"Jewish" Food?

Is there such a thing as "Jewish food"? 

I belong to a number of Jewish food groups. Some are more cultural, shall we say, than religious. During the pre-Chanukah season, the page was obviously going berserk for latke recipes. 

One person asked if she could make latkes in the oven. "The point is that they're fried!" she was sternly admonished. Since this was the more cultural page, I was amused. Is this what people think is important about the holiday—frying? The message of anti-assimilation is more vital, me thinks—and relevant.

Potatoes, to begin with, were not around in the times of the Chashmonaim. Chanukah food used to be cheese fritters, but Eastern European Jews only had shmaltz, not oil, to fry with. They therefore couldn't use cheese, so they relied on the sturdy potato that is readily available from winter storage. 

So what we have here is a holiday dish with tenuous ties to the original holiday. Now that we know about smoke point, frying in extra virgin olive oil is not recommended. So, does frying in sunflower oil or butter or shmaltz make something a Chanukah food? Shouldn't we be making more of an effort to consume olive oil, which doesn't necessarily mean frying? (I heartily recommend these cookies instead. Or, even better, good ol' salad vinaigrette.)  

My upbringing revolved around paprikash. The only thing that's Jewish about it is that typical Hungarian paprikash is usually served with sour cream, and the Jewish version is not.  

Jews are a bendy people—that's how we've survived. We learned, as we were shunted from place to place, how to pick up bits and pieces from the current culture around us and make it our own. Like braided challah—it has taken over our lives so much that women think bread HAS to be braided for Shabbos, when, no. That's an echo of a European fad in the 1500s, ladies. If women knew bread for Shabbos doesn't require braiding, maybe they would make it more often. 

I happen to like chremslach better than latkes—and both are fried potato patties. Yet the former is "for" Pesach, and the latter is "for" Chanukah. There's no rhyme or reason to it. It's just that in Eastern Europe, people ate potatoes all the time, and had to make do. 

So no, I'm not going to start deep frying on Chanukah just because "you have to fry" on Chanukah. We don't "have" to, especially if frying makes you nervous (it makes me nervous!) and/or not really worth the work for you.

And lately, my timid tastebuds have been experimenting with more "exotic" options, like tahina and silan (I'm so daring, she said sarcastically). 

It's all Jewish food. There's no right or wrong way of doing it, except if it's treif.

More Than Happiness

Happiness. The founding fathers made a point to mention it, although I think their version of "happiness" doesn't align with the modern translation. 

Parents say, "I just want my child to be happy." Do they, though? If their child was happy to live in a yurt and off the grid, would that be what they wanted? 

Sally Hepworth's The Mother-In-Law was an interesting read, flipping between the mother-in-law's and daughter-in-law's viewpoints. I like books that tell two sides of a story. It's not about wrong vs. right; different people see things differently, operate differently, have different needs, and this can cause clashes in perspective. 

The mother-in-law, Diane, is a woman of principle. She runs a charity for pregnant refugee women. She believes that the good things in life are earned, not given. 

If you ask me, everyone is a little too interested in their children's happiness. Ask anyone what they wish for their kids and they'll all say they want them to be happy. Happy! Not empathetic contributing members of society. Not humble, wise and tolerant. Not strong in the face of adversity or grateful in the face of misfortune. I, on the other hand, have always wanted hardship for my kids. Real, honest hardship. Challenge big enough to make them empathetic and wise. Take the pregnant refugee girls I deal with every day. They've been through unimaginable hardships, and here they are, working hard, contributing and grateful. 

What more could you want for your kids?

I agree with Diane that happiness isn't the goal, especially, in my opinion, that empathetic, humble, wise, tolerant, strong, and grateful people are happy because they have cultivated these traits. 

What I don't necessarily agree with is that hardship will guarantee those results. 

Yes, there are some people who emerge bigger and better from hardship. But others are crushed beneath challenge. They become bitter, or timid, or focus on victimhood. 

Happiness comes in many forms. But it often begins in gratitude. If someone finds their life partner, and they are happy, it is because of gratitude. If someone can support their family comfortably, and they are happy, it is because of gratitude. If we are joyful on our yomim tovim, it is because of gratitude that we are Jews.

