#and i think it does help to keep awareness of hashem but like...

[maxinemartinsdrill]

in the interests of making tzniut fun and not annoying I might get really into 1920s fashion.

[hindahoney]

Do you have any tips for eating kosher food when it's not easily available to you? It's slightly easier cause I don't eat meat but its very hard and I'd like help

To anyone who wants to eat kosher, my most important advice is to start slow. It's a process. If you cut out everything at once you will get overwhelmed and quit.

My first advice is to only eat things with a hechsher on it. Because you don't eat meat, it's already significantly easier for you. The problem is finding dairy with a hechsher, especially cheese. A lot of cheeses are made with rennet, which is a part of the animal we are forbidden to eat. This is why a lot of cheese chips and snacks aren't kosher, even if they seem like they should be (doritos were SO hard to let go of for me, and I'll never forgive Sunchips for removing their hechsher). A lot of foods also have non kosher dyes that were made with insect shells, the same with sodas. Additionally, checking produce for any bugs is always a good idea!!! Even produce in grocery chains are likely to contain little bugs. I promise once you start checking, you'll see them. So many products are full of chemicals that were created with non-kosher ingredients or in non-kosher facilities, so the best way to ensure you're not accidentally consuming them is to just eat hechsher products.

For people who do eat meat, however, you can still eat most fish because it's considered pareve. Chicken used to be in this category, though this was changed over time by rabbis who noticed that people began thinking of chicken as meat. The argument proposed is that the Torah says "Thou shall not boil a kid in its mother's milk," and since chickens don't produce milk, this prohibition does not apply. Rabbis would say that the spirit of the law means it does. It is up to you whether you want to agree with the rabbis about this. For me, when I first started keeping kosher, I would allow myself to eat chicken, before I slowly removed it from my diet to abide by the rabbinical ruling. I also think the spirit of the law should apply to eating eggs and chicken (though eggs are pareve) together, if we are prohibiting eating an animal with its potential child. But I'm not aware of any rabbis who have said this (but jews talk about everything so they're probably out there.)

Eating meat or cheese plant-based hechshered substitutes are also acceptable, depending on your movement. For me personally, I will eat hechshered meat substitutes, and this satiates my cravings for meat until I can get kosher meat. Gardein is a good brand, and so is Morning Star, and I'm sure other countries have their own brands. The argument against eating meat substitutes was that the appearance of an observant jew eating what looks to be a cheeseburger could cause other observant Jews to believe the laws around kashrut have changed, leading them to break kosher. This law made more sense back then, but now I'm not so convinced, but that's up to you to decide. Eventually, I see myself no longer eating meat substitutes once I live in an area with a kosher market, but for now this has to do.

Work your way up to waiting between meat and milk. The time varies, I've heard anything from one to eight hours.

Make sure to crack your eggs in a separate clear container to check for blood. It's not common, but it happens.

Eating vegan or vegetarian while you're out is a decent compromise in the beginning until you feel ready to let go of restaurants.

Lastly, have a little non-kosher food send off. Before you start your journey, eat your favorite non kosher food and then say goodbye to it forever, at least until you can find a way to make it kosher. Eating kosher is hard. But it's a reminder of the covenant between yourself and HaShem. When you eat kosher foods, the belief is that whatever animal was used in the making has now served a higher purpose.

If anyone else has tips on how to start keeping kosher, or ways that help you, feel free to share!

[lovelylogans]

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

prologue: (re)birth

see next chapters, notes, and warnings here!

“We all experience many births and deaths in a life.” —Jonas Maliki, Sense8 

EMILE

Emile Picani has always loved children, but, as a cis man, he had generally contented himself with the fact that a woman would eventually bear them (as he pieced together the whole oops, all gay! thing in his mid-to-late teens, he mentally altered that to through surrogacy) or that he would adopt children with a loving partner someday.

He had really been very, very content with the idea of never giving birth. He had been perfectly fine with the idea of never giving birth. He would really, really love it if he were not giving birth right now. But as it is—

“Does psychic birth count as birth?” Linda asks, tilting her head; she’d chopped off her hair in her kitchen a month ago, so now it swishes along her jaw. The loss of a foot of hair doesn’t mean her hair is any more tamed than it was when it was waist-length, back when they’d first seen each other face-to-face.

