Be Calm and Cream On

Smell that? 

There's a distinct scent to the air when the greenery begins to poke cautious shoots out from the melting snow. The aroma is pleasing, and yet there is an undercurrent of anxiety. 

For spring, as we know, means Pesach. 

Hear that? 

That is the sound of a clueless husband getting yelled at for dropping crumbs all over a freshly disinfected dining room. 

We definitely do overthink and oversweat Pesach. While it certainly does involve a lot of work, most enjoyable things in life do. 

While I'm frantic (in general), I'm not too tense over Pesach. Thanks to my face creams, I don't look tense, either. So, for all the wrinkles sprouting around eyes and mouths this season, here's a product for the counterattack: Oz Naturals Super Youth 2.5% Retinol Moisturizer. 

 

For those new to anti-aging products, I would suggest applying moisturizer first, then Super Youth on top to mitigate the stinging. A dermatologist recommended once Cetaphil Daily Advance Lotion, and I use it every night along with the rest of my skincare routine. 

If there had been any blemishes lurking beneath the surface, the retinol will yank them out into the sunshine, so initially there may be some breakout activity; it doesn't necessarily mean the product isn't for you. Rather quickly, though, the blemishes should go away, and the retinol will keep them at bay (Differin, prescription-strength retinol, is marketed to teenagers with acne).

I love yontif, but it does involve work, no doubt about it. Slather on some retinol along with the rest of Pre-Pesach Prep, and keep on smiling.   

Plastic Brains, Anyone?

Apparently, there is an upside to being single . . . indefinitely. But it's in terms of brain development, yawn. Eh, us spinsters will take what we can get. 

Laurence Steinberg, in "The Case for Delayed Adulthood," is of the opinion that growing up is not so great for the gray matter.  Marriage, education, and employment are more likely to be deferred amongst today's 20-year-olds, as opposed to the baby boomer generation. 

Studies reveal adolescence to be a period of heightened “plasticity” during which the brain is highly influenced by experience. As a result, adolescence is both a time of opportunity and vulnerability, a time when much is learned, especially about the social world, but when exposure to stressful events can be particularly devastating. As we leave adolescence, a series of neurochemical changes make the brain increasingly less plastic and less sensitive to environmental influences. Once we reach adulthood, existing brain circuits can be tweaked, but they can’t be overhauled.

While it sounds simply biological, it's not. It can be a chicken vs. egg thing—when the individual stops behaving like an adolescent, then the brain begins to "harden" from its "plastic" state. 

It’s important to be exposed to novelty and challenge when the brain is plastic not only because this is how we acquire and strengthen skills, but also because this is how the brain enhances its ability to profit from future enriching experiences.

With this in mind, the lengthy passage into adulthood that characterizes the early 20s for so many people today starts to look less regrettable. Indeed, those who can prolong adolescence actually have an advantage, as long as their environment gives them continued stimulation and increasing challenges.

Steinberg suggests higher education to stimulate the brain. He also states outright that marriage does not stimulate.

Alas, something similar is true of marriage. For many, after its initial novelty has worn off, marriage fosters a lifestyle that is more routine and predictable than being single does. Husbands and wives both report a sharp drop in marital satisfaction during the first few years after their wedding, in part because life becomes repetitive. A longer period of dating, with all the unpredictability and change that come with a cast of new partners, may be better for your brain than marriage. 

I would have gotten cocky about this article, except I live my life by routine. While he may call dating "stimulating", I find it more aggravating. Certainly not remotely comparable to a college course. 

What we do to keep our brains plastic . . .  

Chesnut-Date Truffles for Pesach: A Saga

I was poking around my sister's Purim haul; 90% was the usual multi-colored processed sugar. But there was one neatly boxed offering clearly labeled "Raw Date Balls," along with a convenient ingredient list: "dates, almonds, and chocolate chips." 

I took a bite, and was hooked. 

Now to find the recipe! Many called for—blah—shredded coconut, but I was able to come across a a number of helpful ones from My Halal Kitchen, Chocolate Covered Katie, Feed Your Temptations, and Skinny Taste. 

