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bailey-writes · 4 years

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So You Want Your OC to be Jewish

So you’re writing a story and you want to make a Jewish character—great! I’m here to help. I always want more Jewish representation but I want good Jewish representation, so this is my attempt to make a guide to making a Jewish character. What are my credentials? I’m Jewish and have been my whole life. Obligatory disclaimer that this is by no means comprehensive, I don’t know everything, all Jews are different, and this is based on my experiences as an American Jew so I have no idea, what, if any, of this applies to non-American Jews.

If there’s anything you want me to make a post going more into detail about or if there’s anything I didn’t mention but you want to know please ask me! I hope this is helpful :) Warning, this is long.

Jew PSA

If you are Jewish you can use the word Jew(s), e.g. “She’s dating a Jew.” If you are not Jewish you cannot use the word Jew(s). This is not up for debate. Non-Jews calling us Jews has a negative connotation at best. Don’t do it and don’t have your characters do it.

Basics, Plus My Random Thoughts that Didn’t Fit Anywhere Else

A confusing enduring issue is, what is Judaism? It’s a religion, but some Jews aren’t religious; is it a race? A nationality? A culture? A heritage? The only constant is that we are seen as “other.” There’s a lot of debate, which makes it confusing to be Jewish and as such it’s common for Jews to struggle with their Jewish Identity. However many people agree that Jews are an ethnoreligious group, aka Judaism is a religion and an ethnicity.

Temple/Synagogue/Shul = Jewish place of worship. Shul is usually used for Orthodox synagogues.

Keeping kosher = following Jewish dietary rules: meat and dairy can’t be eaten together and you can’t eat pork or shellfish. Fish and eggs are pareve (aka neutral) and can be eaten with meat or dairy (but again not both at the same time.) When eating meat it has to be kosher meat (e.g. kosher Jews are allowed to eat chicken, but not all chicken is kosher. I know it’s kinda confusing I’m sorry.) Kosher products in stores will have symbols on them to identify them as kosher. If someone is kosher they’ll probably have separate sets of utensils/plates/cookware/etc. for meat and dairy

Shabbat/Shabbos/Sabbath = holy day of the week, day of rest, lasts from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. Depending on observance Jews might have Shabbat dinner, attend Shabbat services, or observe the day of rest in its entirety (making them shomer Shabbat)

Someone who is shomer Shabbat will refrain from any of the prohibited activities. These can easily be looked up but include: working, writing, handling money, cooking, and using technology.

Bat/Bar/B’nai Mitvzah = tradition where a Jewish boy/girl becomes a man/woman. Celebrated at 13-years-old for boys, 12- or 13-years-old for girls. Girls have Bat Mitzvahs (bat means daughter in Hebrew), boys have Bar Mitzvahs (bar means son in Hebrew) and twins or two or more people having one together have a B’nai Mitzvah. They will study for this for months and then help lead services and, depending on observance level, read from the Torah. The ceremony is often attended by family and friends and followed with a celebration of sorts (in America usually this means a brunch and/or party.)

Goy/gentile = non-Jew. These words are not slurs, they are literally just words. Plural of goy is goyim and is a Yiddish word, plural of gentile is gentiles.

Jewish holidays follow the Hebrew calendar, meaning that according to the current solar/Gregorian calendar the dates of our holidays are different each year.

Jewish law recognizes matrilineal inheritance. This means that Jewish law states your mother has to be Jewish for you to be Jewish. This is because of reasons from biblical times that I can explain if you wanna come ask, but as you can imagine is a bit outdated. While Orthodox Jews might embrace this idea and only consider someone Jewish if their mom is Jewish, many Jews are more flexible on the idea (and yes, this does cause tension between Orthodox Jews and other Jews at times.)

Judaism =/= Christianity

Some people think Judaism is just Christianity without Jesus (some people don’t even realize we don’t believe in/celebrate Jesus so newsflash, we don’t) and that’s just wrong. Yes both religions share the Old Testament, so they also share some history and beliefs, but the entire ideologies of the religions are different. In brief, they are similar in some ways but are not the same.