Then, I wonder. Is someone who found their bashert later in life happier than the one who married at 21? Meaning, did hardship (dating for eons) create a greater level of happiness from gratitude? 

I think it depends on the person. We all respond differently to hardship. Not all materials can withstand stress. 

Diane wants her children to have hardship. But did she prepare them for it?  Do they have the qualities that will guarantee survival?

Tradition vs. Observance

I read The Dinner Party by Brenda Janowitz, and I rather enjoyed it. It's about a Passover Seder hosted and attended by traditional Jews and the drama that ensues. 

One passage: 

The house Alan lives in now is far different than the house he grew up in. A home filled with two Holocaust survivors who feared going to the dentist and refused to stand on line. Parents who never slept at night. . . his childhood home was cold. There had been no rugs on the floor; the furniture was sparse. Nothing adorning the walls. It was as if his parents wanted to be ready, if they ever needed to again, to run and hide. 

Alan wasn't allowed to have friends over. "Who are those people?" his mother would ask. Alan's parents didn't trust anyone but other Holocaust survivors. They didn't entirely trust them, either. It was easy to avoid the outside world in their tiny Brooklyn enclave. His father worked as a haberdasher just blocks from their home. His mother rarely left the house. The only socializing they did was on the holidays, and that was with other Holocaust survivors. People Alan barely knew. They had no family. 

Alan was embarrassed by his parents. He was scared of them. He wanted very little to do with them. 

I don't know if Janowitz is depicting a situation that she knows personally, or if it was invented by her as how survivors reacted to their experience. But I found it to be an interesting contrast to my grandparents, and Han's. 

I don't really know of any survivors (and I know many) who lived their lives as described above. They didn't perpetually live in fear. If anything, many were joyful. 

I couldn't help but wonder if religion played any part in the contrast. Does religion provide us with the structure for resilience? To be able to move forward, beyond pain, towards a more optimistic future? 

Hmmm.   

Five Minute Face

Nowadays, I don't have much time in the mornings to apply serious Face. If I do, I try to up things with my eyes, as that is what is usually neglected. But here's my new basic routine, which manages to still get me compliments from the nice lady in Costco who checks my receipt by the door. 

We begin: 

1) I clean my face with Thayer's Witch Hazel and Aloe Astringent and a cotton round;

2) I apply a Vitamin C serum. I wait until it's been absorbed (I spend the time climbing into some clothing);

3) I then shmear on IT Cosmetics CC+ Cream Illumination. This version has a sheen that makes me glowy. I've noticed as I'm getting older that my skin gets less oily so I need less powder-based products; 

4) Concealer for my monster dark circles (between genetics and exhaustion, I need it!) I apply two products. First, is a cream based color corrector. I'm currently using up one by Cover FX that I don't even think is being carried anymore by Sephora, but in any case my previous one, by Bobbi Brown (Under Eye Corrector), I liked better;

5) I have to set this cream corrector or else it settles in unpleasantly. I use the Bare Minerals Broad Spectrum Concealer in Well Rested; 

6) Mascara, preferably two coats. I'm still fond of the Tarte Gifted Amazonian Clay Smart Mascara, but I haven't researched anything new in a while. Sometimes I use the Dior Diorshow Maximizer 3D Triple Volume Plumping Lash Primer underneath; 

7) A swipe of Tarte Amazonian Clay 12-Hour Blush in Dollface; 

8) I set everything with loose powder. I'm currently using one up that I bought in desperation in the drugstore. But I find most loose translucent powders to be the same in performance; 

9) I fill in my brows with Tarte Amazonian Clay Waterproof Brow Pencil in Taupe. I've tried a number over the years and it's my favorite. It matches my brows so well and gives excellent definition. I apply it after powder as it doesn't go on so well on freshly cced skin; 

8) LIPSTICK! I can finally wear some! I'm still working through my mother's stockpile (I know that sounds grisly but she had a major lipstick obsession and was constantly trying new colors and some of them are da bomb). I begin with lip lining, using Make Up For Ever Aqua Lip Waterproof Lipliner Pencil (I've used a number of pencils and I do like this one as it glides on, instead of struggling); 

9) So my lipstick of choice is rather random at the moment, currently using up a discontinued lippy by Bite Beauty. It's too satin for me, but I blot it to get the finish I want. I prefer more longer lasting options on the matte spectrum.

