tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60179271772310806682024-03-13T09:00:31.776-04:00The FrumanistaFashion, Face, Frumkeit, Fiction, Food, & anything else that takes my Fancy.Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.comBlogger1869125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-66847310012058336842024-03-13T09:00:00.001-04:002024-03-13T09:00:00.258-04:00The Multiverse? <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">TooYoungToTeach insisted that I read "Life After Life" by Kate Atkinson. Always up for new titles, I plucked it up from the library, only to be disappointed that a lot of it takes place in World War II. I don't like reading about World War II. Or World War 1. Or war in general. War is usually off the table for me. Unless it's by Bernard Cornwell. He does war so well. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Anywho, the heroine of the book is Ursula, but she is an odd duck. For every time she dies, the clock spins backward to the original moment of her birth, over and over and over.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Some timelines continue with near identical repetition; others vary wildly. But we don't see how those timelines continue beyond her death; we are just hurtled back again to her first day on earth. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">What we see is that one small occurrence can alter so much—it's novelized butterfly effect, or "Sliding Doors." </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It made me wonder if the point was that we live in a potential multiverse, where infinite permutations of reality play out. In Ursula's case, some strictly involve her, others involve world events. Like, saaaaay, how would the world be different today if Hitler had been assassinated in 1930? He's also only one person. But his elimination would have altered EVERYTHING. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I also continued to contemplate if Hashem is overseeing other realities, other planes of existence. But this quickly got far above my pay grade, and decided to quit before I gave myself a headache. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I concluded that while there could technically be a reality where certain mistakes weren't made, where all is different, as Jews we also believe that reality is intentional. If something was supposed to happen, it does. There is only so much in our control; Ursula is mostly not the driver of her own life; she is swept hither and thither by circumstance. Bumping into the wrong man (multiple men), for instance, by seeming happenstance. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">While have times in our lives when hashgacha pratis is seemingly so clear, other times when we feel cast about in chaos. But is the chaos also intentional, except we just can't see it? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Headache brewing. Best to leave it be. </span> <br /></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-71746526478781619132024-02-07T09:00:00.001-05:002024-02-13T11:04:58.535-05:00Own It <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I've always carried with me a constant awareness of my childhood. Like when people say, "I don't like children," I'm surprised, because don't they remember they were a child once themselves?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So here I am, paying bills, running a household, pushing 40, and I don't feel quite like an adult. When did I get to be a grownup? I qualify? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I came across this nugget by Maya Angelou: </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I am convinced that most people do not grow up . . . We marry and dare to have children and call that growing up. I think what we do is mostly grow old. We carry accumulations of years in our bodies, and on our faces, but generally our real selves, the children inside, are innocent and shy as magnolias. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I realize now that I am the same age, if not older, than some of my childhood playmates' mothers. When I was ten, I gazed up at adults at being all-knowing, wise, and capable, but now that I'm there I see how childish behaviors can have a mighty grip on those who should technically know better. For some, adulthood does not necessarily bring on maturity. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There is something to be said for childhood innocence. But what about the wisdom we <i>should </i>be acquiring with age? Ma would sneer with disdain, "There is no fool like an old fool." She had little tolerance for those who should know better. Children can be excused their mistakes; adults should eventually acquire some common sense. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I saw this quote the other day: </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Maturity is working through your trauma and not using it as a never ending excuse for poor behavior.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> — Ellis Anthony</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Being an adult isn't just supporting oneself. It's self-awareness. It's reflection, as opposed to reacting. It's being able to have a conversation without being threatened that another has a different opinion, and being able to see their point of view. It's about taking ownership for your actions. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Looking through Beraishis, a good many of the happenings therein is regarding personal accountability. Hashem forgives those who say, "I messed up." Whether the sin was against Him or another mortal, all is absolved. Not only that, there is even reward; because Yehuda took responsibility twice in the record, he becomes King of the nation. <br /></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I learned, relatively recently, that taking responsibility for my actions is less threatening that I thought it would be. I used to fight against when I was younger, that "It's not my fault," but even when it technically isn't (like Ben did something when I should have been overseeing his actions), it's still just better all around if I say, "It was my fault." </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">And everyone, including me, can move on. </span><br /></div>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-62829525005168480342024-01-31T09:00:00.001-05:002024-01-31T09:00:00.292-05:00"Peony" <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have been quiet this last few months. Obviously, nothing that I've been thinking of sharing has seemed important. The words that usually chase each other in my head have been rather indolent. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I would like to summon the interest to begin again, for writing is my . . . thing. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In the last few months, I was introduced to the book "Peony" by Pearl S. Buck (author of the more well known "The Good Earth"). Apparently, Madame Buck was a prolific writer, having written many, many books. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Peony" is applicable to my audience because it has a rather surprising topic: The Jews of China. Apparently, Jewish traders settled in China has early as the 9th century (or even earlier) and established communities. There, they lived in peace, the Chinese having no quibble with them, to the point they intermarried. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">According to the historical postscript, Buck was not very accurate in terms of timeline, but it takes place somewhere in the 1800s. While the book is called "Peony," it's really about David, the young man of the household. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The family is a wealthy one, prosperous traders. The patriarch, Ezra, has a Jewish father and a Chinese mother, a fact that his pious wife, Naomi, abhors. Ezra immerses himself in Chinese culture, while Naomi is a fervent Jew, who upholds all the practices and fiercely maintaining a distance from their Chinese neighbors. David, their son, finds himself caught between two worlds. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Peony is a bondmaiden who was acquired in childhood to be a playmate for David. A bondmaiden was neither a lowly servant, nor quite a member of the family. She helps run the household, and adores David. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I had always thought that America was the first time that Jews were accepted, which led to assimilation, but apparently that was not so. Because the Chinese held no primitive grudge against these Jewish transplants, they, too, assimilated. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Buck also explains why the pull was so great: The Chinese sought pleasure. Why not be happy if that was possible? The Jews, however, espoused what they deemed to be unnecessary restriction, along with a lot of sobbing and moaning. No wonder David struggles so. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Buck writes simply, and the book is an pleasant read until it takes a horror movie turn. Additionally, it shouldn't be expected that Buck should have an accurate understanding of Jewish law. For instance, it is written more than once that "Jewish men do not have multiple wives," when that rule was established by an Ashkenazi rabbi, and considering how Ezra is most definitely not a descendant of an Ashkenazi lineage, that wouldn't be an issue. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Also, the matter of matrilineal descent; many who identify as Jews in the book would not be considered halachically Jewish, but according to the postscript the Jews of China went by patrilineal descent. These descendants still exist today in China, and they are proud of their Jewish heritage, even lobbying with the newly founded Chinese government to be considered a minority people. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I don't want to provide any more spoilers, but I do recommend it as a fascinating read about a topic that is not common knowledge. </span><br /></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-82448265114899868462023-11-08T09:00:00.001-05:002023-11-08T09:00:00.151-05:00We Shall Live <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So, how's everyone holding up? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Not too good? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Yeah. I can relate. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I've been thinking out loud with Han—who mostly listens politely then returns to his perpetual doomscrolling—about what is the takeaway here? We've been slammed between the eyes with horror, sadness, fear for our trapped families . . . </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I managed to listen to two shiurim last week. The first was redemption of captives via the strict lens of halacha. What is allowed, what is not. I liked it. It kept to clear guidelines, made by the elders of the past, in times when captivity was definitely more common than today. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The second . . . to preface, I usually enjoy this rabbi's thoughts. I'm often very taken with what he has to say. But this time, I was left unsettled. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He made sure to open that we do not judge. No one can say why some were killed and others were spared. But he brought a myriad of anecdotes about how keeping Shabbos seemingly saved a number of individuals. Either they would have been at the rave, or within the kibbutzim themselves, they were ignored by the terrorists. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">We should learn, the rabbi said, that we should be upholding Shabbat better. We aren't judging those who were killed! Not at all! But we should still learn from this. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">This bothered me. I figured out why. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The rabbi is from a Sephardi community that has a different background than those of Ashkenazim. This community, as a whole, has been slowly progressing in better observance over the years. Nor did they experience the war the way European Jewry did. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">That is what I kept thinking. <i>What of the Holocaust?</i> My great-grandparents were all observant. They lived in towns, not vast, cosmopolitan cities, full of impious distractions (the way I practically do). They kept Shabbos. They kept kosher. They kept everything. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Straight to the gas. Along with children and grandchildren. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">This Sephardi rabbi doesn't have this history. He doesn't have this narrative. Maybe some Sephardim shrug to themselves that the Ashkenazi Jews had it coming with their Reform movements, with their attending theater on Friday nights. But six million people weren't all the same. Chassidic movements were completely wiped out. Reb Elchonon Wasserman, murdered. Along with my great-grandmother, who would say Tehillim every chance she had. Along with my great-aunt and her six children. Along with my Zeidy's wife and little girl. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Additionally, it's not like the terrorists were from an alien planet. They knew it was Shabbos. They knew it was Yom Tov. They chose that day, specifically, for its sleepiness and relaxation. They knew people's guards would be down. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Third point: Lasting change does not come from fear. Embracing mitzvos must come from a place of free choice. Otherwise it will not last. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So what is, the takeaway, then? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I guess I realized that there isn't one. This is the Jewish experience. We can sit and parse our logic and facts, but I just remember that scene after the pogrom in Anatevka, when the wedding party begins to sadly clean up the damage, and Tevye looks to the sky, asking God "Why?" </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Then he continues on, the same Jew, enduring. <a href="https://frumanista.blogspot.com/2023/04/endure.html">Like Dara Horn said</a>. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Or maybe it's just <i>b'damayich chaii</i>—by your blood, you shall live. These words I invoked at my sons' brissim. This phrase can have more than one meaning, I realize. For the more they persecute, the more we proliferate. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As Obi-Wan Kenobi said, "</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="ILfuVd" lang="en"><span class="hgKElc">If you strike me down, I'll become more powerful than you can possibly imagine."</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="ILfuVd" lang="en"><span class="hgKElc">But . . . I'm still so sad. </span></span><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-9359433133150754972023-09-28T09:00:00.002-04:002023-09-28T09:00:00.139-04:00Shhhhhhh<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-size: large;">Be private. Travel and tell no one. Find a partner and tell no one. Live happily and tell no one. People ruin beautiful things. </span></span></blockquote><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"></span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I saw this on IG, and . . . well, this is something I can get behind. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Social media has its pros, and lots of cons. I don't follow people whose whole purpose is to display their lives through the editing lens to the universe. I would fall for their bushwa so fast. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I follow informative accounts instead, and if one bikini shot goes up, one gender reveal, I click unfollow. I should not be privy to something that should be private. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">But that's an extreme. Sometimes we share too much socially, to the people we consider our friends. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There is something to be said for privacy. The quote above didn't say, "don't post it." It says, "tell no one." We like to think, "I can tell my friends. They'll be happy for me!" </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">But maybe they won't. Would you? Some people can carry that generosity of spirit and be truly happy for someone else's good fortune, but even then, they could still be struggling with jealousy. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">After I had Anakin, it was with a sinking heart that I texted a friend, who I haven't seen in years but still sporadically keep up with, the news. She was married before me and still does not have children, and I know she longs for them. She had to be told, but I could not, and did not, expect her to be happy for me. She had managed to be gracious by Ben's birth, sending a gift and attending the bris, but this time, she did not respond to my text. I understood. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">When I was still single, I attended many vorts and weddings of those younger than me. When I received the news that my cousin's daughter was engaged, I angrily stomped to that vort, slapped a smile on my face by the door, then went in and gushed mazel tov to the giddy 20-year-old. It was bad enough I was being pitied; I didn't want to appear pitiable.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Then, when I got engaged to Han, I felt no need to announce it anywhere. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It's very hard to be happy for someone else, especially when they acquired their blessings with seemingly little effort. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The quote finishes off, "People ruin beautiful things." Others ruin things out of envy, out of sadness. No need to put a stumbling block in their path. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The blessings we have are for us alone. Bracha comes to quiet, private places. In this age of oversharing, perhaps we should become reacquainted with discretion. </span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-2393340858713560542023-09-14T09:00:00.001-04:002023-09-14T09:00:00.140-04:00Grief is Allowed <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I've been reading <i>It's OK You're Not OK</i> by Megan Devine, and frankly, she sounds <i>pissed</i>. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">She was actually a grief counselor before she lost her husband in a horrific accident, but found herself unequipped for what followed. But she notes that there was the pain from her grief, and then there was the pain that others inflicted on her. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">People are often quite clueless about the ravages of grief. They also exacerbate the pain with cliches and irritation that the griever is so distraught. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This was highlighted for me recently when I finished was Han refers to as a "lady book," or chick-lit. I shan't name the book, since I'll be spoiling galore, but it follows multiple characters. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">One is a woman in her 50s, whose husband dies of a heart attack in front of her. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Another is a woman in her 20s, whose fiance calls off their wedding three days before the shebang. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Obviously, both take to their beds. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">However: </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Approximately six weeks after her husband dies, the widow's friend demands that she has to get out of the house, she has to move on, come to a get-together. The widow begrudgingly agrees, and drags herself outside and has a good time. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The jilted bride wallows in her misery, to the point where she no longer follows her friend's lives. When she surfaces, she finds herself begging her friend for forgiveness as said friend chastises her for being so "selfish" by falling off the planet. Almost bride is chastened and apologizes. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Both of these situations annoyed me. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Grief comes in multiple forms. There's losing family, and there's losing a dream. Even people who develop celiac disease experience the grief of a future life where they can't mindlessly eat in a public setting. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But grief is not allowed. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Six weeks is not a long time. That's not even the span of a season. A widow is expected to process and file away the loss of her husband of 30 years in a few days? Heck, my mother's been gone for over six years and I'm not remotely over it! </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As for our almost wife? Um, yeah, she's allowed to move into bed and go dark. No, no one died, but she had her heart ripped out, the future as she saw it dissolved, and she had the humiliation of explaining to her friends and family that the wedding is off. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then her friend tells her off? Her friend didn't even go through what she did. So who is she to cast judgement? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">What was even more surprising was that the author's note in the beginning explained that she herself had lost her husband recently. Sooooo . . . she should know what grief is. She should know that grief is allowed, that there is no set time period, and that those in active grief should be cut some slack. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There are times in life when we have to adjust to a new reality, which will sometimes involve grief. It's <i>allowed</i>. <br /></span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-56507496961558459522023-09-07T09:00:00.013-04:002023-09-07T09:00:00.147-04:00The Old Heroes <p style="text-align: justify;"> <span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Another takeaway from <i>Picard </i>3: </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">For those who actually have an interest in watching it, I'll try to keep it vague enough not to cause spoilers. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The whole intent of this Season was nostalgia. They brought back the original <i>TNG </i>cast, threw in some <i>DS9 </i>villains, and featured a couple of <i>Voyager </i>characters. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">*Sniff* It was perfect. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Enough time has passed that our <i>TNG </i>peeps are parents, like LaForge and Riker. This brought a new dimension, seeing them as family folk, no longer willing to risk their lives every Tuesday for the heck of it. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Yet they are also, quite clearly . . . old. The youngest actor is Levar, at 66—everyone else is close to or above 70.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Yet it is because of their age and experience that they end up saving the galaxy. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There was this tweet a few years back by K</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">athryn Ivey: </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0"></span></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Why is "the chosen one" always a teenager? We're really gonna put the fate of the universe on someone with an undeveloped prefrontal cortex? Give me a story with a chosen one who is a 42 year old mom that has already seen some s**t and is totally out of f**ks to give</span></blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">She has a point. The "chosen one" is usually a clueless child that has this insane burden thrust upon him. He doesn't need life experience, because he was selected to be an unwitting tool for forces beyond his ken. With regard to general fictional teenage heroes—adults are the clueless ones who need saving. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">It sort of reinforces the trope that adults "don't get it," and yes, while that may be true for some people who were stupid their whole lives, most adults, due to their age alone, are "it-getters" (credit to Jon Stewart). </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">So while it may be that I am watching the last vestiges of my youth trickle through my fingers, it is also with the dawning horror that the kids today will find me irrelevant for my inability to take a decent selfie. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">But there is more to life than technological savvy. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">There was a scene in Picard where Jean-Luc is dining in a bar near the Academy, and he is besieged by starry-eyed cadets begging him for background details of his exploits. Jean-Luc has become an icon, a once hero. But he's not a relic of the past. He's not done yet. It's his experience that keeps him from becoming obsolete. <br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Ma would get so frustrated when she told us to do something a certain way and we wouldn't listen. She wanted to save us the trouble, that she had learned the right way to go about it, so couldn't we just <i>listen</i>?! She was usually right. <br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Moshe Rabbeinu is the closest we have to a "chosen one," and he didn't start leading until he was 80. He had life experience first as a prince, shepherd, husband, father. Because we don't believe that being chosen means you magically get there with no effort. The chosen people were chosen to bring our excellence, and we failed to such an extent that we were persecuted and murdered for 3,000 years. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">Moshiach is gonna be <i>old</i>. <br /></span></span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-27203622114057066532023-08-31T09:00:00.005-04:002023-09-06T11:20:25.707-04:00Vic Fontaine<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have a confession. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">While this blog is vaguely <i>Star Wars</i>-themed, the truth is . . . I'm a Trekkie. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Luke raised me on <i>The Next Generation</i>, and watching the <i>Picard</i>, Season 3, reboot, I nearly cried seeing the beloved characters of my childhood. Especially Worf. He's my favorite. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yet Luke was not so passionate about the other iterations, <i>Deep Space Nine</i> and <i>Voyager</i>, so I never watched those through properly. I've been rectifying that error now, finally getting through the last few episodes of Season 7 of <i>DS9</i>. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I've been pleasantly surprised at how excellent this series is. The first few seasons could be eye-rollingly cheesy, but then it morphed into an absolutely brilliant show, complete with episodes that had me sniffling. They pushed the <i>TNG </i>envelope, and pulled it off. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There was a line from one episode that I thought about. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">A character in the show is injured in combat. He's young, an ensign, and this experience rattles him. There is a program in the holosuite which has a self-aware holographic character, Vic Fontaine, and he ends up becoming a central player in a number of episodes. Vic owns a casino in Vegas in 1962.<br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">So the ensign loses himself in this program, refusing to leave, enjoying the safety of the fantasy. Vic even enjoys the company, but at some point realizes that this isn't healthy, and tells the ensign he has to leave. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The ensign explains that he's not ready to face reality again. Vic tells him: <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Look, kid, I don't know what's going to happen to you out there. All I