What seems to me to be the biggest difference is that Christianity (from what I understand) has a heavy focus on sins, more specifically repenting for/gaining forgiveness for your sins. In Christianity you are born tainted by original sin. In Judaism we believe everyone is born pure and free from sin and everyone is made in God’s image. Judaism has some concept of sin, but doesn’t focus on them and instead focuses on performing Mitzvot (plural, singular form is mitzvah. Direct translation is “commandment” but basically means good deed or act of kindness. It also relates to the commandments, so following the commandments is also performing mitzvot.) Examples of mitzvot include anything from saying a prayer or lighting Shabbat candles to helping a stranger or donating to charity (called tzedakah). One of the main tenets of Judaism is tikkun olam, which directly translates to “repair the world” and means exactly what it says on the tin. Instead of focusing on being forgiven for doing bad Judaism focuses on doing good. The only day we focus on past wrongdoings is Yom Kippur, one of our most holy holidays, discussed below.

Holidays

Rosh Hashanah – The Jewish New Year, occurs around September and lasts for two days, though Reform Jews often only celebrate the first day. Day of happiness and joy, celebrated by eating sweet things for a “sweet new year” (often apples dipped in honey) and circular challah to represent the end of one year and beginning of another. Also celebrated with services and blowing the shofar (rams horn.) Some spend the day in prayer and/or silent meditation. Possible greetings: chag sameach (happy holiday; can be said on almost any holiday), Shana Tovah, or happy new year (which is what Shana Tovah means, some people just say it in English.)

Yom Kippur – Day of Atonement. Occurs ten days after the start of Rosh Hashanah. One of if not the most solemn day for Jews, but also the most holy. The day is spent reflecting on yourself and any past wrongdoings and atoning. The day (sundown the night before to sundown the day of) is spent fasting, a physical way of atoning. We do this in hopes of being “written in the Book of Life” and starting the year with a clean slate. The shofar is blown at the end of the holiday. Most Jews will end the fast with a grand meal with family and friends. Most common greeting is “have an easy fast,” but happy new year is still appropriate.

Sukkot – Celebrates the harvest, occurs on the fifth day after Yom Kippur and lasts seven days. Celebrated by building a temporary hut outdoors called a sukkah and having meals inside it, as well as shaking palm fronds tied together (called a lulav) and holding a citrus called an etrog. Very fun and festive holiday. Possible greetings include chag sameach or Happy Sukkot.

Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah – Some Jews (mostly Reform Jews and Jews living in Israel) combine both holidays into one day while some celebrate them as two separate days. Either way they occur immediately after Sukkot. Shemini Atzeret is similar but separate from Sukkot and features a prayer for rain; Sukkot is not mentioned in prayers and the lulav isn’t shaken but you do eat in the sukkah. Simchat Torah celebrates finishing reading the Torah, which we will then begin again the next day. It’s a festive holiday with dancing and fun. Some Temples will roll the entire Torah out and the children will run under it. Appropriate greeting for both would be chag sameach.

Rosh Hashanah through Simchat Torah are referred to as the High Holidays.

Chanukah – We all know about Chanukah, celebrating the reclaiming of the Second Temple and the miracle of the oil lasting eight days. The most represented Jewish Holiday there is. Unfortunately it’s one of the least significant holidays for us. Occurs around November or December and lasts eight days and nights. Celebrated by lighting candles in the Menorah each night with a prayer and kids usually get gifts each night. Also celebrated with spinning tops called dreidels, fried foods like doughnuts (sufganiyot in Hebrew; usually the jelly filled ones) and potato pancakes called latkes. Greetings: happy Chanukah or chag sameach.

Tu B’Shevat – Birthday of the trees, basically Jewish Arbor Day. Minor but fun holiday, sometimes celebrated by planting trees. Occurs around January or February.

Purim – Celebrates how Queen Esther of Persia defeated Haman and saved her people, the Jews. Occurs in Spring. Festive holiday traditionally celebrated by dressing in costumes, eating sweets, and giving tzedakah (it’s also technically commanded you get drunk so woohoo!) Whenever Haman’s name is mentioned you make a lot of noise, booing and using noisemakers called groggers. Greetings: happy Purim, chag Purim, or chag sameach.

