Draydel

How a non-sports fan learned to love the Steelers

2011-02-01T18:32:00.000-08:00

When I first moved to Pittsburgh as a young adult more than a decade ago, the last full-length football game I had ever watched was played by the team at my junior high school. I had proudly supported my classmates then, but had no interest in the sport. I could think of few things I would enjoy less than spending hours on a Sunday, or Monday night, watching grown men toss around a ball and crash violently into each other in front of shivering, shouting fans guzzling beer.

As a newcomer to the city, I knew vaguely about the Terrible Towel, the golden piece of fabric the size of a dish towel that fans wave to show their support for the Steelers. And, I knew that Pittsburghers were deeply proud of their home team. I wished the Steelers well, but I had no interest in their exploits. I soon found that game time on Sunday was a great time to run errands since most of the rest of the city was glued to their television sets.

All of that changed during the 2005-2006 season. That year, the Steelers were playing stronger than ever, reminding dedicated fans of their glory days in the 1970s. As the regular season ended, and the playoffs began, Super Bowl excitement rose to fever pitch. Even someone as oblivious to football as I could not ignore what was happening around me.

In Pittsburgh, many workplaces encourage employees to wear black and gold on the Friday before game day. I had always thought it was great that people expressed so much team spirit, though I never wore the colors myself. That year, I felt the pressure from coworkers, especially when one Friday I inadvertently wore colors that were similar to those of the opposing team. I promptly went out and bought a gold, long-sleeved Steelers shirt. (I didn’t have to go far, they were being sold, along with other Steelers merchandise, at my neighborhood grocery store.)

But my team spirit was more than an outward show. I, too, began to be excited about “our team” going to the Super Bowl. And, I saw how the excitement brought people together. Perfect strangers would pass each other on the street, each dressed in black and gold, and exchange smiles and cheers of “Here we go,” the opening words of Pittsburgh’s Super Bowl rallying song. An otherwise bleak winter was brightened by the promise of victory. I even devoted an evening to watching the AFC Championship game on TV. When the Steelers won, I opened the door to my apartment’s balcony and listened as my neighbors, on an otherwise sedate residential street, let out cries of victory, honked their horns and shouted “Go Steelers.”

And, then, two weeks later, like the conclusion to a blockbuster movie, the Steelers won the Super Bowl. The city erupted in celebration, with people swarming the streets and cheering the victory late into the night. We had won, and the triumph was more than an athletic conquest; it was a symbol of Pittsburgh as a city reclaiming its past glory.

A few years before, when the Steelers had lost badly in a playoff game, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette published an article that talked about how a city’s self-esteem can be deeply intertwined with the fortunes of its sports teams. While passionate fans in cities that are doing well – with low unemployment rates, booming industries and other markers of success – may weather a disappointing loss fairly well, those in struggling cities – dwindling populations, hard economic times – personalize losses much more. The failure of a team becomes symbolic of the failure of a city.

Conversely, the success of a team is reason for hope and optimism. Pittsburgh, in particular, is still working to overcome its image as a smoky steel town. The 2006 Super Bowl victory was an opportunity to show how the city had retained its old glory while reclaiming its natural beauty and energizing its economy with new industries.

In 2009, the Steelers again swept their way through the playoffs and on to victory at the Super Bowl, setting a record as the team to have won the greatest number of Super Bowls. And now, in 2011, they are poised to play in the Super Bowl again.
I’ll be watching the game, wearing black and gold, and cheering on the team. This year, my enthusiasm is dimmed by the off-season exploits of quarterback Ben Roethlisberger, who was suspended from playing for the first few weeks of the season. I’m not proud of him, and I have a lot of mixed feelings about rooting for a team that depends on his leadership and even more about a culture that is so willing to forgive outrageous behavior in those with star athletic ability. However, I have learned over time that the Steelers are so much more than a sports team to Pittsburgh.

In 2006, the city’s self-esteem was bolstered by the Super Bowl win. That was true again with the 2009 Super Bowl and the Penguins’ Stanley Cup victory later that year. After decades of feeling down about itself, Pittsburgh was again a city of champions.

But ecstasy is an ephemeral feeling – gone almost as quickly as it arrives. It is much harder to sustain hope, optimism and vision in the long-term, though an occasional shot in the arm in the form of victory never hurts.

Just two days after the 2011 AFC Championship game, President Barack Obama delivered his annual State of the Union speech. He spoke about a lot of the challenges our country faces, but was optimistic about reclaiming our innovative spirit and reinvigorating American cities and industries.

That message is particularly resonant in Pittsburgh, which has received national attention and praise for reinventing itself. The city has come a long way, but still has far to go to rival its former reputation as a major center of industry and innovation.

Whether the Steelers win or lose on Super Bowl Sunday, those efforts will continue. In the meantime, I think it’s about time I bought myself a Terrible Towel…

Employment update

2009-02-01T20:08:00.001-08:00

Shortly after my bitter rant about my professional prospects, I received a call back from a marketing communications agency to which I had submitted a resume weeks before. They brought me in for an interview, and, a week later, had me start on a free-lance contract for one of their clients, a nutrition supplement company. (a large, national corporation that is based in Pittsburgh) After a few weeks on the job, the creative director of the client company asked if I would be interested in applying directly to them for a copy writing job. I did, was interviewed, and have now been hired as a regular, full-time employee.

So, I think I have figured out what I can do with my writing skills. I am enjoying the new job, though it is not as emotionally fulfilling as a journalism job. On the other hand, it's also not as emotionally draining. The pay is good, and this is a great place for me to be now in my career. I don't know what the next step after this will be, but I think I am evolving into more of a writing generalist, which is a good thing to be in a volatile economy.

The idealistic person I was in college might have thought that taking this job was a sell-out, but the pragmatic me, who hopes to one day have children to send to day school, sees this as a responsible choice and a wise career move. Life is full of unexpected choices, and I am grateful to be working in a pleasant atmosphere, doing a job that is at least related to what I was trained to do in college and graduate school. And, I hope that having some reserves of emotional and intellectual energy will allow me to eventually do the serious type of writing to which I aspire. (And in the meantime, to do more personal writing for this blog.)

My return to blogging and a bit of a rant

2008-12-01T21:07:00.000-08:00

Fair readers, I am happy to report that married life has not marked the end of my blogging career, in spite of my long absence. Perhaps at some point I will elaborate on the joys and challenges of this wonderful change in my life, but in the meantime, I would like to jump feet first into that old enterprise I used to enjoy so much: thinking out loud.

Did I say a bit of a rant? Correction: A full blown rant

In these days of economic crisis and corporate downsizing, the chance of a talented journalist finding work at an old fashioned newspaper is slimmer than ever. Most daily newspapers in major cities have dramatically smaller staffs than they did a few years ago, and we all are left to wonder if these publications will exist at all in the future. While it is sensible and nearly inevitable that newspapers will eventually evolve into primarily (or entirely) electronic versions of their former selves, it seems likely that many publications will cease to exist even in electronic form because they have failed to remake themselves fast enough to match the new technology or because they do not offer content that is unique enough or compelling enough for consumers.

From a strictly capitalistic perspective, there may be nothing to weep about, since a free market allows the most successful products to survive. However, quality journalism is more than a buyable commodity -- it is an intangible resource of unpredictable content. More than a mere record of what has occurred, good journalism gives its consumers insight and understanding. Anyone who attends a public meeting (and few citizens ever do) can tell you if a resolution passes or not, but a good journalist can help readers understands what it means, and perhaps even why they should care.

As someone with years of training and experience in such matters, it is frustrating that such talents, which have never been particularly valued, are increasingly considered dispensable, even worthless. Even more upsetting, as I look at the remaining staffs of various publications where I used to work, is that it is not the most talented staff members who remain on board, but the most average. The envelope pushers, creative thinkers and masters of prose have been laid off, or have left in frustration (with important exceptions). Meanwhile, the folks who do clean, acceptable and unremarkable work are the ones who have jobs. The papers still publish on deadline, but there is a loss of ambition and passion. If articles about Paris Hilton sell more papers than those about storm sewers, then Paris Hilton wins (and so do the writers that can say the snarkiest things about her). Never mind that sewer systems have real and immediate health, environmental and community development implications.

I got into journalism because it was challenging and fun and creative. Sometimes the topics I covered were uncomplicated and other times they were intellectually exciting. Whatever I wrote, each day was different and exciting, and gave me the opportunity to meet people I would never otherwise encounter.

At one time, such experiences were commonplace for entry-level reporters at scores of newspapers all over the country. Now, it seems, the privilege of doing first-hand reporting for a respected daily newspaper is reserved for a very small class of journalists that is constantly shrinking.

My current employment situation is due in part to personal choices that I have made that are not directly related to the journalism jobscape. (I left my most recent staff position to move to a different city because I was getting married.) However, I can't help be frustrated that, whereas professionals in most other fields can look in the classified job ads in any major city and find at least a couple of jobs to apply to, journalists who are tied to a particular city almost inevitably have to consider working in another field.

This situation is not at all new -- it has been developing for more than a decade. I was fortunate to be insulated from the problem for a while, but now I am feeling it keenly. I am trained to do a job that I love, one which, giving license to my ego, I feel that I am called to do. I am not as brilliant or as cutting edge as I would like to be, but I am committed to doing my job well and I have touched many readers in the past with my work. I feel that I have lots of potential that I have only begun to mine.

And now I have to figure out what else I am qualified to do.

An unexpected, and happy, turn of events

2008-06-02T15:36:00.001-07:00

(Here is my final column for The Jewish Chronicle:)

Almost exactly eight years ago, after completing graduate school in New York, I went with a friend, Chana, to visit the Statue of Liberty, something I had not managed to do in five years as a student in the big city. Since I was preparing to move to Pittsburgh, I decided to finally check some items off my New York to-do list.

During our journey that day, Chana and I chatted about graduate school, jobs, the city, and, inevitably, our social lives. Chana, who is older than I am, had some fairly outlandish tales about bad dates she had endured, and we laughed together about our experiences.

I don’t recall speaking to her in the weeks that followed as I completed my move and started my new job in Pittsburgh. Then, in early September, just over three months since we had commiserated about our dating woes, Chana called me with the good news that she was engaged to a man she had met since we last saw each other. I was delighted for her, and encouraged that I would eventually have good news of my own in that area. I went back to New York for her wedding, and she advised me that “G-d’s salvation comes in the blink of an eye,” a sentiment that comes from the ancient Sages.

I have often thought about those words in the last eight years. I am fortunate to be predisposed to having a positive outlook on life, and I also have an appreciation for unexpected plot twists and reversals of fortune. While I have certainly had moments when I doubted that I would ever meet a man with whom I would want to share my life, the hopeful voice inside of me always said, “Just wait, you may be pleasantly surprised.”

The voice was right.

(It is worth noting that my mother was also right, since she encouraged me to move to Pittsburgh, and to stay here, even though others advised me to go back to New York to improve my dating odds.)

A few months ago, after enduring countless blind dates and other awkward situations, I agreed to date yet another young man who was suggested to me as a potential match. While I thought he was good-looking from the photos I had seen of him, and he sounded nice on the phone, I was filled with doubts. I wasn’t sure that we would see eye to eye on a number of issues and thought that our interests and lifestyles might be too different for us to forge any type of long-term commitment. I was guarded, and defensive.

In spite of being convinced before we ever met that he would be all wrong for me, I managed to walk away from our first date with the strong impression that he was extremely kind and thoughtful. I was taken aback when he suggested that we get together a second time. I agreed.

Still, I couldn’t imagine that we would ever get married.

Fortunately, it did not take very long to change my mind about that. The more I got to know Jonathan, the more I liked him, and the more I saw that differences between us were insignificant compared to our very important similarities. Exactly two months after we met, Jonathan proposed and I accepted. After years of disappointment and frustration, my life had indeed taken a wonderful turn in the blink of an eye.

Since then, life has become a tailspin of wedding preparations and plans to move to Baltimore, where Jonathan lives. As a result, I will be leaving my job at The Chronicle in a couple of weeks.
I am sad to be leaving Pittsburgh and The Chronicle, but happy that it is for such a wonderful reason. And, who knows? Maybe someday life’s journey will bring me back to Pittsburgh again.

It has been a privilege to write this monthly column, and I have enjoyed and appreciated all the feedback I have received from readers. I especially appreciate all the warm wishes I have received since my engagement announcement was printed a few weeks ago.
I wish all of you the happiness and fulfillment that I have found.

Happy ending, and beginning

2008-05-15T08:09:00.000-07:00

By now readers of my blog who know me in real life know that four weeks ago today I became engaged to a wonderful guy named Jonathan Jablow.

After years of dating frustrations, and so many blind dates that I actually lost count, I feel so blessed to have found a wonderful man to build a home and a future with. Perhaps later I will have a chance to give some more details about how we met, but the short version of the story is: we were set up by a mutual friend in Baltimore (where Jonathan lives), first spoke in late January, met on Feb. 17 and got engaged exactly two months later on April 17. We plan to get married on July 6 in Pittsburgh.

The last four weeks have been an absolute flurry of activity, with Pesach, traveling to see each other and our families and planning a wedding, and a move -- I will be moving from Pittsburgh to Baltimore, and Jonathan also has to move, from his current apartment to a larger one for the two of us.

Thank G-d, I am very, very happy, but also exhausted by everything that has to be accomplished in the next 7 1/2 weeks!

Waiting for Elijah

2008-05-13T12:08:00.001-07:00

It's way overdue, but this was my pre-Pesach column.

When I was a child, one of my favorite moments during the seder was when we would open the door to symbolically welcome in Elijah the prophet. I nearly always volunteered to stand with an adult at the open door. I loved peering out from the warm, well-lit house into the quiet, dark enigmatic night.

Just as all the other events of the seder night are designed to inspire the asking of questions, opening the front door at night, and leaving it open for a few moments, piqued my curiosity. I peeked out onto the quiet street while my grandfather read the appropriate passage from the Haggadah.

Just at the moment when Elijah was supposed to sweep into our house for a sip of the wine, there always seemed to be a light spring breeze, adding an air of mystery to the experience, as though Elijah were rustling through the tree branches on his way to our house and then silently slipping away.

After we closed the door, my sister and I would look closely at Elijah’s cup to see if any of the wine had mysteriously disappeared. Since there was never a noticeable difference, an adult once assured us that Elijah could only drink the tiniest of sips from each cup since he had so many seder tables to visit all over the world on one night.

I am still charmed by these childhood memories, but I later learned a different way of thinking about the cup of Elijah.

In traditional Jewish thought, the cup of Elijah is connected to the other four cups of wine at the seder.

Among the many meanings assigned to the four cups is the idea that each is connected to a different term used in the Torah to describe the redemption from Egypt. In the book of Exodus, God’s redemption is described in the following ways: “Vehotzati” – I took you out; “Vehitzalti” – I saved you; “Vega’alti” – I redeemed you; and “Velekachti” – I took you to be my people.
But there is a fifth term in the Exodus narrative – “Vehavati” – I will bring you … to the land of Israel. The rabbis of the Mishna debated about including a fifth cup of wine at the seder to remind us of this promise from God for a final redemption.

The rabbis ultimately decided to have just four cups of wine, but in recognition of the minority opinion of Rabbi Tarfon, they included a fifth cup that was to be filled, but not drunk.

This unresolved dispute is one of many that tradition teaches will be resolved when Elijah comes and resolves all doubts.

Furthermore, since this fifth cup was thematically connected to the idea of the coming of the Messiah -- which tradition teaches will be announced by Elijah -- the cup is appropriately named for the great prophet.

So, in the end, it is not that Elijah is clandestinely visiting our homes on Pesach to sample our wine. Instead, we are waiting expectantly for him to settle our disputes and announce the beginning of Messianic times.

While the time and method of Elijah’s arrival remains an unresolved mystery, certainly we can all hope that we will notice when he comes.

When all the pieces fall into place

2008-03-19T20:37:00.000-07:00

This is my March column from The Jewish Chronicle.

Megillat Esther, which is read on Purim, is among the most spellbinding of the books of Tanach. Filled with intrigue, lavish feasts, pageantry, near-destruction for the Jews, and ultimately, salvation, it has all the elements of an epic tale.

In fact, the story is such a tightly written narrative, that it can be difficult to remember that it recalls actual historical events. Unlike a dry historical account, the Megillah gives readers insight into the feelings and motivations of the players in the drama.

The story is so fast-paced that it seems to unfold in a matter of weeks or months, so I was surprised when I learned in college that the events of the story actually took place over the course of about 11 years. It is hard to imagine a modern historical account of a similar time period that would be as concise, compelling and perceptive about the meaning of events.

When we read the Megillah in synagogue, in a matter of moments we have gone from Vashti’s termination as queen to Esther’s selection as the new queen. But upon closer reading, the text of the Megillah gives us clues that Esther’s ascent to the throne took a few years, from Vashti’s banishment (and possible execution) through the rounding up of eligible maidens from the 127 provinces of Ahashuerus’ kingdom, and ultimately Esther’s coronation. Similarly, the rest of the events of the story take place over the course of several more years, finally culminating in Esther’s revelation to Ahashuerus that Haman intends to kill her people, the Jews, and the king’s decision to instead spare the Jews and kill Haman and his collaborators.

According to tradition, Esther and Mordechai had the insight to recognize the connections between these events and to record them for posterity in Megillat Esther, which was later edited and rewritten by the men of the Great Assembly for canonization in Tanach.

Although some of the events of the story seem arbitrary, or extraneous, by the end it becomes clear that all along, God was behind the scenes, orchestrating the events.

Even though God is never explicitly mentioned in the Megillah, a careful reading of the text reveals many illusions to God. For example, throughout the story, there are repeated references to “the king,” which seems to ostensibly be a reference to Ahashuerus, but can also be understood to be about God.

As one of the last books included in the Bible, and one of the few to record events that took place in exile from Israel, the Megillah is a guidebook for how to think about God in a world in which events may seem arbitrary. Sometimes life goes on for years in which circumstances may be frustrating, frightening, painful or even devastating, and then in an instant, a single event or decision clarifies the meaning of everything that preceded it.

When Esther was called upon to be brave on behalf of her people, she rose to the occasion, and suddenly it became clear why this self-effacing nice Jewish girl had been chosen to be queen. Circumstances had unfolded so that she would be in precisely the right place at the right time to save the Jews from destruction.

It is not surprising when all the disparate parts of a novel come together in the final chapters of a book, because we know that the story was invented by the writer to turn out this way. In life, however, things do not always work out so neatly. Sometimes it is hard to discern where a story begins and ends, and what it means. And, none of us has an omniscient voice in our heads to explain the motivations of the people with whom we interact.

However, like Mordechai and Esther, sometimes we know that we are in a situation or circumstance for a reason, and that we are uniquely situated to do some important task. When we are really fortunate, we can look back afterwards and see all the machinations of destiny that led to that serendipitous moment.

Newest addition

2008-02-24T19:36:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, on January 28, my sister gave birth to her second child, a beautiful girl named Abigail Irene Smith. She is every bit as wonderful as my nephew, with the extra benefit that we get to buy her lots of pink clothes and accessories. So far, her favorite activities are eating, sleeping and, well, you know the third one. But, she also smiles and is super adorable, and my family is sure that she is just as brilliant and talented as her older brother. Not that we're biased or anything.

Tribute to my hosts

2008-02-24T19:22:00.000-08:00

Here is my February column from The Jewish Chronicle.

Open invitations for Shabbat are real

Shortly before I started college in New York, an Orthodox family from the Bronx whom I had met through my youth group told me that I should call them after I was settled in at school to arrange a time to visit them for Shabbat. They would love to have me over, they said, and I shouldn’t hesitate to call.

