with pictures.

3) It requires a lot of self control not to pay for apps. See, spending $20 is not something you do without blinking, but 99 cents? You can do that twenty times easily.

2) It can be a little bit annoying not to have tactile send/end keys. I'm sure I'll get used to it, but gosh it was frustrating when I tried to hang up the phone dramatically, but pressed the home button instead, so I didn't even wind up hanging up at all.

1) It was a hideous stroke of irony buying nice warm gloves on the same day that I bought my iPhone. I'm guessing the summer will be easier- I hate having to chose between warmth and my phone. Because I'm sure you all know which I chose...

Standardizing The Shidduch System

2010-12-20T06:00:00.000-05:00

It worked in ancient India, why can't it work for shidduchim? They had a Caste system, we need a class system. It would make everything so simple.

Here's how it needs to work. Everyone starts off at class A. Few people, however, stay there. Every strike has a point value. Are your parent's divorced? That's ten points. Enough to knock you down two classes. Congrats, you're now a class C shidduch candidate. Wait, do you suffer from severe allergies? That brings you down to a class D.

Are you a cancer survivor? That's four classes right there. Asthma? How bad is it? Severe asthma will cost you two classes, just a class less than diabetes, an automatic start at class D. Have you broken an engagement? That's going to cost you a couple of classes. Not as many, however, as, say, a divorce. And while sibling issues are not as costly, a sibling off the derech will set you back a class or two.

How's your weight? The number of classes you lose from excess poundage is determined, naturally, by your BMI. Pimples, unconventional heights, poor looks and dysfunctional families are also covered by the class system.

Celiac? IBS? Hearing defect? Glasses? Krohns? Hypothyroidism? All gonna cost you. And don't forget mental health issues, all of which knock you back a whole bunch of classes.

Every year, on your birthday, you get bumped down a class. It's only fair to give the advantage to the 19 year olds.

Don't worry though. The system works both ways. How rich is your father? Slightly above average? That'll get you a class or two. Name on buildings? At least four or five classes. Is he among the country's top 50 richest men? Because that's an automatic class A, even if you limp, stutter and have cross eyes. A rosh yeshiva for a father is good for two or three classes, a rabbi is good for at least an extra class.

Are you gorgeous? Give yourself a class. A size 0/2? That's another class. Popular? Well dressed? Good job? These might raise your class too!

Think of how simple shidduchim would be under my proposed system. There would be a national Class Registry. After registering in the appropriate class, say, class D, you would meet the class D shadchanim, who would match you up with a boy/girl on the same class. Nobody would have to waste time meeting people who are beneath them! Shadchanim wouldn't be so swamped, because their clients would all be "classified." More people meet, get engaged, and married.

And just like that, the shidduch crisis has been solved.

Well, not really. Boys would get bumped up a class, just because they're boys. We gotta keep it fair, right?

And What's This Icon For?

2010-12-16T06:00:00.001-05:00

I know I've written many times about the dangers of old people attempting technological feats, but recent events absolutely require another post. Besides, I had a shidduch relate post all typed up, then realized that I posted about shidduchim waaaaay to many times lately, and I'm in danger of being thought of as obsessed.

By recent events, I don't mean my father's triumphant entrance into the house bearing a new HTC Aria, an android smartphone priced at the scandalously low price of 9.99. What the salesperson wisely neglected to mention is that an android phone's ideal user is not a man of my father's age and technological abilities.

My siblings and I all groaned as my father plodded through the manual, turning to us for frequent help. They thought he would last a couple of days before returning it, but I won the bet. He returned it the next day.

What happens, you might ask, when the old person in question is too ignorant to even realize that they can't operate their phone. Kind of like the lady who sat next to me on the bus last week, the recent event I mentioned earlier.

I can sum up the woman's type in one word: bubby. Or two: yiddishe bubby. After discussing all of her children and grandchildren with me, a complete stranger, she donned her glasses and took out her blackberry. Now, I'm no great expert on blackberries, never having owned one myself, but her help requests were simple. She wanted to know how to move an icon, things like that. It took a while to explain the overwhelmingly complicated process to her, but she finally got it. Then she had another request.

"I have an icon here and I don't know what it is. Can you show me?"

"Sure," I replied, "which one?"

"It's called sims, or something like that."

I started to panic. Which idiot loaded a game like Sims on to the phone of their bubby? And how can I explain to her what it is, and worse, how to play. Or was it the store, Syms? I couldn't spot the icon, so I asked her to point it out.

"Right here," she said. "Sims. What is that?"

I looked at the icon. SMS. I kid you not.

And that, my friends, is why old people should stick to rotary phones. Or at least flip phones.

Top Ten Ways You Know You Date a Ton of Boys

2010-12-14T06:00:00.001-05:00

Usually, when I write a top ten list, I have trouble getting ten. When it's an easy list, I can get seven or eight items without too much trouble. When I only have four or five, I know it's time to call in the specialists. And by specialists, I mean Bad4 and occasionally Bas~Melech.

You see, I think this top ten list has great potential. The first item came easy to me. It has actually become a family joke of sorts. But that is where it ended. And when I have only one item for a top ten list, I know that it's time to call in my readers.

Here's number one. Let's see what y'all can come up with for the other nine:

You know you date a ton of boys when...

1) ...The cookies stay fresh through five boys!

Let's hear your top ten now...

(And before anyone suspects this of being autobiographical, let me remind you that I am sister to a Miss Perfect.)

A Guilty Kind of Hope

2010-12-08T06:00:00.002-05:00

It all starred out with a Well Meaning Individual. Also known as the Chizuk Lady, she tried to make me feel good about my predicament.

And by predicament, I mean my marital status. I know, I hadn't realized it was such a predicament either. But apparently this Chizuk Lady I work with sees it as one.

Her tale of triumph over the shidduch system is pretty much the same as any other. "This girl that I know was nebich 27 years old already and she wasn't married. And even at such an age, she found a boy willing to take her."

I know, I know. That isn't even in the same zip code as chizuk. But that isn' our point right now. I'd like to discuss this idea of "well if she got married, so can I."

Take a minute. Let it sink in. It's mean. It's self-centered. It's true. It sounds wrong to let such thoughts pass through your mind, but upon closer inspection, I think most of us will find that we have felt this way at one point or another.

I know I did.

Let's call her Peshy. Peshy isn't an ordinary nerd. I mean, I'm friends with quite a few of those, and I've occasionally been described as one. But Peshy is a class A, socially lacking, purebred nerd. Her appearance is always unkempt, her comments always awkward, and her overall impression is that of a person you can't imagine being the world's greatest wife. I know I'm coming across as terribly judgemental right now, but I challenge you to truthfully say you don't know anyone like this. Again, bot in an unfriendly sense, but in a "this is life; deal with it" sense.

I'll never forgot how I felt when she got engaged. My initial reaction was one of, sorry to say it, shock. "What type of guy is her choson?" "How on earth did she get engaged...before me?" My next reaction was one of guilty relief. "...wow...there really is someone out there for everyone."

I wouldn't admit to this for a while. Not until someone mentioned her yardstick: "this former classmate of mine got engaged. If she could find a guy, anyone can."
"You too?" I yelped, breathing a sigh of relief. "I thought it was just me!"

And slowly, one quiet admission after another, I discovered that most people, no matter how nice, know someone who they never imagined would get married. And when they did, it gave them a hope for their own future.

And so, because we've already established that you know someone like that, let me ask you how you feel about it. Does it make you feel crummy, that someone like that managed to find a guy before you, or does it make you feel that twinge of guilty hope?

Going to War With Nature

2010-12-06T06:00:00.002-05:00

During the time of the Maccabis, under the rule of the ancient Greeks, the practice of the Torah was forbidden by law. There were only three mitzvos, however, whose observance were punishable by death: Shabbos, Bris Millah and Rosh Chodesh.

In order to understand why these were the three commandments singled out for the death penalty, we have to understand what the Greeks stood for. The god of the Greeks was nature. Survival of the fittest ruled their lifestyles. Athletes were their priests, gymnasiums their temples. Deformed babies met horrible and wholly unnatural deaths. Men, as the stronger gender, were considered holyer than women. They believed in the perfection and superiority of nature.

You can now imagine how offensive shabbos was to these people. What is shabbos? It's a commemoration of how our G-d created nature, their god, and then rested. And Bris Milah? Think about it. We believe that a man's body, as created by nature, is imperfect. Therefore, we have a ceremony, perform a surgery, and by instruction of our G-d, we improve upon the creation of nature, their god. Rosh Chodesh was perhaps the most insulting to them of the three. In the times of the Beis Hamikdash, when a witness would go to the beis din and testify that they had seen a new moon, the beis din has the power to make a major decision. Is the witness correct? Has there been a new moon? If they decide that indeed the witness is reliable, and there has been a sighting of the new moon, a new month would take place. And if not? Any natural forces which run on a monthly cycle would be pushed off until the beis din would accept testimony and declare Rosh Chodesh. So with the observance of Rosh Chodesh, the yidden were telling the Greeks: "not only has our G-d created your god, but when He was finished, He gave the power to control your god over to us."

With the ban on these three mitzvos, as well as the entire Torah, the Greeks weren't just declaring war on the Jews, they were instigating a war between the natural (their force) and the supernatural (our force.) And, as we all know, the supernatural won over the natural.

We've all heard how the Jewish calendar isn't like the secular one. We don't progress through time like a timeline, going further and further from the event until it is a mere memory celebrated by some fireworks or a decorated tree. Our calender is a circle. Each year, as we pass through the months, the same kochos that were put into the world for that month thousands of years ago are in the world today. We all know the Pesach is a time of redemption, and Elul/Tishrei is a time of Teshuvah, but what is the spiritual strength imbued in the world during Chanukah?

The answer lies in our description of the battle between the Maccabim and the Greeks. The battle between the Natural and the Supernatural. Just as the Yidden won of the Natural in the times of the ancient Greeks, we have the power during Chanukah to win over our natures. During this spiritual era, we have the power to go to battle with our yetzer harahs- and win!

Ah Freilichen Chanukah everyone!

Based on a Shiur by Rabbi L. Keleman.

Double Standard?

2010-12-02T23:28:00.000-05:00

This issue started as a debate, and I decided to get my reader's opinions on this matter.

What do you think of a girl who is active online, be it via Facebook, twitter, blogs, or any combination of the above, yet doesn't want a guy who does the same?

I see both sides, but I have an opinion. Before I state it, I'd like to hear yours.

Is it a double standard? Or are things different for guys? (I do realize that the male response will be skewed, but try to stay open minded...)

Top Ten Life Changes

2010-11-30T06:00:00.002-05:00

Motzei shabbos, as I was drifting off to sleep, I had this sudden and horrible realization. The second birthday of BOSD has passed without a party, without fanfare, and without recognition of any sort.

And then, I realized that it's time I stopped neglecting this blog. All of my loyal readers surely noticed how seldom I've posted in the last few months. If you think this is a long winded introduction to an engagement announcement, you are sadly mistaken.

I did, however, have a whole bunch of reasons not to post much. It's Tuesday, so let's see if I have ten of em:

In the last six months:
10) My manager at work (who I loved) quit.

9) I was asked repeatedly if I am sure I am not pregnant.

8) I lost an organ.

7) I recovered from my first ever surgery.

6) I used up years of accumulated sick days. Without lying.

5) I got a new manager who can only be described as something that rhymes with a witch. (And no, I don't mean a snitch.)

4) I found a new job.

3) I quit my old job. (Happiest day of my life. Hands down.)

2) I discovered the joys and trials of a commuter's lifestyle.

1) I became a morning person.

Does this excuse my lack of posts? I don't know. On the one hand, this sorta gives me a ton to post about. On the other hand, I was never one of those "and here's what happened to me today" type of bloggers.

Does anyone want to hear which organ I lost? Or what my first words after waking up from surgery were? Or what I nicknamed my horrible new manager? Or what I do on the way to work every day? Either way, I've got some post ideas, and I fully intend to post a bunch more. I won't, however, complain if your comments generate a discussion that inspires me to write a bunch of new posts. No, that's not a hint. Not at all.

Ok, your turn folks. What's been going on in the last six months of your lives?

What are You Doing Today?

2010-11-26T04:30:00.000-05:00

If you're reading this when it's posted, it means one of two things. Either you're having heartburn from an oversized turkey dinner, or you are one of the sadly misguided folks who is waking up right around now to shop.
Here is my question. Why?
The whole black Friday thing never made any sense to me. Over the years, I've turned down dozens of invitations to hit the sales. Whether it was a midnight trek up to Woodbury Commons, an early morning run to Macy's, or a big trip to the mall, I was never one of those people with high hopes squeezing myself into the back of a tiny car.
And here's why. As exciting as the reports sounded when friends and sisters came back telling me of the crowds and discounts, I always noticed something fascinating: their hands were always empty. The few things that they had purchased weren't very cheap, nor were they very wanted.
I have nothing monumental to say on this subject. I could point out that people have died in black Friday stampedes. Or I could point out how sad it is that a drive for materialism has led a family to camp out a week and a half before Thanksgiving. But you all know that.

It's kind of like the wise man once said: "Nobody ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people" .So instead of an insight, I'll wish y'all Happy Suckers Day.

Top Ten Ways To Eat a Rugelah

2010-11-23T06:00:00.002-05:00

This extremely creative and funny Top Ten list was actually a contest entry submitted by iRiR. Check out her cool blog here.