Passover/Pesach – Celebrates the Jews being freed from slavery in Egypt. Occurs in Spring and lasts eight days. The first two nights (some only celebrate the first night) are celebrated with seder, a ritual meal with certain foods, practices, prayers, and readings from a book called the Haggadah and often attended by family and friends. Most famous prayer/song of the holiday is the four questions, which ask why that night is different from all other nights and is traditionally sung by the youngest child at the seder. The entire holiday is spent not eating certain foods, mostly grain or flour (the food restrictions are complicated and differ based on denomination so look it up or ask a Jew.) We eat a lot of matzah during Pesach, which is like a cracker kinda. I personally hate it but some people actually like it. Greetings: happy Passover, chag pesach, or chag sameach.

Tisha B’Av – Anniversary of the destruction of the Temple. Occurs in Summer. Very sad, solemn day. Some celebrate by fasting from sunrise to sunset. Not the most widely celebrated holiday. Some also commemorate the Holocaust (also called the Shoah) on this day as it was the destruction of a figurative temple.

Denominations

There are a bunch of denominations in Judaism, we’ll go into it briefly.

Religious denominations:

Reform/Reformed: This is the least religiously observant level. Often Reform Jews don’t keep kosher or observe Shabbat, their services on Shabbat will use instruments. Reform Jews probably attend services for the high holidays at the very least and probably had a Bat/Bar Mitzvah. Might say they consider themselves more culturally Jewish. Their Temple/Synagogue will be the most “liberal”—aka have more female/diverse Rabbis and a more diverse congregation. I’m Reform and my Temple’s lead Rabbi is a woman and we used to have a Rabbi who’s a queer single mother.

Conservative: More religiously observant and more generally traditional. Might keep kosher or observe Shabbat, but not necessarily. Services likely won’t use instruments (not supposed to play instruments on Shabbat). Most likely had a Bat/Bar Mitzvah, but girls might not read from the Torah, though this depends on the congregation. They do allow female Rabbis, but in my experience it’s less common.

Modern Orthodox: Very religiously observant but also embrace modern society. Will keep kosher and observe Shabbat. Men will wear kippot (singular=kippah) and tzitzit under their shirts. Women will cover their hair (if they’re married), most likely with a wig, and wear modest clothing (only wear skirts that are at least past their knees and long sleeves). Emphasis on continued study of Torah/Talmud. Parents will likely have jobs. Might have larger families (aka more children) but might not. Services will be segregated by gender, girls won’t read from the Torah publicly, and female Rabbis are very rare. Children will most likely attend a religious school. Will attend shul services every Shabbat and for holidays.

note: there are some people who fall somewhere between modern Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox, or between any two denominations really. as you can imagine people don’t all practice the exact same way.

Ultra-Orthodox: Very religiously observant and not necessarily modern. Will keep kosher and observe Shabbat. Men will wear kippot or other head coverings and tzitzit under their shirts, and are also often seen wearing suits. Women will cover their hair (if they’re married) with a wig or scarf and wear modest clothing (only wear skirts that are at least past their knees and long sleeves). Emphasis on continued study of Torah/Talmud. Men might have jobs but might instead focus on Jewish studies, while women most often focus on housework and child-rearing. Don’t believe in contraception (but this is kinda nuanced and depends). Will often have very large families because having children is a commandment and helps continue the Jewish people. Might be shomer negiah which means not touching members of the opposite sex aside from their spouse and some close family members. Services will be segregated by gender, girls won’t read from the Torah publicly, and there won’t be female Rabbis. Children will attend a religious school. Will attend shul services every Shabbat and for holidays.

Ethnic denominations (the different denominations do have some differences in practices and such but tbh I don’t know much about that so this is just the basics):

Ashkenazi: Jews that originate from Central/Eastern Europe. Yiddish, a combination of Hebrew and German, originated from and was spoken by Ashkenazim and while it’s a dying language it’s spoken among many Orthodox Jews and many Jews of all levels know/speak some Yiddish words and phrases. Majority of Jews worldwide are Ashkenazi.

Sephardi/Sephardic: Jews that originate from the Iberian Peninsula, North Africa, and southeastern Europe. Ladino, a combination of Old Spanish and Hebrew, originated from and was spoken by Sephardim. It is also a dying language but is still spoken by some Sephardim. After Ashkenazi most of the world’s Jews are Sephardic.