OK, does this take five minutes? Well, it could go a little over. But if I'm pressed for time I can always skip eyebrows or lipstick.

Before and After

I used to be a curated work of art. 

Every day, I carefully monitored the image that was to go into the outdoors. I couldn't control how many/what type of dates I got, but dammit, I could make sure I looked fabulous in the meantime. 

It took lots of effort, and since I had few hobbies besides shopping I was game. I spent hours sifting through racks of discount clothing. I analyzed makeup options for weeks before selecting the right one. The shoes, oh, the shoes . . . 

I never realized how much of that depended on sleep. 

I've always been very attached to my bedtime. Always. I was never the carefree teenager who crawled into bed at 1 a.m. and snored until noon. It was 9:30 to bed, 5:30 to arise. Well, I didn't have to be out of bed by 5:30, but that's when I woke up, so I would snuggle in my cocoon until the alarm chirped. 

But now I'm a whole new person, baby. Gone is my chic wardrobe because (a) whatever I put on gets covered in yogurt or snot in five minutes and (b) it doesn't fit.

In order to monitor my weight to ideal parameters, I need sleep to have the energy to make the few vegetables my stomach still tolerates instead of relying on quicky meals of string cheese and brown rice cakes. 

I have at times, quite literally, nothing to wear, and I no longer have the time or energy to spend another 1,000 hours culling through sales racks to find another wardrobe. I stick to two denim skirts that still fit and a few comfortable dresses that are not remotely chic in any way. I try to style them as best I can, but I am all too aware of the contrast. 

But . . . this is what mommies look like. This is how mommies operate. This is what I was hoping for, sleep deprivation and hot-mess-keit. OK, no one wishes to be sleep deprived but it's a side effect of marriage and kids. Along with bills and making Shabbos and laundry and finding a good electrician. 

My friend, so much younger than I but in the same place in life, laughs with me at how glamorous we used to be. Oh, we both try, but we know the before and after have quite a difference. My other friend, who also married "later," laughs at the same situation. 

So I if I crawl out of bed early enough, I can manage Five Minute Face (I'm so glad that masks aren't mandated everywhere anymore so I can apply some lipstick) and a garment that is only slightly stained. 

And one day, one day, my time with grubby handed infants will pass, and I might even miss that era. Then I'll possibly be able to shop and style once again. 

So my former glamazon is merely . . . going on hiatus. 

Neat Endings

Before the holiday season, I was forwarded an "inspirational" video about a young couple who had had a wrong done against them. The transgressor had acted with the best of intentions, but he had still grievously erred. Before Yom Kippur, he asked forgiveness from this couple. Initially, they were not sure if they could do it, but they ended up granting it. 

A few days later, the wife was in a terrible car crash, but she and her unborn child emerged unscathed. 

With a swell of violins, the video concludes with the reminder of the power of forgiveness. 

This didn't jive with me. 

Was this couple amazing for forgiving the wrong-doer? In my opinion, yes. If the video's message was that if this couple could forgive this fellow, then open your heart to mechilah, well, I would be behind that.

But it was the connection I was bothered by. Because life rarely has a perfect connection between one action and another. 

Is the video's message that if this couple had not freely given their forgiveness, the wife and unborn child would not have emerged unscathed? That is not a prediction that can be made.

What if there had been no car crash? There would be no story, that's for sure. "This young couple gave their forgiveness, and experienced no incidents on the road!" HaShem could have spared her from the car crash to begin with, right?

Do any of us arrive home safely and marvel at the miracle of our survival? Or try to examine our actions as to why we merited returning home in one piece? 

We don't. Because human nature takes such things for granted, while only according near-misses as miracles. 

What if our everyday, drama-free, crisis-absent (in other words, boring) existences is the very blessing we should be cherishing? 

There are plenty of sin-free souls who die in car crashes, or are taken in equally horrific ways (hello? Holocaust? Illness? Freak accidents? Etc.?) If we apply this premise to everyone, it would follow that they are/were guilty in some manner, or else they would have lived. Which is not Judaism. 