1. Start from one end and bite lengthwise (wide side) in progressive stages until you reach the other end.

2. Start from one end and bite widthwise (narrower side) in progressive stages until you reach the other end.

3. Peel the thin edge of the rolled-up strip. Keep peeling and eating until the entire rugelah is consumed.

4. Use a fork to pierce the center of the rugelah and chew politely. Perfect for people who feel their empty hands look unbecoming.

5. Using a napkin, grasp the rugelah with your thumb and index finger in a pincer-grasp. Then eat. Great for use in high society.

6. Using a bag to prevent your hands from getting dirty, hold the rugelah in your hand and chew.

7. Stick a toothpick in one end of the rugelah and out the other. Proceed to eat like corn-on-the-cob, holding both ends of the stick.

8. Place rugelah in mouth and suck until it eventually disintegrates. Works best for adults with dental issues.

9. Pop the entire rugelah into your mouth at once. Applies to smaller-sized rugelach only.

10. Pretend to eat the rugelah by bringing it up to your mouth and feigning chewing and swallowing. Good for dieters.

Another Point for the Guys

2010-11-22T06:00:00.001-05:00

There's big news announced at the shabbos table. My brother has struck it rich. Ok, not quite rich. He does, however, get a monthly kollel check from BMG.

And of course, a lively discussion ensued about the number of years a man (boy? Bochur?) has to learn in BMG before he is eligible for kollel checks. Surprisingly enough, you don't have to learn there for ten years to qualify. And you get more than $20 every other month, though not much more.

It got interesting when someone pointed out that the years a boy is learning there count from when he enters the yeshivah, not from when he gets married. It was my father who pointed out how good that can be for shidduchim. "Hey I can be eligible for kollel checks next week!"

And I was the one who pointed out that it's so like the guys. Being OLD is good for shidduchim. Speaking of the shidduch crisis.

Top Ten Tuesday: And The Winner Is...

2010-11-16T06:00:00.002-05:00

It's been a fun week. I've realized that a contest with a great prize is a far better incentive for strangers who read your blog contact you than a heartfelt plea, or even outright begging.

On that note, here are, in spirit of Tuesday, ten highlights from the entries I received:

10) "When learning history in school, such as the 1980’s" -Is it just me, or does that line imply that I am very old? Well either way, congrats to T who made me laugh on that, earning a bonus entry!

9) "I don't have so many more years before I age out of "twenty-something" - I should chapp it while I qualify!" -Brilliant, Scraps.

8) "When I read it, I'll be imagining you saying, "Scrumptious!" in a Chassidishe accent." Those who don't know me don't know that I speak a perfect yinglish. Fortunately, Scraps does.

8) "the top ten neighbors you don't want to have" -This one came from a newly married friend of mine. I just can't get over how much marriage can change a person's whole perspective on Top Ten lists!

7) "1.KBD carrot sticks as seen on BOSD (serious about that being #1 btw. it has been requested about 3 times this week)" -See, Bas~Melech put it as the number one food eaten in her house. I wasn't crazy when I said I couldn't get them off the tray for photographic purposes!

6) "Top Ten Reasons to Blog...1.If SD does it, it's gotta be good." -Who says flattery doesn't pay off? Thos entry by B~M made me laugh, earning her a bonus entry.

5) " I've helped you write so many top ten lists that they should all count and I should get an extra entry for each one." -bad4, I can't do that, but this is a good reason that you should get an entry. And it made me laugh, so you know what that means, right?

4) "5 - Oooh, if you don't, I'll tell your sister about your blog. Actually, that's worth several entries. [...] 10 - See reason #5. " -This might be a good reason to enter Bad4 into the contest, but it's also a good reminder not to read contest entries at work, lest I choke on my fourth cup of coffee.

3) "What I'd like to see is Top Ten Recipes from the book" -Y'know what I'd like to see? A check for ten million dollars. So we're even.

2) "It's important to have at least a cookbook or two on the shelf so that I can impress my mother in law when she visits." -Tzipi, how bout I send you the book jacket from my copy and you can wrap it around some random book and place it on the shelf in your kitchen? ;-)

1) By far, the most crative entry to this contest was submitted by iRiR, entitled "Top Ten Ways to Eat a Rugelah (croissant):" Now, if I can just get her permission, perhaps next week will feature her pearls of wisdom.

(And though she wasn't mentioned here, partly cuz she made the deadline by 3 minutes, my friend BigChamor, aka @Schmoiger, wrote a brilliant list. It'll be up here soon.)

And now...the moment you've all been waiting for:

[bum bum bum ba da dum]

the winner is...

[bum bum bum ba da dum]

Ok, for real this time. The winner is..

Bas~Melech

Congrats! Now, as readers of this blog may well know, Bas~Melech is not just a fellow blogger, but a friend of mine. And while I was rooting for the winner to be among my friends, it was a totally random contest. Perhaps B~M's victory had something to do with her submitting seven complete Top Ten lists?

Anyway, thanks all for playing! Twas fun. Stay tuned for some entries in the coming weeks.

Last Day!

2010-11-15T06:00:00.001-05:00

I've gotten some really great entries to the contest, but I just wanted to remind y'all that it's not over yet! You have until 10pm tonight to come up with an idea for a Top Ten list, write a Top Ten list, forward a link to the contest to ten people, or all of the above. I mean, how cool would it be to wake up tomorrow morning and find your name featured on this blog?!

And, the contest has an added perk. Even if you don't win the prize, you can still have your Top Ten list featured on a future Top Ten Tuesday post (with a link, where applicable).

Looking forward to hearing from you!

(Just a reminder, no entries will be considered valid without an email address. And when I say 10pm, I mean 10, not 10:15. I have a strict bedtime.)

Top Ten Tuesday: Cookbook Giveaway

2010-11-09T06:00:00.002-05:00

10) I figured that since this contest is taking place on a Tuesday, a Top Ten themed giveaway would be in order. Excuse me if this isn't very typical of a top ten list.
9) The contest is in effect from the moment this gets posted until 10 pm on Monday, November 15th. The winner will be posted next Tuesday, November 16th.
8) Every valid entry will receive one entry into a randomly selected raffle. Entries that make me laugh will receive an extra entry. (Thanks to G6 for the idea. I stole it.) If this criteria feels overly subjective to you, it might be. But on the other hand, if you're a long time reader of this blog, you may have a better grasp of my sense of humor, giving you an edge up on the competition.
7) Finally, the criteria for entry: (there are more than one way to enter, here's the first.) The theme is Top Ten, but that's where I end the restrictions. Go crazy. Write a top ten list. Submit a great top ten idea. You chose. I'm not picky.
6) If you sit down to attempt an entry, and realize that I've only been making my Top Ten lists LOOK easy, though, in fact, it's tough, and you can't come up with an entry, there's another way to enter. Copy and paste the following text into an email, (or compose a similar message) and send it to, in keeping with the Top Ten theme, ten of your contacts. CC me at justablobatgmaild0tc0m by way of entry.
sample text:

I wanted to let you know about a contest on a blog I read, A Blob of Something Different. The prize is Suzie Fishbein's new cookbook, Kosher by Design Teens and 20-somethings. You can read a review of this cookbook here, or find the rules to enter here.

Don't forget to spread the word!

5) There are no restrictions on the number of entries you can have, for either way of entering.
4) Entries can be submitted directly to my email address, justablobatgmaild0tc0m, or posted as a comment with a note not to publish it. Comments that are entries will automatically not be posted, all others on this post, if any, will be. If you wish for your comment to be posted, please post it separately from your entry.
3) Entries without a valid email address will not be counted. Even if you are sure I have your email, don't count on it.
2) I will need your mailing address to forward to Artscroll, the sponsors of the amazing prize, so if you don't want me knowing your blogger ID, you may want to refrain from submitting your entry with it.
1) The winner will be randomly selected using random.org The prize of this contest is the amazing new cookbook in the KBD series: Kosher By Design Teens and 20-Somethings, as reviewed by me here. Trust me, you want to win it.

Can't wait to see your entries!

(If you know me, email me on a different email address, follow me on twitter, facebook, text me, or communicate with me in any method other than the email address associated with this blog, please use my blog email to enter. Thank you.)

Review: Kosher By Design Teens and 20-Somethings

2010-11-08T06:00:00.029-05:00

When I discovered that the publicity team for Susie Fishbein’s new cookbook was running a blog promotion, I knew I had to get on board. Susie Fishbein’s cookbooks are the holy grail of cooking in my house. All I can say is, thank goodness for Twitter.

When the book arrived, I tore open the box and disappeared to my bedroom to read and enjoy the new cookbook. The first thing that hit me was the cover:

I think its pretty clever. Stuff that teens and twenty somethings generally use such as headphones and car keys, combined with food, which is, obviously, the main focus of a cookbook.

Once I opened it up, I was immediately impressed with the colorful, eye catching design of the book. The clear, clean style of the layout is easy on the eyes and very inviting. Before I even reached the recipes, however, I was wowed by the introduction. In lieu of the usual boring introduction that we all don't read, as found in most cookbooks, this one has a number of helpful guides as well as healthy eating tips.

I made the mistake of looking through the recipes while hungry. Really. In my case, to say the pictures were mouthwatering is no exaggeration. I drooled as I looked through the delicious looking recipes. I drooled as I read the delicious sounding names of the recipes. And of course, I drooled when I looked at the enticing photos.

I think that the majority of my readers are teens and twenty-somethings, but perhaps many of you wonder if this cookbook is really for you. Well, my sister and sister-in-law, both of whom are twenty-somethings, were wondering the same thing. As two huge fans of Susie Fishbein and her work, they were discussing the upcoming cookbook with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. My sister-in-law, rightfully wondered if the cookbook would be overwhelmingly simple for someone of her cooking skill. After much consideration, they decided that they would wait and see what it looked like, and then decide.

And that's what I want to do, help you decide. Does this cookbook have some very basic recipes? Definately. But I am not a novice cook by any means, and I found plenty of recipes that are exciting and creative. There is a section called Munchies, which is not generally found in cookbooks, which I believe is where you will find the majority of the basic recipes, as well as the recipes that wouldn't be of interest to people who are no longer teens and twenty somethings. (Think Chocolate Fluffernutter Quesadillas...) But the other sections, specifically the Poulty and Meat section, have enough interesting, sophisticated and practical sounding recipes to make up for it. (More on those later.)

Another issue that might be bothering some people is whether or not the recipe's instructions are written with the assumption that you can't tell an oven from a dishwasher and that your idea of cooking a gourmet meal is sticking the leftover takeout food into the microwave. And the answer is no. I actually think that the cookbook is written in a very smart and balanced manner. As someone with extensive cooking experience, I didn't feel like the instructions were talking down to me, but I aso see how they would be simple enough for someone with no cooking experience to follow accurately. In fact, I think Kosher By Design Teens and Twenty Somethings would be an excellent cookbook for some of my newly married friends who know nothing about cooking. (Yes, I mean you. And you.)

Back so some of the great recipes... I made a number of recipes so far, with excellent results. I know that people criticised the poor picture I posted last week of the spicy carrot sticks, still on the baking paper, but I actually think it's the ultimate compliment. Those carrot sticks never made it off the paper!

Here's the recipe, I challenge you to make 'em and have em last long enough to sit through a photo shoot.

6 large carrots, peeled, ends trimmed

1 egg white from a large egg
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon water
1 1⁄2 teaspoons garlic powder
1 1⁄2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 1⁄2 teaspoons sugar
1⁄2 teaspoon paprika
1⁄4 teaspoon ground white pepper
1 teaspoon coarse sea salt or kosher salt

1. Preheat oven to 450˚F. Cover a jelly roll pan with parchment paper. Set aside.
2. Cut each carrot in half to make 2 (3–4 inch) pieces.
3. Cut each carrot half in half lengthwise. With the cut-side-down on your cutting board, cut each half into 3 equal strips to make thin carrot sticks.
4. Place the egg white into a large shallow bowl or container and whip with a fork or whisk till foamy.
5. In a large bowl, mix the olive oil, water, garlic powder, cumin, sugar, paprika, and white pepper.
6. Place the carrot sticks into the beaten egg; toss to coat the carrots in the egg white.
7. Stir the carrots into the spice mixture. Arrange in a single layer on the prepared pan. Sprinkle with the salt.
8. Roast, uncovered, for 20 minutes.
9. Transfer to a serving plate or bowl.

As I said, you just try doing number 9. I couldn't get that far.

Additionally, I also made a delicous dessert, Chocolate Chocolate Chip Sticks. They are a cross between biscotti and brownies, easy to make, require no mixer, and best of all, don't have margerine...and they received rave reviews. The Schwarma Chicken and Za'atar Cauliflower were equally delicious.

In conclusion, this cookbook has an excellent blend of old favorites, international recipes, fresh takes on classics, and new and creative ideas. If you are a more experienced cook, you may find some of the recipes to be a little bit basic and simplistic, but I doubt there is anyone who wouldn't find a large number of delectable recipes to try.

If you are as excited about this cookbook as I am, and want to start making delicacies such as Firecracker Beef, Smashed Potatoes, Cappuccino Mousse and Molten Deep Dish Chocolate Chip Cookies, you can order the cookbook online here. Make sure to use the coupon code KBDBLOG at checkout to get 10% off and free shipping. Or you can wait till tomorrow when I post the details of my giveaway. You may just be the lucky winner of this excellent cookbook.