While I was flattered by their warm invitation, I was uncomfortable with the idea of “inviting myself over” to someone’s house. After all, I had been taught never to make myself an unwelcome guest, which meant that I should only take advantage of someone’s hospitality if it were specifically offered, since general statements of “come over anytime” could turn out to mean “but not right now.”

However, I slowly got used to the idea that in the Orthodox community an open invitation is not a mere pleasantry, but a sincere offer.

At school, friends of mine told of spending Shabbat with families in various communities in the United States and Israel that had extended open invitations, and of those families being genuinely happy when my friends called to ask when they could come over. And the informality worked both ways – if a family was not able to have guests on a particular week, they would say so, and arrange another time instead.

After a few weeks at school, I happened to see the husband of the family from the Bronx. He asked me how I was doing at school and then said, “So when are you coming for Shabbat? Why haven’t you called us?”

Soon after, I spent a fun Shabbat with them, and over time became a regular guest at their home.

This family was one of several that extended similar invitations. Since I was far away from home, and many of my classmates’ families lived in or near New York, during my college years I spent Shabbat in all five boroughs of New York, plus several communities in New Jersey, Long Island and Connecticut, and was impressed and moved by the generosity of all of my hosts.

Since I have lived in Pittsburgh, I have encountered similarly enthusiastic invitations, ranging from people who call a week or two in advance to invite me for a specific meal, to those who have told me that I am welcome to show up on a moment’s notice if ever I am without plans for Shabbat.

The motivation behind all these invitations is the belief that no one should be alone for Shabbat, which is supposed to be a day for connecting with others.

During the week, most of us stay in touch with others by using electronic devices. But on Shabbat, for many of us, all that changes.

Without use of the phone, television or Internet, Shabbat can be a long, lonely day for a person who is alone.

Fortunately, it doesn’t have to be that way, since the community is so welcoming of those who live alone.

And the invitations do not come with the sense that the hosts are acting only out of obligation. I have learned that many of these families genuinely enjoy having Shabbat guests. When a person is already cooking a meal for a whole family, the addition of one or two people does not increase the workload, but can enhance the experience for everyone.

I know this is true because I periodically host Shabbat meals, and hope to eventually be able to “pay forward” at least a small part of the kindness I have received when I have a family of my own.

There is an old idea that the entire Jewish nation is in fact one very large family. Even though none of my relatives live in Pittsburgh, when I am a Shabbat guest, I truly feel that I am with family.

Unveiling the mysteries of hair covering

2008-01-23T20:21:00.000-08:00

This is my latest column from The Chronicle.

When I was first becoming acquainted with the Orthodox practice of married women covering their hair, I remember noticing that one woman I knew sometimes had her hair covered by a cloth head-covering, and other times wore a neat, chin-length hairdo with bangs.

It seemed odd to me that sometimes her hair was covered, and other times it was not. I later found out that her “uncovered hair” was in fact a wig.

Over time, I learned that there are many different customs related to hair-covering, concerning everything from how much of the head or hair should be covered, and in what places and circumstances, to the materials used – everything from scarves and hats to wigs, and sometimes more than one at the same time.

The variety of hair-covering methods is a reflection of different interpretations of halachah, outside cultural influences and personal preferences.

Hair covering is among the most difficult of Orthodox practices to understand and accept, and I sympathize with those who find the practice utterly baffling.

As an unmarried woman who, according to halachah, is not yet obligated to cover my hair, I also find the practice somewhat challenging.

The Torah does not offer a specific reason for hair covering, but in practice this mitzvah is primarily an expression of modesty.

There are opinions in halachah that describe a married woman’s hair as erva, a term that refers to “nakedness,” and indicates that hair has seductive properties. While that idea is difficult for the American mind to grasp – especially since this category apparently does not apply to single women’s hair – even our culture acknowledges the beauty enhancements of hair. Models, for example, generally wear long, luxurious tresses, and letting one’s hair down is a euphemism for relaxing one’s inhibitions.

Of course, wearing a gorgeous shaitel (wig) would not appear to be particularly modest, especially if the woman’s natural hair was not nearly as flattering. However, most women who wear shaitels manage to strike a balance between hair coverings that are comfortable and attractive and those that are unduly attention-grabbing.

In Judaism, when something is covered, whether a person’s body or a religious object, such as a Torah scroll, it is concealed not because it is debased, but because it is special. While halachah permits a married woman to uncover her hair in the presence of other women and immediate family members of either gender, her hair becomes something private and exclusive.

Covering one’s hair becomes symbolic of the idea that there are some things that are to be shared only between husband and wife.

In some ways it is the act of covering that makes the hair special. When something is covered it takes on an aura of mystery and it becomes that much more appealing.

A few years ago, a married friend of mine had a teaching job at a juvenile detention center. When her students realized that she was wearing a wig, they began badgering her to take it off, just once, so that they could see her hair. They were obsessed with seeing her hair, as though it had magical properties.

And that reminds me of another example of modesty. Many Orthodox women do not wear short sleeves and are careful to keep their elbows covered. The idea is that even a woman’s upper arms can be alluring, and the elbow is a good point of demarcation.

Of course, elbows on their own are generally not especially seductive parts of one’s body. A college friend of mine used to say that when she got married, she would roll up her sleeves and ask her husband if he found her elbows sexy. “Hopefully he’ll say yes,” advised another friend.

The first friend has been married for several years now. I once asked her husband what he thought of her elbows, and, in reply, he pretended to swoon.

I’m sure he feels the same way about her hair.

Living vicariously through Jane Eyre

2008-01-20T18:01:00.000-08:00

I have long been a fan of Charlotte Bronte’s novel “Jane Eyre.” I first read it the summer I was 20. At that point, I was trying to catch up on some of the “classics” I hadn’t already read, and my mom told me that it had been a favorite of hers and of my grandmother.

It took me a while to get into the book, but soon I was enthralled with Jane’s reserved flirtation with Mr. Rochester, and the palpable romantic tension between them, and by the time Jane finally expresses her feelings in the emotional garden scene I was totally spell-bound. Not long after I finished the book, A&E aired its version of “Jane Eyre” with Ciaran Hinds and Samantha Morton, both of whom were superb. I was so fond of that version, that my mom eventually bought be a copy on VHS. Meanwhile, she bought herself the version with William Hurt and Charlotte Gainsbourg, which also has its charms, but, in my opinion, was not as good.

A few weeks ago, on Dec. 30, I was running errands and looking forward to a couple of days off from work when my mom told me that PBS was airing yet another version of Jane Eyre that night. A friend had recently told me that she liked this version – and was none too sorry that this Mr. Rochester was really more attractive than indicated by the book. So, even though I could not imagine that any version would equal the one by A&E, I decided to tune in.

How wrong I was.

This 2006 production by the BBC is absolutely masterful, and has me wondering how it was possible that I missed its PBS debut in early 2007. Ruth Wilson, who plays Jane, is captivating. At moments she is really a plain Jane, but with sparkling eyes and an animating smile, she is also quite attractive.

She can blend into the shadows, but asserts herself when necessary. And although Jane does not speak much, with her expressive face and mannerisms, Wilson artfully shows when she is embarrassed, exhilarated, devastated and delighted.

While the character of Jane is about 18 in the book, Wilson was 24 when this version was filmed, which was a wise decision. Wilson still has the blush of youth and innocence, but also the inner depth and maturity to convey Jane’s stormy interior.

Toby Stephens, who plays Mr. Rochester, is truly swoon-worthy material. He is wry, sarcastic, troubled, vulnerable, and irresistible. Because Jane and Rochester have many interactions long before they express their true feelings for one another, there is time for their relationship to develop real depth, a rarity in most romantic movies.

PBS aired the first half of the four-hour series on Dec. 30, and the second half a week later. I spent most of that week telling anyone who would listen that I was looking forward to the “exciting conclusion.”

Even though I knew how the story would end, there were still plenty of wonderful moments to enjoy in this adaptation. A day after watching the first half, I watched the A&E version again. While I still enjoyed it immensely, it was obvious that Stephens’ Rochester has significantly more warmth than Hinds.’ (After marveling over his acting abilities, I looked up Stephens online and discovered that he is the younger son of Dame Maggie Smith, and he obviously inherited some powerful acting genes.)

The other important difference between the A&E version and this one is the age difference between the two main characters. Hinds and Morton are probably close to 30 years apart in age, whereas with Stephens and Wilson, there is just a 12-year difference. While in the book the characters are about 20 years apart, I think it is difficult for most modern audiences to fathom a mutual attraction between people of such a wide age gap. Because Stephens and Wilson are relatively close in age, the chemistry between them is much more believable. (And there is no shortage of chemistry in this version!)

And, whereas Hinds overpowers Morton in some scenes (apparently an issue in other film versions of Jane Eyre as well), Stephens and Wilson balance each other well. He is abrupt and moody, and she is reserved, but she never seems to cower in his presence, and from the start he seems intrigued by her ideas and opinions.

The BBC production has caused some to ponder whether Stephens’ Rochester will replace Colin Firth’s Mr. Darcy as the thinking woman’s sex symbol.

I certainly have a preference for the brooding Mr. Rochester to the aloof Mr. Darcy, but it seems to me in general that “Pride and Prejudice” is the more popular book, and so is its hero.

In a sense it is really unfair to compare the two books. Jane Austen wrote a brilliantly funny social commentary with a suspenseful and unlikely romance, while Bronte wrote a mysterious, passionate, sometimes outlandish tale.

As much as I like and admire “Pride and Prejudice,” I am drawn to the passions of “Jane Eyre.”

I also identify more with Jane than I do with Elizabeth Bennett.

Elizabeth possessed the confidence that comes of a comfortable upbringing, and she is unabashedly outspoken and opinionated. While I admire her forthrightness – and the charged banter she has with Mr. Darcy, I identify much more with Jane’s quietness and uncertainty.

Jane may seem plain and uninteresting on first glance, but she is smart, strong-willed and fiercely independent. And she has a deep moral resolve that carries her through life’s difficulties.

I can’t imagine myself in Elizabeth Bennett’s shoes, but, like many average looking women who dream of being appreciated by a desirable man, I can easily envision myself in Jane’s place.

Even though Jane and Rochester also banter a fair amount, their relationship is more a slowly growing friendship than a dramatic changing of heart.

One of the most moving scenes in “Jane Eyre” is the garden scene, which I referred to above.

As the story goes, Jane is under the impression that Mr. Rochester is about to announce his engagement to Blanche Ingram. He tells her that he has found a job for her in Ireland, since his fiance does not like governesses.

In this scene, Mr. Rochester says to Jane, “We’ve been good friends, haven’t we?” He then goes on to say that he feels that there is some sort of invisible string that ties him to Jane, and he fears that their connection will be severed when she leaves, causing him to bleed inwardly.

I am particularly fond of this imagery, and the notion that Rochester and Jane share a deep connection that transcends time, space and social class. More than mutual admirers of one another, they are true friends, who help one another in the most unusual of circumstances, and who will continue to care for each other, even if they cannot marry.

When Jane expresses her distress at the idea of Rochester’s marriage to Blanche, she speaks of how much she will miss him, and of how she has enjoyed interacting with him as an equal.

Even though the plot of “Jane Eyre” is a lot more fantastic than that of “Pride and Prejudice,” Jane’s feelings are very real, and that is what is so appealing to me.

Jane, after all, is an expression of Charlotte Bronte’s own passions and pains, and in that sense she is as real as any of us.

Why Jews are funny

2007-12-30T10:06:00.000-08:00

Here's my latest column, about Jewish humor:

You might call it the intellectual borsht belt.

Go to hear the average Jewish guest speaker or scholar in residence, and you are bound to get at least a few good laughs. Whether they are rabbis, professors or writers, effective speakers for Jewish audiences are almost inevitably funny, even when their areas of expertise are anything but.

After attending a couple of such presentations recently – one about the astonishing rates of assimilation among young Jews and the other about the environment, each with several laugh out loud moments (who knew?) – it occurred to me that, within the Jewish community, we don’t merely appreciate humor, we practically demand it from our speakers.

As I thought about this, I asked Danny Butler, the local former magistrate who is also a popular (and very funny) speaker, for both Jewish and general audiences, whether Jewish audiences, more than others, expect speakers to be funny.

Not necessarily, he said, since non-Jewish audiences also appreciate good humor. But then again, not all audiences are created equal.

“The more educated and intelligent an audience is, the more they seem to absorb humor,” said Butler.

That makes sense, given that an expert speaker will probably rely on sarcasm, puns and other subtle forms of humor, not the low-brow sort.

And, with our advanced degrees and prominence in a variety of intellectual fields, it is no secret that Jews are brainy folks.

But with Jews, it’s not just that we appreciate humor, but that we are comfortable with it, even in the unlikeliest of places.

I asked Butler if a minister on the guest speaker circuit would be expected to be as funny as the average rabbi. He said probably not. “They would be afraid of not being taken seriously.”

Apparently this is not a concern for rabbis.

But seriously, something about Jewish culture allows us to be simultaneously funny and somber, and to understand that the two are not mutually exclusive.

“Memorable funerals even include laughter,” said Butler. “Humor helps to make what might otherwise be an uncomfortable [situation] more palatable for people.”

And that led us to the old standard explanation for Jewish humor, which is that persecution and powerlessness led us to develop humor as a defense mechanism.

Unfortunately, this has not been the response of the Palestinians or the Kurds.

Hardship alone never made anyone funny. So, it seems, there’s something more to the comedic tendencies of Jews, and it goes back to our very roots.

Years ago, Butler told me he asked the late Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, who wrote his own translation of the Torah and authored several books, whether there were any jokes in the Talmud.

“Without missing a beat, he said, ‘Yeah, but they’re all old.’”

In fact, said Butler, the Talmud instructs teachers to open their lessons with jokes, and quotes the prophet Elijah as predicting that the comedians of a particular town would surely go to heaven for all the laughter they brought to others.

So, even before the expulsions and pogroms, we had reasons to laugh.

Our good humor allows us not to take ourselves too seriously and to find something happy or hopeful in the bleakest of life’s moments.

To illustrate the Jewish approach to humor, I like to think of the parent’s advice to a child who has just endured an embarrassing situation.

“Someday you’ll look back on this and laugh.”

As Jews, we say, “Why wait for someday? Laugh now!”

Living the cliche

2007-12-25T14:32:00.000-08:00

On Dec. 25, Jews are supposed to go to the movies and out for Chinese food. Well, I didn't have any Chinese food this year, but I did go to the movies, and it seemed like everyone at the theater was someone I knew.

Totally by coincidence, four of my friends were going to the same showing of Juno as me, so we sat together. Meanwhile, my boss and her daughter were just leaving the previous showing, and another one of my coworkers had stopped by the theater to bring some food for her son, who was working there. I guess that's what happens when you go to a theater in the middle of a Jewish neighborhood on Dec. 25.

Anyway, Juno is a very good movie -- funny and touching and unpredictable. Lots of great lines, lots of great music, and some very poignant moments. The language is a bit crude, but very clever. Also, even though the film is based around a teen pregnancy, and there is no pretending about how that happened, the, shall we say, preceding circumstances are referred to artfully and minimally.

Oh, and as a bonus for Jewish audiences, one character has an alef-beis chart and a dreidel in his bedrooom, which of course set half of the theater today off into whispered conversations of "Was that?" "Yes it was!" Ah, the perfect Jewish moment in a theater on Dec. 25.

Just me and the guys

2007-12-25T14:11:00.000-08:00

Last Thursday I was invited as the guest speaker for the men's club at a local Jewish assisted living facility. Since men are in the minority at the residence (which is fairly typical of most senior homes) they have their own group that meets twice a month for lunch-time activities, which gives them a chance to form friendships with other men and have their own space, away from all the female-dominated activities.

Apparently the men-only rule does not apply to guest speakers, which was lucky for me, since I had a wonderful time with this group of gentlemen.

I wasn't sure what to expect before I went. Often, even facilities for fairly independent older adults end up caring for those with early dementia and other serious health problems. I thought perhaps my lunch crowd would not be able to hear what I said, and not be able to understand what they could hear.

Fortunately, I was wrong about that. While one man complained at the end that he "hadn't heard a word" I said, the rest of the group of about 11 men seemed to be able to hear me (I spoke as loudly and clearly as I could), and a few of the men were very inquisitive. I was asked to talk about my work at The Chronicle, while we all lunched together. I had prepared some notes, but they were really unnecessary, since there were enough questions to keep the conversation going for about an hour.

Even the food was good -- most of us had the four-cheese chef salad with various side dishes and chocolate cupcakes for dessert. The meal was served restaurant-style, with each person asked for his order. The waitresses told me that this meeting of the men's group was the largest one yet. Since there were more men than could fit around the large dining room table where we were seated, some ended up clustering around me at the head of the table. I felt like the most popular girl in the high school cafeteria, especially since all the men were so intent on hearing what I had to say.

I was also glad to see that the men treated each other well. Some of the ones who came earliest to lunch gave up their seats at the table for those who came later, so that everyone would be comfortable, and everyone was nice to the waitresses. Altogether, it was one of the nicest lunch meetings I have had in a long time.

Now, if only these guys were 50 or 60 years younger...

Taking the time to listen

2007-12-10T18:27:00.000-08:00

In the mornings on my way to work I usually listen to public radio. Since I am often running late, I am frequently tuned in at the point when the local broadcast concludes Morning Edition. After a few minutes of national headlines, there is a local sports report, followed by a broadcast of jazz music.

Being neither a sports fan nor a jazz enthusiast, I usually switch stations at that point. However, I have become accustomed to hearing the raspy voiced announcer -- who typically would banter with another commentator -- start the report with a standard opener, "Sunshine and blue skies...," which is often a sarcastic remark since it rains a fair amount in Pittsburgh.

Today, I was startled to hear announcer #2 say that there would be no sports report in recognition of the death of Sean Doherty, the raspy-voiced announcer. I was shocked and saddened, especially since I hadn't registered that he had been off the air for quite some time, due to illness. Judging from the sound of his voice, I thought he must have been fairly old, or maybe a smoker.

Neither was true. Doherty was only 47, and had been seriously ill for some time due to complications to a condition he had had since his teen years. While playing on his high school football team, he suffered a spinal cord injury and had spent the rest of his life as a quadriplegic. In all the times I had heard his voice on the radio, I had never known this about him.

In spite of the raspy tone of his voice, Doherty was rather upbeat -- a bit sarcastic, a bit colloquial, but never a downer. In spite of his debilitating condition, he earned a college degree and worked for about 20 years in local sports broadcasting. He was well-known and respected. He never let his injuries hold him back.

His voice became raspy after being hospitalized in 2000 because of a blood clot in his lungs, whose treatment required a tracheotomy. He used his local fame to raise money for spinal cord research, but never asked for pity.

Even though I wasn't interested in what he had to say about sports, I am glad I caught bits and pieces of Sean Doherty's voice over the years. If I had known more about him, I would have listened more.

Apparently, he hoped that his story would help inspire others to realize their dreams. His story has certainly moved me today.

It seems like just yesterday...

2007-11-16T08:36:00.000-08:00

was my 30th birthday, and here it is my 31st today. I am very grateful that the past year has been a good one -- no major events, but steady progress at work and other areas of my life. I was recently having a conversation with someone about cooking and baking, and I was realizing that I've learned to make several new dishes in the last year and am becoming generally more comfortable in the kitchen. I wasn't bad before, but I am feeling less like a novice, which is nice.

I also came to the realization a few months ago that, whereas I used to get nervous every time I got behind the wheel of my car, now -- except when I am over-tired or under pressure -- driving is not something I have to think about; I just do it and it comes naturally.

Someone, probably my rabbi, once said that the way to live life is to spend our whole lives "growing up." That is to say, like kids, we should approach life with a sense of wonder and an excitement to learn new things and get better at the things we already know how to do. It's also about continuing to discover who we are and who we want to be. I hope I never stop growing up.