Emile moans in pain, rolling face-down onto the couch to press his face into the cushions, blocking out all light; the pressure and ache behind his eyes that’s been mounting for days is almost as bad as it had been when he’d been born. Reborn. 

Sensate birth is so confusing.

The weight of another member of his cluster dips the couch cushion near his feet.

“I would be this close to leaving if the call to visit wasn’t so strong,” Andy groans, and then the sound of someone hitting him; Missy, he’s sure.

“He is having our weird psychic niblings,” she scolds from where she sits beside Andy. “We need to be here and support him while he’s in the birthing bed, as moral support!”

“Not actual birth,” Emile groans into his couch cushion.

“Hey, Emi,” she continues, ignoring him, “you can’t tell if one of them is in Greece yet, can you? Try and aim for one in Heraklion, I never get to go to Crete and I want to go sightseeing!”

“Or Manila!” Linda calls. “But that’s more for my convenience than a vacation.”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t pick where you’ve got your psycellium-connection children, but if you do, aim for Brazil for me so I can meet one,” Nate says, with a hand still awkwardly on Emile’s back in an attempt to comfort him, and Emile is so grateful to him for being with him through the whole of this psychic labor he could cry.

Well. He’s pretty sure he’s already crying from the pain, but.

“Do they count as children?” Andy says, then, “well, I guess you don’t know how old they are yet, do you. It could be a super early activation, so you could end up with a bunch of kids. Or, wait, hey, how funny would it be if you ended up just plucking late activations from retirement homes?”

Emile reaches blindly for the nearest cushion to block his ears. He can tell through feeling that it’s the Mickey Mouse one, but even as he places it over his head the texture skitters under his fingers—a pen, a soft blanket, thick paper, a cold glass sweating with condensation, back to a cushion—and he goes about blocking out Linda and Missy’s chattering about hoping one of them is in their respective countries, so they can be the weird psychic aunties they’d always been meant to be.

Another voice that manages to actually startles him this time, and blurrily, barely comprehensible beyond the pain, he thinks that should probably be how he knows the birth is close: ever since they’d all gained some form of equilibrium, after their own birth nearly ten years ago now, he’s never, ever been startled by the appearance of one of his cluster, ever.

“Ditto on telling me if you end up getting a Canadian,” Brian says, and Emile manages to peek out from his cushion to see Brian crouched on the floor in front of him, beside Nate, smiling at him as if nothing’s wrong, even though he can feel Brian’s nerves roiling alongside his own. “B'ezras Hashem, they won’t end up with only Missy as an auntie, eh?”

He lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the pain, then, the pressure behind his eyes unbearable, like all the water of a dam pressing unerringly against the littlest crack, waiting for it to burst.

“Where the hell are you, Remy,” he can hear Toby snarl—when did Toby get here?—and Nate’s hand rubs soothingly up and down his back, shushing Toby.

“Of all the days to take a blocker off-schedule,” Andy tsks. “You should all listen to me, we knew that could be a worst-case scenario—”

“Not his fault,” Emile chokes out—if this could be equitable to normal, human baby birth, Emile might think that the stress of Remy catching sight of someone entering his café and immediately blocking them all out before anyone else could notice might have been what triggered this labor to come on so sudden and so strong.

“No, ‘course not,” Linda says in a soft, soothing voice, nearly drowned out by the sound of fabric smacking against skin; he’s pretty sure that Missy’s hit Andy upside the head with one of his couch cushions, and that’s confirmed when he hears Missy hiss “that is his boyfriend what is wrong with you for bringing that up right now” “well he did!” “oh my God, Emile is literally giving birth right now, this is not the time—”

A particularly strong surge of pressure and Emile clenches his teeth against a scream of pain—sunlight in his eyes flowers in his nose rocks scraping his hands—and his bickering cluster falls immediately silent, and still, and scared, a moment of silence before their thoughts come rushing in—what if this goes why didn’t harley tell us it could be like where is he it’s his damn boyfriend need to help them is he going how is this going to work harley where are you

“It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay,” Nate chants, rubbing a hand up down his back, and Emile actually sobs, this time, because it hurts, it hurts so much, he feels like his brain is exploding.