You can also checkout the Kosher By Design blog, for sample recipes and news, or download a Kosher By Design recipe index here. And of course, come back and check tomorrow for the giveaway. I won't tell you specifics, but its going up on Tuesday...

My New Favorite Food

2010-11-03T06:39:00.002-04:00

I officially have a new favorite food:

(Excuse the photo quality-or lack thereof. My camera battery was dead and Louis III isn't renowned for his photographic capabilities.)
Spicy carrot sticks from the new Kosher By Design Teens and Twenty Somethings

I must tell you though, my father, who is far from a teen or a twenty something, fought me for the last carrot stick. Stay tuned, because a full review is coming up in less than a week! Oh, and one lucky reader will get a totally free copy of the cookbook. Trust me, you want to win.

(Oh, and I also made the Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookie Sticks from said cookbook, which not only received rave reviews, but looked pretty on the table for MP's latest date.)

(Top) Ten Commandments of Shidduchim

2010-11-02T06:15:00.000-04:00

While not a true Top Ten list, I figured this was perfectly appropriate for the occasion. Feel free to add more. Unlike the real ones, there isn't a prohibition of Ba'al tosif. ;-)

With thanks, once again, to Bad4, for her help:

1) Thou shalt not have skeletons in thy family's closet.

2) Thou shalt not be caught out of thine house without a full face of makeup.

3) Thou shalt not wear long skirts.

4) Thou shalt not stick out from the crowd by wearing bright colors.

5) Thou shall be a special Ed teacher, therapist, nurse or accountant.

6) Thou shalt not be fat.

7) Thou shall meet every shadchan in a ten million mile radius of thine house.

8) Thou shalt not have unusual or controversial opinions.

9) Thou shall politely accept all strange, off-color, and rude advice offered by old women in black who deem themselves Shadchanim.

10) Thou shall be forever optimistic about every possible match suggested to thee.

Trauma By Association

2010-10-30T20:04:00.000-04:00

When a person experiences a miracle in a particular place, the place develops into a special one in that person's mind. Passing through said place would cause the individual to relive the miracle, to say "baruch she'asa li neis bamakom hazeh."

Conversely, an awful event that happens to a person a specific place would cause that person to develop a measure of dread for that place. They might avoid it altogether, to avoid reliving the trauma they experienced.

I'm not sure if you'd call a ticket an extremely traumatic event, but I know that every place I've ever been pulled over remains firmly ingrained in my mind.

My first ticket was on the New York State Thruway, and it's trauma was heavily multiplied by the fact that six months had not yet passed since I had received my license.

Now, I don't know what the law is in other states and countries, but New York State law dictates that a newly licensed driver is on probation for the first six months. During those six months, any moving violation, most notably a speeding ticket, is cause for suspension of the license. You can surely imagine then, why I was so freaked out.

Miraculously, my license wasn't suspended, and I went on to get a number of other tickets. There was the one in the back streets of yehupitsville, the one on the corner a block away from where I work, the one on my secret shortcut to the end of the universe, the one on the street I now avoid, and of course, the one on the street I can't possibly avoid.

And while I always have pity for people whom I see stopped by police, (unless, of course, the person who is stopped had just cut me off) nothing draws more pity than the sight of someone getting a ticket in one of the spots where I got mine.

And that's what brought all of this to mind. Just yesterday, I was taking my secret shortcut to the end of the universe, when I saw someone pulled over by the police. It couldn't have been more than ten feet from where I was pulled over. And so, a I stretched my neck to catch a last glimpse of the poor fella, I realized that we now have something in common. Both of us hate the same stretch of road.

Someone should start a support group.

Top Ten Reasons I Don't Like Hanging Out With Married Folks

2010-10-19T07:20:00.001-04:00

So I am sitting at a wedding surrounded by former classmates. The differences between us are subtle. Sheitels, rings, not much else to separate myself from the others. Then they opened their mouths. And The real differences began.

10) "SD, my husband still has one or two single friends. What type of guy are you looking for again?"

9)"So who's babysitting for you tonight?"
"Chava Esther Goldstein"
"Oh, she's great. I tried her. I guess that's why she wasn't available. (tee-hee)

8) \"So which suppers do you freeze?"
"I have a great minute steak recipe that freezes well. Do you want it?"
"Um, I don't know. Isn't that a little expensive for regular days?"

7)"I hate living so close to my mother in law. She always expects me to come for supper during the week. And then she complains about everything."
"Why don't you move?"
"I'd rather she move."

6)"How much weight did you gain in your first pregnancy?"
"Forty pounds, can you IMAGINE??"
"Me too! I gained forty pounds too!"
"Can't be! Where is it?"
"I've gotten much better at hiding it. He's six months old."

5) "I left my kids with my husband tonight. I'm sure I'll come home to find my house turned over."
"I know, isn't it funny? When I watch the kids I'm just doing my job. When my husband does, he is BABYSITTING."

4) "I'm finally moving my baby out of my room. It's about time, no? She's seven months old."
"My first baby slept in my room until he was 11 months old."
"Yeah but you were in a one bedroom apartment then."
"Well I only moved him out to make room for me second baby. My older one slept in the hallway till we moved."
3) "My sheitel looks terrible tonight. Can you tell it's my weekday sheitel? I got caught in the rain with my shabbos sheitel and the sheitel macher couldn't do it in time."
"Noway! It looks really good, who is your sheitel macher?"

2) "My labor was sooo long you can't imagine..."
I won't continue this dialogue, but suffice it to say it included times and measurements, and led to number 1:

1) Hysterical giggling. Which of course, was about a joke. A joke which couldn't really be repeated to us "naive" single girls.

Coming Up....Cookbook Review!

2010-10-17T16:56:00.001-04:00

A couple of days ago, after G6 posted an announcement about her upcoming review of the new Kosher By Design Teens and Twenty-Somethings cookbook, I got pretty jealous. I mean, she isn't even a teen OR a twenty-something. I, on the other hand, am just that. Er, at least the twenty-something part. A little begging later, I got an offer to do a review too.

Incredibly quickly, the cookbook showed up at my house. I tore open the box, and disappeared to drool over the cookbook. What I failed to notice was the folder that came with the cookbook. MP noticed it. She read it too. That's a particular shame, because the folder contained instructions for doing my upcoming review.

As you can imagine, I panicked. Thankfully, she seemed not to chap, but she did ask me some very pointed questions about buying the cookbook. I ignored her completely, which seemed to have worked so far.

Back to the cookbook... My full review will be coming up soon, but I just want to make y'all jealous by telling you that I made the most delicious recipe in the world from it. I also wanted to let you know that there will be a giveaway, the winner receiving a free copy of Kosher By Design Teens and Twenty Somethings.

Stay tuned for details!

Who Meets Up In A Bookstore for a FIrst Date?

2010-10-13T07:28:00.001-04:00

I was in a book store, sharing office politics via an overly animated and probably waaaay too loud conversation when he approached me.

By he, I mean a boy. I frum boy. A nervous frum boy. A nervous frum boy who wanted to know if I am Malka. That's when my imagination went into overdrive. See, in a world where I didn't have a train to catch, I would have nodded shyly and hung up the phone. It's lovely to imagine, really. I could have had an entire date with a guy who's name I didn't know. Perhaps the real Malka would have passed, looking anxiously for her date.

Alternatively, I could have followed discreetly behind him and waited until he found Malka. Then, as their conversation heated up, I would have interrupted. "So did you find Malka in the end?"

But alas, I had a train to catch.

And so, instead, I spent a train ride home happily imagining the scenarios that could have unfolded. And I felt all virtuous for not disrupting a possible future shidduch b'yisroel. Nobody can blame the shidduch crisis on me!

Top Ten Gym Patrons

2010-10-12T11:06:00.000-04:00

10) The yoga queen: she is the lady who looks like she was BORN on a yoga mat. Her flexibility looks like some kind of bizarre photoshop technique, except it's REAL life!

9) The Best Friends: these are two people who don't have the self confidence to stand on a treadmill without the support of their buddy. I was a Best Friend get off the elliptical to accompany her friend to the bathroom once.
8) The Machine Hog: I shouldn't hate this lady quite so much, because she inspired this post, but she prevented me from going on one of my favorite machines last night, so I do. A machine hog is not someone who spends forever on a particular machine. They're entitled. They're the ones who sit on a machine for a million years- and don't move. Futile hogging. It doesn't get worse.

7) The Muscle Lady: she is the one flying so fast on that treadmill that u can't even see her legs- it's all a blur. She's also the one who makes you feel slow when you are going at level five on the treadmill.

6) The Endurance Master: she's the lady who is at the gym before you, and is still going strong when you leave, even if you are there for an hour and a half.
5) The Lazy Lady: she's the one who thinks you lose weight just by showing up at the gym. She shmoozes with the other ladies at the gym, but doesn't realize that the only part of her body getting a workout is her vocal cords.

4) The TV Fanatic: she is into her workout- basically. But when the show gets exciting, she stops moving and just stares with an open mouth. She also does things like laugh too loudly at lame non-lol jokes and point at particularly exciting (in her mind) events on the screen.

3) The Fat Lady: she's great, cuz no matter your size, she makes you feel sooo skinny. I mean, seriously. The woman can't even get into the seat of half the machines.

2) The Skinny Lady: I am of the opinion that there should be segregated gyms for people like this. You go and lose weight and look good, then see her and her perfect figure and all you want to so is bury your head in a bowl of ice cream.

1) The Public Figure: She is the comic relief for the rest of the people there. See, her life is fascinating. And I know that because she shares it. Loudly. On the phone. For forty five minutes straight while she burns off the calories of the cheese Danish she ate because she was in such a bad mood this morning because her son's teacher sent a note that...

Do you have these people in your gym too?

Top Ten Tuesday: a Chosson's Perspective

2010-10-05T23:22:00.000-04:00

I almost missed (another) week, but SiBaW (a groom-o-sapien?) saved me in the nick of time. I agree completely with:

"7. Celebrities – What, you think I want someone else stealing the show?! I want the paparazzi all to ourselves, thank you very much! Hamodia and Yated photographers and their pictures not included in that one."

I will never forget my friend's wedding that featured Lipa as a singer. Nobody danced; they didn't want to miss a free concert.

Head over to his post to read the rest of the list.

Ohr Hatorah

2010-10-04T18:35:00.000-04:00

Traditionally, the walk to shul on the eve of simchas Torah is frigid. Women and children, walking together, bundled in their warmest coats, make their way to the shuls. Their footsteps follow the sound of joyous stomping and heartzig singing.

This year was different. For starters, there was the weather. It was warmer and damper than anything I can remember. And then there was the wind. The stroller was immensely difficult to push, and the hood of my jacket kept blowing off. And as we neared the shul, another thing hit me. It's so dark! I felt like something must have been wrong. Where are the brightly lit minyanim? the joyous dancing of the men?

It wasn't until I turned the corner and stood on the block of my shul that I realized something was indeed wrong. The shul across the street from my own was completely black. A bunch of excited bochurim watched as an emergency repair vehicle and a number of police cars attempted to resolve the problem. We all quickened our paces, eager to discover if our shul was plagued by the same blackout. Even before the building came into view, we knew the answer in our hearts. "By this time," I thought to myself, "we can usually hear the feet stomping and voices singing. Something is wrong."
Walking up the path to the women's entrance, our fears were confirmed. It felt like makas choshech, complete darkness in every direction. But as we snaked around the back of the buildings, our heads lifted. It was faint, but distinct: the sound of simchas Torah dancing. A boy was outside. "There's a blackout," he cautioned. "But they are in the entrance hallway, there is an emergency light there."

We went into the shul. It was eerily dark and still. But from the corner of the women's section, coming from the main hallway, we heard the dancing. It was louder now. And so we stood in that doorway and took in the surreal scene. Two small emergency lights hanging in one corner, a bimah in the middle of the room, and about twenty men surrounding it, singing, dancing, rejoicing in the Torah.

The entire room had a special glow. It's felt brighter than those ever-dimming emergency lights should have made it. But a glance back into the middle of the circle shows me the three lanterns: three sifrei Torah. And suddenly I realize; they aren't just enlightening the room, but our lives.

Next I heard all of the men jumping. "Moshe emes v'soraso emes!" And here we are, not just saying, but living it. Perhaps the situation could be made easier by a couple of phone calls to procure a backup generator, but we aren't doing that. The very Torah that we rejoiced over that night teaches us not to. Instead, Hashem provides the light. It doesn't make sense. It shouldn't be this bright, but it is. Hashem is showing us how He helps those who live by the mantra "Moshe emes v'soraso emes."

My four-year-old niece is slightly confused. "A Yid can't turn a light on yontif, right?"
"No sheifele," I explain.
"Bu the goyishe workerman can turn it on, right?"
"Yes, he can. If Hashem wants him to."
"But Hashem can't turn it on, he's a tatty! I guess he tells the workerman to turn it on."

I smiled at her simplicity, her emunah p'shutah. But when I thought about it, she wasn't wrong. They will fix the light- when Hashem tells them to. And He did. Just as the sixth hakafa was drawing to a close, the lights turned on. Without missing a beat, the men begin a new song: "Layehudim haysa Ora!" And as the bima is dragged back into the main bais medrash for the relocation of the dancing, I muse about the beauty of the special hakafos I had just witnessed. The yetzer hara had tried his best to deter us from feeling simcha that night. But he was successful only in dimming the lights; he didn't dim our joy.

