Everyone seems to have this issue

Apparently 'Hot Fatimas' are an issue in Islam like Hot Chanies are in Judaism...

Need to breathe

I deal better with Events in my life by sections.

Up until Monday I couldn't think past EN's surgery (internal hernia and undescended testicle he was born with). Until Zach's case is settled, I can't think past February 22nd which we THINK might be the final decision.

But there are some fun things going on in my life... this Saturday we're having a pot luck lunch by us with a few of our friends. 3 single guys, a young couple with no kids, an older couple with a 19 year old daughter and the Rabbi and his family. They have a 3 year old daughter and a 1 1/2 year old daughter so that will keep NS nice and happy... and the noise level bearable.

This weekend is the Jewish holiday of Tu b'Shvat, which literally means the 15th day of the Hebrew month of Shvat. In practical terms, it's the Jewish Arbor Day and since there are MANY Jewish laws pertaining to trees, fruits, fields, the vine, etc. it has significance. Less so now that there is no Temple, but it's still important if you're a Jewish farmer living in Israel.

Basically we take this day to celebrate the fruits of the fields, the vine and the trees. There are '7 species' that are commonly attributed to the Land of Israel and they are wheat, barley, grapes, figs, pomegranate, olives and dates.

There is a somewhat common tradition to have at the beginning of the meal on Tu b'Shvat a showing, if you will of these and other fruits. Almonds, walnuts, peaches and berries to name a few, in addition to wine are served and each food has some sort of symbolism (mostly Kabbalistic) attributed to it. There are various passages said with regard to the particular food, a blessing is said and then the item is eaten. There are also 4 cups of wine. Starting off with a white wine, which symbolizes the fallow, barren fields, the second cup has a bit of red wine added to it, the third cup has even more red wine added and the final cup completes the seasonal cycle and we're in the full ripeness of harvest.

I searched online for a Tu b'Shvat seder that 'spoke' to me and unfortunately nothing did. So in the end, we decided that the food itself would have components of the seder. One woman will be making 'drunken pasta', which is pasta that is partially cooked in wine (although wine will be served with the meal), I'll be making a turkey breast cooked with a variety of dried fruits and almonds and I'll be making a tomato salad with olives and pine nuts. For dessert we'll be having peach cobbler.

So yeah... I'm looking forward to this. And then in a month or so is Purim and I've got some great ideas for that... even though it will be just me and the boys.

The internet for good

As proof that the internet is not the Devil's tool that many of the religious 'leaders' would have us believe, I'd like to offer this rather inspiring story that unfolded on Imamother in the matter of... basically an hour.

A woman wrote (at 1:47 a.m.... WHY was she awake?) The bag says Daniel Ephraim Gromis (gimmel reish vav mem yud samech). Do you know this person?
The tefillin are very damaged after being in the rain.
Found in yerushalayim in the rain by an arab cab driver last week who gave them to a friend.

She bumped it up at 11:31 a.m. (much more reasonable time) and several of us gave her suggestions to where she could advertise having the lost item (posting to Janglo, I suggested FaceBook) and at 11:44, a woman posted that it's highly likely that this person is her husband's student.

By 12:29 things were confirmed and the lost Tefillin will be returned to their owner tomorrow.

(BTW, my husband and I met through the internet... I posted to Janglo about starting the Society for Creative Anachronism (sca.org) in Israel, he had made Aliyah about a month previously and had been involved in the SCA in the US and the rest, as they say... is medieval history).

Tu b'Shvat Turkey

The first time I made this recipe was 2 Rosh haShanas ago. Next Shabbat is Tu b'Shvat and we're having a pot luck Shabbat lunch/Tu b'Shvat seder at our house. And I plan on making this. The nuts and fruit, even the seasoning lends itself to the holiday.


6 pounds Turkey breast
1/2 teaspoon Salt
1/4 teaspoon Pepper
1 (12-oz) can frozen orange juice concentrate; thawed and undiluted
1 cup water
2 tablespoons Brown sugar
1 teaspoon Ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon Ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon Curry powder
1 (8-oz) can pineapple chunks drained
1 (2-oz) pkg slivered almonds
1/4 cup Raisins
1/4 cup Currants
Cooked wild rice
3 tablespoons Cornstarch
1/4 cup water


Directions:

Rub turkey breast with salt and pepper; brown in a large Dutch oven. Combine orange juice concentrate, 1 cup water, brown sugar, and spices, mixing well. Pour over turkey; add pineapple, almonds, raisins, and currants. Bring to a boil; cover, reduce heat, and simmer 2 hours. Remove turkey, and place on a bed of wild rice.