Mizrahi: Jews that originate from the Middle East and North Africa.

Ethiopian Jews: Community of Jews that lived in Ethiopia for over 1,000 years, though most have immigrated to Israel by now.

Stereotypes/Tropes/Controversies/Etc.

There are so many Jewish stereotypes and shit and I ask you to please be mindful of them. Stereotypes do exist for a reason, so some people will fit stereotypes. This means your character might fit one or two; don’t make them fit all of them. Please. Stereotypes to keep in mind (and steer away from) include:

All Jews are rich.

All Jews are greedy.

All Jews are cheap/frugal.

All Jews are [insert job here]. We’ll go into this more below.

All Jews hate Christians/Muslims/etc.

All Jews are white.

First of all Ethiopian and Mizrahi Jews exist, many Sephardi are Hispanic, and today with intermarriage and everything this just isn’t true.

All Jews have the same physical features: large and/or hooked nose, beady eyes, droopy eyelids, red hair (this is an old stereotype I didn’t really know existed), curly hair.

Many Jews do have somewhat large noses and curly hair. I’m not saying you can’t give these features to your characters, but I am saying to be careful and don’t go overboard. And don’t give all of your Jewish characters these features. As a side note, it is common at least among American Jews that girls get nose jobs. Not all, but some.

Jews are secretly world elite/control the world/are lizard people/new world order/ any of this stuff.

STAY AWAY FROM. DO NOT DO THIS OR ANYTHING LIKE THIS. If you have a character that’s part lizard, do not make them Jewish. If you have a character that’s part of a secret group that controls the entire world, do not make them Jewish.

Jews have horns. If you have characters with horns please don’t make them Jewish.

Jews killed Jesus.

The blood libel. Ew. No.

The blood libel is an antisemitic accusation/idea/concept that back in the day Jews would murder Christian children to use their blood in religious rituals and sometimes even for consumption (did I mention gross?) Not only did this just not happen, but it’s actually against Jewish law to murder, sacrifice, or consume blood. Yes these accusations really happened and it became a main reason for persecution of Jews. And some people still believe this shit.

Jews caused The Plague.

The reason this conspiracy exists is because many Jews didn’t get The Plague and the goyim thought that meant it was because the Jews caused it/cursed them. The real reason Jews didn’t get it is because ritual hand-washing and good hygiene kept them from getting it. Sorry that we bathe.

Jewish mother stereotype.

Ok, listen. I know stereotypes are mostly a bad thing but I have to admit the Jewish mother stereotype is not far off. Jewish moms do tend to be chatty and a little nagging, are often very involved in their children’s lives, and they are often trying to feed everyone (although they don’t all cook, my mom hates cooking.) They also tend to be big worriers, mostly worrying about their family/loved ones. They also tend to know everyone somehow. A twenty minute trip to the grocery store can turn into an hour or two long trip because she’ll chat with all the people she runs into.

Jewish-American Princess (JAP) ((I know calling Japanese people Japs is offensive. Jews will call girls JAPs, but with a completely different meaning. If that’s still offensive I am sorry, but just know it happens.))

This is the stereotype that portrays Jewish girls/women as spoiled brats basically. They will be pampered and materialistic. Do these girls exist? Definitely. I still recommend steering away from this stereotype.

Names

Listen. Listen. There are some names that Jews just won’t have. I won’t speak in definites because there are always exceptions but you’ll rarely find a Jew named Trinity or Grace or Faith or any form of Chris/Christopher/Christina etc. Biblical names from the Old Testament? Absolutely Jews will have those names they’re actually very common.

I’m in a Jewish Sorority. My pledge class of ~70 girls had five Rebeccas and four Sarahs. Surprisingly only one Rachel though.

When it comes to last names I have two thoughts that might seem contradictory but hear me out: a) give your Jewish OC’s Jewish surnames, b) don’t give your Jewish OC’s the most Jewish surname to ever exist.

By this I mean I would much rather see a character named Sarah Cohen or Aaron Levine than Rachel Smith. Just that little bit of recognition makes a happy exclamation point appear over my head, plus it can be a good way to hint to readers that your OC is Jewish.