Top Ten Letter's I Ain't Gonna Send

2010-09-28T02:08:00.000-04:00

If this post feels like its repetitive after last week's Top Ten list, it is. I mean, isn't life this time of year basically repetitive? Its like eat, sleep, repeat. And if this intro sounds harried its cuz MP is hanging around behind me and I keep alt-tab-ing in terror as she passes. It's all part of this marvelous family togethness though, right? I mean, my house isn't tiny but somehow this week every where I look there's somebody.
Anyhow, presenting the letters that swam through my head as Yom Tov progressed:

10) Dear Lady staring at me in the grocery store,
Yes, that IS flour all over my clothes. It's Erev Yom Tov. I baked challah. People DO that u know.

9) Dear Spider,
I don't mean to sound snobby, but I don't like u. And if it weren't the first night of a three day yom tov you'd be killed just for hanging over my bed like that. I'm having a really rough time staying so calm because I can imagine waking in the middle of the night to find you crawling across my- oh why fake it- GO AWAY! YOU SCARE ME!
8) Dear Niece,
I love you, but really, did you have to drool in my HAIR? It's ok, really, I mean, I get to wash it all over again in a mere 60 hours.

7) Dear Mattress,
I know you have no idea what I'm saying, but just this once, could you walk yourself out of the sukkah? You and I both know Bro ain't gonna do it.

6) Dear Stomach,
I know you aren't used to this, but hang on, ok? Just two more days...
5) Dear G-d,
I don't mean to complain, but yom tov would be a whole lot more enjoyable if my body were just a tad better at dealing with carbs.

4) Dear Little Sis,
Yes, my hair is greasy. That happens when I don't wash it for three days. I thank you for bringing everyone's attention to it. You needn't go to all the trouble next time though, it's hard to miss.

3) Dear Glazed Coffee Bundt Cake,
Stop looking so smug. You don't tempt me, hah!
Ok, you do. But not nearly as much as the chocolate peanut butter ice cream pie. So there.

2) Dear Challah,
You were better seven meals ago. No offense or anything.

1) Dear Shower,
Oh, how I've missed you.

Top Ten Signs You Have Just Endured a Three Day Yom Tov

2010-09-21T12:47:00.000-04:00

In celebration of surviving the first three-day yom tov, and in nervous anticipation of the upcoming three-day yomim tovim, I present to you Top Ten Signs that you've just survived one. G'luck with it folks.

10) It used to be your favorite kugel, but having eaten it for the last six consecutive meals, you are pretty sure you don't want to ever even LOOK at that strawberry-apple kugel again.

9) You spent the better part of the day looking wistfully at the married women in the family and briefly considered hijacking a hair covering of some sort.

8) You suddenly realize that Barack Obama AND Joe Biden could have died, leaving Nancy Pelosi in charge, and you wouldn't even know about it.

7) Far, FAR worse, you realize that the Yankees could have lost their lead in the AL east and you wouldn't even know about it.

6) If someone would offer you an all expenses paid meal at Prime Grill you'd probably groan and mutter "No fleishigs...no more fleishigs..."

5) Your deodorant can is empty.

4) You are counting the minutes until even your favorite niece or nephew goes back home.

3) Your phone/iPod/laptop have time to fully cool down.

2) You have read every word of every page of the Yated, Hamodia, Mishpacha AND Bina.

1) You take the pony holder out of your hair and your hair just stays in the pony anyway.

Shidduch Dramatization

2010-09-13T13:50:00.000-04:00

This poem was written ages ago, but I finally decided to post it. I hope I am not giving my identity away through it...

A tragedy is upon our whole nation!
And it threatens to destroy our entire foundation.
Everyone ponders with great consternation
What might become of our population!
The story's simple, requires no explanation.
It's a problem that causes immense frustration.
Young and old know of the dire situation:
Eligible maidens still await their salvation,
but with the bochurim we've all got to ration.
Month after month, filled with girl's anticipation;
While burned out boys need a dating vacation.
Now everyone has come to the realization
That we need to join together as a nation
And work to end our sisters' tribulation.
Well meaning shadchanim, loaded with determination,
Expect us to show tons of cooperation
With our shidduch resume: the ultimate dehumanization.
"What are you looking for?" is the common interrogation
For the "nebach" singles, sitting in isolation.
For the sake of shidduchim, we'll make any adaptation,
And we strive to be thin, to the point of starvation.
And worse, we'll put up with lots of aggravation,
Just to go on a list for consideration,
To get a date with a boy of a great reputation.
But still- singles sit in desolation.
What will be with their situation?
When will they take on roles of domestication?
***
Fear not my friends, this dramatization!
One day, we too will say with jubilation
That it's time to receive our congratulation.
But until the day we send an invitation,
For all our friends to join our celebration,
We'll settle in for more anticipation,
And wait for Prince Charming to bring our salvation!

Reaching a Verdict

2010-09-08T01:54:00.000-04:00

Normally, when cracking eggs, I check them as I crack them- directly into the bowl. Tonight, for some inexplicable reason, I cracked the eggs into a separate bowl, then poured them into the rest of the ingredients. As it turns out, its a good thing I did it that way. The (would be) final egg actually had a blood spot. "No problem," I thought to myself, "I'll toss this one and crack another."

And while this may not seem all that philosophical, it got me thinking. I usually don't crack eggs into a separate bowl, simply because I don't actually expect there to be a blood spot. It's the kind of thing that I take for granted. Sure, it can happen, but what are the chances?

I think that's the way I feel going into Rosh Hashana. Sure, we say "mi yichye umi yamus" but I'm not actually going to die, am I? And sure, we say "who will be impoverished and who will be enriched." But c'mon, I'm not going to become impoverished this year! I'm sure my friend's mother who was niftar suddenly this past year felt a similar way last year. And I am sure that the neighbor who lost his job really didn't think it would happen to him, either. But that's what Rosh Hashana is. We may be healthy, but this Yom Hadin we face a new judgement. We need to beg for that health again.

At the risk of sounding like I am employing a scare tactic, there is a flip side.I watch my friend who just got engaged. I know she had a rough year, shidduchim wise. The last of her single friends got married a couple of months ago, as did mine. I guess that is what brought two completely different coworkers together. But now, standing at her vort, watching her collect mazel tovs, I marvel at the amazing way it all played out. Her engagement was decided on...last year on rosh hashana! And all the while,she waited for him to come along, and he came, as planned, on erev rosh hashana. And all of this is such an important reminder for me. As I face the Heavenly courts this Rosh Hashana, the fate of an entire year is at stake.

And as I wait for some verdicts down here, I realize that the verdict hasn't come in yet up there. One particular bit of news that I have been waiting to hear has dragged and dragged. At first, I wondered why, but now, I think I understand. It dragged because the decision wasn't made last year. Now, waiting precariously close to the yom hadin, I know to daven for it. I know to daven hard. I know that a decision is hanging in the balance.

In less than 24 hours I will have my day in court. I think I really need to rethink my defense now. And just in case, I'll be checking my eggs into a separate bowl from now on.

Wishing all of you a kesivah v'chasima tova, and a simchadik year.

(I really really hope this post makes sense. It does in my head, but I'm a little woozy from two straight nights of cooking and baking until after two in the morning. On a positive note, I have just baked challah by myself for the first time in my life! Yay for me, call the shadchan!)

SD Forgives Judith

2010-09-01T11:12:00.001-04:00

You know you are desperate for blog topics when you peruse your inbox from your oldest email account looking for ideas and inspiration. It worked, however, so I won't complain.

Ages ago, I did this meme. I don't usually like memes, but this one was fun. In fact, I did it before I had a blog, just for fun, to see what would come up. I emailed the results to myself, just cuz that's what I do. And I found em tonight.

One line reads: "SD needs to forgive Judith." In italics, for those too lazy to click and read the post, I wrote: "SD doesn't even know who Judith is."

But as I sat there reading this old email, I had a flash of memory. I suddenly remembered who Judith is. And I have plenty to forgive.

Judith was a seamstress. She had a tiny shop in the basement underneath some other store. I'm not sure what originally led us down those steps, but I do remember what kept us there. It was the pictures on the wall. They were of a bunch if frum girls in wedding gowns. At first, we were surprised, because Judith is not only a non-Jew, but her store is nowhere near a Jewish area, and it was hard to imagine some other frum people making the connection to her.
Even more surprising was that we knew the girls in the picture. They were of the Silver family, a family in our neighborhood who's daughters went to our school. And so we decided to start using her services for our work. I guess the deciding factor was that she did unbelievable work at ridiculously low prices.

We started small. We sent her a number of small things, which were completed in a timely and masterful fashion. And so we sent her more things, things which probably required a little more trust.
Our patronization of her business reached a peak one year on Erev Pesach. Every member of the family got new clothes, and all of it needed alterations. And we sent it all to her.
We weren't particularly worried when Judith failed to have our clothing ready on the promised date. There were still a few more days before yom tov, and see had to be in our area on erev yom tov, and she promised she would deliver it to our house.
Erev yom tov came in the usual frenzy of last minute preparation. We were all excited for our clothing to arrive, myself most of all, because my new outfit was being completely changed by her, so I wasn't even sure what it was going to look like.
As the day went on and yom tov approached, we started to worry a tad. My mother called her office number, her house number, her cell number...but there was no answer. Judith, and all of our clothing were Missing In Action.
If anyone thinks this story has a Fairytale ending where Judith showed up on our doorstep minutes before yom tov, clutching our clothing, you are sadly mistaken. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I remember being inconsolable as I went into Yom Tov. Instead of the gorgeous new outfit I was expecting to wear, I was wearing the same old outfit I had worn all winter long. I don't particularly remember how my siblings felt about it, but I know I was devastated.
It sounds trivial, but its not. Not to an adult, and especially not to a child. And then, to make matters worse, a few weeks after Yom Tov, we finally found out what happened. Turns out, Judith was fed up with life. And so, on the way to our house, with all of our clothing aboard, she decided to end it.
She lived through her attempt, and shockingly enough, so did most of our clothes. But receiving it six months later when I had grown a couple of inches seemed like more of a slap in the face than a relief. My outfit truly was beautiful, but I no longer fit into it.

It's seems incredibly selfish, in retrospect. But I won't deny it. I was angry at Judith. I was angry at her for taking her own life. I was angry at her for not delivering our clothing first. I was angry at her for messing up my yom tov. I was angry, just angry.
Looking back, it seems silly, insignificant. But I was a child. My hopes were dashed and I was hurt. But life moved on and I forgot, even if I didn't forgive, Judith.

And that would have been the end of the story had I not reread that post tonight. I do need to forgive Judith, not because she needs forgiveness (although one never knows. Her second attempt was successful.) but because forgiving people feels good. I didn't hold a grudge against her all this time, but tonight, I thought about it, and I got over it. And now I can know without a doubt that I have moved on. That I have forgiven Judith.
And now, as we approach the yamim noraim, I think of people who have truly wronged me. Not unintentionally. Not years ago. Recent wrongs that still hurt. And I realize that forgiveness is not only for them. It's for me. I need to forgive them so that I can be over it, so that I can be cleansed, so that I can be forgiven.

Please note: the anger I wrote about was childish, and absolutely nonexistent at this point. Now, I know how awful she must have felt, and how my new outfit was the absolute least of the tragedy that occurred when Judith attempted to take her life.

Top Ten Drivers Who Annoy Me

2010-08-31T10:00:00.000-04:00

I know this weeks Top Ten Tuesday might annoy some folks, or at least parts of it, but hey- isn't that what blogging is about? Anyhow, what's in your Top Ten?

10) The old man with his turn left turn signal on for miles…even when he makes his right turn.

9) The law-abiding momma who drives exactly at the speed limit when I am in a rush.

8) The guy who slows down to look at the gory details of a traffic accident, slowing down everyone behind him.

7) The fella who is extra considerate to all drivers who need to make turns, forgetting about being considerate to the driver behind him.

6) The horrible person who stays in the left lane, but keeps pace with the guy in the right lane- on a two lane highway.

5) The stranger who stomps on the brakes at each street to check the street sign.

4) The idiot who thinks he has to drive five miles below the speed limit whenever there is a cop in the vicinity.

3) The despicable excuse for a driver who cuts you off then drives below the speed limit.

2) The no-goodnik who drives below the speed limit in the left lane!

1) The gullible fool who lives by the motto “arrive alive, drive twenty five”

The Sibling Angle

2010-08-29T07:30:00.003-04:00

Dating stories are, especially in today's age of millions of shidduch related blogs, a dime a dozen. One kind of dating story which, I feel, is enormously under-represented in blogsville, as well as in the hallowed halls of shidduchville where over-eager girls engage in chit chat about the misery they love to hate, is the Sibling Angle.

Yeah, thats right. I may be a number of years into shidduchim, and I might have a million first hand stories to tell, but my sister is a Miss Perfect, and as such, she will always have more dates, which will always lead to more stories.

But first, for those of you who didn't grow up with a pack of older sisters getting called on by eligible young bochurim, let me introduce you to the sibling perspective on shidduchim. So here is the story that my father likes to use by way of explaining the Sibling Angle to outsiders. Oddly enough, it didn't happen in my family.