Combine cornstarch and 1/4 cup water; gradually stir into juice mixture. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until thickened and bubbly. Serve sauce with turkey and wild rice.

Wonderfully said

After reading this guest post by Rabbi Yossi Ginzberg, I almost stood up and applauded.

Kol Hakavod for saying what needed to be said and saying it so eloquently.

Hat tip: The Wolf

Public School

My brother Fred* and his wife Wilma* have decided to do 'the unthinkable' and send their daughter Pebbles* to public school starting next school year. They live in Silver Spring, MD and simply cannot afford Yeshiva tuition in their double income household. According to my brother, there are others in his community who are considering doing the same.

And I have to say, Kol haKavod to them for taking the responsible road. For having the courage to fly in the face of today's Orthodox convention and chose financial responsibility over 'Jewish education above all else'.

When I posted my support of their choice on my Facebook status, several people asked why they didn't make Aliyah. My own decision to make Aliyah over 12 years ago was mostly financially motivated and I'm sure I'm not alone.

The problem is Aliyah isn't for everyone. It also doesn't solve the Tuition Crisis in the United States.

In addition, what's really so terrible about getting a public education (provided the PS has a good curriculum) with supplemental religious studies?

I don't know about you, but in my family, my siblings, cousins and I are first generation 'Yeshiva goers'. My parents, aunts** and my grandparents all received a public school education with Hebrew school on the side and guess what? They all married Orthodox people and passed on a strong grounding in Orthodoxy to all their children. And all of us married grandkids married Orthodox.

Did going to Yeshiva have something to do with this? Of course. But so did the foundation we had from our publicly educated parents and grandparents.

* Not their real names. No, really!
** I think my mother's youngest sister went to Prospect Park a million years ago, either for her entire education or for some part of it.

Chabad and the Queen

Chanukah gift idea...

For the Star Wars fan(atic) you love...

Who is a Jew in Britain....

Interesting article in the NYT.

The Rabbi, the Shofar and the Dog

Warning: do NOT be eating or drinking while watching this.

Way to be supportive, Mom

Is there a rolling eyes emoticon I can use here?

I'm a non-believing Jew but my son wants a barmitzvah

Annabel Wright and her husband are atheists. The idea of raising their children within her lapsed Jewish faith had never occurred to them. So what to do when their 12-year-old son searched his soul and suddenly got religion?

When my son Marcus was born, the last thing on my mind as a Jewish mother was circumcision. I am a non-practising Jew and my husband, Jonathan, is lapsed Church of England, and we both felt that, as our son grew up, he would want to "match" his daddy. Indeed, my husband and I are confirmed atheists, and although I have been known to make a deal with God on turbulent flights, my promise is invariably broken after touchdown.

The Torah, the sacred book of Jewish laws, states resolutely that God commands all Jewish males to be circumcised. Without this procedure a boy is not considered a Jew and will be shunned. But I am firmly against the idea, viewing it as a form of genital mutilation. How could I have known that this would present a potential problem some years later …

There we were, 12 years down the road, mooching around a north London synagogue. It was only the second time my son had set foot in one – friends had invited us to the annual Hanukah (Festival of Lights) bazaar. Although I didn't feel quite like a gefilte fish out of water, I didn't feel especially at home either. I sensed a lack of belonging to a tight-knit group.

I left Marcus to his own devices and went to find his two younger sisters. When I next saw him he was fingering a variety of kippas (Jewish skull caps) with rather more interest than I'd have liked. As he balanced one on the back of his head I stifled a laugh and playfully remarked, "Suits you."

"Don't laugh," he replied, a grave expression clouding his face. "I'm not trying these on for a joke. I want to buy one. In fact, I've been thinking lately and I want to be, well, more Jewish."

"You are Jewish, because I am," I reminded him, hoping that would be the end of it but instinctively knowing that it wouldn't. In the Jewish faith, children take their racial and religious identity from the mother, a fact over which my husband and I have had the odd tussle.

"I know that I'm Jewish because of you," replied Marcus, "but I'd like to do it properly – you know, the festivals, the food, maybe even a barmitzvah …"

I almost choked on my salmon bagel. A barmitzvah! Did he have any idea how many years ahead you had to book the Crystal Suite at the Dorchester? Where had this sudden interest in Judaism come from? Not from me, and certainly not from his dad.

I had "married out" and hadn't given the whole Jewish thing much thought thereafter. I never imagined I would have a fair-haired, blue-eyed son wanting to embrace Judaism – or any religion for that matter. How naive of me to assume my children would unquestioningly follow my atheist lead.

But I respect my son's integrity; he has an emotional intelligence beyond his years. His announcement demanded further exploration. My husband and I would have to take him seriously.