American culture values youth to the point of obsession, and approaches the idea of getting older with a sort of dread. The older we are, the less useful and interesting we are supposed to be.

Of course, anyone of substance will tell you that the exact opposite is true. The older we are, the more fascinating and multi-faceted we become. If we do things right (and if we learn from doing things wrong), we get better with age.

30 was a big milestone for me, but so far 31 is somewhat easier. It also helps that 30 was really a good year. Yesterday, I went to my ballet class, as I always do on Thursdays, and realized that last year, when my birthday was on a Thursday, I had done the same. So, I spent the first and last days of the year that I was 30 in ballet class. Not too bad.

Here's to the adventures of the year ahead!

Taking stock

2007-11-11T17:06:00.000-08:00

Hello, faithful readers. Here is my latest column from The Jewish Chronicle.

The relative worth of things

It seems incredible that it was just a couple of weeks ago that wildfires were raging in Southern California. Judging from the lack of media coverage of their aftermath, the fires might as well have been months ago. Our nation has moved past the tragedy and onto other distractions.
But for the people who lost their homes and possessions, these two weeks are just the beginning of an ordeal that may last for years as they rebuild their lives.

Whenever natural disasters strike – from floods to earthquakes to hurricanes – and we witness wrenching scenes of people returning to destroyed homes, I am forced to consider how I would react to such a situation.

While intellectually I know that material possessions are worthless in the grand scheme of things, I must confess that I am rather attached to mine. I would be devastated to suddenly lose my home and furnishings, not to mention a host of personal items to which I am emotionally attached.

I have conflicted feelings about this. On one hand, I feel a little bit shallow to admit that my possessions mean so much to me. After all, Jewish tradition is full of admonitions not to be overly concerned with acquiring material wealth.

For example, Pirke Avot 2:8 quotes the sage Hillel in laying out the consequences of having too many physical belongings. According to Hillel, “The more flesh, the more worms; the more possessions, the more worry.” The message of the Mishna is that physical amenities are not only fleeting, but also come with unpleasant complications.

On the other hand, Judaism does recognize the importance of having the basic necessities in life, which include suitable shelter and clothes. Halacha requires us to provide these things for those in need, and even recognizes that people who are accustomed to a wealthy lifestyle suffer the losses of their possessions with particular pain. Because of this, the Talmud instructs us to help those who have lost money and possessions to regain their former comforts.

In this day and age, most of us live with comforts that our ancient sages could not have even imagined. Even those of us who live modestly are wealthy by the standards of much of the rest of the world. While we are fortunate to be in this situation, we are also at risk of losing sight of the proper place of our possessions.

There are some cultures and religions that eschew all possessions, but Judaism takes a more balanced view. In our tradition, most belongings are neither good nor bad, but are judged upon how they are used, or the effect that they have upon a person. A person can use wealth solely for his own comforts or share it with others, and help those in need.

Similarly, houses can be monuments of materialism or conduits for welcoming others.

But a house is more than just another possession.

A person’s home is a sanctuary from the world and the weather and a place in which to express oneself freely and fully.

We can all imagine the agony of losing a home because we enjoy the privileges of privacy and comfort that come from having a safe home.

While the trappings of a home, and its glamorous dimensions, may indeed have little intrinsic value, the idea of a home is truly priceless, and that is why its loss is so devastating.

Random round-up

2007-09-23T21:45:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I was walking down the street and noticed the following bumper sticker: "So many men, so many reasons to sleep alone."

***

Today I stepped out onto my porch to water my chrysanthemum (I've had it more than two weeks and I haven't killed it yet!) when I heard a man's voice coming from another apartment shouting and using language that I will not repeat. Suffice it to say that it was something akin to "progeny of a wench!" I was alarmed, wondering if I should call the police to report a domestic dispute, as I did once when other neighbors were violently arguing. A moment later, I heard him yell "touchdown!" "Oh," I thought, "it's just the Steelers' game."

***

Today, for the second time, I went to see the movie Stardust. It is a lot of fun. It is a fairy tale sort of in the spirit of "The Princess Bride" -- a bit of a parody while still celebrating the romance and adventure of fairy tales. The dialogue is not as tight or as witty as Princess Bride, and the story definitely has some superfluous elements, but it is lots of fun with some wonderfully sentimental moments thrown in for those of who like movies that require the use of tissues.

***

Speaking of blending sentimentality with parody, it is September, the season of "The Fantasticks." Last year I wrote about this favorite musical of mine, but never let my readers know that I did, indeed, get to see the newest incarnation of the play in New York. I saw it back in January when I was in New York for a friend's wedding. The Snapple Theater is in the midst of the theater district and lacks some of the charm of The Sullivan Street Theater, but the musical is as magical as it ever was.

Thinking about the important stuff

2007-09-20T21:40:00.001-07:00

It's just a matter of hours before Yom Kippur begins. There never seems to be enough time to mentally prepare for this awesome day, but sometimes one is lucky enough to get reminders of the things that one should focus on at this time of year: living life well, maintaining healthy relationships and reminding ourselves that we are here to be part of something bigger than ourselves.

All of these points are illustrated well by the "last lecture" of Randy Pausch, a professor at Carnegie Mellon University here in Pittsburgh. He is dying of pancreatic cancer, and on Tuesday, he delivered an inspiring, upbeat lecture about his life and the importance of fulfilling childhood dreams. I did not attend the lecture, but have watched parts of it on YouTube. You can read about Pausch here.

And while you think about living a good life, I present my monthly column:

Pondering life's questions on Yom Kippur

In the late 1980s, singer Edie Brickell and her group, the New Bohemians, produced a song, “What I am,” that mocked the shallowness of American culture and our reluctance to be educated, thinking people.

“Philosophy, is the talk on a cereal box,” sings Brickell in the 1988 release, “Religion, is a smile on a dog.”

The implication is that empty aphorisms and superficial experiences have replaced profound ideas and beliefs.

The song continues: “Chuck me in the shallow water before I get too deep.” In other words, “don’t let me get confused by more complicated ideas.”

The phenomenon that Brickell mocked in 1988 is even truer today. With a culture that is saturated by so-called reality television, flashy images and an emphasis on instant gratification, there is even less incentive to think deeply about life, or even to think at all.

The trouble is, no matter how deafening the sound on one’s MP3 player, we can’t shut out life’s complications and complexities. Eventually the music stops and we are left alone with ourselves, wondering why things happen the way they do and what it all means.

For Jews, the High Holidays are an appropriate time to dip our toes into those deeper waters, to consider the fragility of life, the awesomeness of God and our responsibility to live ethical lives.
At the end of all of our searching, it is entirely possible, even likely, that we will emerge with even more challenging questions, and fewer answers. And that is precisely the point.

We enter this season with the audacity to believe that our prayers can somehow affect our fortunes for the next year, but conversely, one of the themes of the High Holidays is that God’s actions are beyond our comprehension.

A person who believes in God must wake up every morning and wonder why a merciful God would allow there to be so much pain in the world. The existence of evil is not proof that God is not there, but a challenge to humanity, both to grapple with the difficulty and to do our part to alleviate the world’s injustices.

The High Holidays bring this dilemma into stark relief.

As we pray for good health, sustenance and peace, we simultaneously acknowledge that there is sickness, poverty and war in the world, and that while we personally may be safe, healthy and well-fed, there are others in the world who are suffering, and it is hard to understand why this is so.

By the end of Yom Kippur, when we triumphantly recite the Shema and declare God’s oneness and sovereignty, we believe that we have done all that we can to secure a good new year. But the doubts don’t end there – Yom Kippur is not a once-in-a-lifetime event, but an annual phenomenon that we need to keep us religiously centered and aware of life’s unanswerable questions.

By the day after Yom Kippur, it is tempting to set aside the big ideas and to go back to our sugar-coated comfortable lives, bombarded by silly catch phrases and frivolity. But if our prayers are to truly have an impact on the coming year, then we have an obligation to continue pondering life’s difficulties, and not just relegate them to three days of the year.

My thoughts on "Orthodox Paradox"

2007-08-09T18:31:00.000-07:00

I'm way behind the pack on this one, but sometimes a late opinion is better than none at all. Below is a copy of my latest column, from the Aug. 9 issue of The Jewish Chronicle.

Feldman story focuses new light on intermarriage

Three weeks after the fact, it seems that every Jewish thinker and pundit has reacted to “Orthodox Paradox,” an essay by Noah Feldman, which appeared in the New York Times Magazine on July 22. For those who missed it, Feldman, a law professor at Harvard University, describes at length his hurt feelings at being snubbed by the alumni newsletter of his Modern Orthodox day school because his wife is not Jewish. He then goes on to criticize what he considers contradictions in Modern Orthodox belief and practice with regard to engagement with the non-Jewish world.

Other writers have already disputed many of Feldman’s claims and criticized him for being bitter, intellectually inconsistent and generally callous with the facts. I agree with many of these assessments, and do not feel it is necessary to repeat them.

Instead, I would like to focus on Mr. Feldman’s feelings as an intermarried person. Despite degrees from Harvard, Oxford and Yale, not to mention a long list of other distinguished accomplishments, Feldman seems unduly obsessed with being rejected by his high school and, by extension, the religious community in which he was raised, even though he writes fondly of his former classmates, with whom he remains friendly.

Whatever his arguments, it is hard to believe that an intelligent man who graduated from an Orthodox day school would be surprised when that school was disappointed in his marriage to a non-Jewish woman. Of course, emotions are seldom logical, and it seems that Feldman is pained that he can’t be both a paradigm of secular success and a source of naches to his rabbis.

As Gary Rosenblatt, the editor of The Jewish Week in New York, points out in a July 27 column, Feldman has raised “some important issues, less about his old yeshiva and Modern Orthodoxy per se than about dealing with Jews who do not see marrying out as leaving the fold.”

Intermarriage used to be viewed as a one-way ticket out of Jewish life. When the National Jewish Population Survey of 1990 reported a 52 percent intermarriage rate (which has since been adjusted to a slightly lower number), there was widespread alarm in the organized Jewish community about how to stem this tide. But just a decade and a half later, it seems that much of the Jewish community seems to have given up fighting intermarriage and accepted it as inevitable. These days, it is almost politically incorrect to say that Jews should marry only other Jews.

That is unfortunate. While it is important to be cognizant of the modern realities of the Jewish community, and crucial that we be welcoming to all Jews, whatever choices they have made in life, it is equally important for us to stand behind what we believe to be core values of our tradition. History has shown us that the best way for our cultural and religious heritage to be maintained from generation to generation is through the inculcation of strong Jewish households in which both parents are Jewish.

There are certainly exceptions to the rule – interfaith families that are raising deeply committed Jewish families – but we know from formal studies and informal interactions that children of intermarriage are less likely to be Jewishly educated and connected than children of in-married families.

The challenge faced by the Modern Orthodox community, and really the Jewish community as a whole, is figuring out a way to welcome Jews who are intermarried without endorsing interfaith relationships themselves. Feldman asks too much when he expects his alma mater to celebrate his interfaith marriage as a success, but, if he genuinely wants to reconnect to his heritage – and not just slander his former school in The New York Times – Feldman should not be turned away.

Intermarriage does not have to be a ticket out of Jewish life, but we cannot and should not say that marrying outside the fold is just as good as marrying within it.

Being Susan Jacobs

2007-07-23T15:26:00.000-07:00

Just over two years ago, I got in touch over e-mail with another Jewish journalist named Susan Jacobs. I had seen her writing for The Jewish Journal Boston North among the stack of newspapers from other Jewish communities that arrive every week at The Jewish Chronicle, and so I sent her a friendly note, and we wrote back and forth a few times, before letting the correspondence drop off. The connection amused me enough that I wrote a column (with the encouragement of Susan Jacobs), detailing my various brushes with other Susan Jacobses. (Susans Jacobs?)

I sent Susan Jacobs (not me, the other one) a copy of my column, and she encouraged me to look her up if ever I were in the Boston area. Last week, I had the good fortune to participate in the Gralla Fellows Program, so I let her know that I would be around, and we managed to meet, thanks to the help of Ben Harris, who termed our meeting last Wednesday at Government Center in Boston "The Susan Jacobs Summit."

I am pleased to say that this summit did not get mired in political wrangling, as Susan Jacobs and I have agreed to share our name, and both agree that it is one to be proud of. Despite our sameness of name and job title (we are now both associate editors), Susan Jacobs and I are different enough from one another that people should be able to tell us apart.

Perhaps Susan Jacobs and I will meet again someday, but in the meantime, we can both laugh at the inevitable occasions when folks in our profession will mistake one of us for the other.

And now, for your reading pleasure, I present the Susan Jacobs column.

A Susan by any other name

When I was a little girl, my mom used to tell me, "There's only one Susan," by which she meant (as Mr. Rogers would say) there is only one person in the world who is exactly like me, and I am special. Of course, I knew even then that there were many other girls and women in this world who are named Susan. Beginning in first grade, there always seemed to be at least one other Susan in my class. That was OK, because we had different last names. After all, how many people named Susan Jacobs could there be? Quite a few it turns out.

When I was still in elementary school, I recall my grandmother pointing out that the local newspaper had a photograph of someone named Susan Jacobs who sold cars and lived in North Dakota. I was excited that my name has appeared in the paper and was shared by someone semi-famous. That was my first exposure to another Susan Jacobs, but there would be many more.

As a college student in New York, I once got a call from a pleasant sounding man who asked to speak to Susan Jacobs. "That's me," I said. "Is this the Susan Jacobs who is a music producer?" he asked. "No, I told him. You have the wrong Susan Jacobs." He sighed. He had been calling every Susan Jacobs in the phone book and hadn't found the one he was looking for yet.

A couple of years after that, on a flight from New York to Cincinnati, I was surprised to find another woman occupying my assigned seat. "Excuse me," I said, "I think you're sitting in my seat." She assured me that the airline had assigned her what I believed to be my window seat. Not wanting to make a fuss, I sat in the aisle seat instead.

When a flight attendant walked past me, I pointed out that the airline had assigned the same seat to two people. She said she would look into it and asked us to give her our tickets. When she returned, she said, "It's funny, not only do these two tickets have the same seat number, but they also have the same name."

"What's the name?" I asked. "Susan Jacobs," she said. "I'm Susan Jacobs," I responded, and then looked over to the other woman, who was laughing because she was also Susan Jacobs.

"Whoa, go play the lottery!" exclaimed a man in the row ahead of us. With an hour-long flight ahead of us, there was no easy access to lottery tickets, but the other Susan Jacobs and I had a nice chat about our lives. She was about 10 years older than me, and worked for a television station. (It seems that women with our name are good communicators.) She was on her way to visit her parents, and I was traveling to a cousin's wedding. It turned out we were headed to the same neighborhood, so when we landed in Cincinnati, her parents gave me a ride to my cousins' house.

My latest Susan Jacobs encounter has been via e-mail with a woman who holds a job similar to mine at another Jewish newspaper. Susan Jacobs is the Assistant Editor of the Jewish Journal Boston North. I contacted her and we exchanged some friendly messages, and she encouraged me to write this column about our name. So, please note that full credit for this column goes to Susan Jacobs. The editor. The one who works for a Jewish newspaper. You know who I'm talking about.

And now for an encore

2007-06-27T21:54:00.000-07:00

Here's my June column:

A dancer’s leap of faith

Nearly every little girl gets a taste of ballet class at some point in her life. Even with a dizzying array of other extra curricular activities from which to choose, most girls, at one time or another, still go through the paces of learning the five positions of the feet and arms and how to do a grande plie.

After that, a small minority stick with ballet’s strict regimen and go on to learn the intricacies of entrechat quatre and pas de chat, among other graceful and complex steps. Others go on to modern dance or hip-hop, or abandon dance entirely for sports or music and other pursuits. A demanding art form, ballet is certainly not suited for everyone.

Friends of mine are sometimes surprised that I still go to regular ballet classes, twice a week. Officially, my explanation is that I am terribly undisciplined about putting myself on an exercise schedule. Ballet class begins and ends at prescribed times, which makes it easier for me to find the time to be there, and the classes themselves build strength, flexibility and endurance, offering a well-rounded workout. (Anyone who thinks ballet is for sissies has obviously not met my teacher, Maria, who compares herself to a drill sergeant.)

But really, the other reason I take ballet is that a big part of me still aspires to perform the graceful leaps and turns that I have loved since I first saw a televised ballet as a child. I may be naturally clumsy, but deep inside, I was born to dance.

My physical limitations and religious priorities kept me from ever considering life as a dancer. With rules of modesty and restrictions that make Shabbat performances verboten, Orthodox Judaism and ballet are an uneasy mix.

However, some time ago it occurred to me that the two disciplines really have quite a bit in common.

Both demand dedication, sacrifice and passion. Both have their own vocabularies, both literal and symbolic. Both are best appreciated by devoted followers, and are easily misunderstood by outsiders. Both are learned best from teachers who mix firmness with compassion, and who understand how to transmit love for their field of study.

On a sadder note, ballet and Orthodox Judaism both have legions of disillusioned former students, sometimes because of the influence of shortsighted or overly strict teachers or a general aversion to the demands of regimen.

Another challenge of both disciplines is that many people see the rules and restrictions and never see the beauty that such guidelines can produce.

For example, a newcomer to ballet class may find it frustrating that three quarters of class may be spent at the barre, instead of leaping across the room. Similarly, one who drops into an Orthodox service may hear lots of Hebrew recitations without ever feeling a connection to God.

However, a veteran of either discipline will tell you that without a solid plie, a dancer will never soar, and that by delving into centuries-old prayers and texts, one will eventually learn how to connect to the Almighty.

There are certainly other paths to artistic beauty and other ways of finding God, but I have found that these time-tested and intricate methods work best for me.

Take me home, Country Roads

2007-06-27T21:52:00.000-07:00

It's several weeks overdue, but below is my May column from The Jewish Chronicle.

‘Mountain Mama’ nurtures Jewish souls

Recently, I was home in Charleston, W.Va., to see my family. While there, I had time to attend to some important tasks, not the least of which was paying a visit to Hubcap Heaven, a side-of-the-road operation outside of Charleston where one can find replacements for long-lost wheel covers.

A hand-written sign identifies the white trailer that is Hubcap Heaven, which is decorated with hubcaps of various origin. Hubcap Heaven has no phone book listing, so there’s no calling ahead to make sure they carry the specific hubcap you seek, but chances are good that they will have it. And shopping there is truly a West Virginia experience.

Less typical of the state, but more emblematic of my family’s Jewish experience there, is the old B’nai Jacob Cemetery, which I also visited while I was home.
Three generations of my family are buried there, beginning with my great-great-grandmother, who died in 1912, and ending with my grandfather, who died in 2004.
I find it remarkable that I had great-great-grandparents who lived and died in the same city in which I grew up. And they were Jewish. In West Virginia.

Five generations of my family have lived at least part of their lives in West Virginia, which means that our stay in the "new country" has been more extensive than that of Jews in many places that one might call the "old country."

My great-great-grandfather, Isaac Padlibsky, is rumored to have been a firebrand who reprimanded his offspring for acting like goyim. It is worth noting that his daughter, my great-grandmother, kept a kosher home and was very active, along with her husband, in the local chevra kadisha. They made their own kosher wine and married off their daughter, my grandmother, to the son of a chazzan. Goyim indeed.

Still, Isaac's fervor may have amounted to something. While some immigrants of his generation, and many of their descendents, were all too eager to cast aside the burdens of Jewish observance and identity, Isaac's staunch devotion to tradition likely played a role in his descendents' continued observance of Jewish rituals.

Some of us have even chosen to be more traditionally observant than our parents and grandparents – proof that what was lost can be found again.

Which brings me back to Hubcap Heaven.

Since some of the lost hubcaps on my Ford Taurus disappeared while traversing West Virginia's highways and byways, the spiritual side of me wondered if perhaps in purchasing my "new" hubcaps I was somehow reuniting my car with its original wheel covers.