A number of years ago, my youngest sister was in a playgroup in some woman's house. Often, my mother would have things she had to take care of in the afternoons, but the Morah was extremely accommodating. She was happy to keep my sister an extra couple of hours, if need be. So one day, my mother got unexpectedly stuck, and she called the Morah to ask if my sister could stay. "My husband will pick her up on his way home from work," my mother explained. The morah, usually so accommodating, sounded hesitant. But there wasn't much my mother could do, so they just left it at that. "Please just ask your husband to get here as soon as possible," the morah urged.

Meanwhile, my father got stuck with some things at work, so he left a little late. Then he got stuck in traffic on his way home, so he was a little later. Unbeknown to any of us, the morah's oldest daughter was going on her first ever date. This wasn't just the first ever date for a girl, but for a family. It is an experience of such magnitude, words can't do it justice, though perhaps I shall try in a future post. But back to the Morah Family who were frantically cleaning the house, preparing for the arrival of The Boy. In a household full of a million and twelve children, I doubt anybody gave much thought to the addition of the extra three year old. But, in their haste to shoo all of the children down to the basement before the date, they forgot that one of the kids' father was on his way to get her.

At the prescribed moment, everyone was in place. The juice was in a jar on the table, the cookies were neatly arranged on a plate, the mother's snood made way for a freshly brushed sheitel, and the Eldest Daughter sat in the other room, dressed in her finest whatever-was-in-style-back-then, feverishly saying tehillim. And downstairs, despite their lack of experience or practice, the rest of the kids were skillfully arranging themselves around the one basement window that provided a proper view of the driveway. The clock chimed date-time, and as if on cue, a car pulled up. The kids were, no doubt, waiting for a black Honda or Toyota sedan, were shocked to see a green Jeep pull up.

"Ew," said the second oldest, "Devorah would never marry a guy who drives a Jeep." "
"Shhh," said another one of the lucky kids with an actual view, "he is getting out now."
A collective gasp emerged from the children at the window. "He's so old," they chorused in unison. "Devorah would never marry someone who's that old."
And they were only getting started. Someone, I am sure, pointed out that the boy, or as they now called him, the man, was not wearing a hat, or even a jacket.

Upstairs, just as their kids were pronouncing the guy DOA, the anxious parents were watching with horror from the living room window. They surely turned shades of colors that crayola themselves haven't yet discovered as they realized what was going on. The frantic mother rushed downstairs, uttering a hasty "later" as she grabbed the intruder, my (then) innocent little sister. Finally, realizing what had happened, the children collectively released their breaths. "At least Devorah doesn't have to go on a date with someone who's old."

And that, my friends, is the siblings angle. Due to the precarious positioning that has been laid out for us by our sages, we, as the siblings, often get to see the guy, and occasionally, judge the guy, before the one dating him does. And that is what colored my view of shidduchim. Before I ever graduated seminary, before I ever met a shadchan, or even fully comprehended what a resume was, I already associated shidduchim with the cramped room in the basement with the best view of the driveway, with the precise timing required to know when it was safe to creep up the basement stairs and slowly open the jar a crack, giggling over every overheard word like it was a trophy of sorts.
And I have to say, sadly enough, that the more I experience shidduchim, the more I liked the Sibling Angle.

Top Ten Graphs To Simplify The Shidduch Process

2010-08-24T00:05:00.004-04:00

While the idea for this post was originally inspired by Indexed, the main thanks really goes to Bad4, who spends so much time tirelessly blogging in an effort to simplify the shidduch process for the general public, over at her blog, Bad For Shidduchim. And who helped me with the ideas, data, and titles for the graph.

What do you all think about the data here? Agree or disagree?

And just cause you asked for it Bad4, three times. :-D

10)

A Kid In My Class

2010-08-13T11:09:00.000-04:00

Last week's post taught me an interesting lesson. I prefaced the post with "from a reader," but most other readers actually assumed that by reader I meant myself. After all, they surely concluded, I do read my own posts.

I'm not sure, however, why people think it's a story that I'm ashamed of. Actually, I did lose a bit of weight recently. That's why I was relieved when the reader sent me the story that I have a personality that doesn't attract shidduchhounds like those I mentioned.

It reminds me of this little stunt I used to do in elementary school. I was a terror; the kid that teachers would warn their successors and substitutes about. I'm not proud of it, but I really had my fair share of- erm- fun- in school. And of course, being the egomaniac that I am, I always thought my shticks and tricks were totally clever.

So I was left with a dilemma. I wanted to brag at home about the clever little things I did. But, at the same time, I knew my parents would be livid if they'd know about all the trouble I was making. And so I developed a strategy. I would tell my stories from the perspective of an awed classmate. And thus, "a kid in my class" became a well know character in my family's dimmer table conversations.

Nowadays, I think of "a kid in my class" and laugh at my childish naïveté. I doubt that my parents were unable to figure out the correlation between that kid and their own. Plus, MP is just a grade older than me, and was always around to clear things up for my parents. "SD, how come I saw you sitting outside the office today?"

The reader that told me her story about the shidduchhounds revealed herself to me. Ironically enough, she actually is a kid in my class. See how that all worked out?

Now I Understand Why G-d Made Idiots

2010-08-11T18:19:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure how many of you were reading this blog back when Chava Yitty was sent to her premature watery grave. I still picture her deathbed convulsions in my nightmares. Yes, indeed, Chava Yitty was a good phone.

My bad phone luck continued after Chava Yitty died and took five hundred contacts with her. My next phone was an awful pink palm centro, courtesy of a friend who didn't need it anymore. Aside from a color that made me look like a grade school kid, the tiny little buttons made testing near impossible. Just when I thought matters couldn't get worse, centro died. (No, she didn't get a name. I didn't like her enough.) It was horrible. My phone search continued. I then got a red razr phone. It was slower than the class dunce and miserably difficult to text with. That and the battery lasted about as long as it took to send three text messages, which was surprisingly longer than you'd think.

I got fed up with her really fast. I spoke to some people at sprint and managed to get myself a new phone. It was the Rumor, by Samsung, blood red. This phone came into my possession shortly after I drove MP and her friends to the airport and learned that Prada makes phones. I decided to have a brand name phone too. Thus, my rumor was named Kate Spade. I called her Katie for short.

I expected to have Katie for a while, but life doesn't always go as planned. Just a few weeks after my acquisition of Katie, I cancelled my Sprint service and signed up for AT&T. I came home with my brand new Samsung Eternity, and named him Louie, short for Louis Vuitton. A week later I hated Louie, so I took him back. I replaced him with a blue LG xenon, whom I named Louie II.

And that's when cell phone karma smiled down on me. I began my all time longest stint with a phone. It's been a year now, and I'm still using Louie with great pleasure.

Louie has this marvelous qwerty slide-out keyboard, threaded texting, and a really user-friendly and simple interface. I frequently note that it's the best texting phone I've ever owned. And, as I've just noted, I've owned quite a few.

Alas, all good things come to an end, even my friend Louie. You see, my warranty for Louie was set to expire on August 6th, and I don't like un-warranteed phones.

On August 2nd, I called AT&T, determined to get a new friend. I spoke to a wonderful customer care representative, who assured me that the problems I was experiencing were due to a faulty battery. My new battery was set to arrive on the sixth, the very day my warranty expired. I didn't the battery would solve the issue, but the dude didn't listen. "But," I worried aloud, "what if it's not the battery? What happens if the problem persists, but by then my warranty will have expired." My Indian friend was very helpful. He assured me that I'd be covered since I'd already mentioned the issue.

My new battery arrived on schedule. I replaced the old battery, and was completely not surprised to discover that all of the original problems persisted. SD is up, 1-0. So yesterday I called AT&T again. I spoke to a customer service rep who wasn't sure what I was talking about. "It should all be in the notes," I assured her. She assured me that it wasn't. I was horrified. And I told her so. "This isn't quite quality customer care. He specifically assured me that he was putting a note in that if the problem isn't fixed by the new battery, the warranty would still cover the phone."

She got a little flustered. See, at AT&T we strive to provide quality customer care. She transferred me to Jason in the warranty replacement department. Now, AT&T call center employees aren't renowned for their superior intellect, but Jason was obviously lacking in the brains department.

And that suited my needs perfectly. See, had a told Jason that I'd been promised a new iPhone 4 for my trouble, he probably would have believed me. I didn't want to take advantage of his unbelievable stupidity, so I merely stated the obvious. "I need a new phone."

And so Jason kindly offered to send me one. He verified my address, asked how quickly I needed to have my new phone, then proceeded to say goodbye. Now, you must realize that people at AT&T don't just say goodbye, they give a long speech. So Jason started his speech. Midway through, he stopped. I started to tell him that he had indeed provided me with quality customer care, but he stopped me. "Hang on," he stammered, clearly nervous. "There's something wrong with my computer. I waited. A minute later, he called out excitedly. "Ok, I found it. Where was I up to?" He then proceeded to finish the speech. Having fully resolved my issues, we hung up.

And then I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. All I can say now is...thank G-d for idiots.

Top Ten Tuesday: A Glimpse of the Other Side

2010-08-10T10:50:00.002-04:00

This week's Top Ten TUesday takes us on an inter-species trip. A rare glimpse into the mind of a recent brido-sapien. Here, from Musing Maidel.

Have Times Changed?

2010-08-09T13:56:00.002-04:00

They say that a girl's reemergence into society is a sure-fire way to know that she is about to get engaged. "Their" logic is simple. About to get engaged equals thinking about wedding plans. Wedding plans equals thinking about guests lists. Worrying about guest lists makes a girl nervous nobody will show up for her affair. That kind of nervousness compels the fair maiden to make herself seen celebrating at the ceremonies of acquaintances and classmates, thus reminding people how nice it would be to go to -ahem- future weddings.

But my friends, fear not. I may have emerged into society, but it was purely unintentional. Or, if you want it to sound more impressive, you can say I was following in the famous words of our wise sages: "who is the wise man?he who sees the future." I may not see prince charming galloping up from the end of this endless dark tunnel [snort] but I want to make sure that I will be completely prepared when the moment arrives.

Or, simply, I have been forced to attend more weddings that I am comfortable with, mostly because a whole bunch of "friendlies" just deserted the happily-single-club in favor of the I-love-doing-laundry-for-this-guy club. And I have come to a startling realization.

And by startling, I don't mean the fact that a woman who is double my width ad triple my age has quadruple my dancing abilities.

I mean that life has taken one of two fascinating turns. Either, there have been a whole bunch of post-highschool bonds of friendship formed amongst my fellow grademates (an entirely plausible assumption), or I never really did have a grasp of high school politics.

The friendship bonds thing makes sense- I guess. Take me. Just before the three weeks my friend was shocked to hear I was at the wedding of a grademate I barely knew in highschool. "I couldn't avoid it. I was I'm seminary with her." I wouldn't go so far as to insinuate that we had become friends, but I borrowed her notes for a year, so that's good enough for me.

Personally though, I'm going with the second choice, it makes for a better memoir.

Attack of the Shidduchhounds

2010-08-05T08:12:00.001-04:00

From a reader:

“I lost a bunch of weight recently. People started to notice and comment. One of my friends started to send her comments via text message. The first time was just after we met at a wedding. We parted, my phone buzzed: Ur getting rly skinny.

I lost a few more pounds, and she commented on my weight loss without even seeing me. They say u r getting bony.

Her next text came a little while after we met up at a local store. Out with it already. When r u getting engaged.”

Isn’t it sad? Nowadays, a person can’t even lose a couple of pounds without the shidduchhounds attacking them.

Top Ten Pictures From My Trip

2010-08-03T08:30:00.000-04:00

In true Top Ten spirit, and because blogger's upload feature gets on my nerves, the following pictures are in reverse-chronological order. Fyi.

The Great Blogging Mystery

2010-08-02T10:13:00.000-04:00

I have a serious mystery on my hands. I've got a number of posts that were written up and ready to publish, and now they're gone. Vanished. Disappeared. I've checked in all of my emails, in blogwriter lite, in my iPod, my computer, and anywhere else a post might be lurking.

And no success. Nothing. Is there a black hole somewhere in the atmosphere that's disappearing my posts? A monster that eats my posts for breakfast? A jealously desperate (desperately jealous) blogger hacking into my account and stealing them.

I guess I should be glad, really. I mean, one of the posts was markedly arrogant, and another made me sound like a self centered jerk. On the on the other hand, it's kinda sad. I wrote those posts. I miss them.

A Natural Kind Of Nature

2010-07-28T10:30:00.000-04:00

Watkins Glen is an adorable little town in the southern Finger Lakes area. Everything about it is quaint and cute. The gift shops are probably the only ones in America that aren’t overly commercialized. The restaurants are mostly privately owned little shops, not national chains. There is no Hilton, Howard Johnson or even Holiday Inn. And, shockingly enough, there isn’t even a Starbucks in the area.

By eight oclock at night, everything is closed. This isn’t a Lake George-type place where a body of water is an excuse to open haunted Wax Museums. The attraction here simply is the beauty and stillness of Seneca Lake. With nothing else to do, we head toward the water and walk. It’s breathtakingly gorgeous. There is a rough stone walk along the lake. The sun is setting, turning the water the most magnificent shades of orange and pink.