Since my family does not brok, the majority of our Pesach delicacies is sweetened air, which means an individual can consume an entire sponge cake in one sitting. I am always on the search for a more filling option that is kid-friendly, but they don't seem to be crazy about nut cakes. I don't blame them.

Oh Nuts! carries Kosher l'Pesach Medjool dates, and ground nuts are readily available. But I have one niggling problem: I don't have a food processor for Pesach. We barely use the year-round one as it is. Although, now that I think about it, I should use it for when I make cucumber salad. 

I had to work out the method. I searched a bit more, and found a recipe in which the dates are mashed, not pulverized, by Beauty Munsta. Medjool dates are so soft and moist that mashing them with a fork takes less labor than mashing Shabbos egg salad. 

A further benefit: With fork mashing, as opposed to food processing, I can make these on yontif! 

My difficulty, though, was trying to figure out the date-to-nut ratio. Different recipes provide different measurements. But after numerous comparisons, I decided on about 5 dates to around 1/4 to 1/3 cup of ground nuts. That and a splash of vanilla extract were presented to Luke for a taste test. 

He was excited at the idea of an energy ball during Pesach, but he found them too sweet (he also referred to them, quite maturely, as "poopie balls," for their hue). True, they are as sweet as cake batter. Chocolate Covered Katie calls hers "Cookie Dough Babies," after all. Medjool dates are insanely sweet, while containing fiber and nutrients. But they aren't exactly calorie-free; one medjool date consist of 66 calories and 16 grams of sugar. It takes five dates (along with healthy but fattening nuts) to make four balls, and that's nearly 500 calories. I don't think I can stop at one.

In order to cut the sweet, I could add cocoa (various recipes call from anywhere around 1 teaspoon to 2/3 cup), but why waste all that sweet if I'm paying for the calories anyway? I scrounged about some more, and I came across a comment to a date ball recipe which reported that the dates could be partially replaced with chestnuts. 

OOOOH. 

100 grams of chestnuts vs. 100 grams of medjool dates: 75 calories less, half of the carbs, while also containing beneficial nutrients. Dates are straight sugar (66 grams); chestnuts would lower the sugar register (10 grams), creating satisfaction as opposed to a sugar addiction. When it comes to fiber, though, dates win: 7 grams, as opposed to 5 grams (not nothing!) in chestnuts.

I found a recipe for chestnut balls, and I planned to replace the honey with dates for the binding material. A number of brands carry Kosher l'Pesach chestnuts, such as Gefen and Seasons. Or buy whole and get them out of the shell any which way.

They were soon on my doorstep, and I began to experiment. Again, no food processor, so I mashed them with a fork. I used one bag's worth, 5.2 oz = 150 g = 21 chestnuts (I counted). I added the dates one by one to see how many are needed to bind the mixture, along with a few splashes of vanilla extract.

One of the recipes for the date balls calls for soaking the dates prior, in room temp water for an hour, in hot for a few minutes. I ended up soaking only one, but it really makes them easier to work with. 

SUCCESS! 

I used a number of add-ins: chopped walnuts, cocoa, chocolate chips. The one ones to the right-ish were coated: ground walnuts, sprinkles, cocoa, and confectionery sugar. 

Now, don't hit me, but I don't exactly have a perfect, exact recipe. I wanted to experiment to the point of generality so that I don't use up my Kosher l'Pesach chestnuts prior to yontif.

Pesach Friendly Chestnut-Date Truffles 

(10 truffles) 

Approximately 20 chestnuts
Around four medjool dates 
Vanilla extract (optional)
dash of salt 

Optional add-ins: 
Cocoa
Cinnamon
Chocolate chips 
Chopped nuts
And so on 

Optional toppings:
Cocoa
Ground nuts
Sprinkles
Confectionery sugar
Melted chocolate 
Etc.   

1) Mash or grind chestnuts. I mashed them with a fork, but if one has a food processor, definitely use that. Shoot for a ground-like consistency. Another way, I also learned, is to put the chestnuts in a bag and wack 'em to smithereens with a blunt instrument.

2) Mash in dates. Soaking them prior would add some moisture and make them easier to work with. Go gently there, since I don't have exact quantities down pat. Maybe two soaked, two unsoaked? Ah, I don't know! After Pesach I'll have it worked out. 