And that leads me to reflect on deeper matters. That, as much as we each become our own persons, we are inextricably linked to those who came before us.

My grandmother sometimes recounted her memories of Isaac Padlibsky, who lived into her teen years, but she had no memory of his wife, who had died years earlier. Not that long ago, I realized that this great-great-grandmother of mine and I share the Hebrew name Chaya. For some reason, I believed that she had died in Europe, but on this latest cemetery visit I finally noticed her grave stone, right next to Isaac’s. She had been there all along, buried in the hills of West Virginia.

A real champion

2007-05-31T21:13:00.000-07:00

I write now to extend congratulations to Evan O'Dorney, the winner of the 2007 Scripps National Spelling Bee. I watched some of the final rounds of the bee, and they were very intense. Evan and his competitors can spell words that I can't even pronounce.

I have great appreciation for their talents as a third-place winner in the 1990 Kanawha County Spelling Bee. I flubbed up the spelling of "wraith" and did even worse the following year when I misspelled "yachtsman." And, no, I've never gotten them wrong since. Not that those words come up in casual conversation. Still, I'm ready if they do.

A note to lovers of children’s literature

2007-01-28T19:21:00.001-08:00

Several weeks ago I went in search of an appropriate birthday gift for an 11-year-old girl. While browsing the children’s section of my local Barnes and Noble, I came across a delightful book called “The Tale of Despereaux – being the story of a mouse, a princess, some soup, and a spool of thread.” The cover has a drawing of a tiny mouse with a needle tied around his waist, as though it were a sword.

If that description is not enough to whet your imagination, then I humbly suggest that you are out of touch with your inner child. I spent a lazy first day of January 2007 curled up on my couch engrossed in Despereaux’s tale. (I kept the first copy of the book for myself and bought a second one for the birthday girl.)

After finishing the book, I was satisfied that I had chosen a very good gift, but then wondered if the intended audience for such a book would appreciate it as much as I had. While sophisticated adolescent readers will appreciate the author’s irony and humor, adult readers are likely to understand the book’s artistry and depth that much more.

Despereaux has a lot to teach us about courage and loyalty, and I suggest you give him a try.

Jewish clothes and other illusions

2007-01-28T19:00:00.000-08:00

For your reading pleasure, I present my latest column from The Jewish Chronicle:

Funny, you don’t dress Jewish

A couple of years ago, while visiting a friend in New York, she remarked that my Shabbat outfit – a pastel cardigan and conservative pastel skirt – was very goyish. She, at that moment, was wearing a fitted charcoal gray sweater, black skirt and knee-high black boots.

“And what you’re wearing is Jewish?” I replied.

We both laughed.

Upon further discussion, we concluded that my look was unpretentious Midwestern while hers was New York sophisticated. Neither look, in fact, had anything to do with being Jewish. But the conversation is illustrative of the characteristics that people associate with being Jewish.

Thanks in part to the influence of television and movies, many people assume that Jews are smart, urbane, fast talking and funny, not to mention wealthy, large-nosed, dark-haired and more than a little neurotic. As in all stereotypes, there is a core of truth embedded within the myth. But there are smart, funny, neurotic, dark-haired people in this world who are not Jewish, and a fair share of well-adjusted, natural blondes of average intelligence in this world who happen to be Jewish. (Not to knock the intelligence of blondes, of course.)

The point is, being Jewish is more than being the walking embodiment of a “Seinfeld” character. (Which, incidentally, had a lot more to do with being a New Yorker than with being a Jew.)

On the other hand, there is no denying that Jews share certain cultural tendencies that are unique to us. Another friend of mine attended college in North Carolina. A classmate who was an exchange student from Ethiopia once asked him if he were Jewish.

“Yes,” he answered. “How did you know?”

“You remind me of other Jews I’ve met,” he said.

Those other Jews were Ethiopian.

Something about the mannerisms or speech patterns of this nice Jewish boy in North Carolina were strikingly similar to his very distant, and otherwise very dissimilar, Jewish cousins in

Ethiopia

.

Which isn't all that surprising.

Meet a Jew in the middle of nowhere and you are sure to feel a special bond that you don’t share with non-Jewish compatriots. This stems not just from a shared love of pastrami or potato latkes, but from a shared vocabulary of life and a set of cultural experiences that are unique to Jews.

American Jews tend to be nostalgic about Yiddish culture and the quirky speech pattern of turning almost any statement into a question. (And how else should we talk?)

But, even Jews of Sephardic, Yemenite and Ethiopian descent -- who have never met a shmendrick or a shlemazel -- share the self-effacing inquisitiveness of their Ashkenazi cousins.

Some of these similarities stem from knowledge of the Hebrew language, whose application is rife with its own sarcasm and tendency toward unanswerable questions.

But, more importantly, our similarities come from the values imparted by Jewish tradition.

The Jewish legal tradition is founded upon an ongoing Hebrew and Aramaic dialogue that has as many rhetorical questions as practical ones.

This rhythm has been so utterly absorbed in Jewish culture that even Jews who have never studied a page of Talmud seem genetically programmed for critical thinking and spirited debate. As a people, we see life as the impetus for ongoing intellectual wrestling. The cerebral struggling is not a mere exercise, but an effort to understand how to behave ethically in the world.
This outlook -- along with a shared familiarity and comfort with Jewish language and rituals -- are part of what make Jews seem Jewish.

So, whether we are trendy or out of style, cosmopolitan or countrified, being identifiably Jewish is about extracting important values and mannerisms from our tradition, and not about fitting into a superficial mold.

Would we want it any other way?

My shy blog

2006-12-31T19:30:00.000-08:00

Seeing as it is New Year’s Eve, a time when many people resolve to do better in some aspect of their lives, I thought I would blog about a topic that I have been meaning to address for some time.

Since I began blogging, I have done so only sporadically, for reasons which I believe are related strongly to my personality type. (Other factors, including limited time and the fact that I write for a living and most of my creative energy goes toward that endeavor are also partly responsible.) By nature, I am a private person, and by their nature, blogs are public forums that are most interesting when they explore the private thoughts and ideas of their writers. While there are many blogs whose content is similar to print publications and traditional Web sites, the genre has been revolutionized by the idea that Everyman’s inner thoughts are interesting enough for perfect strangers to read.

On one hand, as a person who is somewhat shy, there is something very liberating about having a place to express my ideas on my own terms. On the other hand, the filter that keeps me from saying and doing certain things in public, also keeps me from spontaneously posting most of the time. Every now and then, I have put up posts that are spur of the moment and not particularly thought-out (and probably more in keeping with the purpose of this medium), but those posts are the exception, not the rule. I am someone who likes to think about what I say and write before I invite others into the workings of my mind. (I must say, though, that I am grateful that not all bloggers are like me since I relish reading what others have to say.)

Even though I write for a living, and do so on nearly a daily basis, the process of writing for me remains one that is very intense. I am blessed with the ability to write quickly, but the hour or two I spend intensely writing an article is often preceded by many hours of passively or actively mulling over a topic. When I sit down to write, the process – when done best – is totally enveloping of both my mind and emotions. It is sort of a concentrated spilling of ideas onto a page (or, more typically, into a computer) that is both exhilarating and exhausting. Like many writers, as much as I need and love to write, I also put it off until it is absolutely necessary since the process is so consuming.

I think many writers feel similarly about the work they do, but I think blogging presents additional obstacles for those of us who are either introverted or shy. It is important to note that the two categories are different. I happen to be both introverted and shy, but there are many people who are one or the other. Introverts gain energy from spending time alone, whereas extroverts are energized by being with other people. People who are shy are self conscious about what others think of them and may experience performance anxiety in a range of situations, from public speaking to eating in front of others.

I may be wrong, but I have the impression that bloggers who are less self-conscious in life may be more willing to “think out loud” on their blogs. That is to say, someone who enjoys leading the conversation at a dinner party may equally enjoy raising a host of issues on the blogosphere, whereas someone who prefers to listen to dinner conversation and interject only periodically may have less frequent blogging patterns. I say this not as an excuse for my own lapses in blogging, but as an exploration of what impels me to blog or not to blog.

At this point, I plan to continue blogging at the same infrequent intervals, since that method seems to suit me best. I do want to share my thoughts with my readers. At least I think I do. :)

On turning 30

2006-11-16T15:03:00.000-08:00

It has happened. I have crossed the line. Entered the abyss. Crested the hill.

Today I turned 30, and the funny thing is, I don’t feel any different than I did yesterday. Or 10 years ago. Thank G-d, I still feel young, which is a big relief.

This is one of those milestones that is a big deal in our culture, but I am trying to see it as just another birthday -- an opportunity to celebrate life and not to be depressed about getting older. (Though I certainly have my moments.)

I am in a good place -- I am happy where I live and work, I have wonderful friends and family and I am continuing to learn and grow and improve myself. In my ballet classes each week, I am constantly amazed at my ability to learn to do things that I was never able to do before. I feel that I am improving with age, which is something that I never expected.

Happy Birthday to me, and may we all have many more years full of life and adventure, in good health!

Feeling safe in the sukkah

2006-10-10T21:19:00.000-07:00

One of the main themes of Sukkot (or Sukkos, if you prefer) is of intentionally placing ourselves within a structure which makes us feel vulnerable, thereby reminding ourselves that the walls of our homes only give us an illusion of safety -- it is really G-d Who protects us. I wrote a column about this for The Jewish Chronicle, and present it here for your reading pleasure. (I even managed to make another reference to "The Fantasticks.")

Chag Sameach (happy holiday) to all!

It’s a funny thing about Sukkot. Just as the weather is getting cold, we Jews move outside for a week, eating our meals and sometimes sleeping in rickety structures with roofs made of tree branches or bamboo mats.

With variable fall temperatures, our days and nights in the sukkah may alternate from sweltering to bone-chilling. And there are plenty of other discomforts as well – insects, mud, damp chairs and pine needles in our soup.

With all of this, you’d think that we would dread Sukkot and wish for it to pass as quickly as possible. But, in fact, the opposite is true.

Traditionally, Sukkot is referred to as Zman Simchatenu – the time of our rejoicing. Defying all reason, Sukkot is a time of intense joy. It is a time for warming our hands with a cup of tea, listening to the sounds of nature and breathing in the crisp night air. In short, it is a time for appreciating the simpler things in life.

Of course, it is one of the great ironies in life that the simplest things are what make us happiest. In America, most of us Jews are blessed with sturdy roofs, plush mattresses and central heating, and none of those comforts elicit joy in the way that a hut with canvas walls and a roof made of corn husks can.

In a way, Sukkot is a bit like playing house, which is perhaps why kids love it so much. Building and decorating a sukkah is like building a tree house, where all rules of construction and decorum can be bent or discarded. The decorations can be garish, the furniture doesn’t match, and nobody minds if you spill your drink.

In its simplicity, the sukkah is a blank slate upon which we can impose our imaginations. The surroundings may be unimpressive, but we can imagine that they are as glorious and ornate as palace walls.

The idea of a temporary structure – of creating a dwelling place amid the outdoors – is one that appeals to both our childish and romantic notions.

To borrow an example from a non-Jewish source, in the musical, “The Fantasticks,” a prototypical boy and girl are reveling in a romantic stroll as a storm approaches. They are too far from home to seek shelter, but the boy assures the girl that he will build a temporary home to protect them. He sings, dispelling her fears:

“We’ll find four limbs of a tree.
We’ll build four walls and a floor.
We’ll bind it over with leaves.
And run inside to stay.”

Of course, any of us who have been inside a sukkah as rain fell knows that the schach (sukkah covering) is not enough to keep out the rain. While they may have been naïve, the characters in “The Fantasticks” probably knew this too. Their impromptu structure was more about creating a sense of protection than of actually keeping them dry.

So too with Sukkot, when we reflect upon God’s protection of the ancient Israelites as they dwelled amid fragile tabernacles in the desert – and of God’s continued protection of us today, in spite of our brick walls and slate roofs. We know the sukkah won’t protect us from storms and tempests, but beyond the flimsy walls, we know that God is there, watching over us.

September dreams

2006-09-29T14:52:00.000-07:00

The leaves are starting to change color and all of a sudden wearing a jacket has become a necessity, not just a precaution. It’s late September, and I hardly know what has become of my favorite month.

September has held a special place in my imagination since I first saw the musical “The Fantasticks” when I was twelve years old. In the play, the month of September is a metaphor for the season of romance. While most of us spend the Septembers of our youth readjusting to school and lamenting the end of summer, when you stop and think about it, it is an ideal time for long walks and quiet talks. The weather is mild, the days are still relatively long, and the nights are filled with cricket songs. “The perfect time to be in love,” as the narrator tells us in “The Fantasticks.”

At this time of year, I tend to take out my recording of the soundtrack for “The Fantasticks” and allow my romantic notions to bloom anew. Between the romance of September and the optimism of the Jewish new year, this time of year always feels to me like one of great promise.

I was happy to find out several weeks ago that, after a four-year absence, “The Fantasticks” has returned to the New York theatre scene. I saw the musical several times in its long-time home, the Sullivan Street Theater, including one last time in December 2001, not long before the show ended its run in January 2002. At that time, the play’s themes of hope and disappointment and happy resolution and of Trying to Remember a certain kind of September were especially poignant following the terrorist attacks of September 11, just blocks from the theater in lower Manhattan.

Soon after, I wrote a column for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette about the play’s influence on my own life. Four years later, most of the lessons still apply.

As I understand it, the new production of “The Fantasticks” includes some revisions to songs and lyrics, but preserves the special spirit of the show. It is still performed with minimal scenery and props, and still acted in front of small, intimate audiences. I was so happy to hear about this revival because, having attended some amateur productions of the musical, there is nothing quite like the real thing. And, anyone who has seen the show can attest that there seems to be an oral tradition associated with the show that is presumably passed from one cast to the next. It gives me great comfort that the actors in this new production can still learn from the musical’s creators about staging for certain critical scenes and about the richness of meaning implied by the script.

Next time I’m in New York, I hope to go see “The Fantasticks” and the revival of “A Chorus Line,” which I never saw on Broadway, but which I have loved for years because of the movie based on the musical.

September is closing, but the new year is just beginning, and I have very high hopes for the year ahead – both theatrical and personal.

A belated Shana Tova to all my readers!

The mayor, my friend and neighbor

2006-09-17T17:54:00.000-07:00

The national press has made quite a big deal lately of the fact that Pittsburgh now has a mayor, Luke Ravenstahl, who is just 26 years old, making him the youngest mayor right now of a major American city. While I am happy for my underestimated and much maligned city that it is getting some positive press right now, I think it is unfortunate that the sad circumstances that led to this development have been given far less attention.

Bob O’Connor, the man who was mayor until Sept. 1, when he died, lived about a block and a half away from me in a very modest home. I walk past that house at least once a week on Shabbos on my way to shul and Bob would always greet me when I saw him out in the yard, or walking his dog, or getting into his car. He was always enthusiastic and friendly, often saying Good Shabbos, or asking me how work was going, or chatting about the weather.

More than just polite pleasantries, Bob’s greetings always felt like those of a friend. He really knew who I was – which became clear when he visited my workplace on official business and said, “Oh, you work here!” It takes real talent to recognize a person out of context like that – but Bob wasn’t just being a politician, he genuinely took an interest in his neighbors and constituents.

Bob became Pittsburgh’s mayor in January, but he had been a city councilman for long before that, and even though he was a public figure, he remained incredibly personable and neighborly. He also had a very special relationship to the Jewish community. His wife, Judy, is Jewish, and her sister and brother-in-law are active members of the local Lubavitch community. Even though Bob remained a devout Catholic, he became an active supporter of many Jewish causes and institutions. As someone told me in an interview, Bob attended more Jewish community events than most Jews.

After he became mayor, I would see Bob less often and thought that, out of necessity, he might be less accessible than he had been previously. However, when I did see him, he remained as friendly and approachable as he had always been. Not long after he was elected, I was walking past his house when he was pulling his car out of the driveway. When he saw me, he stopped and rolled down his window to remark about something in The Jewish Chronicle. We chatted briefly, smiled at each other, and then went our separate ways. I marveled to myself about how special it was to have a mayor, in a city the size of Pittsburgh, who was so much a man of the people, and who continued to be everyone’s friend and neighbor.

Bob’s death brought shock and sadness to the whole city. Not unlike the death of Mr. Rogers a few years ago, we all felt a sense of loss. On the day of his funeral, I joined a couple of coworkers in standing along the route of his funeral procession. In addition to dozens of police cars and motorcycles and cars filled with dignitaries, the procession also included a shiny red fire engine and a sparkling blue garbage truck, symbolizing the mayor’s campaign to clean up the city. While many of us watched the procession with tear-stained respect, the tribute also expressed the hope of better days for our city, and a continuation of the programs initiated by our beloved mayor, Bob O’Connor.

Some thoughts on dating

2006-08-20T17:33:00.000-07:00

I recently attended a large singles Shabbaton. While these events can sometimes be horribly awkward and disappointing, this time I genuinely had a good time. I was reunited with some female friends from college and had a few enjoyable conversations with some guys. I’m not sure if the Shabbaton will directly lead to any dating prospects for me, but at the very least, it made me feel good to know that there are still a lot of single people in my age group who are intelligent and attractive, and reasonably normal who have simply not yet met their matches. Being among such company reassures me that there is nothing wrong with me.

The Shabbaton was also somewhat eye-opening. Among the hundreds of people there were quite a few whose photos I had seen online on various dating sites. It was fascinating to see how different many people were in person than I expected them to be from their online profiles. When people post photos of themselves online, they are generally looking their best and exuding confidence. But in person, I realized that many of the guys I met, like me, have their own insecurities about dating.

I am not saying this to demean the guys I met. Rather, the weekend made me more sympathetic to the difficulties of being a guy who is expected by society to take the lead in dating, but who may be uncomfortable with this situation to begin with, and, over time, may be worn down by repeated rejections.

As a single female, among other single women, I have often discussed the frustrations many of us share with some of the men we have dated. It is generally accepted that being single above a certain age is more difficult for women than for men. While I think there is a lot of truth to this assumption, the singles weekend helped me to realize how difficult the dating landscape can be for men as well. The bottom line is, for all of us looking for our basherts, and being unsure what exactly we should do to meet the right person, the process is fraught with difficulty.

Thoughts on Tisha B'Av

2006-08-02T14:22:00.000-07:00

As we head into Tisha B’Av in a few hours, there is a lot to think about. For the past week or two I’ve been more or less numbed to what is going on in Israel, but in these hours before Tisha B’Av, the threats against Israel are hitting me with a bit more gravity.

Like most people who observe the day with fasting, I truly dread Tisha B’Av. It is uncomfortable and depressing and just really hard to get through. Although I am excited about my plans for this coming weekend, it is hard to think that far ahead with this big cloud of a depressing day hanging over me. I know I will get through it as I always do, but it is difficult to come to terms with the fact that there is this one day of the year when we are supposed to be sad. So much so that, like shiva, we are supposed to avoid going to work if we can, lest we be tempted to let the day fly by in a flurry of productivity.

When I was a teenager, I was nervous about fasting, and dreaded that lingering feeling of hunger and the sense that the day would never end. Now that I am older, the hunger itself doesn’t bother me as much, and the day doesn’t seem quite as endless, but it is still a long, difficult day.

With the three weeks and nine days preceding Tisha B’Av, the restrictions on listening to music and eating meat create a sense of growing frustration, more than sorrow for me. Every year, I enter the three weeks with the resigned knowledge that I just have to get through it, all the while feeling that nothing good can really begin until Tisha B'Av is over.

Sometimes I feel guilty for feeling this way, because this time period is supposed to inspire deeper reflection than just, “I can’t wait until this is over.” But, I suspect that most people struggle with similar feelings about the day, and most of us feel we have achieved what we should if for just a few moments during Tisha B’Av we can mourn for the pain that our people has experienced over so many generations.