The people here walk slowly, talk quietly. They seem to have a deeper respect for the land, for the natural beauty. It’s not even eleven pm yet, and this campground is silent except for the crackling of campfires from the nearby cabins. There is an eerie yet special feeling to sit in the stillness of night, and see nothing but the lights of a couple of campfires. And while sure, I cracked jokes about how campgrounds didn’t use to have wifi, all in all, this trip is an interesting reminder for me. No, this isn’t quite the vacation I have been planning on. Actually, I don’t know if I would even call it a vacation. It’s more of an obligatory night at the cabin my family is staying at. But despite my initial misgivings, I am glad I came. It’s interesting to see a place where a natural attraction still is natural.

Top Ten Things I Learned From Shopping With MP

2010-07-27T00:28:00.001-04:00

10) If you are ever in a mall with a Neiman Marcus, don't use the mall bathroom. Use the bathroom at Neiman Marcus, it's kinda like being in a five star hotel.

9) Couture smells like feet. I kid you not. Juicy had some shoes that said "Smells like couture" written on them. Simple math. Shoes smell like feet. Couture equals feet.

8) There are people who will spend $25 on a juicy toy for their dog to chew on. I wonder if the dog wouldn't rather a juicy steak for that price.

7) People will spend over a hundred dollars on- sit down- a towel. Yep, just because it has a billboard on it.

6) It is perfectly acceptable to wear velour sweatshirts in the summer if it has a j hanging from the zipper.

5) "Juicy" is no longer an adjective used to describe a delicious piece of fruit. It is a noun.

4) There are people who will PAY for the privilege of pre-shopping a Nordstrom sale.

3) A skirt is not just a skirt. It's a theory.

2) This one is useful actually. Makeup prices from national brands are the same in Macy's as they are in Neiman Marcus and Saks. Only in Macy's they don't bow down to you.

1) I am willing to subject myself to an afternoon of shopping with MP for the sake of a blog post.

Gosh I Miss Those Cupcakes

2010-07-25T23:51:00.003-04:00

Seems like the old background I had malfunctioned, so I put this one up temporarily. (For all those who actually visit the blog, not keep up on a feed reader.) Anyhow, I am working on a new background, but wanted to let y'all know that it'll look really boring for a bit.

Anyhow, if any of my grafic artist fans (I know a bunch of you are out there) wanna volunteer to take over the designing of this blog, drop me an email.

For the rest of you, why dontcha lemme know in the comments what you thought of my old cupcakes, and what you think I should put in the new look.

Oh, and special thanks to Grinfish for pointing the problem out to me. :-)

The Lessons I Didn't Learn

2010-07-22T10:30:00.000-04:00

A drive to the store today provided me with an extra trip; I got to go touring down memory lane. The ferris wheel towered over the road, reminding me of that night a couple if years ago.

A friend of mine heard that there were a bunch of amusement park-type rides set up in some lot not-too-far from our neighborhood. It was great for us, old maids tied down to our jobs. We rounded up the troops and headed out to the rides.

I was coerced into spending five dollars on a ride which scared the living daylights out of me. Other than that, though, there was really nothing monumental about that particular evening.

Or so I thought.

I was examining my online bank statement, when I came upon a funny looking charge. It was from some entertainment company in Lisbon NH. I panicked, called the bank, and started begging for my $40 back. The very nice lady calmed me down and told me that she would immediately freeze my bank account. If she expected her words to have a calming effect on me, she was sadly mistaken.

"Freeze my bank account? Then how do I get money out?" I asked her, my voice rising to shrill tones.

"Ya don't, hon," the bank lady chirped.

"But," I countered, "what happens if I need money?"

When I realized that there was nothing I could do to get money out, I had second thoughts about freezing the account. Couple that with my doubts about anyone stealing MY debit card, and I told the lady to hold off on the freezers.

It somehow didn't make sense. Which thief steals a debit card for $40? And how did they steal it? On the other hand, I've never even HEARD of Losbon NH, let alone visited and charged my card. And $40? What an odd number!

In a last ditch effort to find out who in Lisbon wad charging my debit card, I googled the name of the company, the city, and everything else that showed up on my bank statement. After a few variations of the info I had, I found a result. Apparently, this company, though based out of NH, is a traveling amusement park that sets up shop in various places in the region.

Sound familiar?

It did to me. And why, you ask, a $40 charge? Well, it seemed so insignificant at the time, so much so that I actually forgot about the entire transaction, but a couple of friends gave me cash, and I charged everyone's ticket on my card. Yep, it totalled $40.

And that's the end of my story. That's the epic saga of the time I almost cancelled my debit card, froze my bank account, and went into a state of panic for absolutely no reason.

In conclusion, there are many lessons to be learned from my story, but I will, instead of learning 'em, go back to that lot and overpay to be terrified. Because everyone knows how boring it is to learn a lesson the first time around.

You Do What It Takes

2010-07-14T13:44:00.001-04:00

Yesterday was a sad day for Yankees fans. The Boss, George Steinbrener, died at the age of 80.

Sure there were fans who had mixed feelings about the guy. On one hand, he bought every superstar he could; on the other hand, he was the mean guy who publicly insulted his players after a bad loss.

But no matter how people feel about The Boss, nobody can deny his incredible achievement. He purchased a failing team in the 1970's for ten million dollars. He died in the summer of 2010, the owner of a 1.5 billion dollar team.

The secret to his success was his single minded determination. For Steinbrener it was simple. You do what it takes, you spend what you have to, but winning is not optional. And while many folks, particularly fans of other teams, hated him for it, he produced results. During the years that Mr. Steinbrener was owner of the team, the Yankees won the American League pennant eleven times, and the championship seven times. He had to have died satisfied. At the time of his death, his team had one their last game. They had the best record in baseball.

Across the great and mighty world of sports talk radio, everyone recalled how all George Steinbrener really cared about was victory for his team. And while the goal wasn't quite one I'd praise, the trait is admirable.

Imagine if a yid would focus their complete attention towards serving Hashem. Imagine what kind of a tzadik would be produced if a person would take on the attitude of "you do what it takes and spend what you have to." Imagine how many victories a person could have against his yetzer harah.

George Steinbrener put everything he had into his Yankees; shouldn't we do that much for Hashem?

The Last Supper

2010-07-13T07:28:00.000-04:00

I savored my last bite of chicken, upset to be digesting The Last Supper. I mean it, what's a fish-hating, calorie-watching gal supposed to do during the nine days?

It's kinda funny watching ladies push their shopping carts frantically around the store, cramming boxes of cereal and packages of pizza bagels in. Sunday night's chicken is now a distant memory, as my stomach grumbles in empty protest at it's grand supper of veggie sticks. And it's gotta say something if I'm considering -sit down- tofu. Let's not even get started on cold showers. Or no laundry. And I won't be posting a top ten list; I don't feel like it's in spirit with the days we are in.

And yet, through all of the discomfort, the annoyances, and everything else, I just can't help feeling sad at my outlook. Here I am, mourning over the lack of chicken, when the real issues are so much deeper than anything I have ever lived through, anything I can even begin to imagine...

Top Ten Birthday Wishes and Greetings

2010-07-06T13:14:00.002-04:00

No, this isn't a hint, not at all. And yes, I take presents all year round!

10) Birthdays are like boogers; the more you have the harder it is to breathe.

9) You know you are getting old when the only thing you want for your birthday is not to be reminded of your age.

8) On your birthday, remember: don't worry about the past- you can't change it. Don't worry about the present- you aren't getting one.

7) Lots of famous people were born on your birthday- shame you aren't one of them.

6) Birthdays are nature's way if telling us to eat more cake.

5) A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman's birthday but never remembers her age.

4) So many candles...so little cake.

3) With age comes wisdom- and you're one of the smartest people I know!

2) Despite modern medical advances, nobody has discovered a cure for the common birthday.

1) And my all time favorite, from BigChamor's last year birthday card: Hooray, it's your birthday, can I go back to sleep now?

Blogging Generalizations

2010-07-05T11:44:00.003-04:00

Dear Rabbi Ginzburg and the Editors of the Mishpachah Magazine,

I don’t want to knock your magazine, but this past week, I found myself reading the anti-bloggers editorial with a sad expression. I firmly agree with Rabbi Ginzberg, that there are some blogs written by so-called frum yidden who disgrace the Torah and everything we stand for. And, I will not disagree that there are likely thousands of posts on the big bad internet that could turn a confused yid away from the Torah, and even drill insatiable questions into the minds of previously non-confused yidden. My problem, Rabbi Ginzberg, is that you generalize.

Not all blogs are weapons of mass misinformation. Not all blogs serve the sole purpose of bashing the values of Torah true Jews. There are some blogs that have the opposite effect. How do I know?

I own one of those blogs. My blog is not one where people read lashon harah about the day’s leaders; it is not a place where people go to see the darker side of the world today. It is a cheerful upbeat blog, a blog where people come to learn and laugh. And while avid readers of mine may know about the positive feedback by way of comments, they don’t know about the constant emails I receive. These emails are the fuel that keeps me up writing into the wee hours of the night. It’s the motivation that runs through my head when I finally turn my computer on to type up a post at the end of a 18 hour day.

It’s hard to describe the feeling of exhilaration I feel when I receive an email from a reader saying “your most recent post inspired me so much, and I never get inspired these days.” And while other blogs may spread darkness and distrust, emails saying “your blog gives me something to look forward to each day” indicate that not all blogs are like that. And some blogs may paint yiddishkeit in a negative light, but I don’t think you will find that on my blog; “Your post gave me a whole new way of looking at the upcoming yom tov.” Some blogs might be depressing, but emails I’ve received seem to indicate that others aren’t. “The way you write about shidduchim is so real, honest and funny, it reminds me that I am not alone.”

My point here is not to toot my own horn; I don’t mean to contradict Rabbi Ginzberg. I merely wish to point out the dangers of generalization. I know I do good with my blog. I know that I censor everything I write; I bear in mind the wide range of readers and the extraordinary weight my words carry. Some blogs are bad, some are good. It’s a shame to lose out on the good though.

Respectfully,

SD (A blogger and yarei shamayim)

The Real Age Test

2010-06-30T15:46:00.000-04:00

"Hello?"
"Hi, SD?"
"Yeah, that's me. Who's calling please?"
"Hi, my name is Nosey Shadchan. My Sister-in-law breindel is a cousin of Pesha, the neighbor of your friend Hindel. She says your friends are all married (nebich) and you are desperate to get married too."
"Uh?"
Ed-Do I give off that impression? Like, enough that everyone has their neighbors' cousins' sisters-in-law coming up with suggestions?
"So anyway, let me tell you about Yankel. Mamish a catch."
"O-Ok...?"
"So he has amaaaaazing middos and bla bla bla bla so I told him that bla bla bla bla his father is a bla bla bla bla bla from a chashuva family. His mother is the daughter of bla bla bla bla. SO he is- wait, how old are you again?"
"I'm ^%&#*@ years old."
"Oh, ok, so he is 29. Is that too old for you?"
"Erm, that's a numch of years older...but I guess 29 isn't a problem. But..."
"But what, mamalah?"
"But I just wonder if he is really 29. I mean, I think that in shidduchim, people stay 29 for a couple of years. I don't really want to marry someone in his low thirties."
"Okaaay...well I guess I can look into his age and find out if he is really 29."
"If he is, call me back."
"Ok, will do.
"Thanks, and thanks for thinking of me."

It's been four weeks, and I haven't heard from her. I'm thinking 34 sounds about right.

Little Old Me

2010-06-29T07:28:00.001-04:00

I know that it is Tuesday, and that I have neglected Top Ten Tuesday the past couple of weeks. In fact, for a change, I had a top ten list all typed up and ready to go. Then I looked at the calendar and saw that it's shiva asar betamuz. I decided a cynical top ten list wasn't so in spirit of the day. I decided to post this instead. I wrote it ages ago, not specifically for today, but I think the idea is nice in spirit of bein adam lechaeiro and rebuilding the beis hamikdash... Top Ten Tuesday will be back next week, iy"H.

It's one gigantic building,
And I'm just one little brick,
But for this structure to be steady,
It needs each stone and stick.

I'm just one tiny blade of grass,
In one meadow lush and green,
But those tiny blades grow together,
Into the nicest field you've seen.

I am just one tiny drop,
In one giant waterfall,
But those drops flow in unison,
And converge to make it tall.

It's one majestic necklace,
And I'm one unimpressive pearl,
But all of us strung together,
Beautify one special girl.

I'm just one tiny light bulb,
And the hall is bright as day,
But it's thousands of lights shining,
That make it glow that way.

I am just one short little word,
In one long book read by many,
But if any word is missing,
That book's not worth a penny.

Behold one gorgeous tapestry,
And I'm just one tiny thread,
But with one small color missing,
The whole scene would look dead.

I'm just one tiny flower,
In one big beautiful bouquet.
But all the colors and designs,
Together-brighten someones day.

It is one gigantic world,
And I'm just little old me,
But in this great, majestic world,
It's not 'bout I- but we!

Urgent Help Request

2010-06-25T18:05:00.003-04:00

The first request will explain my lack of posts this past week. I have a whole bunch of unpublished blog posts in various states of completion stored on an app on my iPod. (By various I mean upwards of 60.) About 90 percent of my posts come from this app, and without it, I am stuck. Here's the problem. I changed the password on my google account associated with this blog. Blogwriter lite, the app that has all of these posts, doesn't have an option to change the account settings. Currently, my posts are hostages of this app. Any advice? Ideas?