There are so many flickers of sensation, all the time, flickering from his own couch to the floor of Nate’s office to Linda’s kitchen table to a fancy apartment to Andy’s balcony to a dark silent bed to a grassy field to sprinting along the sidewalk past a patisserie to ears popping on an airplane on wait go back go back that was Remy Remy—

But it’s snatched away on a brisk wind on a blast of air conditioning on a cocoon of warmth under blankets on on on on on

it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay, his cluster says as one, it’s okay it’s okayit’sokayit’sokay—

Nate squeezes his shoulder, and Emile sucks in a desperate breath of air, distantly aware of his own body, the fact he’s writing on his back, now, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes, his throat aching like he’s been screaming, Nate’s hand on his shoulder Missy’s fingers twining with his Linda touching his wrist Andy holding his ankle Brian’s hand on his knee. And he feels anchored.

And then Remy bursts into the apartment, and Emile bawls at the sight of him, the force of it making all of the cluster reach for Remy as one.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Remy pants, skidding to a stop at his couch, “fuck, I’m so sorry, baby—”

“Hurts,” is all Emile can say, and suddenly his body and the entire cluster has shifted—Remy lying behind him, his arms wrapped around Emile’s chest to keep him upright, his cluster touching his arms, his legs, his chest.

“I’m here,” Remy whispers, carding back Emile’s sweaty hair. “I’m right here, babe, I’m so sorry, I’m here now. I’m here.”

“It hurts,” Emile whimpers. “Rem, it hurts so much.”

“I know, I know, I can feel it,” Remy whispers into his ear, rocking him back and forth. “Em, you’re so close, baby, you’re almost done, you’re amazing.”

Emile, blindly, reaches out to clutch his hand and Remy is always, always there to take it, letting Emile crush his hand.

There’s a pull, now. He can feel it, a full-body pull, and—

“You got this,” Remy whispers. “Emile, honey, you’ve got this. We’re right here with you.”

You’re right here with me, Emile thinks, dizzy with the relief of it, finally, all of them, EmileRemyLinnyBrianTobyNateMissyAndy, you’re right here with me, and he lets himself be pulled.

And his brain expands.

“Remy, I see them,” he whispers. “I see them…”

The lights are off here, the only lighting from the moon, illuminated the massive apartment furnished in sleek black lines and bright golds, a man tossing and turning, facing Emile.

The man glances at him, rolls away, pauses, then rolls back abruptly; in the low light, Emile can see the scar slashed across his cheek, bisecting a birthmark. 

“Oh,” Emile whispers, his throat clogged suddenly at the sight of this man—he already knows that his name is Janus, and he is brilliant and cut-throat and lonely and dangerous and Emile loves him already. “Oh, they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, my dear. My darling.”

Emile reaches for him, and Janus opens his mouth, brow furrowed, about to ask, but Emile is pulled away before he can.

He is suddenly drenched with sweat under hot lights, a conglomeration of cameras in the distance, and he squints to where the boom microphones are held directly aloft—this is Roman, who has his head tilted toward a man in a baseball cap, deep in conversation. Emile glances back over his shoulder and sees a city skyline—old, and beautiful, and familiar because Emile’s been here. Or one of his cluster had been, anyway.

For all that Roman looks so involved in the conversation, Emile can feel the exhaustion of a long day’s shoot, the weight on his shoulders, the constant itch to reach for his phone, to scan the news. Roman’s brow furrows and he looks up, directly meeting Emile’s eyes.

“Are you lost?” Roman says uncertainly, and Emile smiles at him.

“No,” he says. “I was looking for you.”

“Who are you talking to?” The man in the cap asks, and Emile is pulled away.

He’s on a plane and his ears are refusing to pop. Emile grimaces in sympathy, even as he’s glancing over to the man sitting beside him on the plane. Well, slumped, to be more accurate, trying to get some sleep and failing miserably. Emile’s eyes ache with commiseration.

“Sorry,” Emile says sympathetically, remembering his own sleepless days after rebirth.

The man squints out at him, tugging off his purple headphones. “‘Scuse me?” He says, his voice accented—African?

“You’re probably not going to be able to sleep for a few days. Or, um. Not sleep well, I should say.”

“...I’ve had jet lag before,” Virgil says, and yes, he has, hasn’t he?