Let us look forward to a day when it will no longer be necessary to observe Tisha B’Av.

High up in the hills

2006-07-04T20:10:00.000-07:00

Hello fair readers, I know it's been a while. The usual excuses apply -- hectic work schedule and frenetic life (nothing exciting, but no complaints either).

I have just returned from a few days of much needed rest and relaxation at home in W.Va. I wanted to share a wonderful driving moment. The trip up I-79 from Charleston is a truly beautiful one -- the highway winds through the tree-covered mountains, providing gorgeous scenery throughout the trip. Sometimes the road snakes through the hollows of the mountains, and other times it rises to nearly the mountain peaks. As I reached what is probably the highest point of elevation of the trip today, with a view of breathtaking valleys on either side of the highway, a very apropros song came on the radio. As I scaled the mountain summit in my car, Josh Groban sang "You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains..." It was so perfectly timed, I felt that I was living momentarily in a movie. A very cheesy movie no doubt, but one with a dramatic pan of the unforgettable landscape.

Since I don't have any other source of music in my car, which is quite old, I am at the mercy of what is played on the radio. (I've been too lazy to investigate portable music options.) For in-town driving in Pittsburgh this is not a problem, since there are a few stations that I like. Road trips, however, are another matter entirely. In central West Viriginia, there is lots of gospel and country/western on the airwaves, but not too much of the "adult contemporary/pop" that I prefer. Fortunately, in recent trips I've managed to find a couple of stations that get me through the 4-hour trip. Even in the center of the mountain state, one can still tune into Kelly Clarkson and Mariah Carey. And, since today was the Fourth of July, I got to hear the Lee Greenwood song about being "Proud to be an American" and Neil Diamond's song about America. It was enough to make me a little bit misty-eyed.

Happy Indepedence Day to all!

I'm a winner!

2006-05-23T19:12:00.000-07:00

I am rather late in posting this, but I wanted to let my readers know that a couple of weeks ago I received two Golden Quill Awards, which are presented by the Press Club of Western Pennsylvania. The awards were for two separate articles that appeared in The Jewish Chronicle.

The first, for Investigative/Enterprise reporting, was for an article about how urban renewal in the 1960s and '70s negatively impacted a Pittsburgh neighborhood and may have played a part in the exodus of the Jewish community from that area. The other, a Spot News piece, was about how Jews in West Virginia feel about Senator Robert C. Byrd, who enjoys legendary status in the state but has never been a supporter of foreign aid to Israel.

I feel very gratified to have won the awards, and was a little bit overwhelmed to have received two of them (I was competing against other non-daily newspapers, not daily newspapers). Here is a link to a press release about the awards, which lists all the winners. http://biz.yahoo.com/prnews/060508/clm003.html?.v=44

Both of my winning articles are available online at The Jewish Chronicle. Unfortunately, our antiquated Web site makes it impossible to link directly to individual articles. However, it is possible to search the site by headline, and the two articles are the following:

"Building that symbolized failed urban renewal comes down" and

"W.Va. Jews support Byrd despite record"

Both articles are about topics that are close to my heart, and the first in particular was a project in which I invested a lot of personal time and energy. (The finished article is about 1,500 words, which is quite long for a newspaper story.) So, being honored for these articles is particularly gratifying and renews my delusions of grandeur about achieving journalistic greatness. :) [The truth of the matter is, I feel extremely grateful to have the opportunity to work in a field I love, and to have the chance, every now and then, to write articles that I really find meaningful, which is truly more valuable than any external award. Not that I'm complaining about the two lovely plaques that I have yet to hang on my wall.:) ]

Finally, a nephew update

2006-05-17T19:46:00.000-07:00

I'm a few weeks overdue, but for those of you who have been breathlessly waiting, my nephew's name is Aaron Zebulun Smith. He had his bris right after Pesach, but life has been busy, and then my computer went kaput (it's okay, it was old, it was its time), and I finally got my new, wonderful computer all set up today, and it is so fast, and so cool, and I'm almost as excited about it as I am about being an aunt!

As you see, there is a photo of Aaron along with this post, plus I am copying below a column I wrote for last week's Jewish Chronicle about the little guy's bris. May we always have simchas to share!

Bris teaches lesson in family unity

Gathering representatives of Judaism’s various branches is somewhat like getting together the members of an over-opinionated family, who often disagree quite passionately. Sometimes just getting together is an accomplishment all its own.

Aside from normal (read: stressful) family dynamics, many of us today can look at our own family gatherings and see nearly the whole range of Jewish experience – affiliated and unaffiliated; secular and religious; intermarried and inmarried; born Jewish, non-Jewish and Jewish by choice; Conservative, Orthodox, Reconstructionist and Reform.

Such was the case at the recent bris for my nephew, who was born right before Passover. He is the first child of my only sister, and the first grandchild to both sides of his family. His bris brought together nearly 30 people of very diverse backgrounds and attitudes toward Judaism. And that was just the beginning. Like any nice Jewish family, we have our share of individuals with complicated relationships, including, of course, my parents, who have been divorced for 25 years.

As I drove to northern Virginia for the bris on a late April day, I was excited to meet my nephew and nervous about the possible tensions that such a family gathering could produce.

I was pleasantly surprised (read: shocked) when I arrived at the location for the bris to find that quite a few family members from the various branches were not only politely mingling, but seeming to genuinely enjoy each other’s company. It all seemed like a very strange dream.

Such a diverse family gathering is practically the stuff of nightmares for me, with worries about how everyone will get along. But afterward, as I thought about a series of coincidences that made it possible for several relatives to attend the bris, it seemed as though God was bringing everyone together to welcome my nephew, Aaron Zebulun Smith, into the world.

At nearly 10 pounds, Aaron was big for a newborn, but he was still tiny compared to the rest of us, and as I looked around the room of assorted family members, it was both ironic and amazing that so many people had gathered together in celebration of this new little person’s life. And it was more amazing that such a small, utterly helpless person would have such power to bring people together.

The mohel did a beautiful job of explaining the ritual to everyone present – both those who had attended such ceremonies and those who had not. Everyone was focused on the celebration of Aaron’s birth – and his entry into Jewish life – and not on hurt feelings from the past.

I was incredibly relieved that everyone got along. And, the celebration gave me hope that in the future the various branches of my family will be able to gather together for other happy events that will truly be happy.

I hope the same will be true for other Jewish families as complicated as mine, and for the Jewish people as a whole. May we always be able to set aside our differences and join together in times of true celebration.

Auntie Susan

2006-04-22T20:26:00.000-07:00

On April 12, erev Pesach, I assumed a new role in life. I am now an aunt -- my older sister gave birth to a 9 pound, 14 ounce healthy baby boy, whom I will meet, and who will officially be named, at his bris ceremony tomorrow. (I'm driving to the town where they live, and didn't have a chance to earlier because of Pesach.) I am very proud and excited, and will post the name, and possibly photos when I have the chance.

It's hard to believe that Pesach is already past. The weeks leading up to the chag were uber-hectic for me, but thankfully, I was able to do everything that had to be done, and I really had a great Pesach this year -- I even had some friends over for a meal on Chol Hamoed.

More reflections to come soon about aunt-hood.

Some Purim fun ... a bit late

2006-03-14T20:10:00.000-08:00

Most years on Purim since I've lived in Pittsburgh, my shul has put on a Purim shpiel, and I have helped to write it. This year, I wrote six short skits. Most were inside jokes about the shul, but one has universal appeal, so I post it here for you reading enjoyment.

"The Shotgun"

Rachel walks on stage, carrying a shotgun. Practices aiming it and looking through the viewfinder.

Adina enters.

Adina: Rachel! What are you doing? Why in the world are you holding a shotgun?

Rachel: Oh this? I'm just trying to find a husband.

Adina: A husband? What made you think that a shotgun would help you with that?

Rachel: I thought this is what everyone does. People keep telling me that I need to find a good shotgun, and then I'll be able to find the man I've been looking for.

Adina: Well I sure hope that thing's not loaded! After all, you want to bring him home alive when you find him.

Rachel: Oh, don't worry, I didn't buy any ammunition -- just the gun. Nobody said anything about bullets. They just said to get a shotgun. Some people said to find a whole lot of them -- even mentioned looking for some in New York, but I can't figure that out since there are all sorts of laws about transporting firearms across state lines. (looks puzzled)

Adina: Who told you this?

Rachel: Oh, everyone. Everyone says if you want to find a Jewish husband these days, you need a good shotgun.

Adina: Honey, you're not on a ranch in Texas. And, besides, the last thing you want is a shotgun wedding.

Rachel: Oh, no one said anything about threatening a man to marry me. They just said that a shotgun would help me meet men. Don't you have a shotgun? You seem to have lots of dates.

Adina: Are you kidding? I'm a card-carrying member of the ACLU. I've never handled a gun in my life!

Rachel: Then how do you get all your dates?

Adina: Well, mostly people set me up.

Rachel: Exactly! That's what I want, but I thought that I needed a shotgun for that.

Adina: No, no, a shotgun won't help you with that. What you need is a shadchan.

Rachel: Oh! A shadchan! I guess I misunderstood. Whew, I'm so relieved -- I'm a terrible shot.

Adina: I can see why you made the mistake. Shotguns, shadchans -- sometimes there's really not much difference.

One for the thumb!

2006-02-05T20:12:00.000-08:00

The Steelers won the SuperBowl tonight! There's not much more to say, except that it's a good night to be a Pittsburgher.

I am sitting here wearing the black and gold team colors (including a recently purchased T-shirt), swelling with pride for the home team. The next week in town is bound to be full of rehashings of the game, a big parade and various other festivities, but right now I'm tired and plan to get ready for bed as soon as I sign off.

So, Steelers, I'm glad you got your one for the thumb (fifth SuperBowl win) and I'm glad that Pittsburgh is getting its moment in the sun. Yay, team!

Here we go ...

2006-01-23T20:10:00.000-08:00

Pittsburgh's going to the Superbowl!

If you are learning this information for the first time from reading my blog, then you know even less about professional sports than me. Most years I don't pay any attention to football, but when you live in Pittsburgh and the Steelers are playing as well as they have been, then it's almost unavoidable.

I watched the last few minutes of Sunday's game, and after it ended, I opened up my porch door to listen to the various celebrations of my neighbors. I live in a relatively quiet, gentrified area, but I could still hear some hootin' and hollerin' in joyous celebration. Then I switched my television to one of the local news stations, and saw footage of celebrants pouring onto the streets of the South Side of Pittsburgh, waving their bright yellow Terrible Towels and blocking traffic. It was hilarious.

I don't get sports, but I do get civic pride, and these days, Pittsburghers are walking a little bit taller and smiling a little bit more, and there's nothing wrong with that. Pittsburghers are generally friendly folks, but Steeler pride enhances that. The other day I had a brief conversation with a neighbor whom I had never even said hello to before. He wanted to know if I was rooting for the home team. Sure am, I told him. (Even if I weren't, I probably would have been afraid to admit it.)

Living here these days is sort of like being part of one big pep rally. Now just wait and see if the Steelers win on Feb. 5...

One reason for the so-called "shidduch crisis"

2005-12-26T17:46:00.000-08:00

(Note: I was inspired to write this post after reading some recent posts by RenegadeRebbetzin. Read her. She's awesome.)

When I decided to go to Stern College for Women, I imagined that, even though I would be at an all-women’s school, there would be plenty of opportunities to interact with the male students of Yeshiva College. I imagined going to school activities -- speakers, parties and social service activities -- and developing a network of friends that included both men and women.

I was sorely disappointed. While I loved my four years at Stern, and made the most of the academic, extra-curricular and social opportunities at the Midtown campus, most of my interaction with men my age consisted of walking past them in the lobby of my dormitory and seeing them take other women on dates. I did manage some social interaction with men -- mostly through volunteering as an NCSY advisor and participating in a handful of other co-ed university and community events -- but throughout my college years, I had very little meaningful interaction with men my age. (For example, I recall attending co-ed lectures where the seating for the event was completely separate, and Stern students were whisked away on a bus after the speech, leaving no opportunity for mingling.)

As someone from a small Jewish community who had not attended day school or any of the popular Orthodox summer camps, I lacked the intricate network of social connections that many of my peers had. I certainly did not choose to go to Stern to meet a husband -- I chose the school because I wanted to obtain a solid Jewish education and, for once in my life, to live in an environment that was unmistakably Jewish. However, I thought that social opportunities -- including the opportunity to meet single Jewish men -- would be part of my college experience.

Part of the blame is certainly on my own shoulders. I listened to the admonitions of certain friends that participating in co-ed activities would not be appropriate. On my own I could have chosen to participate more in these activities. However, I found that even when there were co-ed Shabbtonim at Stern, the prevailing atmosphere did not encourage friendly interaction between men and women. And, as much as any student should take full responsibility for his or her social choices, it is very difficult to attend activities without the support of friends, especially if one perceives that doing so will give the person the reputation of being “desperate.”

While I was at Stern, I felt that there was an unspoken message from my peers that I should not have friends who were male. But at the same time, I was not ready until my junior year to begin thinking about "dating for marriage," and even at that point, I had few connections to "set me up." In essence, I was being told to put my romantic life on hold, but was given little assistance in meeting men once I was considered to be "of age."

I also found it disheartening that when I was set up on dates, the men I met often seemed uncomfortable around me. While a certain amount of awkwardness is to be expected in dating, their nervousness went beyond that. Eventually, I concluded that they had never learned how to behave around women.

If we want to understand the roots of the so-called shidduch crisis, we can find them here. I don't fault Yeshiva University for this problem. In fact, in condoning co-ed activities of any sort, the university is showing the Orthodox world that it is possible to have wholesome, appropriate co-ed activities. However, a handful of student-organized activities is not enough. The university needs to take a stronger stand on the issue of co-ed interaction and to provide appropriate venues for men and women to meet. While some may argue that doing so will only reinforce the notion that women go to Stern to find husbands, I say that fostering healthy relationships and better communication between men and women is more important than any negative perception of the school.

Sadly, this problem has followed me throughout my twenties. Many of the men I have dated -- some of whom are in their thirties -- have never learned how to communicate with women because they have never been encouraged to attend social events where they can learn those skills, and the difficulty in communicating only gets worse as time goes by.

Unfortunately, throughout much of Orthodox life, men and women are only encouraged to socialize with the express purpose of getting married. This places undo pressure on their interactions and almost makes the type of friendships that blossom into romance impossible. There is lots of pressure to measure a person up for their marriage potential, and not to take the time to get to know him or her as a person if certain criteria are not met. That is bad for all of us.

Ironically, by denying young Orthodox people the opportunity to interact in religiously sanctioned environments, our leaders are encouraging singles to develop their own less appropriate social situations or to become estranged from Orthodoxy altogether.

I have the impression that the tide at YU is beginning to change, and that co-ed activities are no longer as taboo as they once were. However, Yeshiva University and Orthodoxy as a whole have a long way to go to repair this terrible situation.

Another Birthday

2005-11-16T23:30:00.001-08:00

It's hard to believe it, but I am now 29 years old. Or, as I tell people, 29 for the first time.:) I have no intention of ever lying about my age, but it makes for a good joke.

Now that I am getting perilously close to 30, it is strange to realize that I don't feel old at all. I feel much younger than I ever thought I would at this age, and I don't think I'm deluding myself into believing that I am younger than I actually am. It's just that 29 is younger than I thought it would be. Or, as my Mom says, I am a young 29.

People often mistake me for someone younger, probably in part because I am not a particularly sophisticated dresser, and my style has changed little since college. (There are lots of long cotton skirts and sweaters in my wardrobe, and very few suits for daily wear.) But good genes also play a part, as well as "good clean living." Twenty-nine years of living a G-rated life (for which I am very proud) has kept me bright-eyed and spry. I also eat reasonably well and get regular exercise, floss daily and avoid dangerous sun exposure, which helps. (This may sound hopelessly boring to some people, but I'd rather be boring and healthy than exciting and unhealthy.) I like to say that I may not be much of a looker now, but with the way I take care of my skin and teeth, just wait until I'm 80.

This birthday was not particularly eventful, and that was just as I wanted it. In my office, the birthday girl or boy is responsible for bringing in his or her own treats, so I brought in some cupcakes this morning, which were much appreciated. This evening, some close friends had me over for a lovely supper, and they sang happy birthday to me and took my picture as I blew out a candle on a cupcake. I got several cards and a couple of gifts in the mail, and many phone calls and emails with happy birthday wishes. It is wonderful that so many people thought of me. All in all, it's been a good day.

As a single woman, birthdays can be particularly difficult because in some ways they are merely reminders that I am a year older, and still not married. More and more I appreciate what a blessing it is to be happy and single, rather than unhappily married to the wrong person. However, it is still difficult being single. My ideal birthday would be spent with family, most notably a husband. I would love to have someone close to me to make arrangements for my birthday celebration -- just someone to pick up a cake and decide what we should eat for dinner. Someone to take care of me.

Most of the time I am more than happy to take care of myself, but at least on this day of the year, it would be so nice to be able to sit back and let someone else make plans for me. Someone to make me feel special.

Since that's not a reality right now, I tend to do a lot of advance planning for my birthday to make plans that will be fun and can be done with people I care about, so that I am not alone on my birthday. My mom told me a long time ago to let people know what I want for my birthday, instead of expecting them to guess, so that I would not be disappointed, and I have taken this advice. But it would be nice for a change not to have to do the planning for my own celebration.

Despite the difficulty of getting older as a single person, it occurred to me today that birthdays are one of the few occasions that are sort of equal opportunity experiences for married people and single folks. We are all born, and we all get older, and hence, we all have birthdays. For some people, the celebrations are more important than others, but birthdays themselves don't discriminate -- we all have them. It's a very obvious point, and not one that is particularly profound, but it brought me some comfort today.

Incidentally, for any loyal readers who have remained, I sincerely apologize for the dearth of my posts. Life has been busy lately, mostly with work and community activities, and some visits to family members. Also, as someone who writes for a living, it is difficult to come home and write even more. I have a whole list of topics that I'd like to discuss, but they all take more time and emotional energy than I can afford to expend most of the time. Still, I do have moments of inspiration, and I haven't given up on the idea of blogging, so please do continue to check back for new posts every once in a while, and thanks for reading.

Try to Remember*

2005-09-06T23:10:00.000-07:00

I write a monthly column for The Jewish Chronicle, but this month's column didn't run because the content was too similar to one written by a rabbi for the same issue. I present it here for your reading pleasure.

Waiting for Rosh Hashanah

The Steelers are gearing up for a promising year, voters are talking about throwing the scoundrels out of Harrisburg and kids are going back to school. It's September.

There's something about late summer and early fall that feels all fresh and new and full of possibility. Summer's heat gives way to cooler days, and the occasional breeze seems to taunt us with the promise of exciting new experiences.

One of my favorite movie lines relates to this time of year. In "You've Got Mail," a tale of Internet romance, Tom Hanks writes to Meg Ryan about the nostalgia of approaching a new school year, and the impulse to buy school supplies, long after we have finished school.

"I would buy you a bouquet of sharpened pencils, if I knew who you were" he tells her.

I know how he feels. Strolling through the aisles of school supplies in stores, I am enticed by the possibilities of new notebooks and folders, with their bright colors and crisp, new scent.

It is fitting, therefore, that Rosh Hashanah falls at this time of year. While some might argue that it would be more appropriate to start the Jewish New Year in spring -- and in fact this is the source of an ancient debate, as the Torah itself refers to the spring month of Nisan as the first month of the year -- I think we know intuitively that fall is as much a time of beginning and renewal as spring.