can tell you is that... you've got to play the cards life deals you.
Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. But at least you're in the game. </span></blockquote><span style="font-size: large;">It made me think of how our religion says that being living is the ideal, that we can do, that life is always the best option. Life may be disappointing at times, or worse, but at least we're in the game. <br /></span><p></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-41335447072808233892023-08-02T09:00:00.003-04:002023-08-02T12:35:44.098-04:00Inherent Value <p><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2023/07/11/magazine/greta-gerwig-barbie.html"></a></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2023/07/11/magazine/greta-gerwig-barbie.html">NYTimes featured a rather long article</a> about Greta Gerwig and her Barbie movie. In the very end of the piece, there's this bit from out of nowhere: </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"></span></p><blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">She told me that when she was growing up, her Christian family's closet friends were observant Jews; they vacationed together and constantly tore around each other's homes. She would also eat with them on Friday nights for Shabbat dinner, where blessings were sung in Hebrew, including over the children at the table. <i>May God bless you and protect you. May God show you favor and be gracious to you. May God show you kindness and grant you peace.</i> Every Friday the family's father would rest his hand on Gerwig's head, just as he did on his own children's, and bless her too. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">"I remember this feeling the sense of, 'Whatever your wins and losses were for the week, whatever you did or didn't do, when you come to this table, your value has nothing to do with that,'" Gerwig told me. "'You are a child of God at this table. And that's your value.' I remember feeling so safe in that and feeling so, like, enough." </span></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes we need the perspective of an outsider to make us see the values of our own world. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">This bracha I would usually associate with pomp and circumstance, when the kohanim would seriously remove their shoes and hide themselves beneath their talleisim. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yet that same bracha is accessible to the common man, for any father, outside of the priestly class, to bless his children. For me, the Sabbath Blessing in <i>Fiddler on the Roof</i> always sends me bawling; I would sing it to Ben as a baby (he finally realized I can't sing and he doesn't let me anymore). </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/618IKgQ2wys" width="320" youtube-src-id="618IKgQ2wys"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is this pressure on us to do, to achieve, to accomplish. Yet we can't always sustain that. Sometimes our victories don't look like much of a victory. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But it doesn't matter. Because the world was created for each and every one of us, as we are. For as a parent loves their child unconditionally, so to God loves us. <br /></span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-27879205584037186992023-07-26T09:00:00.001-04:002023-07-26T09:00:00.149-04:00None Can Escape Grief <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Before we start, please read <a href="https://www.rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation/chukat/healing-trauma-loss/">this</a>, by the late Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I read it a few weeks ago, on the Shabbos of the applicable parsha, and I found it hit so many important points. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As someone who has personally experienced the grief of losing a loved one SIX YEARS ago, I'm still unprepared for the welter of emotions I continue to experience. My next door neighbor has been motherless for seven years; we just understand each other. Grief has its own unspoken language. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Rabbi Sacks provides a simple yet brilliant explanation for why Moshe hit the rock: He was grieving for his sister, who had been like a mother to him. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">MIND BLOWN. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">What continues from this idea is that even the greatest of our ancestors were HUMAN. The same humanity we experience, so did they. They loved. They lost. Then they became lost themselves. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The education system they I went through, which emphasized the vast difference in madreiga between ourselves and our forebears, did me a disservice, I believe. We do know that they didn't always have the answers. They didn't always do the right thing. They were often torn between their hearts and their faith. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">They were not angels. The Torah was not given to angels, but to stumbling humans. Mistakes are a part of being human. We just have to go forward knowing and doing better. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then: <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"></span></p><blockquote><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">What the parsha is telling us is that for each of us there is a Jordan
we will not cross, a promised land we will not enter. “It is not for you
to complete the task.” </span></blockquote><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">What I took from this was: We each have our own task. It's not necessarily the same as someone else. Some of us have feelings of inadequacy, because they are incapable, for a myriad of reasons, of doing what another can with seeming ease. That is because we each have our OWN task. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">What @iwassupposedtohaveababy took it a step farther. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"></span></p><blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">In response, God has [Moshe] take a step back. Moshe is told he shouldn't be the one to lead the people into Israel. God knows that Moshe is about to lose another sibling and God understand that Moshe will need the coming time to grieve his losses. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Although it may feel that Moshe is being punished for expressing his pain, this moment is more like a mentor telling you, "Hey, I see you have needs that aren't being met. It's time to take a break." </span></p></blockquote><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's okay that you're not okay. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Moshe bore a lot in his life, and perhaps he reached a point when it became too much. Hashem then said, "It's okay. You're just one man, who did more in his life than ten men combined. Someone else can continue your work." </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have my limitations, and I try to recognize them. I have a set time every night when I cease my labors. If I'm not feeling okay, I allow myself to rest when possible, even if I "should be" doing something else. Because I am only human, I'm not a machine, and I need to recognize when I'm at my breaking point.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We are all—ALL—too human. </span> <br /></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-73229288400816454312023-07-05T09:00:00.001-04:002023-07-05T09:00:00.139-04:00In and Proud <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">While I was born in the US, I was raised with European, old-world values, which would often have American contemporaries not quite getting where I'm coming from. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In high school, the morahs couldn't really make up their mind: one minute it was all, "Eisav soneh es Yaakov," how the world hates us, etc., and the next it would be, "If you are an outwardly proud Jew, everyone respects you." </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Exasperated, I tried to counter their rather flawed logic, and said that we are not in our own country, and we shouldn't be flaunting our Jewishness, that my grandfather, <i>who survived the war</i>, said this. The teacher sneered, "Oh, so you believe in 'when in Rome.'" </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Another classmate, from the same background as myself, chimed in, but the morah could not or would not understand what we meant. I was in near tears as she insinuated that my grandfather, who fasted on Yom Kippur while starving in the labor camps, was not a proud Jew. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">If we went out to the city on a rare Chol HaMoed outing, my father told my brothers to tuck in their tzitzis and wear a baseball cap. As for attending the Israeli Day Parade? Nuh-uh, not happening. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Some take this to mean that we are not proud Jews. Then I realized that "proud" nowadays means "out and proud." Meaning, if I am proud of who I am, that means I have to announce it to the world, and expect that world in turn to celebrate me. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But what does my own <i>personal </i>pride have to do with the world at large? Isn't that my own, internal, business? <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Han works primarily with non-Jews. And you know what? They aren't always so nice about him being observant. I myself endured years of verbal smack about Judaism from my secular Jewish employer (to be fair, he was also sexist and racist). <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Oh, there always a story here and there, about so-and-so who went to work somewhere and their boss had a wonderful experience with a Jew and because of that makes him head partner or something, but for every story like that, there are plenty of examples when an observant Jew was discriminated against by a non-Jew or even Jewish (secular) boss. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In high school, they regaled us with stories about frum women who refused to shake hands with men, and how they were accommodated, and even admired. While in the NY Times The Ethicist, a woman wrote in, irate, that after a business deal her frum counterpart wouldn't shake her hand and Roger Cohen (cough cough), the ethicist at the time, affirmed her belief that this was sexist behavior and she was within her rights to no longer work with him. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We can't have it both ways. Our people survived through thousands of years of violence and murder—now we're going to claim that to be a proud Jew means announcing it? Not so long ago, outward pride got you dead. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">My great-grandfather, it was said, was a Belzer chassid. He kept his streimel "in the credenza." Meaning, <i>it never left the house</i>. He wore it at his own table, never outdoors. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">My Zeidy would say that if you want to be an "out and proud" Jew, make aliyah. That's our land, our place. But chutz la'aretz? Keep your elbows tucked in. This isn't our land. Yes, it did a wonderful job melding in all sorts of different races and cultures, but everyone experienced racism (even the Italian and Irish immigrants a century ago). </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm a proud Jew, even if you don't believe me. </span> <br /></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-55478533006118742802023-06-26T09:00:00.001-04:002023-06-26T09:00:00.132-04:00Your Mitzvah <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ta told me a concept recently, which he ascribed to the Rambam (disclaimer: I didn't fact check). Why is there 613 mitzvos? We could just have one, and do it over and over. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Because amongst that 613, there will be one that will speak to each of us, as individuals. That mitzvah, the one that we cling to and cherish, is our unique way of practicing our faith. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps due to the <span>Baader-Meinhof effect, I then saw a reel on IG (can't find it again to give credit) and the gal was speaking about the same thing. She said her thing is saying Tehillim, while her friend loves to bake challah. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I, too, have discovered my own mitzvah. I'm not comfortable with sharing it, but it's in the chessed realm. It suits me. It doesn't involve much human interaction (which tends to make me anxious) yet still does good, I hope. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>I was thinking about my sister-in-law, who visits elderly people. I don't have that ability. When I was in pre-1A and first grade, my class was constantly visiting the nursing home next door. I found it torturous then, and 30 years later, I still find it impossible. I don't know how to do small talk. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>This has nothing to do with being uncomfortable with old people. In general, I suck when it comes to interactions with strangers. Once, by a simcha, I saw someone standing alone, and I felt a swell of goodwill. I sailed over, intent on making this poor soul feel welcomed, and it was a wreck. She ended up taking pity on me and brought our lame conversation to a thankful end. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Now, some may say I should try, practice, comfort zone, blah blah blah, but it's a full-time job keeping Anakin alive, ok? Seriously, that kid is turning all of my hair white. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>In the meantime, I still want to find something that's my <i>own</i>, that speaks to <i>my </i>strengths. And I found it. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>So, if you haven't found yours yet, I highly recommend you do. It does wonders for the self-esteem. </span> </span> </p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-75012455319700844092023-06-20T09:00:00.001-04:002023-06-20T09:00:00.160-04:00My New Hero<p><span style="font-size: large;">Disclaimer: I haven't heard the whole thing, but really enjoyed a few highlights. So if there ends up being anything in there about clubbing puppies, my bad. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9K-fJISTx3Y" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-65985902107662282992023-06-15T09:00:00.001-04:002023-06-15T09:00:00.137-04:00So-Called "Shabbos Food"<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">One of the office employees was invited over to our employer's home for Friday night, since she lives in the same neighborhood. While not Jewish, she grew up in a rather Jew-y area and went to public school with lots of Jewish classmates, so she's familiar with our shtick. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">She ended up reviewing the happenings of the dinner with me afterwards, like why it was so quiet after the hand washing. She then hesitantly brought up the disturbing horror of "gefilte fish." </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I explained that the "traditional" Shabbos foods are, in actuality, peasant food. "Where people lived, in land-locked Eastern Europe, everything was expensive or hard to get. Fish. Chicken. Meat. They could only manage to get or afford a little bit. So they stretched it. Fish was mixed with filler. Chicken turned into soup. A bit of meat was mixed with beans and became cholent. But, the thing is, today? We can get salmon. A whole slab of it." </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">That's why I laugh when people get defensive of, or even worship, "traditional" Shabbos food. Taste of Gan-Eden and all that jazz. Don't get me wrong, I like gefilte fish. Mmm, on a piece of matzah, munch munch. But is it heilig? Er, no. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Shabbos food is supposed to be elevated, expensive, right? So it's kinda bizarre when people dine on whole fish during the week, then revert to the Frankenstein peasant loaf on Shabbos. Well, maybe the fine china helps. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">So if anyone has been guilted that they aren't eating the "right" foods on Shabbos, that's bushwa. Shabbos food is what you enjoy, for richer or poorer. <br /></span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-76847399648407336022023-05-29T09:00:00.032-04:002023-05-29T09:00:00.134-04:00Singlehood is Not the End of the World<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">When I was a kid, I was a sucker for romance. I just wanted everyone (characters in books, tv shows, movies) to pair off and ride into the sunset. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">But I've become a romance grinch—or, more accurately, a romance critic. I've become particular about my happily ever afters. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I recently read a book (I shan't give the name, since I'm pretty much going to give everything away) and I was actually happy with the atypical ending. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Our heroine, all of 22, has a boyfriend—who she cannot believe actually wants her. She's middle-class and bore the ire of high school bullies; he's a WASP who "summers." She finds out he cheated on her, and breaks up with him. She takes up with another man, albeit a lovely one, as a rebound. The boyfriend, however, wants her back, and even proposes. She struggles a bit with what to do, but declines his offer knowing that she can never trust him again. The rebound breaks up with her too, as a new development in his life requires it. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Our heroine walks off into the sunset, alone. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I was delighted. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As the book drew towards the end, I was puzzled. Chick lit usually has neat, coupled endings, so I was wondering where this one was going. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The character's mother repeatedly tells her that she's young, she doesn't have to settle down yet. She doesn't have to choose now just because someone wants her, and she thinks no one else will. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">For our heroine, I wanted her to be with the right guy for the right reasons. The rebound, while a nice chap, wasn't <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As Fay says in <i>Jewish Matchmaking</i> (I'm paraphrasing), "When I was 24, I thought it would be the end of the world to be single at 28. Now that I'm 28, I see . . . it's not the end of the world." </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">From personal experience, I can say that it's worth it to wait for the right relationship, when you're in it for all the right reasons. <br /></span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-82488272684287073512023-05-22T09:00:00.020-04:002023-05-22T09:00:00.176-04:00Younger is Not Better <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">"We will do our part for the shidduch crisis!" Han announces dramatically. "We spoke to our son! He is ready to start dating!" Han then plucks a babbling Anakin up from the floor, holding him aloft as Rafiki brandished Simba in the opening scene of <i>The Lion King</i>. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Yeah, we're both kinda snarky about this so-called solution to the so-called "shidduch crisis" (snort). Sure, let's have a bunch of immature boys date for the express purpose of putting some rando girl "out of her misery." That'll end well. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Hello? We aren't living in the shtetl anymore, when parents would arrange shidduchim with complete strangers and that would be that. No one is marrying blind, unless it involves a mail-order bride. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">L'havdil, take <i>Indian Matchmaking</i>! Sima Aunty (matchmaker extraordinaire) just cannot get with the times. Granted, this season made a point to make her appear more human, even helpful, at times, but her disapproval at her clients' expectations can get tiresome. "Kids today! They don't listen to their elders!" Well . . . um . . . I'm not going to <i>marry </i>someone based on a random shadchan's "perfect on paper" suggestion . . . </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">If something isn't working, the go-to solution is usually "Well, back in my day . . ." Yes. That's how it worked <i>then</i>. Maybe. Generations aren't static. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">OK, I married when I was a doddering decrepit, which I am not advocating. But looking back I see that I was not ready for marriage at 19. Definitely not. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Divorce is no longer the taboo it used to be. An older woman, who divorced after her children married, said she knew it was a mistake during the week of sheva brachos. "But I couldn't hurt my parents," she explained, and stayed miserably wed for <i>decades</i>. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There are too many stories I'm hearing of young couples who are either divorcing or choosing to stay married despite the difficulties. That's too much on young people. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I'm not saying that if they waited until they were older they wouldn't necessarily have ended up divorcing. Yet youngsters shouldn't be making one of their biggest life decisions based on "I just don't want to be the last person in my class to get married." Let them see more, experience more, and perhaps develop a little radar for red flags. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Again, a person can marry at 25+ and get divorced. But at least they weren't unexposed children when they made their choice.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Like Aleeza says (and I'm paraphrasing) "My job is not just to get you married. It's to get you stay married." </span> <br /></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-26807306443883306722023-05-15T09:00:00.003-04:002023-05-15T09:00:00.140-04:00Jewish Matchmaking: A Review <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Jewish Matchmaking</i>! Hella yeah, did I binge it. Then as the credits rolled, I exhaled: <i>Thank</i>. <i>God</i>. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Why? Because we look good for flipping once! </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There has been some snark online, quibbling about details, but I don't care! 'Cause we look good!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Aleeza Ben Shalom was an excellent choice as a shadchan. She's not remotely like the stereotypes that I usually dealt with, who were more like Sima Aunty from <i>Indian Matchmaking</i>. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">What was refreshing about Aleeza was that she did not shame her clients for having criteria—even if that criteria was seemingly ridiculous. While I did once believe that standards have to "make sense," I've realized that the world is a big place, and shallow morons (both male and female) also manage to get married. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The clientele are primarily reform, traditional, or "flexidox" (as Aleeza calls it) which I thought was refreshing. Being Jewish and marrying Jewish is important to people even if they aren't 100% practicing. And even those singles mentioned God, unlike the other examples I cited in my previous post. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It's reality television, so of course that means there is definitely a scripted element. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Let's be honest here: finding someone to go
on the show, then finding someone who's willing to date the first
someone on that show, is a big ask. As I watched these dates happen, all I kept thinking about was that these people are being followed by cameras along with a boom floating above. It's not remotely real life. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The one frum candidate, Fay, says on her IG account that she went on the show for the purposes of showing the Netflix world how we operate, not to actually meet someone. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">People were whining online, "Oh, why didn't Fay keep dating Shaya? They were so great together!" Like, please. It was all manufactured. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">You saw like 10 minutes, tops, of their interactions.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> Shaya is engaged now in real life, so there you go.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">No one still seems to be together from the show, but I didn't expect them to be (although I was rooting for Stuart and Pamela). A matchmaker is not an all-knowing, all-powerful deity who can deliver your someone on a silver platter. She's an avenue of possibility, no more, no less, than others. </span> <br /></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-4965842872465056152023-05-08T09:00:00.003-04:002023-05-08T09:00:00.278-04:00Identity, Practice, and Belief <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">My brain can't handle most literature nowadays unless it's of the "fluffy" variety. Enter chick-lit! Even though I tend to be aggravated by formulaic premises, I don't have to concentrate so much when shrieking offspring launches themselves at my head. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was reading <i>Mr. Perfect on Paper</i> and I was sucked in by the overload of Jewish references. I can't figure out which denomination the heroine, Dara, belongs to—she drinks non-kosher wine at a restaurant, but she has impressive knowledge of obscure halacha (turns out the author was a rabbinical student). </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But despite the heavy Jewish details, there was something missing. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Simultaneously, Han and I started watching <i>Rough Diamonds</i>. I was put off by the first episode, so didn't watch further, while Han got in too deep and was forced to hate-watch it. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The chassidim depicted make it seem that they were simply born into this lifestyle, and that's the only reason why they live it. Their behavior becomes horribly despicable in their attempts to salvage the family business—despite the fact that chassidim don't usually keep their identity in their livelihoods (all they had to do was dabble elsewhere). They fashmear people, they steal, all without qualm. Um . . . </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then I realized what's going on here. Judaism is presented as an identity. Nothing more. There's no spirituality. There's no mention of God. Bupkis.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dara follows the rules, or rather which rules she wants to follow. But there's no feeling behind this practice except for "well, this is what my grandparents did." Not one mention of the Lord. It's just "We've survived for thousands of years so I guess this is what I gotta do." </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It made me think, in contrast, of <i>Shtisel</i>. There was a scene when Akiva, after falling out with his father, is offered to stay in the guest-house of a fellow artist, a rather nice frum girl. He's painting and painting, and then realizes what time it is. He's horrified to find out it's the afternoon—and he hadn't put on tefillin that day. He's so upset he gathers up his things and bolts. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Akiva isn't home. No one is telling him what to do. He can do whatever he wants. But his religion is his priority. He hurries back to the milieu that will encourage him to observe it properly. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's not just an identity or practice. It's a belief. </span><br /></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-75854279140223626682023-05-01T09:00:00.002-04:002023-05-01T09:00:00.134-04:00And They Don't Stop Coming <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">A few weeks ago, during Post-Pesach Recovery, I took Anakin out for a walk while Ben was (finally) back in school. The forecast had said sun and 66 degrees; it was already midday, but it was still cloudy, damp, and chilly. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I had already put Anakin in thermals that morning, which I then topped with a fleece jacket. I then tucked around him his plush microfiber blanket. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I debated whether to find his booties, but figured the blanket would be enough. He happily propped one foot on the stroller bar, his toes wiggling in the fresh air. He sighed contentedly. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Of course, after emerging from a frantic supermarket, we were accosted by an unknown woman, perhaps 70 or so. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Look!" she cried dramatically. "He's lost his socks!" </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I <i>invented </i>passive-aggressive, lady. Two can play that game. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Why, so he did," I mildly replied.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">She looked up sharply into my face, and laughed. <i>Got me</i>, it acknowledged. She continued on her way, but not without a parting shot over her shoulder, "I'm cold just looking at him!" </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In order to prevent anymore commentary, I tucked the blanket again around Anakin, who then kicked it off in annoyance. He wanted his feet free. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I fretted a little on the way home, double-checking my logic to keep his toes exposed. Not 10 minutes later the sun suddenly exploded into view, sweltering us all. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's comments like these (she is not the first biddy to make a passive-aggressive comment about my children's lack of footwear) that invariably makes me recall my single days. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Comments are diabolical. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There I would be, dating. I was trying. I was analyzing. I was coming to conclusions on a regular basis on what I needed. And I would be satisfied with my decisions. (While being a nervous wreck who lost 5 lbs from anxiety alone—side perk!) <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then a complete stranger would mosey into my midst, and not knowing anything about me, nothing at all, would dismiss me for being "picky." Then it wouldn't be enough to simply deride me mentally, they also had to make some sort of verbal dig (can we go back to just judging people behind their backs? Please?). </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Those comments would send me into a free fall. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Maybe I am being unreasonable? Maybe it is my fault? Maybe, maybe, maybe? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is a pattern to these "concerned citizens," in that their comments, they believe, are "for the greater good." But are they, really? There is also a distinct streak of glee in their voices when they told/tell me off, that joy of finding someone to belittle. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Logically, I knew that Anakin was perfectly fine in 55 degrees beneath his thermals, fleece, and microfiber (while wondering why hands are "allowed" to be exposed to the elements, while feet are not), but a comment from a rando still had me questioning if I was fussing </span><span style="font-size: large;">sufficiently </span><span style="font-size: large;">over my offspring.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Since comments are here to stay, perhaps it's time for me to grow a thicker skin. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Easier said than done. <br /></span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-74335143864897993232023-04-24T09:00:00.001-04:002023-04-24T09:00:00.217-04:00Endure<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I've FINALLY started reading Dara Horn's <i>People Love Dead Jews</i> (which should be on every curriculum everywhere) and she mentions Sholom Aleichem's <i>Tevye the Milkman</i> (also a "fun" read). <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her point is that Jewish-themed novels don't contain the typical "ephiphany" that other novels expect. For instance, Tevye experiences horrific hardship, but stays the same. "He endures," she says. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">After Ma died, my sister and I started talking. A lot. We were in this unfamiliar milieu, and we were stumbling through it together. We did have a number of epiphanies between us . . . and a number of conversational threads that go nowhere. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">One topic is the mistaken belief that hardship = betterment. Meaning, that if a person has gone through pain, then they "must" also be kinder, more empathetic, more generous. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Or . . . that struggle merely strengthens their selfishness. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Or . . . they simply stay the same. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When Ma got sick, the one word on my mind was "endure." To get through it. To not fall apart, <i>because I can't fall apart right now</i>. There was no thought of "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" (not true, btw) It was <i>survival</i>. I don't need to be stronger or better on the other side. I just need to be strong <i>enough </i>right <i>now</i>. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have known many Holocaust survivors in my time, and I think it is a mistake that they are always viewed in context of "the war." That they were the people they were because of "the war." That was certainly my childish perspective.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But they were people like any other. Maybe the war changed them. Maybe it didn't. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">And, as Dara Horn says, there is something to be said for enduring. Jews endure. We stay the same, for the most part, over the centuries and persecutions. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Enduring is enough. </span> <br /></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-58523067979464320032023-04-17T09:00:00.009-04:002023-04-17T09:00:00.344-04:00In Case You Needed Reminding—Cause I Did <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Wow. It's been a while. But hey, Pesach prep is FUN, right? (Demented laughter.) In all seriousness, I do the bare minimum, no deep cleaning anything, and I'm all for being checked into a sanitarium to have pity on my poor nerves. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">So, let's get into whatever bugaboo is . . . bugging me now. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have cousins who live across the world. Not close cousins, second cousins, or something, maybe, but close enough that we're friends on social media. The mother is my relative, and she lives a lifestyle very different from mine. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her feed is . . . stunning. Stylish. Glamorous. She's as slender as a rake. I don't think I've seen her wearing the same ensemble twice. She's constantly at bars with her friends for someone's birthday, her tanned arm raising a champagne glass. There are the magnificent views from a magnificent home, and I still don't know if it's her abode or an AirBNB. Her kids are beautiful and talented. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Despite the fact that I've posted repeatedly that social media cannot be trusted, it's very hard to distrust what's right in front of you. I don't have an imagination—I can't write fiction—so I fall for it. That's why I don't follow anyone, usually, who claims to have a wonderful life—because I can't prove that they are human like the rest of us. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I have to follow my cousin, obviously, and I fell for it. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then one night, I was scrolling through her feed to find a specific photo to show my father. And then I saw it, a comment a friend of hers left on yet another gushy birthday post: </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Happy Birthday! You've had a tough couple of years, so I wish you have a much better year to come." </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">*Needle scratch*</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Come say <i>what </i>now?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's always disorienting as you mentally spin a 180. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">The bombardment of fabulosity still continues. But now I see it with a little more context. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We are all human, and none of us live perfect lives. <br /></span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-35843299636396112112023-02-22T09:00:00.002-05:002023-02-22T10:53:56.866-05:00The Chosen<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">I'm slowly working my way through the final season of "Dead to Me." I'll try not to give any spoilers. I also don't remember the dialogue perfectly, so I'm taking license. <br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">So there's the sweet, "what is the universe trying to teach me," patchouli oil Judy (in contrast to the tough, sarcastic, very un-zen Jen). Judy really wanted to have children, but none of her pregnancies took (in contrast to Jen, who has two boys). </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Judy is talking to an older woman, who's talking about her own kids. There are those that are good, but one who was sent on earth, she jokes, to make her life hell. "You don't choose your kids," she says. "They choose you." </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">She asks Judy if she has any children, and she sadly replies no, that "She wasn't chosen." </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">"Well," Florence shrugs, "maybe you were chosen for something else." </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">That exchange got the pondering juices going. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">In the Jewish world, we may think that there is only one way to have meaning and purpose in our lives. Which is the accepted model of marriage and children. But what if someone marries late, or never marries, from no fault of their own? What if someone has children late, or never has children, from no fault of their own? </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Does that mean they have no purpose? They have no meaning? </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Of course not. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It's at times like this that I think of that Shakespeare quote, "</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span>There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." There is so much we don't understand. We are so bound by our small human minds, thinking that there is only one way to do things, only one way to live, only one way to be of worth—but we are so much more than that. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Sometimes I see advertisements for a dinner or something and they say about the honoree: "He/she is a devoted son/daughter, husband/wife, and father/mother." </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>That's always annoyed me, because aren't we more than our relationships? We have value on our own two feet, with something to offer, especially when circumstances doesn't place us with family? </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Maybe, we are chosen for something else. </span></span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-65179178473819640782023-02-02T09:00:00.001-05:002023-02-08T13:36:38.518-05:00All Are Welcome<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://18forty.org/articles/the-crisis-of-experience-what-singlehood-means-in-a-married-community/?fbclid=IwAR01I8ZayxlU6zi0Fl3tO-VOCHZnMuvnzLwFOh4Z_-GqDqon8Ubs4F_j2L4#.Y65sc94B_Tw.facebook">This article by Channah Cohen is on point</a>. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I was single, I didn't fit. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">There was no place for me. I was a third wheel. My parents were invited out a lot for Shabbos meals, and we hosted in return, but my parents' contemporaries were in their 60s. I had a great time socializing with them—I've always gotten along better with the older cohort—but I wasn't supposed to be there, right? I was supposed to be in my newly-married apartment or starter house with two kids. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We do say that in Judaism, the center is the home. A mommy, a totty, and children. That is also how we see others, as one half of a couple. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">We are not quite sure what to do with the lone individual, who has no spouse, no children, who may or may not be tagging along with her mother or father. They are not in the same place as tuition, carpools, and </span><span style="font-size: large;">frozen chicken nuggets</span><span style="font-size: large;">. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">In my singlehood my accomplishments didn't matter, all that mattered was that I was single. Full stop. Nothing to see here. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mind you, once you do join the realm of nighttime feedings, it's not like anyone hands you a trophy. A mob of mothers don't rush you when you go to the park. You are just another someone, but a someone that can be categorized, as opposed to an indeterminate hmmm. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But is our world any different than the world at large? Not really. Secular books and movies all have a similar theme, how being single is a shameful aberration, how a wedding invitation can strike such fear in singles' hearts that they pay an actor or escort to be their plus one. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Society, in general, likes paired couples. They like people neatly matched up. They like rugrats running around and destroying store displays. (No, wait, they don't, then everyone tells you what a bad parent you are.) <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">So when the single woman in the article says she'll leave the community because she doesn't have a home, does she believe a home awaits her on the other side? What is this home? Is it that erroneous assumption that since the dating pool in the secular world is larger, she'll be able to score a man—and the accompanying home—with ease? Han has the most stunning co-worker who is single, and she's trying very very hard to find a man. It's not like the gentile world boasts a better rate for marriage and happiness than ours does. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">But our community has to do better. Yet when people say "things have to change"—well, easier said than done. Some behaviors are so ingrained that it's hard to undo them. To my horror, I found myself glancing at the stomach of a woman who had been married for a bit. I could have kicked myself for that automatic eye flick. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I remember the time I was in a different area for yuntif, and attended shul. I was politely ignored by the other shul goers, no matter how I smiled and tried. But the girl ahead of me, an obvious BT in training (her clothing was way to casual for yuntif and she wasn't familiar with a siddur) was mobbed following davening, meal invitations being warmly offered from all sides. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">How come we can we warm and welcoming to BTs, but the FFB singles get short shrift? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">So we <i>can </i>be welcoming. We just have to widen our scope a little. </span> <br /></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-28065008175670381122023-01-26T12:00:00.001-05:002023-01-26T12:00:00.194-05:00For the Commenters <p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">A quick note to those who leave comments: I really appreciate your feedback! I apologize if I am not timely in my responses, as Ben and Anakin make flying leaps for the laptop whenever I attempt to fire it up. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you for your patience! <br /></span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6017927177231080668.post-53443200478058259422023-01-25T09:00:00.001-05:002023-01-25T09:00:00.192-05:00What a Difference a Shade Makes<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's amazing what you'll buy whilst half-asleep when a sale pops up in your feed. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">To clarify: IT Cosmetics (the website, not through Sephora) was having a 30% OFF SALE. Say whaaaaat? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I can always use another tube or two of the <a href="https://www.itcosmetics.com/makeup/face-makeup/foundation/cc-cream-illumination-full-coverage-foundation-with-spf-50/ITC_0030.html?dwvar_ITC__0030_size=1.08%20fl%20oz%20%2F%2032%20ml&dwvar_ITC__0030_shade=fair_light">illuminating cc+ cream</a>, but I had not been happy with the shade of the <a href="https://www.itcosmetics.com/makeup/face-makeup/under-eye-concealer/bye-bye-under-eye-full-coverage-anti-aging-waterproof-concealer/ITC_0005.html?dwvar_ITC__0005_shade=11.0_light_nude&dwvar_ITC__0005_size=0.40%20US%20fl.%20oz%2F12%20ml">Bye Bye Under Eye Concealer</a> that I had. 10.5 was too light. I should have known better than to purchase the lightest shade; I'm not <i>that </i>fair. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I pored over the online swatches, and their hefty descriptions of C, N, and W undertones, and got the 11. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wasn't sure how it would go; it was only .5 shade difference, right? </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">That .5 makes a BIG difference, y'all. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, the concealer (which has yellow undertones, which I need) blended seamlessly into the cc+ cream, instead of starkly contrasting. I squealed in delight to Han, who was very happy for me. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">The devil is in the details, people. <br /></span></p>Princess Leahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17217157534383672867noreply@blogger.com0