People should be inspired to do amazing good without the reminder of reward—or the belief that if they don't, well, there's a car crash waiting for you. Then that goodness is not freely given, but extracted through threats of cosmic lightning bolts. 

Someone once asked me for forgiveness. I was so bowled over by her request that I freely gave it. Do I know if that "saved" me in any way? I didn't "almost" get hit by an air conditioner, so I have no idea. And I don't need to know. 

The way Divinity operates . . . it's not my business. My job is to do my part, while keeping my puny human mind out of His methods.

Houses

I was taking a scenic walk through a poshy-woshy neighborhood. For every house, there were two mansions. 

I observe these homes with a critically appreciative eye. I note the materials, the color scheme, the architectural style. But not with any sort of envy. 

I grew up on a poshy-woshy block. To our right and to our left were mansions. Our house, by comparison, was rather modest. Once, when I was around 10, a child from one of these behemoths came to play, and kindly informed me that my house was "cozy." 

With the childish belief that "bigger is better," I would sometimes gaze wistfully at these massive constructions, wondering what it would be like to live there, while I certainly knew that the neighboring children were no happier than anyone else. 

Then, one day in elementary school, I was assigned to a group for a project, and it was agreed we would meet by my house. My classmates marveled at my "cozy" house, exclaiming, "It's a mansion!" Surprised, I viewed my home again with fresh eyes, and realized that yes, it was rather roomy.  

Time passed. The neighbors, like my parents, began to marry off their children. The bedrooms began to empty out. Initially, yes, the married kids would come visit, but there is always a time when it becomes easier for the grandparents to come instead. 

These mansions, so coveted in the owners' 30s and 40s, were now mostly dead space that demanded constant maintenance. Downsizing beckoned, as well as sunny retirement destinations. But selling these white elephants proved difficult. While the neighborhood had been in high demand 20 years ago, it had fallen in value since. These owners were now stuck, hoping a buyer would come who would pay what the houses had cost.  

Despite the "coziness" of our home, with my siblings married and out it felt bleakly empty. But because the house wasn't a technical mansion, my parents were able to eventually sell it and downsize. 

So, no, I don't dream of living in a mansion. 

The home I grew up in was spacious that we all lived comfortably beneath its roof, but even then, with change, it became too big and outgrew its use. 

I know of a couple who have slowly been working their way to build their mansion. First they bought the property, but then their finances took a turn. It took more then a decade for them to scrape together the dough necessary to continue building their castle. 

By the time the mansion will be ready, all their children will be married, and Florida will be looking much more appealing.  

That is not to say I'm not an envious person. God, no! I am more than capable of envy. 

But then, if I have the presence of mind, I'll realize that everything has pros and cons, and that which I envy may not be as cracked up to be . . . like a big house. 

Shidduch Lit: Playing With Matches

I belong to a few online groups to help with book recommendations. What to read after exhausting favorite authors, that sort of thing. One suggestion looked cute: Playing With Matches by Suri Rosen. Despite the orthodox content, it was actually available on my library network!

But I was wary. OK, why wary? I'll be honest, I've read few books by frum authors that didn't somehow disappoint. Clunky, not flowy, you get the drift. 

I made a request for a stack of books from my local library, and chucked that one in too. Why not give it a try? 

The first book from my haul, by a best-seller name with rave reviews, was unreadable. The prose was stilted and saccharine. I had to put it down after 15 pages. I rarely put books down. 

I then picked up Playing With Matches, and the contrast was amazing. Rosen's words flow pleasantly, even humorously! The plot can be a little farfetched at times, but it doesn't matter. Every time I had to stop reading I was itching to continue. It was a sheer delight. 

Rosen, very smartly, doesn't overplay the orthodox card. The characters are frum, but very little is overtly said in terms of observance. Shabbos is matter-of-factly mentioned in passing. As for the dating system, again, no apologies, this is how we do it people, moving on. 

It's simply a story, and the characters happen to be religious. It's more about bein adam l'chaveiro then bein adam l'Makom, and the importance of owning our actions, which is a good message.