But the new beginnings of the Jewish year don't always match up neatly with the Gregorian calendar and its order of events. This year, Rosh Hashanah falls in early October, which is well into the "new year" for school. So, we won't be dipping apples in honey and hearing the shofar blown until well after the new notebooks and pencils have lost their luster. That's what happens during a Jewish leap year, in which an encore performance of the late winter month of Adar readjusts the Hebrew lunar cycle to match the length of a solar year.

Twelve cycles of the moon take up only 354 days, 11 short of a solar year. So, about every three years (7 times in 19 years to be precise), the Hebrew calendar adds in an extra month to make up the difference. Conveniently, the extra month comes just before Pesach, so there is extra time to rid our homes of chametz (leaven), but we feel the time difference just as keenly six months later at Rosh Hashanah time.

The result is that, rather than just breezing through Rosh Hashanah as mindlessly as Labor Day, we are forced to stop and think about when the holiday will come, and to plan accordingly. For many of us, a "late" Pesach or Rosh Hashanah presents the rare opportunity to think about how the Hebrew calendar measures time, and to reflect on how much of our lives are dictated by a calendar that is decidedly non-Jewish.

Even Jewish organizations, out of necessity, conduct at least as much of their business according to the Gregorian and fiscal calendars as the Hebrew calendar. Being involved in broader society requires this, so it is understandable and perhaps inevitable that we are so immersed in secular time. But leap years like this one give us an opportunity, at least for a few days a year, to consciously live our lives in Jewish time. Perhaps that was the intention of the great rabbis who devised our calendar.

May all our new beginnings in the coming year be auspicious ones.

* A reference to "The Fantasticks," my favorite musical.

Disengagement Summer

2005-08-16T23:58:00.000-07:00

In addition to reading many articles and blog posts from Jewish perspectives this week about the disengagement from Gaza and the northern Shomron, I have also been watching ABCNews and Nightline. I was fully prepared to be disgusted by the coverage, expecting them to paint the "settlers" and protestors as extremists and showing them little or no sympathy.

I have been very relieved and impressed (and deeply touched) that they are showing all the Israeli sides --settlers, protestors and soldiers -- in a sympathetic way. They profiled a young woman who left one of the settlements willingly, but reluctantly and with great pain, and also showed the anguish of the soldiers who are being forced to evict their brothers from land where they have lived for 30 years or more. They are even hinting at the sincerity and conviction of the protestors. It is a big comfort to see the "liberal" U.S. media showing some sympathy for Israel and the sacrifices being made now by Israelis.

It is also incredibly inspiring to see the patience, empathy and restraint of the soldiers involved in the disengagement. Last night on Nightline, they showed some footage of a soldier patiently taking a tongue lashing from an impassioned protestor. In the midst of calmly absorbing the verbal onslaught, the soldier handed the protester a large bottle of water, and the protestor paused from his tirade long enough to take a long drink. Where else but in Israel would so-called opponents show such concern for one another?

It is hard to guess how the American public absorbs such images, but I think that anyone who sees these reports understands that the Israeli people and its army are impassioned, but non-violent, and have respect for one another. I hope they see how painful this disengagement is, and understand that the settlers who are leaving peacefully are doing so out of great love and respect for the state of Israel, even though the move is personally devastating. I can't imagine landowners anywhere in the United States giving up their homes and communities so peacefully (though the final outcome remains to be seen), and the stakes in Israel are not at all comparable to any potential scenario in the U.S.

In all fairness, the ABC coverage hasn't all been what we Jews would like to see. The second half of Nightline tonight focused on the Palestinian reaction to the withdrawal (which some claim as a victory for Hamas), and I felt Ted Koppel was much too "soft" on Hanan Ashrawi (whose appearance infuriates me) and I think the new correspondent covering the Palestinians is acting more as a representative of their opinions than as an objective journalist. Perhaps I've just been jaded by many years of exposure to the media, or perhaps my expectations are too low, but even in spite of these obvious flaws, I felt that all-told, Israel is doing okay this week in the press.

As a journalist, I do sympathize with the difficulty in presenting "two sides" to every story while not sending the message that the two sides are equal. It is not an easy task.But watching tonight as images of Israeli soldiers showing compassion for their fellow Jews were juxtaposed with images of masked Islamic militants marching in Gaza with rocket launchers on their shoulders, I felt that intelligent viewers will draw their own conclusions about who wants peace and who doesn't.

In other health news

2005-08-16T23:45:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago, I got in the habit of having yogurt once a day. It's a nice cool snack in the summer, is packed with calcium and active yogurt cultures, and is quite tasty, especially YoCrunch, a brand that comes with little packets of granola or candy to mix with the yogurt.

A few weeks into my yogurt regimen (read: latest addiction), a couple of friends were talking about all the health benefits of yogurt -- how the good bacteria in the yogurt kills all sorts of bad bacteria that can cause various maladies.

It was after that that I realized that my sometimes disastrous complexion had been much improved of late. I recalled being told that certain bacteria can cause acne, which is why antibiotics are sometimes prescribed as treatments. So I started thinking…. After eating a yogurt a day for a few weeks, my acne was much more in control than usual, even though my stress level was the same, or worse. Could it be the yogurt, I thought?

I searched online and found a few sites that claim that acidophilus, the bacteria in yogurt, can help alleviate adult acne. To be fair, I found other sites that claim that any dairy products, including yogurt, can contribute to acne problems. So, I think it's a remedy that works for some people, but is not a cure-all.

Even so, I post this as a public service announcement to others of you who may still be plagued by acne. Try the yogurt, it just might work.

Afflicted by PR

2005-08-16T23:30:00.000-07:00

About a week and a half ago, I made a short trip to New Hampshire and Vermont for a reunion of my dad's side of the family. The trip followed a period of great stress at work, and was itself the source of a certain amount of stress because, well, family can be that way. In the end, the weekend wound up being very enjoyable, and the landscape of Vermont and New Hampshire was beautiful and helped me forget the stress I had left behind.

When I got back, I noticed a couple of red bumps on my neck and assumed they must be bug bites, even though they didn’t itch. However, when, within the week, my chest and parts of my abdomen were also covered with red splotchy spots that didn't itch like bug bites, I knew it was something else. It was PR.

That is, Pityriasis rosea, a non-contagious outbreak of red spots that can last for several weeks, but causes no damage and can't be treated -- it just eventually clears up on its own. I knew what it was because I have been stricken with it before. The first time was during my senior year of high school -- also a period of great stress. When I broke out in red spots, my mom took me to the doctor, who examined me and smiled with recognition. As a medical student, she had experienced PR herself, and assured me it would clear up on its own and probably never recur.

But it came back three years ago as I was leaving one job and going through a period of uncertainty before being hired at a second job. After two years as an associate at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, I was about to leave the world of journalism for a job doing public relations (a.k.a. PR). When the red spots reappeared, I went to the dermatologist, who confirmed my suspicions that it was PR, the dermatological condition, but the irony didn't escape me. PR indeed.

Because I had been told that more than one outbreak of PR was rare, let alone a third occurrence, I went to see my doctor today to make sure there's nothing else wrong with me. After ruling out a fungal infection, she agreed that PR has stricken again and said that I shouldn't be concerned that it has come back. It turns out that it's not so odd after all to have a reoccurrence, especially since it's linked to stress, although the exact causes are not known (could be viral).

So, I know now that as I go through life, and stress descends, that I shouldn't be surprised if I break out in spots shortly thereafter. Not to worry, it's just a case of PR. What journalist wouldn't consider it an otherwise harmless, but persistent annoyance?

Remembering Zayde

2005-07-05T23:12:00.000-07:00

My grandfather passed away one year ago today. His Hebrew yahrzeit is not for a few more weeks, but because most of my life is lived according to the secular calendar, in many ways it is easier to connect with this date.

He is often on my mind. I miss him, and wish I could speak to him, and hear his loving, reassuring voice, but I am comforted that he is resting in peace, along with my grandmother and other family members.

In the last several weeks, I have done a handful of things that I know he would have appreciated, and that makes me feel good.

Over Memorial Day Weekend, when I was home in Charleston, my mom and I visited the cemetery where he and my grandmother are buried, along with several of her siblings and her parents (my great-grandparents). I know he would be glad that we took the time to "see" him and watch over his resting place.

Visiting the cemetery was very important to my grandfather. After my Bubby died, he visited her grave monthly, when he was able to. And, when I was growing up, he used to make yearly trips, usually in the Hebrew month of Elul, to visit the graves of his parents, who are buried outside of Cleveland. A few weeks ago, I was visiting friends in Cleveland, and decided to visit my great-grandparents' graves on my way back to Pittsburgh. One of my aunts gave me directions, and after wandering in the cemetery for a short while, I found the double stone that marks their graves. Although they died years before I was born, and I had never visited their graves with my Zayde, I could imagine what it would be like to have him there with me, and knew that my visit would have comforted him.

My early love of Judaism and Jewish learning was nurtured by my grandfather. Growing up, my sister and I always lit Shabbos candles with our Bubby, but before we did so, Zayde would hand us a few coins to put in the blue Jewish National Fund tzedakah boxes. That is a tradition that I have reacquired in the last year. Some time ago, someone gave me a blue box, and I had been periodically depositing my spare change in it, but after Zayde's death, I started making it a habit again on Friday afternoons. Last week, the box was nearly full, so I took it to the local JNF office in exchange for a new one. It seemed like an appropriate gesture to remember Zayde.

And finally, my grandfather used to spend a few minutes of Shabbos dinner on Friday night talking about the weekly Torah portion. His lessons were very basic, often just simple summaries of the storyline for that week's sedra, but he always spoke about the parsha with great enthusiasm. Two particular parshiot stand out in my memory. He marveled at the funeral procession that accompanied our patriarch Jacob's body from Egypt to the land of Canaan and his burial place in Hebron. "Can you imagine all those people marching through the desert?" he would say. The other parsha that amazed him was the one we read this past Shabbos, Parshas Korach, in which a rebellion against Moshe is quashed by a phenomenal earthquake, in which the earth opens, swallows the rebels up, and then closes again. "Can you imagine that?" he would say, never ceasing to be amazed, no matter how many times he read the account. Thinking about that always makes me smile.

I am grateful to my Zayde for all the lessons he taught me, and I hope I will be able to pass his love of Judaism onto future generations.

Date me and be engaged within six months!*

2005-06-29T23:22:00.000-07:00

Engaged to someone else, that is. During my routine daily check of OnlySimchas earlier this week, I noticed an engagement announcement for someone with whom I was set up back in January. He was a perfectly pleasant guy, but not someone who particularly interested me. We met for one date in a city approximately halfway between our Midwestern cities, and then I never heard from him again. I wasn't disappointed that he hadn't called because I felt ambivalent about the whole meeting, but the righteous indignation part of me flared up because it is just plain rude for a guy not to make a follow-up call after a date.

I wondered for a while if perhaps I should have called him, just to make sure he wasn't hit by a bus or anything, but I sensed that no communication was simply a sign of disinterest, not roadside disaster. And, I have been proven right. There weren't any tire tread marks on his face in the OnlySimchas photos, just a smile. His bride-to-be is cute, and they look happy together. All's well that ends well.

When I hear that someone I once dated, but was not "into," gets engaged, I often feel a sense of relief that I was smart to trust my instincts, and I made the right decision about person X. That's how I feel in this case, though this is not the first time that someone I have dated has very soon afterwards found their match. I'm thinking this could be a marketable skill. Or not, seeing as it would guarantee me a lot of bad dates, and no promise of meeting my prince charming. On second thought, never mind.

*Results may vary. No moneyback guarantee. Some former dates of said singleton remain unattached years after dating her.

Batman Begins

2005-06-20T21:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to see summer's latest blockbuster and I walked out smiling. As someone in the row behind me said, "Now that's a way to restart a franchise!" (Without revealing any movie secrets, the film is indeed a prequel and takes us back to the start of the first Batman movie with Michael Keaton.)

Sure, some of the dialogue was corny, but it wouldn't be a Batman movie if he didn't at least once say, "I'm Batman" in response to the question "Who are you?"

To be sure, this film is much darker than the other Batman films and explores the inner struggles that inspired wealthy Bruce Wayne to dress like a bat and start fighting crime. (Boy, does he have issues.) Still, there are plenty of light moments, and plenty of times that leave you cheering (at least mentally), "Go get 'em Batman!"

I liked it so much, I might go see it again while it's still in the theatres.

Waxing nostalgic

2005-06-08T23:25:00.000-07:00

Quite unexpectedly this evening, the song "Saying Goodbye" from "The Muppets Take Manhattan" started running through my mind. I can't recall the last time I saw that movie, and don't know what triggered the memory of the song, but before I knew it I was singing a half-remembered version of the lyrics out loud. (good thing I live alone) After humming it a few times, I decided to check out the lyrics online, and they are here for your sentimental pleasure.

Saying goodbye, going away
Seems like goodbye's such a hard thing to say
Touching a hand, wondering why
It's time for saying goodbye

Saying goodbye, why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we've had
Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye

Dont want to leave, but we both know
Sometimes it's better to go
Somehow I know we'll meet again
Not sure quite where, and I dont know just when
You're in my heart, so until then
Wanna smile, wanna cry
Saying goodbye

La la la la la la la la
It's time for saying goodbye

It may be a song from what is ostensibly a children's movie, but there is a lot of insight in the lyrics.

Stopping to smell the lilacs

2005-05-05T22:10:00.000-07:00

Spring is my favorite season, and my favorite days of spring are the ones in which the lilacs are in bloom. They are dainty, fragrant blossoms in lovely shades of purple and white. On a breezy day, you can enjoy the scent of a lilac bush from half a block away. Perhaps because Louisa May Alcott wrote a book titled “Under the Lilacs” or perhaps because Freddy Ainsforth Hill sings, “Are there lilac trees in the heart of town? .. No, they’re just on the street where you live.” in “My Fair Lady,” or because Walt Whitman makes reference to their heart-shaped leaves in “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed,” or maybe just because they bloom in spring, I have always considered lilacs to be old fashioned and romantic.

In college, for a screen-writing class, I wrote an “Anne of Green Gables”-inspired short script (called “Lilacs in the Park”) about a young, starry-eyed teacher who loves lilacs. It was a silly, sweet story, and maybe someday I will have an adolescent daughter who will appreciate it -- it is certainly not ready for prime time.

This year, the lilacs have been lovely, but I have had few opportunities to enjoy them because the weather has been unseasonably cold. A couple of times, I have ventured out on what I call “lilac walks” to drink in the glory of about a dozen lilac bushes within a few blocks of my apartment, but the chilly weather has masked their scent and made it uncomfortable to linger outdoors. Last evening was a tad warmer, so I wandered the streets of my neigborhood for about 45 minutes, searching out as many lilac bushes as I could find. I am fascinated by the subtle differences in the color and shape of the flowers from bush to bush, and after quite a bit of wandering, finally found a bush whose fragrance equalled my memories of the one in my grandparents’ back yard in my childhood years.

I often say that I go a tad crazy in spring, so obsessed am I with the rapid change in the landscape. I have mellowed a bit over the years, but still have to remind myself to keep my eyes on the road, instead of gazing at the dogwood trees and fiery azaleas as I drive past them. When I was a student in New York, I desperately missed the glories of spring, though I got small tastes of them in nearby parks and even tree-lined streets. Still, I am grateful to live now in place where I don’t have to search out nature, because it sits at my very doorstep.

Pesach and Taxes

2005-04-11T22:54:00.000-07:00

Ben Franklin said that the only things certain in life are death and taxes. Less morbidly, at this time of year, the only things certain are Pesach and taxes. Both of them are time-consuming and angst-producing. One celebrates the freedom and redemption of the Jewish people. Completion of the other assures our freedom from minimum security prisons, however much we might like the thought of spending five months with Martha Stewart in West Virginia.

Contrary to my procrastinating nature, I have already completed my income tax returns this year. Even though I have always been reasonably good at math, I used to be terrified of doing my own taxes, and messing them up. In previous years, I used to go to H&R Block to have them do my returns until I realized how ludicrous it was to pay them what they were charging. So, this year, I purchased TurboTax, and I must say it was money well spent. The program walked me through the 1040, and other forms I had to fill out because of free-lance income, and my whole federal return was done in about an hour or so. The local and state forms didn't take terribly long either. I started stressing out about my taxes back in January, started getting all the paperwork together sometime in late February, and finally mailed the forms and payment due in early April -- stretching the process out for almost as long as possible, but still ahead of the deadline. I am so relieved they are done, and proud of myself for doing the work myself this time.

Over the years of being single, I have come to appreciate the fact that I am learning many life skills that women in previous generations (and some in this one) never learned because those were things their husbands did for them. While there are plenty of times that I wish I had a husband to take care of unpleasant things like taking out the garbage, washing the car, and paying the taxes, deep down I am proud that I am doing these things for myself. Along these lines, a few months ago, I needed to replace a light bulb on a ceiling fixture. I got out my stepladder, but it wasn't tall enough for me to reach. I debated going to ask a tall, male neighbor for help, but decided against it. Instead, I went out and bought a taller stepladder and replaced the bulb myself. I felt very empowered.

Occasionally, when I am attacking some challenge that I was hoping to permanently avoid, I think to myself that perhaps this was the final hurdle I needed to cross to be fully prepared to be a married woman. So G-d, if you're listening, I did my takes myself this year (with the help of some very smart software), so I'm all ready for Mr. Right, if you want to send him my way. If not, I'll be fine in the interim -- I've got cockroach killer, an electric drill, a computer with updated software and virus protection, and a tuned up, oil changed, bright shiny car; everything thing I need to get by on my own.

Now that the taxes are done, I'm heavily into Pesach preparations, which I have learned over the years to space out over a few weeks, so I'm not overwhelmed with shopping and cleaning. (And I am fully aware that much of the cleaning I do is not necessary according to halacha, but it makes me feel good to have a clean apartment for Pesach.) If there is anything I have learned in my adult life, it is that any overwhelming project can be divided into infinitely small tasks, which are so much more manageable.

Pesach, taxes -- these are things I can handle myself, but I wouldn't object to having a man to share them with.

A time to remember

2005-02-04T16:30:00.000-08:00

Life in the last month has been a blur of activity. Nothing out of the ordinary -- just work, regularly scheduled activities, a couple of brief weekend trips, and coping with the ongoing mess due to my kitchen renovation, which is almost complete and is quite nice.

Unfortunately, last week was tinged with sadness for a couple of reasons.

Karen Shapira, who was one of the most influential and important Jewish community leaders in Pittsburgh, passed away after a long battle with breast cancer. She was 60, and had every hope of continuing to serve the community for many years to come. A lovely obituary can be found here.

I only met Karen a couple of times, but she was a person who made a deep impression, even upon a brief encounter. She was warm, wise, compassionate and driven. She cared deeply about Jews in need throughout the world, and was willing to do whatever she could to help them, and she did so gracefully and whole-heartedly. When I heard the news of her death, all I could do was sit still for a few moments in sadness and shock. I had heard months ago that she was very ill, but more recently I had the impression that she had improved, and might be fine in the end.

Several people echoed my thoughts in saying that it is hard to imagine our Jewish community without her. She was ever-present at every major communal event, she belonged to countless organizations and she and her husband were financial supporters of countless others. She was so energetic and involved that it is inconceivable that any force could have stopped her. In fact, even while she was being treated for cancer, she continued to attend meetings, to work with other leaders on ongoing projects, and even to visit Israel one last time. She was, as one person told me, a once in a generation leader.

Because of the timing of her death on a Tuesday, the night before The Jewish Chronicle goes to press, we had very little time to put together an obituary. The executive editor wrote the obit, but I helped quite a bit with research and gathering quotes. And, I covered her funeral the following day for this week's paper. Both articles are available here. It was difficult writing about her death, but I was glad to have a small part in honoring her memory.