3) See if the mixture is willing to be rolled into balls by pinching off a bit and seeing if it sticks together. At this point, chuck in any add-ins. If not, add another date. 

4) For cocoa, add desired quantity, 1 teaspoon and anywhere above. There's also cinnamon. Or some chopped nuts. Mayhap a handful of chocolate chips. 

5) Wet hands and roll mixture into balls. Wetting the hands prior to rolling makes a big difference. 

6) Since the color may not be very attractive, feel free to roll the truffles into ground nuts, cocoa, sprinkles, confectionery sugar, etc. 

7) Refrigerate to store. Can last a good while in there, from what I hear.

I divided up the batter and tried, separately, cocoa, chocolate chips, and ground nuts, and also a variety of different toppings.

Survivor Coupling

"Singles today are too picky," she huffed. "Us survivors, after the war, we met maybe one, two times, we got engaged, and it worked. All these categories, all these lists, no good, no good." 

I couldn't articulate my argument against the post-Holocaust marriage model until I read "Should You Fear the Pizzly Bear?" by Moises Velasquez-Manoff. The article is about endangered species (of the same general animal group) interbreeding in order to survive.

Coywolf, a coyote-wolf mix

It may sound insulting to compare the marriages of the Shoa generation to that of, well, animals, but there are similar factors.

Example: If there had been no war, my Zeidy would have still been married to his mother-selected bride from the same background and financial position. Same with his second wife, my Babi, who had wed her uncle's choice as her first husband, also from the same background and financial position. People weren't less picky back then. They married according to their own practical system, which seemed to work.

The war changed that.

In the mid-20th century, the influential evolutionary biologist Ernst Mayr argued that species arise only when individuals become isolated somehow from others of their kind. Since then, the prevailing wisdom among evolutionary biologists has been that interbreeding — the creation of hybrid offspring — is a potentially lineage-ending mistake. . . because the parent species have usually evolved to exploit different habitats, intermediate hybrids ought to be ill suited to the environs of both parents.

If the living conditions are stable, then like tends to marry like. Two vastly different mindsets, such as the contemporary modern to current yeshivish, aren't likely to result in a happy home. Shidduchim today generally succeed when both individuals possess parallel backgrounds and mindsets. It is typically considered that unions of divergent upbringings will have more issues to compromise on. 

However:   

The Grants, who tell these stories in their new book, “40 Years of Evolution,” saw hybridization help species adjust to new conditions. 

"New conditions," in the natural world, simply translates as "DOOM!" An ecosystem relies on the stable and predictable; any change, small or large, throws creatures into a state of terror. Such as, say, near annihilation by genocide?  

Anxiety, it seemed, could break down the barrier between sister species that live alongside one another . . . Scientists have observed versions of this phenomenon — called flexible mate choice — in other animals. The Central American tungara frog, which selects mates based on croaks, is more likely to choose one from a different species when it also hears the cries of a predator frog. . . When times are tough, it’s better to mate with someone — even the wrong one — than with no one at all.

Here's a scenario: A teenager is wandering around a D.P. camp. Everything, everything that she knew had been ripped away. She has, perhaps, one friend, maybe two, to rely on, but no family. Or if she does have family, they may be elsewhere, trying to rebuild new lives in new places. 

Sounds like anxiety, if not abject terror, to me. What she, and every other person she is surrounded by, craves is the reliability and safety of a family unit. That motivation supersedes all. The nice boy she meets is also driven by that same focus. 

Wedding in Bergen-Belsen DP Camp, 1948

Background (gone), finances (none), and personality (traumatized) is not even on the table. Survival is.    

By no means should we regard hybrids as an ecological panacea. The flexibility they can provide depends on the continued existence of at least two parental species, after all — hardly a given for many creatures. But the growing evidence of productive hybridization does seem to call for a reconsideration of how we think about species.

The post-Holocaust marriage model is not viable today purely because we are not post-Holocaust. The children from these "mixed marriages," hybrids themselves, are now classifying themselves again—chassidish, yeshivish, modern—some selecting labels willy-nilly, with none of these titles in their own lineage (Litvaks and Polish chassidim were mostly decimated during the war. Many who identify with yeshivishness and chassidus today are newcomers). 