“Congratulations,” Emile says hastily, already feeling the pull. “A doctorate’s a very big achievement, you should be proud of yourself.”

Virgil’s eyes go wide, and he shrinks back a little in his seat.

“How did you—?”

And Emile is not trapped in a plane anymore, but he almost wishes he was.

“Jiminy crickets, it’s cold,” Emile says aloud, wrapping his arms around himself, because jeez louise it is cold!

Logan freezes from where he is examining a telescope to ensure it’s in working order. 

“The supply ship isn’t due until next week,” he says. His voice is very even and measured. “That is the only opportunity for strangers to get onto the island.”

“Supply…” Emile repeats, before he learns—remembers? “Oh. My goodness, you’re researching in Antarctica?!”

He is! He is researching in Antarctica! He’s a space researcher who is so good at what he does he got to go to Antarctica to study even more in-depth! Gosh, Emile has birthed a smart cluster, there are at least two doctors here! 

“...Am I hallucinating?” Logan asks himself very quietly.

“No!” Emile says hastily. “No no no no, goodness, no!”

Logan’s eyes narrow. “That is… precisely what one would think an induced hallucination would say.”

Emile’s about to explain, but he’s pulled before he can; he has a feeling that Logan’s going to need the most in-depth scientific explanation the Archipelago has accrued over the years.

And he is in a brightly decorated room, with soft toys and lots of colors and the letters of the alphabet winding around the room; a big, tall man is kneeling on the ground, carefully easing a backpack onto a child who couldn’t be more than five.

“All right, Livvy-Lou, we got it all figured out now, don’t we?” the man says brightly—his name is Patton, and he is soft and loving and beautiful and so very sad. 

A grin bursts out on the child’s face. “Thank you, Mr. T!”

Patton smiles, flicking one of her braided pigtails into place so that it doesn’t get tugged by her backpack straps, and gently nudges her along her way before he glances up.

“Hello!” Patton says to Emile brightly. “Are you a—?”

And then he falters.

“...you’re not a parent,” Patton says slowly. “Are you?”

“Well,” Emile says. “I suppose it depends on how you define ‘parent,’ and also, whose parent you think I am.”

Patton’s eyes crinkle with a smile. “What an odd way to answer that question.”

“You’re about to have a lot of odd days ahead of you,” Emile says, “I mean, a lot,” and—

A man sitting hunched under a tree is cussing to himself, even as he eats food he’s gotten from the trash, and his eyes widen at the sight of Emile, already rising to a half-crouch, ready to run.

“Oh,” Emile says. “Oh, goodness. You’ve gotten yourself into quite a situation, haven’t you?”

Remus snarls at him wordlessly. 

Emile frowns a little, his heart aching with terrible concern, not all of it his own. “Is that all you have to eat?”

“Fuck off,” Remus spits, and—

Emile gasps, back in Remy’s arms, back in his apartment, his cluster all staring at him, wide-eyed.

“So?” Missy urges. “Greeks? Tell me you got a Greek.”

He looks at her, and he thinks of the cluster he has just brought into the world, and he feels such a surge of overwhelming joy that he can do nothing but laugh.

His cluster laughs with him, and Remy lets out a huffing breath, hugging him close and kissing his temple, and Emile sighs, closing his eyes, exhausted but still smiling, smiling, smiling.

In London, in Mexico City, in the air between Baltimore and Pretoria, in Antarctica, in Monterrey—

He hopes they all hear it.

Welcome to being sensate, my loves.

[wenevergotusedtoegypt]

I hope you don't mind me coming to you for advice. I have a friend I'm considering dating, but don't plan to bring it up for a few months for unrelated reasons. We're both observant orthodox but not interested in the shidduch system and might be a good match for each other. I'm trying to make a list of good questions to discuss (i.e. finances, number of children, aliyah) but was curious if you had a list of suggestions of questions to ask a potential partner outside of the get to their (1/2)

get to know their personality stuff, which we’ve already done. I know the basics—where do you want to live, what’s an ideal budget lifestyle, etc. but I’ve never dated and so I’m trying to be mindful of what the important things are ahead of time and since you only married a year ago, I was hoping you might recall what your important questions were. Thank you so much for reading! You always give such good, thoughtful, and kind advice (2/2)

Hey, sorry for the delay - I know you sent this twice, probably thinking I didn’t get it because I’d answered other asks. The more thought a response takes, the more time I need to write it, so I’ll sometimes answer certain things very quickly because they take less thought while delaying others.