Ironically, Karen was buried a year to the day (in the secular calendar) that my friend Mikey Butler was buried. While I thought of Mikey quite a bit at the time of his Hebrew yahrzeit a few weeks ago, the timing of Karen's funeral made me think even more about him and drove home the point that he is truly gone.

Although it was published a few weeks ago, I thought readers might appreciate a column I wrote about Mikey for the Jan. 6 edition of The Jewish Chronicle. Here it is:

Remembering a friend whose spirit lives on

By Susan Jacobs

It has been nearly a year since Mikey Butler died. In Pittsburgh, he was known to many as the son of Dan and Nina Butler of Squirrel Hill, a super skinny kid with a big smile who had the misfortune to be born with cystic fibrosis, a debilitating disease that affects both the lungs and the digestive tract.

Outside of Pittsburgh, his name became internationally recognized in the Jewish community, as many thousands of people prayed for him as he endured a lung transplant and its side effects.

Throughout his life, Mikey was an inspirational figure to many, never losing hope of getting better, and always reminding others that life is lived "day by glorious day." I had the good fortune to be among his friends.

In describing his symptoms, Mikey once told me that the mucus that filled his lungs was the consistency of peanut butter. Despite his sometimes frightening symptoms, including a cough which shook his whole body, he managed to be an otherwise normal kid, and as a teenager and a young adult, he grew to be immensely popular.

I first got to know Mikey, who was three years younger than I, through the National Conference of Synagogue Youth, the youth group of the Orthodox Union. In NCSY, teenagers are encouraged to keep kosher, observe Shabbat and generally remain Jewishly active and involved, despite circumstances which may make religious observance difficult.

As a teen-ager from a small Jewish community, I savored the opportunity to be among Jewish peers my age, who shared my enthusiasm for Jewish practice. Mikey also loved NCSY, perhaps because at Shabbatonim he could escape the isolation of his hospital room, and be among friends who saw past the oxygen tank he sometimes carried with him, when breathing became especially difficult.

In addition to the wonderful friendships we found in NCSY, I think Mikey and I both loved NCSY for its pervasive optimism and conviction that, whatever hardships we might endure, nothing in life is arbitrary, and that God is watching out for us.

In NCSY, Mikey was a trusted confidante to many teenagers, and a fount of inspiration and wisdom to people of all ages. Perhaps because he had spent so much time by himself in the hospital, he was a wonderful listener, and he noticed things about people, and made them feel important. He also had a wonderful, sarcastic sense of humor and a magnetism about him which drew people in, giving anyone who met him the desire to know him better.

I visited him for the first time in the hospital shortly after I moved to Pittsburgh a few years ago. I was nervous about going, because I wasn't sure how he would look or how sick he would be. When I arrived with a friend, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, fully clothed, intently searching the Internet on his laptop computer. He also had his ever-present cell phone in
hand, and it seemed that he could run the world, or organize a concert for several hundred people (which he did), from his hospital bed.

When he needed a lung transplant, I spent some time with him at his home. His lungs were in such poor shape by that point that climbing a single flight of stairs could wear him out for hours. But his spirit was as strong as ever, and despite his pain, he managed to find ways to make others smile.

In a world full of cynics, it was nice to know someone who was so unabashedly optimistic. Because of this, he inspired countless people to try a little bit harder, and to do things they wouldn't normally do.

If Mikey, who suffered from frequent pneumonias and intestinal blockages, and always struggled to breathe, could do so much and be so optimistic, then perhaps the rest of us with our much smaller daily struggles can reach our goals.

The world is a better place for having had the benefit of Mikey's presence for 24 years. Although he has been gone for nearly a year, his life continues to bring inspiration to many. For the thousands who knew him personally, or simply knew of him, he will never be forgotten.

Thinking about the unfathomable

2005-01-01T23:23:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking quite a bit over the last week about the thousands of lives lost to the tsunamis in southern Asia. There is nothing to say -- it is so absolutely incomprehensible. I grew up in a town whose population is 60,000, and the loss of life in the last week is at least twice that.

I think part of the difficulty in dealing with this is that there is no person to blame. No one who set off a bomb, or otherwise plotted to kill thousands upon thousands. There may be some comfort in understanding the science behind the disaster -- in knowing that somewhere deep beneath the Indian Ocean two enormous plates of land collided. However, this is hollow comfort because there was no way of predicting this would happen, and no explanation of why.

Seeing and hearing of the destruction, I can understand why ancient pagans prayed to and tried to appease deities of the sky, land, and sea. What is mightier than a wall of water traveling at 500 mph?

This morning in his sermon, my rabbi spoke about the horrible destruction and urged us to think about those who died and those who lost loved ones, to sympathize with them, pray for them, and send whatever aid we can. However, he also said it is important not to try to deduce a reason for this event, ultimately blaming some and excusing others. We can and should reflect upon this event as an act of G-d, but the only message that is certain from this is that G-d runs this world, not us, and that some events are beyond our comprehension. (I am not doing justice to his actual words, but that was the gist.)

I know some will find that to be as unsatisfying as everything else that has been said in the last week. However, I do find some comfort in what he said. How is it possible that such a thing could happen? It's not up to us to figure out why. The best we can do is help those in need and remind ourselves that G-d is the One who is really in charge.

The difference a day can make

2004-12-31T09:27:00.000-08:00

For the last few years at this time of year, while many of my friends and coworkers have taken a week or more off from work, I have been left minding the shop, so to speak. I really don't mind this for the most part -- this is not my holiday season, and I prefer to avoid traveling along with half of the rest of the country. However, subconsciously, I think part of me still associates the end of the year with a nice break from my regular schedule, and it is difficult to not have some time off to unwind, rest and recharge. Last year at this time, I was particularly stressed out and tired, and the only day I was taking off was Jan. 1 itself. "A lot of difference one day will make," I thought ruefully. However, as I recall, one day did make a very big difference. I slept late, lounged around in pajamas, took a nap, and even got some things done around my apartment. When I went back to work the next day, I was rested and recharged.

This year has been quite a bit better. A couple of Fridays ago I had a day off at a point where I was feeling particularly rundown and exhausted. I was a lazy bum for the whole day, and it was wonderful. Last Friday (Dec. 24) I only worked for about four hours, and my assignment -- covering the local "Mitzvah Day" of the Jewish Federation -- was fun and laid-back. And today, I have another day off. I slept in today, and have some time before Shabbos to run some errands and catch up on things I need to do. Thanks to this important respite time, I'm feeling that my life is a bit more sane and orderly, which is a good feeling.

In other news, the Executive Editor of the Chronicle is on vacation for two weeks, leaving me in charge of the paper. (ha, ha, ha -- maniacal laughter from me) It is a little bit daunting, but also very exciting to have this power and responsibility. Of course, he would have to leave during the slowest news week of the year. Filling next week's paper is going to be a challenge, but I've come up with some ideas that should do the job.

The other event taking up much of my time lately is the upcoming renovation of my kitchen. My management company has warned me that they're on the way to rip out all my cabinets, decimate the wall to my largest closet to annex it to the kitchen, install some new flooring, and perform various other tasks which will fill my apartment with dust and grime. (Not to mention the awkwardness of having three maintenance men in my apartment all day for two straight weeks while I am out at work. I'm not afraid that they will steal or break anything, it's just weird to know they'll be there when I'm not.) I happen to like my kitchen the way it is, and I like having a nice large storage closet, but they didn't ask my opinion.

I have resigned myself to the fact that this is out of my control, and that once it is done, the renovation will probably be quite nice. I have already emptied the closet I will be losing, and managed to find places for all the stuff that I wanted to keep, and threw out a bunch of other stuff. (It is a very big deal for someone like me to actually throw things away.) I know that I will get through this, but it won't be easy.

Probably when it's all done, I'll need another day off. Or two. Or ten.

Happy Chanukah!

2004-12-08T22:08:00.000-08:00

Happy Chanukah from the Draydel maidel.

May you eat latkes and donuts to your heart's content. And don't forget to play a game of draydel.:)

Giving credit where it's due

2004-12-05T09:49:00.000-08:00

In my post about my Thanksgiving adventures, I used the word "chyck" without properly attributing it. Credit goes to my friend Sarah, from whom I learned the term (though I'm not sure if she is the person who originally invented it).

The spelling of chyck with a Y is a light-hearted parody of those feminists who believe that women should be spelled womyn (or something like that) to escape the notion that women are awkwardly prefixed versions of men. You know, womyn, instead of "whoa men!" -- this being my impression of primordial man's reaction to discovering the allures of feminity for the first time.

You hardly ever hear women called dames or broads any more, but chick has stuck around, mostly as a playful term that most of us don't find offensive. (as in chick flick) But, as Sarah would say, "That's chick with a Y."

Finding Neverland

2004-12-05T01:15:00.000-08:00

I went to see "Finding Neverland" this evening, and it lived up to my hopes of being a magical, poignant film. The costumes, the pastoral views of England, the beauty of it all, were breath-taking.

To engage in a bit of Hollywood hyperbole, "If you only see one movie this holiday season, see 'Finding Neverland.'"

I am a movie lover, and I take my films seriously. This one was one of those rare gems that is truly magical, that nurtures one's imagination, and, of course, made me cry.

Before going to the movie, someone warned me to take lots of tissues. This warning was sort of superfluous for me, seeing as I cried through much of "13 Going on 30," which is a comedy aimed at pre-pubescent girls. I cry a lot at movies, which is why I tend to go alone to the ones I want to see most. I call it cinema therapy, a term that someone wisely put to use in a published book and television series. As most women can understand, there's nothing like a good cry.

I actually cried less in this movie than I might have expected. There is as much happiness as sadness in the film, and even in the sadness, there is comfort and hope. One of the undercurrents of the film is the idea that children should be allowed to be children, with lives rich with imagination and mirth, and that as adults, we should hold onto this sense of childlike wonder and possibility -- a message that is particularly close to my heart.

Like I said, see it, you won't regret it.

Six hours, five states

2004-12-04T19:45:00.000-08:00

Following the sage advice of one of my blog mentors, I will not apologize for not having posted in so long. When I decided to start a blog, I vowed that I would not let it consume my life, and I seem to be succeeding at that, though I do wish I was able to post more often. I check my blog daily to see if readers have left comments, and sometimes I think wistfully (and rather ridiculously), "I wish this chyck would post more often. I kind of like what she has to say." Oh, to read my own carefully arranged words without putting in the effort to launch them into the blogosphere.

But I digress. The purpose of this post is to update you on my Thanksgiving adventures, which were, as adventures go, rather tame.

My family on my mother's side has gathered for many a Thanksgiving in my hometown of Charleston, W.V., where my grandparents, and my great-grandparents before them, lived. When I was growing up, my sister and I would spend alternate Thanksgivings at home in Charleston and in Washington, D.C. with our other grandparents and our father (who separated from, and later divorced, my mom when I was less than a year old). The Thanksgivings in Charleston were always more enjoyable, mostly because we could actually eat the food. My Washington grandparents usually took us to a gathering of their friends, in which a very non-kosher turkey basted with butter was served.

From the Charleston gatherings, I have many warm memories of being doted upon by my grandmother's siblings, being shooed out of the kitchen, and playing with my three cousins. The year I was nine, I also recall being stricken with a case of "turkey pox" -- chicken pox with uncanny timing.

During my college years, and the years since then, we continued to gather in Charleston for Thanksgiving, with a couple of exceptions, and we did so even last year, even though my grandfather was very weak and not able to spend too much time at the meal before needing a nap. After he passed away over the summer, we sort of agreed as a family to gather in Cincinnati instead, where my aunt and two cousins (one of whom is married with children) live. This was practical for a number of reasons. First, Cincinnati is now the city where more family members live than any other and second, kosher food in large quantities is easier to come by in Cincy than in West Virginia. For most of the last 15 years or so, my aunt would import Thanksgiving dinner and two Shabbos meals to Charleston.

While I missed driving through the West Virginia hills and having that feeling of really being home, I had a wonderful time with my mom, stepdad, and cousins. My sister and her husband spent Thanksgiving this year with his side of the family in Zanesville, Ohio. I was sad I would miss seeing her this year, until my mom pointed out that my drive from Pittsburgh to Cincinnati would take me right through Zanesville on I-70.

I called my sister a couple of days before the holiday, and made arrangements to meet her at her newly married brother-in-law's home, where the Smith family would be gathering. Since my family would be eating Thanksgiving dinner in the evening, I left Pittsburgh at mid-morning and stopped in Zanesville after the Smiths had finished the bulk of their meal, which was a very impressive spread. I stayed at their place for about 40 minutes, lunching on my cheese sandwich (the meal wasn't kosher) as they polished off some pie. It was a nice laid-back gathering (unlike my family which is very high strung), and it was a fun stop on my trip.

From there, I drove most of the rest of the way to Cincy, stopping at a rest area north of Lebanon, Ohio to daven mincha. I called my aunt from there to say I would be there in a half hour, I was "north of Lebanon."

The drive back had its own amusements. I was a bit lost in thought as I began my trip, and took a wrong turn leaving Cincinnati. I realized as I made the turn that I might be going the wrong way, but the road signs seemed familiar, so I kept going. I started worrying when I saw signs for "Indianapolis this lane."

I wasn't as hopelessly out of the way as it sounds. You see, Cincinnati is in the southwest corner of Ohio, very close both to Indiana and Kentucky. Since I had managed to get myself on I-275 going the wrong way, I wound up looping into Indiana and then Kentucky (ironically, for a few minutes I was south of Hebron, K.Y.) before getting onto I-71 North, which took me back through downtown Cincy and back past the exit to get to my aunt's house -- about an hour after I started the trip.

I was frustrated but figured, hey, how often do you get to visit five states in one day? (The trip back to Pittsburgh involves going through Wheeling, W.V.) Such were my adventures -- from north of Lebanon, to south of Hebron without ever leaving the midwest. All in about 6 hours or so.

Party at my place

2004-11-22T01:04:00.000-08:00

My birthday week started off rather auspiciously, in spite of the fact that it began in Cleveland (which is really a nice city, but it's so much fun to make fun of). I was there to cover the General Assembly of the United Jewish Communities, which was cool because I got to meet some movers and shakers in the Jewish community and bump into some old friends from Stern and NCSY.

I didn't stay long though. Just after the opening plenary ended, and just before the end of the Pittsburgh Steelers/Cleveland Browns football game which was going on at the stadium literally across the street from the convention center (incidentally, the Steelers won), I made a dash for my car, so I could beat the post-game traffic and make the two and a half hour drive back to the Burgh in time for my own birthday party.

I share my birthday with two other good friends at my shul and this year we decided to have a joint party with music and a 1980s theme. While the party itself was fun, I didn't enjoy it quite as much as I had hoped because something I had eaten in Cleveland did not agree with me, so I wasn't feeling completely well, and barely touched any of the decadent desserts I was so looking forward to eating. I also would have been more comfortable with a smaller party -- I find it awkward to be the center of attention of a large crowd. And also, the party -- out of necessity -- took place two days before our actual birthday, and I find it somewhat inauthentic to celebrate my birthday on any day but the actual day.

And then there was the music. The husband of one of the other birthday girls had decided to hire a band (and cover most of its cost). The band usually plays jazz and some klezmer. About a week before the party, we gave the lead musician a CD of 80s tunes we liked, and asked him if he would be able to play any of them. The list included classics like "Footloose," "She Bop," "Rock Me Amadeus," and "Jesse's Girl" -- great dancing music. We told the band to play whatever they could, and put the CD on during their breaks.

I was really hoping to dance a lot -- especially since I was dressed in a "Flashdance"-inspired outfit. (Trust me, it was modest -- contrasting colors and multiple layers can give one the appearance of wearing off-the-shoulder clothing without actually showing any skin. Also, we had a mehitzah. I am not afraid to bust a move, but I don't dance with men.)

Unfortunately, the band decided to attempt playing 80s songs which they were so not meant to play. Trust me when I say that having a man named Henry sing an off-key rendition of "I Will Survive" was enough to make me hope I would survive the song. Fortunately, enough of us female folks knew the words to sing them at the top of our lungs and drown out Henry.

The other highlight of the party was when, during a break, the band put on our 80s mix CD and "Thriller" came one. In a moment reminiscent of last summer's movie "13 Going on 30," a bunch of us moonwalked and gyrated like the good ol' days. A moment for the memory books.

Feeling like a party pooper, I left while lots of people were still mingling because I was not feeling well, and showed up to work late on Monday because I still felt kind of gross. Thankfully, by Tuesday, I was feeling a lot better.

My birthday itself was a regular workday -- I wore a new outfit I bought myself, and brought a cake into work (The Chronicle's policy is BYOC -- bring your own cake.) so that my coworkers would sing happy birthday for me. Someone even produced a few candles for me to blow out. And my mom sent me flowers, which was nice. In the evening, I went to a concert at the JCC, which was good, and there was even some dancing, though it was mostly me and a bunch of sixth grade girls.

Altogether, it was a good birthday, with some disappointing undertones. My mom also mailed me a small package for my birthday (a box of chocolate -- I have the best mom), which she sent Express so I would get it in time, and she signed a waiver so that I wouldn't have to sign for the package when it arrived, which was supposed to be last Shabbos. Well, the postman decided to be super diligent and not leave the package for me in case someone stole it before I picked it up. Four trips to the post office and six days later (three days after my birthday), I finally got the package, and thankfully the chocolate had not melted. I almost went postal, but thanks to an infusion of chocolate flowing through my veins, I am now at peace with the postal service.

The other disappointment this week was related to my dating life. Birthdays are always painful reminders that "I'm another year older and I'm still not married." To counteract that feeling this year, I decided to be a bit more proactive. I signed up for, and bought a plane ticket to attend, a singles Shabbaton in New Jersey. While I normally abhor such events, this one sounded like it was being carefully planned and would be worth attending. Alas, on my birthday, I got a phone call informing me that the Shabbaton had been cancelled because not enough men had expressed interest in attending.

I briefly entertained the idea of visiting friends in New York for the weekend, but eventually decided on a quiet weekend in Pittsburgh, which turned out to be a great idea. I had a nice relaxing Shabbos, and Saturday night I ate chocolate and French fries and watched part of "To Kill a Mockingbird" (one of my favorite movies) on television. It was so nice and relaxing after a hectic week of trying to celebrate, that I couldn't help thinking that this was the best birthday party of all.

I'm older than I've ever been

2004-11-16T23:38:00.000-08:00

And now I'm even older. And now I'm even older.

For those of you unfamiliar with the wit of They Might Be Giants, the above is a nod to a song called "Older" from their "Mink Car" album (sorry, I'm too tired to find a link now, but I highly recommend the group, especially for anyone with a quirky sense of humor).

I write these words because today I am a year older. Yes, my friends, I have reached another birthday. In some ways 28 is easier than, say, 25, because I've already gotten past the shock of being an adult and still not knowing how my life will turn out. In recent years, I have learned that life is an unfolding mystery in which we cannot possibly know what the next day holds, even when we are certain that we do. Man plans, G-d laughs. You know how it is.

While I know that 28 is not at all old, it is still difficult to come to terms with the idea that that is how old I am. On the other hand, I am also proud of how far I've come, and have no desire to go back to being in the over-idealized early twenties.

All things considered, the last year has been a good, productive one for me. Since my last birthday I have been reading and writing more, and exercising more -- I now take two intense ballet classes a week, sometimes three, and I am probably in the best shape I've been since high school. All of these activities also make me feel more accomplished, and more interesting. I've also developed somewhat of an addiction to clothes shopping, which is not great for my bank account, but has allowed me to put together a wardrobe that makes me feel more sophisticated.

Since my last birthday, I followed up on a promise to myself to take a trip to Israel, which I had last visited in 1996. In July, I was in the Holy Land for nine days -- as much time off as I could arrange. The experience was both fun and spiritually uplifting, and made me feel as though I was doing something good for Israel and its economy.