Today life is not only stable, it is blessed, both in the levels of general lifestyle, as well as government-mandated religious freedom. Background, finances, and personality are back on the table, as they should be, and as it was before the war. 

The Ghost of Pesach-Past

Ma still tells us what it was like to make Pesach in the old country. 

So, on erev Pesach—

Wait, wait, hold up. What do you mean, erev Pesach? First there had to be weeks and weeks of preparation, right? 

Don't interrupt. On erev Pesach, Zeidy would climb up into the attic and hand down the Pesach things, and while Babi unpacked them and "turned over" the kitchen, Zeidy headed out to get mitzvah matzos. 

My mother had a friend who could do one better:

On erev Pesach (yes, also starting from erev) while her mother leisurely pottered about the kitchen, her father would organize his children into an assembly line to churn out matzos on a home-made apparatus in the cellar. 

And then (she would pause for effect)—and then—

"We took a nap."

Cleaning one's house from top to bottom is not required, because crumbs are not chometz. Something that can actually be eaten is. Even if a sealed bag of cookies lies forgotten in the back of the closet, it is declared hefker by b'dikas chometz anyway.

Therefore, why the hysteria over Pesach? Why is it womenfolk everywhere tear their hair out and collapse exhausted at night and weep into their coffee and plead with their husbands to go to a hotel? 

My theory is that it all comes down to food. 

In the old country, food storage wasn't a possibility. While we can store a roast in the freezer until it is needed, they couldn't. Additionally, without supermarkets, there wasn't all that much in the area of "sidedishes" and "mains" and "desserts" (in general). There was no obsessing over menus; just staple favorites, like paprikás. And oh, the bliss of potatoes (we don't bruck). 

When Babi took out those pots on erev Pesach morning, she wasn't planning a ten-course meal with leftovers. She only made enough, like every European housewife, to satisfy everyone, but with nothing to pack away. Packing away wasn't an option, either. 

Mind you, she didn't have electrical appliances. The cake had to be whipped up by hand. By hand. She cooked and baked on yontif day. Like everyone else did.

       

Our yontifs tend to revolve around food. After centuries of doing with less of it, a nation can get a little excited with all the available options. But if it makes our yontifs less enjoyable, our women hollow-eyed, our children associating "yom tov" with "screaming mommy," can't we just get along very well without that magnificent slab of meat that needed hours and hours of TLC? How about some (emphasis on the "some," and opposed to "piles of") shnitzel instead? Everyone likes fresh shnitzel.

It would help on so many levels! The women wouldn't be frantic, the men wouldn't be pre-diabetic, the children would relax along with their relaxed mother, and there wouldn't be any worries as to how to fit the leftovers back into the already overflowing fridge.

A week before Pesach, Ma's friend called up, her mixer whirring loudly in the background. "I need to make about ten cakes," she bellowed over the machine. How many cakes does one really need for the first two days of yontif, even with guests? Heaven forfend if (1) something doesn't get thrown out and (2) everyone doesn't gain five pounds. 

Another friend of hers called up. "I'm calling you on erev Pesach," she said, "because you are the only person looking forward to yontif." Ma doesn't cook a month's worth in advance for a week-long holiday. She does some preparation before-hand, of course, but nothing epic. What is the point of being able to cook on yontif unless one actually cooks on yontif?

Making Pesach is always an endeavor that requires strategy and preparation. But it is still yontif. It saddens me how persecution blazes in women's eyes at the mere mention of this holiday—a holiday! We should look forward to it, not dread it!

For we have been freed! So free yourself!      

Structure = Creativity

A frum life is one of consistency and repetition. From the time one wakes up until one goes to sleep, there are numerous prayers, rituals, and commandments that regulate the day. 

Via judaicaneedlepoint.com

I adore my life of habit. Yet I am now considering pursuing writing as a focus. As we all know, artists are fickle and unpredictable, prone to passion and self-destruction. Hm. Can't do that. 

I was pleasantly surprised, then, to discover in David Brooks' "The Good Order," that many a famous writer were beings of routine. A number were—ah!—morning people. 