The second bit of help I need is not quite as urgent, but something I would love to find. Y'know the kind of awesome plastic cups with lids that you get when you order an ice coffee in starbucks or some other similar store? I want to buy cups like that. Anyone know where I can find them? I need cups that are a minimum of 16 oz, have tight fitting lids with a straw hole, and most important, are disposable. Anyone who finds this for me (at a decent price...) will be my best friend forever. Well, no, not really, but they'll be the reader of the month!

THanks in advance for your help!

Machines Vs. Humans

2010-06-17T08:26:00.000-04:00

It's amazing to think how much our society has replaced humans with machines and automations. I can just picture the conversations with my grandkids:

"When I was a kid, people actually had to STOP when they reached a toll booth."
"Why would you stop, Bubby?@
"Because, zeeskeit, in order to pay toll, you had to give it to a person who sat in this little shelter called a toll booth."
"But didn't that make huge lines at the tolls?"
"It did! But in the olden days we just had to put up with it."
"Gosh. I'm glad I didn't live in the olden days."

Online shopping has introduced us to entire new worlds. eBay, Amazon, Paypal... We no longer need to go into a physical store to spend our hard-earned cash. And think of those iPod vending machines. Credit card in, punch a number, and out slides your new iPod- no human interaction neccessary!

"I remember the days when you'd have to stand in line to buy an iPod. And you'd have to hand your credit card to an actual person!"
"Bubby, what's an iPod?"
"It was all the rage when I was younger. It's a music player that also did a few other things. Very cool."
"Why is that cool? All music players do other things."
"Not in the olden days cutie."
"Gosh. I'm glad I didn't live in the olden days."

And similar to the way that the advent of refrigerators left a bunch of ice-box delivery men unemployed, digital photography has changed an industry.

"...and so we would take this thing called film, and we would bring it into the store. The man would give us an envelope, and we would write our names. Then the man would develop the film, and we would get prints of the pictures."
"But how did you pick which pictures you wanted?"
"You didn't. In the olden days you had to print all of the pictures you took."
"Gosh. I'm glad I didn't live in the olden days."

Even a simple thing like rolling down your window to ask for directions has been replaced by talking little boxes who think they know more than we do. (Not to mention, nobody actually ROLLS down their window anymore.) But all this leads me to the one aspect of technological advances that I'll never get. Synthetic voices.

I get how much easier it is to program a machine than train a person. And I get that machines don't take lunch break, sick days or vacation. I get that machines aren't unionized, they don't need medical insurance, and they never talk back. But some things just work better with a person. Self checkout? I can deal with it. But why can't I get an actual recorded voice?

Am I the only one who's ears hurt from the sound of canned talking?

Top Ten Tuesday: A Challenge

2010-06-15T12:51:00.002-04:00

Today's post will demonstrate how hard it is to write a top ten list on a particular topic. Here's the deal. I give you a topic, you give me a top ten list for it, ok?

Top Ten Ridiculous Shidduch Inquiries

Post your list in the comments, or a link to your blog. (I'll add the links to this post.) Lets see what y'all can come up with!

G-d Gave Me a Lot of Talents

2010-06-10T11:23:00.001-04:00

But dancing isn't one of them...

No, seriously. I don't want to brag, but there are so many things I'm overwhelmingly good at. I known it's not me. It's a talent, a gift from G-d. But I guess dancing is His way of reminding me that I did nothing to deserve my talents and abilities, just as I did nothing to deserve my absolute mental block in the matter of dancing.

Nothing amuses me more than a friend telling me I know a weird dance. "'Cmon SD! You KNOW this one! I taught it to you in high school!" Er, yeah, and I'm @$*<£{ years out of high school. I wouldn't have been able to do it a week later, definitely not years later.

Perhaps my inner sore loser is making the policies here, but I recently announced that my wedding won't have dancing. The logic is simple: We dance at weddings to be mesameach the kallah. But dancing doesn't make me happy; it makes me dizzy. We need entertainment though, so we'll have a magic show. (Brilliant, isn't it? BigChamor, you should be getting jealous right around now.)

But it's more than my inability to enjoy dancing. It's the photographers. As if it's not bad enough when some dude jams a pole in your face as you get pronounced husband an wife, the dude follows you and your friends as you dance. It must be a great job for a guy. I can't speak for all photograhers, but the wedding I was at tonight had this delinquint photographer with a downward gaze that sure wasn't in the direction of the shots. That fella was having more fun than should even be legal!

Magic shows just wouldn't have this kind of problem.

Top Ten Shidduch Segulos

2010-06-08T01:33:00.001-04:00

10) Eating Dates: I know this segulah seems to be rooted in nothing more significant than a play on a word that wasn't around in biblical times. Nonetheless, I saw fit to include the dates, especially those eaten on Rosh Hashana, simply because the rest of the segulahs we know of are probably just as unsubstantiated.

9) A piece of the plate from a tenoyim: I'm not sure if this comes from a disposophobiac or if it seemed cheaper than the others, but it seems pretty harmless. I mean does it make a difference if each of the kallahs friends throws their shard in a different garbage can?

8) Pouring water for people: I don't know where this segulah comes from, but I'm gonna venture two guesses. A- some guy (or gal, the gender is irrelevant) wanted a drink, but was too lazy to pour one. He took advantage of his overly anxious and naive nineteen year old sister. "Hey, Peshy, did you know pouring a drink for someone is a segulah for a shidduch?"
"Seriously? Oh my gosh what drink do you want?"
B is slightly more selfless. I think someone got the idea that Rivka poured water for some dude then got a kallah nosering. Perhaps if I pour water for a dude...
Either way, the mitzvah of helping someone can't hurt, so I am pretty sure this segulah is harmful.

7) The Breslover Books: someone I know actually reads them, but most people I know simply sigh when the dude in the pizza shop promises you a shidduch within forty days if you just read that book...and give him some lose change.

6) Shir Hashirim: I remember splitting shir hashirim with some other girls. Someone we knew was ancient, ahem, 21. She was redt a shidduch on the 40th day. She and him got married in the end, but not to each other.

5) Perek shira: Remember when this came in style? The politics of it pretty much cleared up by now though. Besides, who's gonna complain about a book with such pretty pictures? I dunno what the shidduch angle is though, so feel free to enlighten me.

4)Buy a tallis: Again, this one doesn't make all that much sense. How do you buy a garment for a man you've met only in dreams? I guess murphy's law and segulahs join forces to make sure that as soon as you buy one you'll get engaged to a guy that doesn't fit it.

3) Set a wedding date: this one is just dumb. And leading straight into the border of the non-harmless segulahs. I'm getting married tomorrow night folks, awright?

2) The zeroah from the Seder plate: this is the epitome of the non-harmless segulahs. I know someone who's ultra learned brother read that the zeroah is a segulah for a shidduch. He tried to sew it into the lining of her shabbos robe, I promise. I'd read forty breslover Seforim and set forty wedding dates before I'd even look into the veracity of this one.

1) $$$: Of course, as a family friend of ours likes to say, the best segula for a good shidduch is to be rich!

What segulos have you heard of? Any real basis for these?

I'm Apparently a Casualty

2010-06-06T10:10:00.001-04:00

It was one of life's cruel little ironies. My day would be busier than usual, but I was determined to fit an hour at the gym into it. I planned the day down to the minute. Then I made the fifteen minute trip to my gym.

Truth really is stranger than fiction; I missed the curb and twisted my ankle on my way in. I turned around and went home. I limped into my house, scowling at the irony of my careful planning, wishing I could have twisted my ankle on the way out instead.

Life must go on. I took four advil and went out to parade my balloon of an ankle and my limping self in front of a million people. That wasn't the distressing thing though. The distressing thing is realizing that I've become a casualty of the shidduch crisis.

Yeah, I'm drugged up on advil just to get out of my house, and only one thought is going through my head as these yentish ladies watch me in a pseudo-sympathetic manner:

Limping is bad for shidduchim.

Top Ten Things That Get On My Nerves

2010-06-01T14:15:00.001-04:00

(This is by no means a comprehensive list. In fact, I think it should be called Top Ten Tgings That Got On My Nerves Within The Last Ten Minutes. I could make a whole series out of things that get on my nerves...)

10) Parents who ignore screaming kids as if it's not their issue.

9) Drivers who slow down to ten miles below the speed limit when there's a cop around.

8) Asymetry.

7) People who fool around with the bass and treble levels on a shared vehicle.

6) Folks who use lousy grammar when talking.

5) People who drive below the speed limit in the left lane.

4) Food placed in the refrigerator without a proper cover.

3) Traffic. Especially from rubbernecking.

2) Two faced people.

1) Well meaning shadchanim.

If anyone is a shrink, don't try to make sense of that list. There is none.

Now tell me. What gets on your nerves?

And Then There Was One

2010-05-31T11:49:00.001-04:00

The five of us were an unlikely, but closeknit group. All of us had other friends, but we always knew we had each other too.

The first of us to get married was extremely exciting. It was as if we had all become engaged; all of us shopped and planned. Her wedding was amazing. The five of us danced together, arms around each other. We were close, literally and figuratively.

Then the second got engaged. Again, we danced with great simcha at her wedding. The feeling of being left behind was starting to creep in; our first married friend was hiding a baby bump under her dress. But there was still three of us, so the pressure was slight.

Time went on. Our two married friends has babies. We were tantes.

Then, the third girl got engaged. And the fourth. Just like that. We had two weddings to attend, two showers to make, two kallahs to be happy for.

The third wedding passed in a blur. Once again, we did our signature dance, close in more ways than one. Then the fourth wedding arrived. Suddenly, it's the chupah, and I'm standing next to my sheitel clad friends. The music starts up, and selfish thoughts creep into my head. "Someone had to be last...but it wasn't supposed to be me."

The dancing starts. Music blasting, we surround the kallah in joyous circles. It's some time during second dance when the four of us break into the middle for "our" dance. The kallah smiles as she beckons for us to come closer. Our arms link, our smiles soar, and the kallah calls to me, over the music. "Just one more time to do this," she reminds me.

As if I needed the reminder. Dancing ends, and we stay for sheva brachos. We watch our friend as she starts a new life with her husband, completely happy for her. Then each of my friends return to her husband, and I am unsure what to do.

Finally, I leave the hall. I get into the car, I blast the music. It doesn't help that the wedding was far from home. It doesn't help that it's Memorial Day weekend and the traffic is bumper-to-bumper. I have three hours to sit by myself in my car, feeeling what I know I now am: alone.

Soaring Solutions to an Escalating Problem

2010-05-26T21:11:00.001-04:00

The wedding is winding down. A couple of girls are too tired to dance; we are shmoozing on the side intead. One of us is not really a person. She is, in actuality, a brido-sapien. You can practically see a reflection of her chosson in her eyes. It's not so odd, actually. She has already begun the long week of no communication with her other half. She starts to advertise her own affair.
"Everybody better come to my wedding next week! It's going to be in Ateres Sara Rivka Rochel Leah, chupa is at 6:30. Are you coming?"

The object of the question looks surprised. "But I only met you tonight! I don't even remember your name!"
The alien in our midst doesn't care about simple things like that. "I don't care. Besides, it pays to come. My chosson has lots of friends."

The crowd finally looks interested. A number of voices chime in. "Single friends?"
"Yes!" the brido-sapien breathes. "He is the first of his friends to get married. Most of them are just starting to date now."
"That's it!" exclaims the kallah's new best friend. "I'll be there."

Someone in the crowd is overwhelmingly practical. "What difference does it make if the chosson has single friends. They're all on the other side of a big mechitza."

We need a way to atract their attention. The suggestions start to come in. "We could peek over," one girl suggests. I have a more imaginative idea. "Lasso." Nobody likes it. I need to try again. My mind races.

A light turns on in my brain. "Ok, listen. I've got The Solution." All around me, ears are perked. "Here's what we need to do. We print up lots of copies of our shidduch resumes, then turn them into paper airplanes. We fly 'em over the mechitza."

One of my audience isn't impressed. "These boys get millions of shidduch resumes. They need to SEE us." My mind races. We need a solution. Millions of Yiddishe homes rest on it. "Ok, we print 8x10 photos of ourselves. Write our contact number on the bottom. Fly them over to the yingles on the other side."

All around me, faces register delight. I think I've just solved the shidduch crisis.

Top Ten Things You Should Provide To Guests

2010-05-25T08:34:00.001-04:00

(At the risk of alienating my readers, I need to start this post on a personal note to R, who not only hosted me for the first night of Yom Tov, but who, despite being the first IRL friend who knew about my blog, only just started to read it. R- you're an awesome hostess, no matter how many or how few of the following you provided. The lack of number 8 was made up for by the excellent food, the adorable baby, and the really amazing company. Oh, and I slept superbly, so that gives you points too...)

This list has been culled from the extensive experience I've had as a shuntee; someone with enough chashivus to get invited to a family simcha or the like, but not enough chashivus to get placed anywhere but a strange, albeit tolerant neighbor. Some things make the stay a little

10) A Private Bathroom: Its always a part of the plans for my dream house, but it's obviously not something I can expect in just any house; it needs to be built in. But there are few things I enjoy less than rummaging through my bag with my eyes half closed, trying to find a slinky skirt and a sweatshirt so I can go use the restroom...

