The Why

Han was telling me of a sad occurrence. A matriarch made a Chanukah party because "We can't not have a Chanukah party!" The occasion became a super-spreader, and three people died. 

I have been battling this mindset myself since COVID waltzed in: Not doing things because they currently aren't feasible. Having guests or being a guest. Attending levayas. Hugging my nieces and nephews. 

Han had to physically hold his father back from going into a levaya, because how does one not go in?

"Pandemic-Proof Your Habits" by Kate Murphy begins with an interesting anecdote. She attended a Thanksgiving dinner that ended up being anti-establishment. No turkey. No mashed potatoes. No cranberry sauce. The salmon, roasted potatoes, and raspberry coulis was delicious. 

The attendees lost their minds. 

She explains that being met by the unexpected can really rattle us, due to brain wiring. Going against the habitual programming can throw us for a loop. Shavuos without cheesecake? No. Just no.

It made me realize why so many couldn't cope with the cancellation of minyan. We guys have so many rituals based around religion, and we were told that it is all right to do without for now, but there were those who refused to accept it. 

COVID has made me reexamine my beliefs in some ways. I miss the Chanukah parties, the Shabbosim with family, the shul outings. But the basis of all those practices is belief. Without belief, they are meaningless. 

So until we all get vaccinated, I shall focus on believing.

Shidduch Myths: "All the Good Ones are Taken"

Sarah Eckel's book devotes each chapter to a "reason" why someone is single (too available, etc.) and destroys the faulty logic behind it. While some I have addressed in the past, others occurred to me while reading it that I thought would be fun to tackle. 

"All the good ones are taken." 

Whilst in my single days, I attended an afruf one Shabbos (the outing was memorable as we had to trek to another shul while dragging along a toddler nephew since we were babysitting) and I saw there a recently married neighbor along with her husband. 

His appearance was not only rather handsome, he exuded an aura of what I interpreted to be a pleasant personality. While wishing this acquaintance Gut Shabbos, I whispered to Ma (sotto voce, in retrospect), "She got such a cute one!" 

At the time, while happy for my contemporary's "success" in "snagging" a "cute guy," there was also the accompanying understanding that my options had dwindled further. There is a limit, after all, to good-looking, personable gentlemen. So, despite my Hungarian heritage (being appreciative of a chiseled jaw), I did not demand that feature in a future spouse. I "had to" focus strictly on qualities like kindness, intelligence, and tolerance for my sneaker collection. 

After meeting Han, however, I was surprised that he was "still available"; how could it be that some savvy huntress hadn't downed him with a tranquilizer dart and dragged him back to her lair? How was it possible that this package of fabulosity hadn't been "snatched up"?

Because, if people were like limited edition Adidas with gold laces, then yes, we could apply the premise of supply and demand. But people aren't commodities. They are complex individuals with inner worlds who interact with others in different ways. 

Additionally, there is the incorrect belief that if someone is married, then they must be "good." Well, no. A lot of jerks and mean girls are married. It's not like every young couple you meet has a shared glowing halo of goodness. 

What does "good" mean, anyway? For some, it's simply impeccable appearance; an appealing combination of facial features paired with a low enough MBI swathed in a rockin' wardrobe (that goes for men and women). For some, it's someone who visits his grandmother every Sunday then volunteers at the soup kitchen. For some, it's an admirable career choice (hello, Jewish doctor!) 

For others, "good" simply means "good for them." 

So while a number of men (ok, many, many men) ran screaming for the hills after they met me (why? Gosh, the list goes on: too tall, knows too much, too fond of lipstick, etc.), Han and I are good for each other.

To quote Amy March, "You don't need scores of suitors. You need only one, if he's the right one."

Challah

Challah is a big deal. Jewish women get really excited about challah. 

Except what we know as "challah" isn't really "challah." 

The actual, correct, appropriate translation of "challah" is the portion that was taken off dough to be given to the Kohanim. The remaining majority of that dough was made into lechem for everyone else. 