As the daughter of German Jewish refugees, I have spent a lifetime pulling away from my roots. The message I absorbed from my parents was that being Jewish was dangerous, even life-threatening. When I started secondary school, about the same age that my mother was when she found herself the victim of antisemitism, she warned me to assimilate and to avoid getting into a "ghetto" with the Jewish girls. I was further perplexed by my mother's ambivalent relationship with Judaism. She insisted on attending synagogue on holidays, but for the rest of the year we played at being as British and non-Jewish as could be.

My father wanted nothing to do with the religion. I was always embarrassed at relatives' weddings when he had to wear a disposable paper kippa, customarily on offer to the non-Jews. He didn't deny his roots (he was barmitzvahed as a boy), but he didn't go out of his way to advertise his racial heritage either. When I finally married, at the geriatric age of 32 (in Jewish spinster years that's about 55), my parents were delighted at my choice of partner: a non-Jewish lawyer. Operation Assimilation complete. Here was a man who could hide me under the floorboards should the Nazis return.

And luckily, here was a man who, despite his antipathy towards organised religion, was happy to let Marcus satisfy his curiosity about his mother's heritage – though he made it clear he wouldn't be coming along for the ride.

In the weeks that followed, Marcus asked if I could find a synagogue that might consider taking him on with a view to studying for his barmitzvah. I knew this would be a tall order. There was no way he could cram the necessary knowledge in one year. And would a synagogue take him at all? A friend had warned me that hers probably wouldn't, given Marcus's uncircumcised status. I was incensed that what was in his pants was more important than what was in his heart. But I also felt that it would be wrong to deny my son the chance to explore his roots.

We sat Marcus down for some soul-searching. "I like the idea of belonging to something special," he told us. "I feel proud to be Jewish. It feels unique. And there are so few of us left it seems a shame not to do something about it. I want to do this because it's about the religion and believing in God."

And so began my quest to find a synagogue liberal enough to take us on. An easier proposition than I'd feared – we live in north London, after all – and I found one in Golders Green. Progressive, liberal and welcoming to mixed-faith couples, although my husband was taken aback by the £750 annual fee. "That's more than a year's subscription to Sky Sports," he half-joked, threatening to offer Marcus an ultimatum: Sky or synagogue?

Marcus and I met the rabbi, and I delicately raised the issue of his physical predicament. I was relieved by the response. "It's true that some synagogues, particularly the more orthodox, would see this as a bar to entry, but not us. You're Jewish, so your son is Jewish," he said.

His advice was that Marcus and I join their family classes to give both of us an idea of what would be ahead. We all agreed that it was too ambitious to aim for a ceremony at 13. "It's a misconception that you have to have one then," explained the rabbi. "Although 13 is usual, you can study for it at any age. Men who were boys in the war and missed out have been known to have barmitzvahs in their 70s."

In the early weeks, I managed to affect a spray-on enthusiasm. But as time wore on, I realised that if Marcus was to follow the faith, I just couldn't do it with him. The subject matter (dissecting parts of the Old Testament, examining the meaning of Jewish festivals) was just too dry, too archaic, despite the rabbi's valiant attempts to make it relevant to life today.

At the end of the first term, I told Marcus that he would have to go it alone. He could join the Sunday classes, where no parental input is required. He was upset by this but realised that he couldn't expect me to embrace a religion that held no appeal. We hugged each other and cried.

But some weeks later, Marcus said that he just couldn't do it on his own. "It's just too unrealistic, Mum. How can I celebrate the festivals and follow all the other stuff without you and Dad and the girls? I guess it's time to quit."

That was 18 months ago and Marcus is now 13, the traditional age for barmitzvah. We are watching some of his friends go through the process and my husband and I have a lingering feeling that we may have denied him something important. A sense of belonging and a supportive community to fall back on, beyond home and school, are no bad things in the world we live in. But what are we saying? Organised religion is a club that we simply don't want to join.

Yet I am a Jew, and fiercely protective of my race. My grandparents survived the Nazi concentration camps and my parents avoided a similar fate by a whisker. Just don't ask me to get involved in the religious shenanigans. My husband, meanwhile, is relieved that Marcus has moved away from the religion. Would Christianity have been more acceptable I asked him. "At least the services are in English and the music is great. But ultimately no, because I don't believe in any of it."

Marcus himself is sanguine about the experience. "Now that some of my mates are going through barmitzvah I can see what's involved and I don't think it would have been right for me. Anyway, I can always go back to it when I'm older," he says. And he can. The velvet kippa is in the top drawer of his bedside table, awaiting the day.

guardian.co.uk © Guardian News and Media Limited 2009