9) A Shabbos Lamp: Again, this comes along with expenses, so I can't expect it every time I go away, but a shabbos lamp makes all the difference when I am cooped up in a tiny room for a while.

8) Clock: this isn't immediately obvious, but with my watch somewhere on the bottom of the yam hakineret, I was amazingly appreciative of the simple wall clock hanging in the room I stayed in for shavuos. I mean, it's not a big problem during the week, when I get the time off my phone, but shabbos is a killer. I wake up and see it's light out. Is it six? Seven? Ten? Maybe twelve? For all I know it could be four and I missed the seudah... There's just no way to know.

7) A Water Bottle: this is just a small token, but I was so impressed at the thoughtfullness of the hostess who put this out for me recently...

6) An Extra Pillow: No guest will ever ask for an extra pillow, but people are often very picky about their pillow habits. A pillow can easily be put on the side, but just one pillow for someone like me who generally uses three is a real good recipe for insomnia.

5) An Outlet (or three): Nothing bugs me more than a weekday stayover without a place to plug in all of my "stuff".

4) A Mirror: At the risk of sounding a bit MPish, I kinda like to take a glimpse at myself before I stumble out of my room in all of my non-morning-person glory before exiting and letting the world see first.

3) Closet Space: Ever stayed at some stranger's house for a simcha, opened the closet to hang your things, and felt like you were intruding? G-d I hate that. Gimme some space. And a hanger. I just want to hang my skirt!

2) Reading Material: I don't know if it was on purpose or just where he had space, but a lady I once stayed at kept all of her old Mishpachas and Binahs in a drawer in the guest room. It was great, I had plenty to keep me busy all night long.

1) A Friendly Invitation: Maybe it's just me, but If the host(ess) doesn't invite me to touch, I don't touch. If she doesn't offer a drink, I don't drink. It's pretty easy, yet really nice if you just tell your guest to make themself at home...

(please note- this post was not meant to make fun of, criticize, or mitigate the goodness of my past host(ess)s. I think it's very special that so many yidden open their homes to strangers. I just mean to present some ideas for when you host someone... And to remind myself for when I have a place to have guests.

Wedding Season is Here Again!

2010-05-23T20:24:00.001-04:00

You might thinks it's because of the chizuk ladies; those nasty, blood-sucking creatures who feel a need to comment on your state of mind at all public events, but honestly, it's not them.

It's not the Nosey Shadchan either. Nope, I don't have such an issue with the ladies who attempt to cash in on their opportunity for a daily chesed by offering to set me up with a reformed axe murderer.

And no, it's most definately NOT jealousy. My state of mind doesn't have any direct correlation to the number of formerly single friends of mine who march down the aisle with stars in their eyes.

I won't deny it though. I do hate weddings. I hate the drag of the whole thing. I hate wasting an hour of my life clamping my hair between hot metal plates in a conformation attempt. I hate opening my mouth in that ridiculous fashion as I attemt to blacken my not-dark-enough eyebrows. I hate out-of-town weddings that I have to shlep to. I hate rummaging through my closet to find something semi-nice to wear.

I hate watching pious and teary eyed girls pray publicly during the chupah. I hate the way everyone sits around looking like they are enjoying the drag time, while in fact, they aren't enjoying the cheap vegetable soup either. I hate straining my voice to be heard over the band's mealtime rendition of Avraham Fried's "Lo Ovo." most of all, I hate dancing. I hate dancing with the Kallah, I hate dancing in circles, I hate dancing, period.

So, one might ask, why do I do it? Why do I go to wedding after wedding, subjecting myself to this fun again and again? The answer is actually pretty simple. In the immortal words of the great Yogi Bera: "Always go to other people's funerals or they won't go to yours."

Ain't Gonna...

2010-05-21T14:47:00.001-04:00

I spent Yom Tov in Lakewood, ihr hatoirah (/sarcasm). I won't attempt a wrap up post, because very little of record happened, unless you count my new ability to break into every other house in my brother's complex. (I decided that the neighborhood list should not only have name, address and phone numbers, but also front door combinations; everyone shares them freely anyway.)

I decided, instead, to share some pearls of wisdom from my brother's kids.

Someone asked my four-year-old niece if she wants to come for shabbos to Bubby's house without her mommy and totty. She immediately started to cry at the thought. "But how would I get there? I don't know how to drive, even."

At some point during the first day of Yom Tov, ny sister-in-law tried to include my two year old niece in the clean-up effort. "Come ------- and help me!" she called across the room. My niece looked up and called back, "No! Don't make me work on Saturday!"

That's it. Just a few random tidbits of nachas.

Everybody But Me

2010-05-17T08:44:00.001-04:00

Shidduchim is largely a make-believe world. Everyone spends their time pretending that they date all the time, eager to save face with their peers. That's why I love people like my coworker. People who say it like it is:

"My problem with bad date stories is that they make the assumption that you've been going on dates."

BOSD Shavuos Recipe Contest!

2010-05-11T22:33:00.003-04:00

I love Shavuos, it's a time to practice all those milchig recipes that are too labor intensive for ordinary use. I was just put in charge of milchigs for our yom tov meals, and am feeling a lottle lost.

So here goes: BOSD milchig recipe contest! Please leave comments with your best recipes, both cheesecakes and other desserts, as well as non-desserts. Prize is... the awesome knowledge that your recipe has brightened someone else's yom tov. :-)

Please don't post links or recipes that look good, just tried and true amazing recipes. If you have pics, please email them to me.

Top Ten Things I Learned During My Trip To Israel

2010-05-11T13:45:00.002-04:00

10) Israeli gum is absolutely delicious: I brought back about fifty, perhaps sixty packages of gum, none of which are available in America, all of which are delicious. Anyone wanna go into the importing business with me?

9) I would be ultra skinny if I lived in Israel: Those hills are killers. ‘Nuff said.

8) Don’t ever attempt a ten hour plane ride without music: This is self explanatory. The plane ride there was about fifty million times more pleasant, simply because I turned my ipod up to the highest volume and drowned the world out.

7) I found Feivish! I couldn't believe it! All of these ads asking where the little fella was, and all along he was sitting on the side of a bus in Israel!

6) I can get a tan! : I shocked myself. Just one day at the beach and I have more color than I ever got in years on sitting under the American sun.

5) When in Israel, push as the Israelis do: This was obviously most evident in Meron, where pushing was the name of the game. But in general, I never found myself to be a pushy sort of person, until I found myself in a country full of people who’s mentality is simply: push.

4) Israelis don’t drink enough coffee: I stepped off the plane, and immediately wanted a coffee. Over the course of the following ten days, I went into countless stores, hoping and begging for a proper sized cup of American coffee, but to no avail. In Israel, a large cup of coffee would barely be a tall! Sigh. I could never live there.

3) I can, apparently, speak Hebrew when absolutely necessary: One of my travel companions speaks a fluent Hebrew, so she acted as my translator the entire trip. Again and again, I insisted “I don’t speak a word of Hebrew.” I shouldn’t admit this in a public forum, so as not to highly embarrass my former safah and dikduk teachers, but I really didn’t think I could speak a word. Then, one day, my Hebrew speaking friend couldn’t come with us. And that left me. To talk to non-english speaking Israelis. With no help. And shockingly, I really managed. Take that, Rebbetzin Dikduk!

2) Souvenirs kill vacations: My sister in law made a specific request for a present (something which actually made me really upset, fyi.). I ordered her present, then realized that I had a problem. I now had an obligation to purchase something for every family member, lest someone get insulted… The night before I left found me prowling the streets of Me’a Shearim, muttering “but what should I get her?” under my breath. I hereby declare that I will purchase no gifts for anyone, on any future trips I take.

1) The best way to find out if someone speaks Hebrew is to say something bizzare in front of them: I found this out when I was walking in the street with my friend, trying to find someone from whom we could ask directions. Instead of asking if people speak English, I merely said some weird, nonsensical things and looked around to see who was staring strangely at me.

Anyway, jetlag is nearly better, so perhaps some posts will emerge one of these days...

Six Thousand Words

2010-05-10T00:00:00.000-04:00

No Place Like Home!

2010-05-06T23:23:00.005-04:00

I don't remember the last time I felt this tired. I could barely answer any texts tonight, I felt like I didn't have the strength in my thumbs to hit the keys. It makes sense after all. It's 11:30 at night, and my internal clock thinks it is seven hours later. (My father says that discussing it will make the j** l** worse, but if I don't, what will I blog about?)

Couple that with not sleeping last night, ten days of minimal sleep, and you have one exhausted and possibly incoherant blogger. But I just got home, and I am trying to force myself to stay awake as much as possible, and so this blog post, as well as this cake (chocolate crumb), are desperate attempts to engage in activities that will keep my eyes open another few minutes.

It's so weird to be home. On the one hand, I wish I were still there, a busride away from the kosel, an flight of stairs away from a breathtaking view. I wish I were still in the land of kedusha. But as we drove home from the airport, I realized that it's kinda nice to be home. It's nice to be in a country where the signs are in a language I can understand. It's nice to be back in a place where stangers don't growl at you for disturbing them to ask directions. It's nice to be in a place where the mattress won't reveal a little pea underneath. It's nice to be in a nice big supermarket and buy milk in a carton. It's nice to get behind the wheel of a car and driiiive. It's nice to see roads and know where they lead. It's nice to sleep in my own bed.

It's nice to be home.

(I hope to write some more posts about Israel, but right now I am so tired I can barely see my computer screen.)

Lag Be'omer In Meron

2010-05-06T09:35:00.000-04:00

It’s a truly amazing thing to be a part of a massive and holy pilgrimage like the one on lag be’omer to the kever of Rebbi Shimon Bar Yochai. It was my first time, and I was extraordinarily excited. The crowds started a long while before we got to Meron, when the bus we were on sat in traffic for hours. All around us, front and back, thousands of vehicles were heading to one destination: Rashbi. The other side of the highway, heading back, was eerily empty. Nobody was going, just coming, coming, coming.

We arrived at the parking lot. The bus backed into a sea of buses. As my fellow passengers and I disembarked, we all headed in the same direction. Nobody had to tell me where to go. The streaming masses of people were enough of a guide. We walked through the temporary pathways that had been erected for the occasion, separate sides for men and women.

We walked under a tunnel and approached the beginnings of the crowds. The scene was surreal, like a cross between a holy pilgrimage and a street fair. The first group I saw were the Lubavitchers. The huge picture of the Rebbe was looming over the crowd, as if watching his chassidim as they handed out pamphlets. I then saw the Na-Nachs. Their music was loud and their dancing was joyous. I watched incredulously as they pulled a total stranger into their dancing circle.

My eyes continued to take in the sights and sounds. Loudspeakers proclaimed various slogans for all to hear. I listened as somebody hawked the Chai Rotel Mashke, promising “yeshuot olam” for all who partake in this holy tradition. To my left, a radio station has set up a booth where they were broadcasting live from the crowds. To my right, there was a hatzalah booth where one can go and register their children, and in event of separation, find them again. Booths all over were offering the travelers all kinds of drinks and food. And amazingly, all for free. Individuals who wanted to partake in the mitzvah of serving people at Rashbi’s kever got into the act too. A girl offered us cups of juice from her bottle, and another begged us to take some raisins and almonds from her tray.

Meanwhile, all we wanted was to get into the ohel, to daven close to R’ Shimon. Again, it wasn’t hard to figure out where to go; we simply followed the masses of humanity streaming towards the kever of the holy tzaddik. As we approached, I continued to observe the variety of yidden who’d come. The man with the long hair, the woman with the colorful dreadlocks. People often broke into spontaneous dancing as the music belted out tunes often sang on simchas torah. Two women, both clad in long flowing skirts and what seemed like hundreds of scarves, joyously danced as the crowds streamed past them.

As we descended the final set of steps to reach the women’s side of the kever, we began to feel the need to push. Entrance to the kever was determined by who was the pushiest and most determined. I never actually realized just how single minded I could be until then. I just pushed, I didn’t care if some lady told me “af echad yachol likaneis.” I was going to do it. And I did. I finally reached the entrance to the kever. In front of me, faces were buried in siddurim; behind me, women pushed. Finally, I got in. The holiness was palpable. Even the children seemed to sense the extreme kedusha that surrounded us.

Not from from the kever was a tent called “hachnosas orchim rashbi.” The kindness on all sides was so impressive, so amazing, yet still I couldn’t get over the way someone had set up a tent, just for the purpose of providing hot food and cold drinks for the yidden at meron. Contrasting it with the non-jewish events I’ve been to or heard about, where people capitalize on the crowds, charging an arm and a leg for a bite to eat, and this chesed only increased in impressiveness.

I continued to observe the crowds, the people behind the unified mass of yidden. The little boy, clearly needing a bed, yet sporting a long pony tale that would be cut off in just a few hours. The solitary man, wheeling a suitcase, probably planning to camp out for the night at meron. The languages that swirled around my head were numerous. I recognized English, Yiddish and Hebrew, but there were many I did not recognize. Sefardim joined with Ashkenazim, chasidim joined with litvaks, modern and chareidi and even non frum, people joined together, davening, singing, dancing. And, it seemed, that was the major theme that played out in Meron last night. Achdus. Walking together, davening together, unified in our desire to invoke the zechusim of Rebbi Shimon. Not me, not you, but simply, us. Everyone together.