You know, it’s funny how very much memories can fade in just 2 years when they no longer feel especially relevant (our 2nd anniversary is in Cheshvan) - sometimes shidduchim really feels like it was a different life. I honestly don’t even remember very many questions my husband and I asked each other, let alone anyone else. I also never dated someone I already knew, so there were very few people with whom I ever got much past getting to know their personality; I only went on 2 or more dates with 5 people including my husband, and he was the only person to make it past 4 dates. But I guess just some things to consider (which should by no means be considered a comprehensive list):

-Hashkafa - even if you identify with the same label, what exactly does that label mean to you? How do you relate to secular media or education (and how would you want your children to relate to it - which may not necessarily be the same as you do)? What hashkafically-based customs or the like are important to you? How did you get where you are today religiously? (This last one is more obvious for BTs and converts, but if you’re FFB, I still think there’s what to discuss - have you taken ownership in some way of your own yiddishkeit as you’ve gotten older? Are there ways that your hashkafa varies from how your parents raised you, and if so, how did you arrive at them? If you’ve pretty much stuck with how you were raised, what about it made you choose to do so?)

-Parental/gender roles - do you believe there are defined roles for each gender in a marriage? If yes, delve into what those are. If not, discuss how you feel husband and wife should relate to each other/how you picture your ideal relationship. Would he change diapers (if not, run IMHO)? Is there a place for the husband sometimes missing minyan to help out with the kids, or is it more important that he is always at minyan even if it’s difficult for the wife at times (both of you can have opinions on this fyi, not just him)? How do you envision splitting household responsibilities like cooking, cleaning, running errands, etc? (if you both say something vague like “equally,” how would you determine what’s equal?) Would you want to stay home with the kids, work part time, or work full time, and does that line up with his vision for a family?

-Women’s issues - if you have any struggles as a frum woman, talk about them. This isn’t a question. This is just you sharing your experience and observing how he reacts to it. Does he mansplain that this really shouldn’t be such a big deal for you? Is he sympathetic? Does he claim to totally understand (this is not good because it’s not possible and means he hasn’t fully internalized/listened to what you’ve shared) or does he acknowledge that he can’t 100% understand an experience he doesn’t live, but will do his best to try anyway? Does he seem like someone who will do what’s in his power to improve your experience with whatever struggles you express, even if he can’t fix a wider issue as a single individual?

-Style of handling conflict - this can be a little tricky because sometimes the way we want to say we’d handle conflict isn’t what actually happens in reality, but try to be honest with yourself when presenting your side and hope he’ll try to do the same. If you were upset at your spouse, would you want to be left alone until you were ready to talk, or would you want them to approach you to try to work it out? If you did [insert really annoying and/or thoughtless hypothetical thing here], how would he handle it (and vice versa)? When you have an issue with someone, e.g. a roommate, do you tend to confront them about it directly, or be more passive-aggressive?

-(a little later on - not first date material) Discuss any significant medical or mental health issues that a potential spouse should be aware of prior to getting engaged. Explain what it is and how it affects your life.

-How you want to raise your kids - What did you appreciate about your upbringing (and want to replicate) and what did you dislike (and would not want to replicate)? What would you prioritize when choosing a school?

-Shabbos - Do you envision having a lot of guests, or mostly just eating as a family, or trading off depending on the week?

Related advice but not what you actually asked for: Always keep in mind when you are giving your own answers to these questions (and any he might bring up) that this isn’t about having the “right” answer to convince the other person to keep dating you/marry you. It’s about giving your honest answer and finding out if your honest answer and his honest answer are compatible. If they aren’t, you want to find out now, acknowledge that unfortunately the two of you are not a match, and move on (assuming the issue is a dealbreaker; if it’s not an outright dealbreaker, you still want to have the cards on the table and be aware that a compromise will be required should you move forward rather than finding that out later). You don’t want to give the “right” but dishonest answer, get married, and then have issues because the two of you aren’t in fact on the same page.

Hope this helps! Whether or not this guy is your beshert, may Hashem give you full clarity on the situation as you proceed. :)