Henry Miller

Henry Miller declared that insight could only be found in a disciplined life. In turn, Brooks connects, everything requires discipline. 

People who lead routine, anal-retentive lives have a bad reputation in our culture. But life is paradoxical. In situation after situation, this pattern recurs: order and discipline are the prerequisites for creativity and daring.

This is true on so many levels. Children need emotional and physical order so they can go off and explore. A parent’s main job is to provide daily predictability and emotional security.

Communities need order to thrive and cooperate since where there is chaos and disorder there is distrust and withdrawal. The main job of local leaders is to provide the basic infrastructure of security: roads, police, honest judges and orderly schools.

The world needs order, too, a set of assumed norms and routines that all nations adhere to. 

If everyone gave in to personal whim, instead of structure, where would we all be?

Apparently, the self-aware artist is conscious of mental chaos, and so applies boundaries and walls to organize themselves, to be ideally productive.  

I never thought of myself as a calm person, but recently listening to Brené Brown, I was shocked to discover I actually am, based on her definition. Calm people breathe, ask questions on possibly upsetting news, and once having all the facts, debate whether freaking out will help anything. 

When did I become a calm person? I learned how to breathe. I decided to overcome my tendency to passively accept information. Once I freaked out when I was in high school and that didn't change my homework load, so why bother? But it didn't happen overnight, and I am certainly not there 100% yet. However, I have changed, with the help of order.

It's not just enough to be what we are. We should become in order to be our best.     

You Can Say That Down Under

Sometimes I fail to realize how much romance is sucked out of our lives in-town. 

My Australian cousin sat across the table, his peyos tucked behind his ears, his tzitzis dangling, a fuzzy black velvet kapul parked on his head. He was newly engaged, his eyes shining at the mention of his fiancée. 

He swiped through his phone, selecting a beloved shot. "Do you want to see my darling?" he crooned. I nearly choked on my salmon. 

I concurred his "darling" was lovely, coughing delicately to clear the fish from my throat as I handed the photo along for the rest of the family to "ooh" over.

Well, we ain't in the Outback anymore. 

Professing an endearment about one's intended? In public? I never heard that before, never mind from a good semi-Chassidish yeshiva boy. 

This kid comes from the same branch of uptight Europeans as I do. His momma keeps him on the "straight and narrow," but apparently, "darling" is allowed down under.

Sure, loving glances from across the room, whispery-giggly conversations in corners, but "darling"? 

Us NYC folk need to chill out.   

Storytime

Officially, Jews don't pasken from maaselach. 

Until we do. We can't help ourselves. 

Children are fascinated with any tale. When my niece asks, "Do you have any stories?" she means specifically details from my dating fiascoes.  I myself am a sucker for any anecdote of "How the Happy Couple Met."

My mother, like her mother before her, is a storyteller. Her memory is incomparable, and she mentally records numerous happenings for future reference, to be tugged out and dusted off for application to nearly any current situation.   

 

Stories have power. Scheherazade managed to keep her head firmly attached to her neck by managing to crank one out a day. 1,001 Arabian Nights is not the only saga of how storytelling saves lives.

And how stories survive! Megillas Esther is retold every year, and is no less gripping. We hold our breath in suspense, we weep in fear, we cheer when the good guys win. Then we reenact, donning our Mordechai, Esther, Haman, and Achashverosh costumes. 

Even in areas of life we would think storytelling does not connect to, it does. Brené Brown's shame data comes from a method called "qualitative research," which means listening to many personal tales and finding the connecting threads. In "Why Doctors Need Stories," Peter Kramer reports that vignettes, once shunned from the medical field, are now having a revival.

I was listening to a Purim shiur by Rabbi Y.Y. Rubenstein. In Modim, he said, we thank Hashem for His wonders that take place daily. Accordingly, some rabbanim have said that we should keep journals. 

There are small wonders, large wonders, medium-sized wonders that happen in our lives. We should write them down. (Ma doesn't have to. Nothing gets lost in that head of hers.) 

And tell them over.         

Smile! You're an Idiot!

I was born and remained gullible and earnest, a wide-eyed innocent. Tell me something, and chances are I will believe you. It was a lonely state to be in, this extended childhood, and my more street-wise contemporaries laughed at my constant naivete. 