I had the good fortune to escape a job in which I felt stifled to return to my chosen career as a journalist.

And, I slowly moved on from a very painful breakup to the point that I am now interested in meeting guys and dating them -- as opposed to just feeling that I should, lest I die alone and be eaten by an Alsatian.

Altogether, it has been a year of self-discovery and self-empowerment. I have a lot more confidence than I did a year ago, and I am so much happier.

So, I am glad to be living my life, and embracing the changes that time brings, even if that means that I will continue to be older than I've ever been before. (And now I'm even older. And so are you, my friends.)

Senator Lieberman, I presume

2004-10-28T19:56:00.000-07:00

This evening, Joe Lieberman came to Pittsburgh, to my synagogue, to help swing some Jewish voters over to Kerry. Being the roving reporter I am, I was on the scene, notebook in hand, and boy was it fun.

I got to my shul about 10 minutes before Lieberman was scheduled to arrive -- he ended up being about a half hour late. One of the event organizers took down my name and told me I would have the chance to ask Lieberman some questions before he spoke, which was a pleasant surprise. While waiting for Lieberman to arrive, I schmoozed with the Chronicle photographer, and with some journalists visiting from, of all places, Croatia. There were about four of them, and one was trying to teach the others some Hebrew. He was instructing the others to say, "Boker Tov" to Lieberman, until I pointed out that "Good morning" wasn't really appropriate at supper time. I recommended they stick to "Shalom."

In the meantime, what seemed like half the Jewish community was gradually showing up at the shul, and several people stopped to ask me if I was there on "official business."

Finally, the senator arrived, and was quickly ushered out of sight to allow him a few minutes to collect himself (he was coming from another campaign event). When he came out, he walked over to where I was standing and said, "You must be Susan Jacobs." I blinked, I gulped, I nodded, I smiled. My stomach did a little dance.

Now, clearly this was one of those carefully finessed political moments, where his staff had told him just a moment before that he would be speaking to a reporter named Susan Jacobs, but boy was it flattering to have Joe Lieberman introducing himself to me.

Thankfully, I was able to collect myself enough to ask him the two questions I had prepared. I asked if he thought that Kerry had lost a lot of the Jewish vote to Bush this year because of the perception that Bush is good for Israel. He said we'll have to see, and said Kerry is better on other issues that are important to Jews. Then I asked if he thinks the election will be as close as the polls are predicting. He said, "I hope not. I don't want the country to go through what we went through four years ago again." That was it. I thanked him, and then he moved on to the Croatian team before going into the social hall for his speech. I didn't try to ask him anything more substantive because I knew I wouldn't have much time with him, and because I knew he probably wouldn't say anything that candid anyway. And, I knew I didn't have the nerves to speak to him for more than a couple of minutes. I was happy just to listen to what he had to say.

He spoke very well -- lots of Jewish references thrown in, and the audience, for the most part, really ate it up. It was lots of fun, and getting to cover it made me feel really important.

Very grateful

2004-10-16T23:01:00.000-07:00

This past week, my former employer laid off about 10 people in what they are calling a "financial reorganization." In the press release they provided to us at The Jewish Chronicle, they said that several other positions had been eliminated through attrition. I firmly believe that my old job was one of those, which further leads me to believe that if I had still been working there this week, I would have been laid off as well.

A couple of people have said to me "you were smart to get out when you did." While it's true that I had known for a long time that the organization might downsize, and I knew I had an expendable position, it was really hashgacha pratis (divine providence) and not my own cleverness that saved me from unemployment.

Over the course of the last year, I had been casually job hunting online from time to time, and had sent my resume to a couple of places, but nothing looked particularly promising. And then, in August, the editor of The Chronicle called to invite me to apply for the associate editor position. If he had not called (which was very flattering), I would not have even known the job was available.

Ironically, I struggled quite a bit with the decision to change jobs -- in part because the old job offered certain benefits that the new job does not have. Ultimately, I reasoned, "Maybe this (the Chronicle job) is what I'm supposed to be doing right now. If I turn down this opportunity, I may never have another one like it." I also knew that I would feel really, really stupid if I turned down the Chronicle just to be laid off eventually.

I never expected to receive such a clear confirmation that I made the right decision. I feel so blessed to not only be working, but to have a job that I am enjoying so much.

It gives me a lot of comfort to look at life's situations and feel that G-d is guiding us along, and arranging circumstances in a particular way. There are so many times in life that it is easy to feel that G-d is denying us something (or many things) that we want very much (even feel we deserve). I have those thoughts plenty of times (especially with regard to not being married yet), but at least this week, I feel so grateful, and so blessed.

Quick update

2004-10-10T19:07:00.000-07:00

No, I haven't given up blogging. It's just that the Jewish holiday season has a way of wreaking havoc upon one's routine.

I had a wonderful, lively, Simchat Torah. If you are an Orthodox woman in search of a shul where the women also dance on Simchat Torah (rather than just watching the men -- I'm still not sure how watching people dance qualifies as fun), then come to my shul next year. We dance up a storm. One of my friends came to visit me this year on the promise that Simchat Torah would be very leibedick and fun, and I think her expectations were more than fulfilled. A good time was had by all, as they say. And at my shul, that means non-alcoholic fun. [I'm not sure where many shuls and yeshivas find the justification for boozing it up on Simchat Torah, but according to Rabbi Daniel Wasserman (my local Orthodox rabbi), there is absolutely no source for it, and in fact, drunkenness is a sin.]

In other news, work is still going well. I had four articles in this week's paper, and received many, many compliments over Yom Tov. It's really nice to be appreciated, though I must try not to let it go to my head.

And, last week I finally finished a free-lance piece for Sustainable Pittsburgh, an organization for which I write periodic pieces on environmental/development issues. It was one of those things that never had a definite deadline, so I put it off until I was utterly embarassed by how long I had been procrastinating. It felt very good to get it done.

Mrs. America

2004-09-27T19:41:00.000-07:00

So tonight I turned on my t.v. at the regular time, hoping to catch the nightly rerun of one of my favorite shows, Early Edition (show about a guy who gets tomorrow's newspaper today, delivered by a cat -- Kyle Chandler, the series star, has old-movie good looks and a Jimmy Stewart-esqe, self-deprecating style [if only he were Jewish, and single, and a little bit younger …, but I digress]), and lo and behold, the Pax network had instead decided to air the Mrs. America pageant.

Now pageants are funny spectacles to begin with, and Mrs. America has got to be the most ridiculous of all. I'm not particularly into designer clothes, or high heels, or bikinis, or plastic surgery, and I certainly don't believe it's appropriate to judge women by the way they parade around in swimsuits, and claim to be running a "scholarship competition," but I find pageants highly entertaining. The laugh factor of these extravaganzas was hilariously portrayed in the Sandra Bullock movie "Miss Congeniality." If you are female and have not yet seen this movie, then you are missing out big time. (My favorite line in the movie was delivered by Candace Bergman, who was listing the categories of people who are anti-pageant, er "scholarship competition," … "intellectuals, feminists, ugly women.")

It is particularly ridiculous to watch grown women behaving as if they are still trying out to be high school prom queen. The makeup, the fake nails, the sequins -- do these women know it's 2004? The highlight of the competition (at least for me) was the part in which each contestant pranced down the runway (which was suspended over a swimming pool, and darn it, nobody fell in) dressed in a costume that represented some aspect of her state. Mrs. New Hampshire was a ladybug. Mrs. Georgia was a phoenix rising from the ashes. Mrs. Oklahoma was an oil derrick -- I'm not kidding. Amongst all the Vegas-style costumes (including Mrs. Washington representing the skyline of Seattle -- and would you believe, she won best costume?), I was proud that Mrs. West Virginia was tastefully dressed in a silver-gray shorts outfit, carrying a hard hat, to represent the coal miners of WV. Of course she lost.

And by the way, Mrs. Louisiana won Mrs. Congeniality. I didn't watch till the end to find out who won the crown, but I didn't need to.

All together now: open mouths with shock and exhilaration, lift manicured hands to face, fanning them furiously to ward off that wellspring of tears that will smear the makeup. Praise the Lord several times. Hug a few fellow contestants for show, and blow kisses to the audience. Cue the music … fade out.

Pleasantly full

2004-09-25T22:17:00.000-07:00

Isn't it funny that we can compensate for 25 hours of not eating in less than an hour? When Yom Kippur ended tonight, I hurried home with great anticipation, feeling that I could eat all the food in my refrigerator. Truth be told, after consuming one sensibly sized starch-studded meal, I felt quite full. The highlight of my break-the-fast meal was a bowl of potato-lukshin soup, which I had prepared before the fast. The name says it all -- the soup contains diced potatoes and thin egg noodles, plus salt and pepper to taste, with milk poured over it at serving time. It's not fancy, but it's a soup my Bubby often made when I was growing up, and is on my list of favorite comfort foods.

Thankfully, the fast was relatively easy this year, and I was pleased to feel more familiar than ever with the liturgy. After years of plodding through the Hebrew, it is a wonderful feeling to look at the words on the page and actually know what they mean (at least most of the time, when I'm concentrating). Going into Yom Kippur after finishing my first week on the new job, I was afraid I'd be too tired to daven well, but fortunately, that wasn't a problem.

Speaking of the job, so far so good. I LOVE working for a newspaper again. Everyone in the office is really nice, and the executive editor is really taking my suggestions/criticisms to heart. And believe me, I've been voicing them.

All of my life I've been fairly shy, and started my other jobs with trepidation and self-consciousness. This time, however, I quickly overcame my nerves on the first day, and dove right into the job. It helps that I am part of a very small staff, all of whom welcomed me warmly, and were interested in my input from day one. (They also needed my help immediately, so there was no time for frivolous things, like learning how to retrieve voice mail from the system.) And it also helps that I have worked for a newspaper before, and know how to do my job. But even so, I was shocked last week to hear myself saying things with authority. We had an editorial meeting on Thursday to discuss next week's paper, and I disagreed with the executive editor about whether to cover a particular story. He didn't think it was newsworthy. I did, and I told him why. In the end, he agreed with me. I was surprised by my frankness, but proud that I had voiced my opinion.

I think there are a few reasons I feel so comfortable so quickly at this job. First, for the last two years, I have been reading The Jewish Chronicle with great frustration, knowing that I could make it better. As someone deeply involved in the Jewish community, I have a lot of ideas for articles that should be written and issues that should be covered. Second, unlike my two years as an associate at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, I feel I am working with the same level of competence as my fellow staffers. At the Post-Gazette, I was working with very smart, seasoned journalists who were sometimes an intimidating bunch. The paper also had firmly established beats, and senior staff writers got first dibs on all the most interesting stories. I loved my two years at the PG, and soaked up every bit of journalistic know-how that came my way, but I was also relieved to leave the intensity of that job behind me.

The new job is intense too -- each day of my first week was packed solid with interviewing, writing, and editing. But it was also a lot of fun, and I felt freer and more confident in my writing than I ever did at the PG. The first consideration in writing a newspaper article is, "What will the readers want to know?" At the PG, the audience is large and very diverse, and as a young, single, Orthodox Jewish female, the topics that interested my editors weren't always all that important to me. At The Chronicle, it is much easier for me to understand the concerns of the community, because they are my concerns too. The Jewish community here is reasonably large and diverse, and there are lots of viewpoints that need to be represented in the paper, but from the start, I feel that I understand those views, or can learn to understand them in time.

In a few weeks, I may be complaining about my coworkers, or the job itself, and wondering why I was so excited at the beginning, but for now, I am really happy.

Of milk and honey

2004-09-19T19:41:00.000-07:00

I had such great blogging plans for the last two days of 5764. In my two days of freedom (read: mad errand-running) between my last day at the old job and Rosh Hashana, I expected to complete a Herculean list of tasks, and have the presence of mind to leisurely post on my blog. Ha! I completed a fair share of those long-procrastinated tasks, but blogging was not to be. In addition to not having the aforementioned presence of mind, I also had an unfortunate incident involving a glass of milk and my trusty Dell keyboard. Milk: it does a body good, but it's murder on a keyboard.

They say not to cry over spilled milk, and I didn't. Instead, I told myself that perhaps I was supposed to suffer this minor financial loss and inconvenience in the waning hours of 5764 as some sort of atonement. And, I was grateful that my hiatus between jobs allowed me the time to zip over to the local computer store, where I procured a perfectly serviceable and relatively inexpensive new keyboard. And there was even time to spare before Yom Tov to dash off a few emails. As inconveniences go, it was really one of the more painless ones.

And so, I cleaned up the spilled milk before heading into the holiday in which everything is dipped in honey. Yes, more blatant symbolism laden with cliches.

Rosh Hashana was good this year. On the first night, I davened in one of Pittsburgh's shteebles (house that serves as a shul), and got to hear a drasha (sermon), which set an appropriately introspective tone for the holiday. The rabbi spoke about the importance of praying with total concentration, just as Hannah does in the Haftarah of the first day of Rosh Hashana, thus setting a precedent for all of Jewry. It's hard to remember exactly what he said, but the gist was: Our prayers should be complete, and spoken from the heart, and we should focus on the idea that our fate is literally in G-d's hands, for good or for bad.

I used to think it seemed small-minded to pray to G-d for personal things, but over the years, I have come to realize that doing so is a demonstration of the belief that all of our needs are ultimately satisfied by G-d -- that we turn to Him, because we recognize that He is the One who sustains us. This year, I felt like I had some "quality time" in shul, which made me feel good.

The year behind me was a difficult one emotionally for a variety of reasons, including the gradual decline and death of my Zayde. Over the last eight years, my grandmother and four of her siblings, my grandfather and two of his siblings, two uncles, and a handful of other relatives have all died. Most were elderly, but some were not. It has been exhausting, and much of last year was pent-up with anxiety about whether and when my grandfather would die. (After scaring us several times with congestive heart failure and minor strokes, he quite stubbornly clung to life, and was very weak, but still lucid when he died in July at age 93. According to his full-time caregiver, in the last week of his life, he began speaking a great deal more about my grandmother and longing to be with her. It is a comfort that he is with her now, and no longer suffering.)

At his funeral, my sister and I said, in effect, "Okay, that's enough. No one else is allowed to die for at least 20 years." Although I know it is unrealistic to think that I won't experience any more sadness in the next two decades, I do have the sense that a very somber period of my life is behind me, and I am hopeful that the future will hold happiness that surpasses the sadness of the past.

On Rosh Hashana, I thought some about my grandfather, who so loved going to shul, and teaching his grandchildren to love it too. Growing up, my sister and I would sit with Zayde in shul, and afterwards walk home with him. When I was in high school, when he and I would walk hand-in-hand, he used to say to me, "Someday your grandchildren will walk with you to shul too." That someday always seemed so far away to me, and it still does, but now that he's gone, it seems like something so much more real to hope and pray for.

I pray that the year ahead will bring comfort, happiness, and peace to all of Israel.

Starting a new chapter

2004-09-14T01:07:00.000-07:00

Today was my last day of work at the Jewish Association on Aging. This was my second "real" job, and one that I held for two years. From the start, it was a job that I took because I couldn't find a journalism job, and it was never a job that I planned to stay with for more than a year or two. So, I am glad to be moving on, but grateful that I have been gainfully employed for the last two years, and that I was able to have a job that was basically pleasant, and which gave me the satisfaction of participating in the work of an organization that does good, concrete things for people who need help.

Today was bittersweet -- busier than I expected with lots of loose ends that still needed to be tied up -- I am happy to be moving on, but will miss a lot of the people I worked with. I also realized today that I became very invested in some of the projects I worked on, and it is strange to think of someone taking my place and doing "my" work.

On the other hand, I feel very liberated. After two years of feeling creatively stifled, I am so excited to be returning to what I feel is my "calling." I met last week with my new boss, and I got the sense that I will be in a position to really influence the direction of the paper, and will also have plenty of opportunities to do the reporting and writing I love so much. I feel like a part of brain and my psyche which have been dormant for a while are reawakening now, and it feels so good.

Because I've worked for a newspaper before, I know there will be plenty of days that I'll feel too tired to write, but will have to anyway, and that there will be lots of uncomfortable politics to contend with, both inside and outside the office. But I also think that this is a wonderful opportunity both to exercise my journalism skills, and to serve my community. First assignment: this Sunday I get to interview Cameron Kerry!, John Kerry's brother, who will be in town to meet with local Jewish leaders. How cool is that? First day on the job -- I'm a little bit nervous, and I hardly believe it's real.

I like to believe that things work out for a reason, and I find it particularly interesting that my last day at my old job was a couple of days before Rosh Hashana, and that my first day at the new job is just a couple of days into the New Year. New year, new chapter in my life. The timing is just dripping with symbolism.

And, it is also fitting that I am getting started with this blog at this time of transition in my life (though I hope I'm not already boring you with details of my life). Thanks so much to all of you who have already visited this blog. I had sorted of hoped to be quietly posting for a while before announcing that I was out in the blogosphere, though it has been rather flattering to be "visited" by friends, strangers, and relatives alike (Yay Freedman cousins!). I sort of feel like I was talking very candidly to a friend, not realizing that a whole group of people was standing behind me, listening to the whole conversation. All of a sudden I turned around, and there you were -- and you were smiling and nodding your heads. Thanks for being there. I won't make any promises about posting frequently, but I hope to get into some sort of a rhythm of posting.

Welcome to my blog

2004-09-09T01:32:00.000-07:00

After more than a year of reading friends' blogs and telling myself that I should launch my own, I have finally taken the leap.

By way of introduction, I am Susan Jacobs, a 27-year-old journalist living in Pittsburgh, PA. I grew up in Charleston, WV, and love my hometown and home state dearly. I go back to visit whenever I have a chance, and it helps that Pittsburgh is just a four hour car trip away from my family.

I am also an Orthodox Jew (a baalas teshuva -- been completely shomer Shabbos for nine years, but started becoming more observant after I declared at age nine that "I want to be Orthodox when I grow up."). If you know anything about West Virginia, you should know that it is not exactly a center of Jewish life in general, or Orthodoxy in particular. But Charleston is home to a wonderful community of about 1,000 Jews (out of 60,000 total population in the city), and it has been home to my family for more than 100 years. I am proud of both of my heritages (Jewish and West Virginian), but the combination of the two has sparked more than a little surprise and confusion on the part of big city Jews. In grad school, one of my professors had no problem understanding the Jewish part of me, but he just couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that I grew up in West Virginia. I relish being a contradiction in terms, and I expect at least a few entries on this blog will address this topic.

The most exciting news in my life of late is that after biding my time for two years as "marketing manager" for the Jewish Association on Aging, I am finally returning to the wonderful world of journalism. As of Sept. 20, I will be Associate Editor of The Jewish Chronicle of Pittsburgh. The current Web site is no great shakes, but I'll see what I can do about that. First and foremost, the paper needs more help with basic content and copy editing. It won't be a glamorous job, but it's newspaper work, which I love, and it's an opportunity to lend my talents to my community. Just one step in my meteoric rise to stardom. (Alright, it's a slow-moving meteor. Work with me here.)

Well, if you've read this far, then you also know by now that I'm long-winded. (Hey, everybody needs an editor, even so-called editors.) But before you go, allow me to explain why I chose the name "Draydel" for this blog. During Chanukah when I was 10 years old, two wonderful pets were adopted by my family -- an adorable Cocker spaniel puppy named Taffy, and a part-Siamese cat with deep blue eyes whom we named Draydel. We got both pets because my sister had been begging for years to have a dog, and since she was getting a dog, I said I wanted a cat. Taffy and Draydel were wonderful companions and they were with us for 14 and 15 years, respectively. They were the first and so far only pets I've ever had. Although I'm sad she's gone, Draydel's memory still makes me happy, and for that reason (and because other blog names I considered were already taken), this blog is named for her.

So ends the first post on the blog named Draydel. Keep checking back for more.