For thousands of years, Jewish women made simple loaves of bread. Then, in the 1500s, braided bread became trendy in Europe, and Jewish women jumped on the bandwagon. The trend never left, to the point that we sometimes think that the only bread that can be made for Shabbos must be braided. Only Sephardim who have not been exposed to Ashekenazi mishaggassen have loaves on their Shabbos tables.

The mitzvah is to take the challah off dough, and as long as that dough will become bread and has the minimum amount of flour, the mitzvah can be done. 

But since challah is now braided challah bread, many women can find the skill daunting. Ma actually did not make challah bread until a neighbor found out, ordered her to come over to her house, and taught her. 

Yet the mitzvah is not so inaccessible. If yeast and water and flour are chucked into a bowl, you've got dough to take challah from. So give it a try. And maybe, one day, if you feel like it, you can try braiding it too.

Ribbis

A few weeks ago I read an article about ribbis. The article had a few examples as to what constitutes ribbis, which I found fascinating. 

If you borrow an item, with the understanding that you are borrowing the item, you do not go beyond the borrowing. Meaning, if you borrowed a used item from someone and repaid them with a new item, that is ribbis. Further gestures of gratitude are, in many cases, ribbis. 

I rarely borrow items because I find it too stressful. I feel incredibly beholden to the lender that they entrusted me with an item of theirs, and because of that, it's a millstone around my neck. 

But according to the premise of ribbis, there is no need to be beholden. It's very matter-of-fact about it. You needed something. Another lent it to you. It's ok. It's fine. Calm down. 

I find the underlying message is that nothing really belongs to us anyway; if you are willing to lend it to another, you shouldn't make them feel forever in your debt. Nor should they feel like they were done this massive favor that they must keep repaying forever and beyond. 

I'm liking this. 

Corona Conundrums

It takes a moment to process that it has been nearly a year since the <bleep> hit the fan, and we were all herded indoors. 

Beforehand, I would have thought that if I had an infinite amount of time at my disposal, I would become more productive. Photos would be organized. Bathrooms would be sparkling. Sleep would be paramount. Blogs would be updated regularly.

However, none of those things have happened. In an existence without structure, photos are ignored, bathrooms are oft neglected, sleep is meh, and blogs get overlooked. 

Or maybe, in this lockdown, I have little to report and comment on? Socializing has been outlawed (although I do admit I didn't do much of it in the first place). Newspapers merely shriek that the end is nigh (not much in the way of observations of the human condition).

Baruch Hashem, with the arrival of the vaccine, this upside-down time will, mit Gutt's helf, be ending, eventually. 

And perhaps, then I will be able to blog again, properly. 

We All Carry Pain

***This post has been redacted. I was informed that the content was judgy and condescending, making me lose all credibility on this topic. Thank you.***

Being Married Isn't Everything

I had an epiphany yesterday. 

I had been thinking of couples I had been hearing of, the young marrieds who have not been having a seamless transition into wedded-hood. Perhaps one has a temper, or their personalities clash. Then throw in a colicky baby into the mix, bringing the stress index ever higher. 

It was then I realized something. Fast forward ten, or twenty, or thirty years. If these couples stay together, and have not managed to make their experience a better one, then they will see their marriages as having one perk: Status. 

The status to tell other singles, "That's what you are expecting in a marriage? Dream on." 

Perhaps they will get annoyed. "What, exactly, are you holding out for?" 

Then: "If you are expecting fireworks, puh-leez." 

And, underneath their scorn, lies a fear that the optimistic singles might get what they hope for: a spouse that they mesh with.

Let's be honest, not all marriages are happy or healthy, and not all of these unions are dissolved. And yet, singles are expected to accept any marrieds advice because Hey! We're married! Unlike you, losers! 

Yes, they are married. But if I just wanted to be married, I could have done that years ago. But I wanted to be married to someone I didn't fantasize about suffocating with a pillow while he slept. 

There is so much conflicting advice floating around, but that's because, and I will repeat this yet again, people are different. If a certain piece of advice speaks to you, then it's right for you. But it won't necessarily wow your single friend. 

It is a blessing to be married. It is a greater blessing to be married to the person that works for you.

Free To Be Me

I've already plowed through "My Crazy Ex-Girlfriend," although due to baby-induced sleep deprivation, I've forgotten pretty much most of it. I vaguely recall that it was highly enjoyable. 