 

But, as I was gleeful to discover, technology is making everyone around me the same stupid. That was what Peter Funt concluded while creating Candid Camera ("Curses, Fooled Again!") He thought technology would make people sharper, less likely to fall for his traps; they are actually now more susceptible to them.

That may seem counterintuitive, but I’m certain it’s true. Much has to do with multitasking. When my dad, Allen Funt, introduced the show over six decades ago, he had to work at distracting people. Nowadays they do it to themselves.

Many people we now encounter are fiddling with cellphones and other devices, tackling routine activities with less-than-full focus. That makes them easier targets for our little experiments, but also more vulnerable to personal mishaps and genuine scams.

I worried briefly that people are now so tech-savvy that some of our props and fake setups wouldn’t be believed. Instead, we found that the omnipresence of technology has reached a point where people will now accept almost anything . . .

I don’t necessarily believe 21st-century Americans are more gullible, but they tend to give that impression by protesting life’s little insults without taking time to fully digest the situation.

People accept because they don't think. Interesting. 

I don’t mind the smartphone obsession in our scenes; it’s rather funny. It is a shame, though, that so many people now interrupt real life — in effect hollering “cut” — to record what could be called Act One. In doing so they spoil their own Act Two.

Why must everything be recorded? Chances are, that video file will never be played. It seems so important right then to preserve this hysterical/cute/outrageous moment forever, but it's not. The moment is being ruined by holding up that smartphone and tapping. 

Much hasn’t changed over the years. For example, I expected to encounter more profanity in everyday conversation, but it’s really not there. I also wondered whether young people would be less spontaneous and engaged when caught in our scenarios, yet there’s no hint of that whatsoever. I thought in these litigious times fewer people would sign a waiver to appear on our show, but the percentages have stayed about the same over the years.

I do note that today more people step out in public looking a bit disheveled and unkempt and are then hesitant to sign because they’re not happy with their appearance.

Hey, that's why it's always important to look good. You never know when a film crew will have you in their sights.  

 

"Don't Waste the Pretty"

"Have you tried _________?" they ask.

I always have tried to take care of that which is in my sphere of influence. Diverting meteorites doesn't fall within my purview, so I do not spend sleepless nights pondering the implosion of the universe. 

I concern myself with returning library books on time, babysitting to the best of my competence, and if I tell someone I will be there at 10:30, I aim to arrive by 10:20.

The question is, where does meeting, wooing, and marrying one's life partner come in? Is that under the "alien invasion" category, out of my hands, or is it a task to be resolved, like doing laundry?

"Did you go to this shadchan?" 

"Have you gone to a singles event?" 

"Do you even want to get married?" 

I found some comfort in, of all places, He's Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrendt (I posted about this book before and before.) 

Greg presents the being of men as follows: Guys, when they want a gal, will do their darnedest to get her. That's how their minds work. If they are the ones being actively pursued, but it's not mutual, while they may go grudgingly along with it initially, chances are a long-term relationship will not ensue. 

While women today can be anything they can be, that has not changed the embedded caveman mentality of the modern male. So, ladies, you have to quit being overt in banging-heads-with-frying-pan tactics. If a dude likes you "that" way, he will not let anything stop him. 

If a woman is currently in a "I don't know where we stand" crossroads, the fellow is just not that into you. He won't say it, because he doesn't want to have to explain himself, or awkwardly comfort, or deal with messy emotions; he'll drift along until matters peter out or the woman takes a hint and cuts him loose. 

Ever heard a story of a couple who dated for months, years, and the guy won't propose, but as soon as they break up he's engaged to a gal he knew for a couple of weeks? 

Girls like to make excuses, to find reasons. 

"Well, he would have gone out with me again if—"

"His brother got divorced, so he's scared." 

"I know he will propose. I know it. Soon. I just have to—" 

"Don't waste the pretty," Greg says.

Women, your job is to look fabulous. 

That's it.

We like to think we have evolved, or something. But the dating mores weren't much different on the Starship Enterprise. Women still wore makeup, and Riker was the master of the pickup line.

Am I doing "enough"? 

I think so.