Rebecca Bloom, the star and co-creator, came out with a memoir, and she was duly interviewed. This paragraph spoke to me. 

“I’ve never been able to be anyone but myself,” Bloom said in a video chat. “And when I’ve very vociferously attempted to not be myself — when I would come to school and be like, ‘I’ve had a makeover!’ — I’ve never been able to hide well. The conclusion I’ve come to in the past 10 years is, well, I might as well just lean hard into who I am.”

Yuuuuuuuuuup. 

In real (as opposed to the blogosphere) life, few people get me. Less than few comprehended me in school. The harder I would try to be likable, I was avoided even more. So, if the results are going to be the same, I might as well be me. 

The heilaga Brené speaks of the difference between "fitting in" and "belonging." In my view, it's still "belonging" even if you are on your own, in your own space. The price of fighting my own nature and personality was too high, and I was unwilling to pay it. 

Perhaps some thought (no, some definitely thought) that if I had been more willing to be "typical" (whatever that means) I would have married earlier, but . . . that's a negatory. Han and I aren't "atypical," we just like to abide to our own truths, like moisturizers, funky clothing, and lemon desserts (that's just a few of the things we have in common). 

As long as you are nice to others, there is nothing wrong with embracing yourself. I've become quite fond of goofy energy. 

The Chanukah Story

Do you really know the story of Chanukah? 

I certainly don't. It was told in school in a few sentences, not much in depth. I carried away so much misinformation that I made a fool of myself on a college paper by referring to "the Greek Empire." My professor left a notation in red ink that there was no Greek empire. 

Huh? 

Then I learned that the Jews were not dominated by Greek-Greeks, but by the Hellenized Seleucid Empire. Ooooooh. 

That's why, if you don't want to look stupid, like I did, I recommend listening to Dean Henry Abramson on the Chanukah story. Very educational.

Will You Still Need Me, Will You Still Feed Me

I was reading this interview with Chris Rock, and paused towards the end in thought: 

Who do you hang with these days? Who’s your peer group?

I hang with Dave [Chappelle]. I hang with my kids. I hang with Nelson George. There’s not a lot of hanging in the Covid world. The better question is, who do you FaceTime with?

So who do you FaceTime with?

The other day I realized I’ve never met an elderly person that was cared for by their friends. Every elderly person I know that’s got any trouble is cared for by a spouse or a child. Sometimes they have like five kids but only one helps. Where are your friends? Your friends are probably not going to be there when it really counts. [Laughs.] When my dad was dying in the hospital, where were his friends? My grandmother, where were her friends? Don’t get me wrong, you get sick in your 20s, your friends will come to the hospital. It’s an adventure. [Laughs.] You get sick in your 60s, they farm it out. “You go Wednesday and I’ll go Sunday.”

Enjoy them while you have them. But if you think your friends are your long-term solution to loneliness, you’re an idiot.

On one side of my family, there are a group of cousins who are fiercely devoted to each other. No one else in the world matters except for their siblings and their families. They doted on their mother in her final days, never leaving her alone, even when she was in the nursing home for a year. 

These cousins are no longer youngsters. During this horrific year, a number of them have passed. One has sat shiva three times this year. 

They are of the age when friends (if they had them) would no longer be showing up to assist. For them, from the beginning, it was only family; at the end, there is only family. 

"Your flesh and blood," Ma would chastise when us kids would fight. "How can you hurt your own flesh and blood?" 

Friendships are nice, as Rock says. They have their place. But when I see others cast off their family because of "friends," that these friends are now their everything, I wonder how tight that bond is, how long it can last. 

Rock is 55, old enough to contemplate his mortality and wonder what is truly important in life. Obviously if a family member is toxic it is best to keep one's distance, but one cannot deny the connection family has, whereas friendships rarely last into the caregiving stage. 

Han and I joke to Ben that he should please not shove us into a cut-rate nursing home when the time comes. Because it'll be his problem when we are old and creaky (but with excellent skin, because of the creams we use now), and no one else, no matter how "close," will want to take it on.