On the other hand, please don’t use the most stereotypical Jewish names you’ve ever heard. If you have five Jewish OCs and one of them is Isaac Goldstein then fine. If Isaac Goldstein is your only Jewish OC I might get a little peeved. There are tons of common Jewish surnames that are recognizable and easy to look up, so don’t revert to the first three that come to mind. Maybe it’s just me, but I find it yucky, for lack of a better word.

Jobs

We all know there are certain jobs that are stereotypical for Jews to have. We’re talking lawyer, dentist, doctor, banker type stuff. To an extent these stereotypes exist for a reason, many Jews go into those careers. Do not make these the only careers your Jewish OCs have. Stereotypes might have reasoning behind them but it doesn’t mean they aren’t harmful. If you have multiple Jewish OCs some of them can have these careers, but not all of them. I do know a lot of Jewish lawyers, dentists, and doctors. I also know accountants, people involved in businesses (“mom, what does Brad do?” “he’s a businessman” sometimes there just aren’t more specific words), people involved in real estate. I don’t actually know any bankers personally, and with money and stuff being one of the most common and harmful Jewish stereotypes I would suggest steering away from that.

These are common fields for Jews, but Jews can have literally any job. Please feel free to get creative. And if you have more than one Jewish OC you can think about making one of them a Rabbi, but DON’T do this if they’re the only Jewish OC. Please.

Yiddish

So I mentioned Yiddish earlier. Like I already said, it’s not a very widely used language anymore but there are some words and phrases that are still used by a lot of Jews (in America at least.) Here’s a list that is absolutely not comprehensive:

Oy vey = oh no

Shvitzing = sweating (but not just a little bit. Shvitzing is like SWEATING)

Kvetch/kvetching = whine/whining or complain/complaining

Mazel tov = congratulations; this is the same in Yiddish and Hebrew

Chutzpah = nerve or gall (e.g. “He’s got a lot of chutzpah for breaking up over text like that”)

Kismet = fate; I just learned this is Yiddish

Bubbe and Zayde = grandma and grandpa

Schelp/schlepping = drag/dragging, can also mean carry or move (e.g. “I had to schlep the bag all around town” doesn’t mean they literally dragged it)

Schmutz = dirt or something dirty (e.g. “you have schmutz on your face”)

Schmatta = literally means rag but can be used to refer to ratty blankets or clothes

Plotz = collapse (usually used in the sense of “I’m so tired I might plotz” or “she’s gonna be so excited she’s gonna plotz”)

Schmuck/shmendrick = both mean more or less the same, a jerk or obnoxious person

Shtick = gimmick, routine, or act (can be used like (“I don’t like that comedian’s shtick” or “he always makes himself the center of attention it’s his shtick”)

Spiel = long speech, story, or rant

There’s so many more so look them up and think about using them, but don’t overdo it. A Jewish person isn’t gonna use a Yiddish word in every sentence (or even every day or every few days.)

Israel

In my community at least it’s very common that by the time your college-aged that you’ll have been to Israel at least once.

Israel is a controversial topic within the Jewish community and in the world. It’s sensitive and complex. I really, really suggest not getting into it. Just don’t bring it up because no matter what you say someone will be unhappy. Just don’t do it.

Ashkenazi Disorders

Ashkenazi Jews have some sucky genes (I’m Ashkenazi so I can say this, you cannot.) These sucky genes cause certain disorders to be more prevalent for us. Children only get the disorder if both parents are carriers of the disorder, so Jews usually get genetic testing done before having children. If both parents are carriers the risk of the child getting the disorder is high, so parents might reconsider or have some indecisiveness/fear. Some of these are:

Tay-Sachs

Cystic Fibrosis

Canavan Disease

Familial Dysautonomia

Gaucher Disease

Spinal Muscular Atrophy

Fanconi Anemia

Mucolipidosis IV

Niemann-Pick Disease

Torsion Dystonia

Bloom Syndrome

Ashkenazi Jews also have a high prevalence of the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes, which increase the risk of breast and ovarian cancer in women and increase the risk of breast and prostate cancer in men.

Crohn’s Disease, Ulcerative Colitis, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, and Lactose Intolerance are also very prevalent

In a dorm of like 40 Jews, six of them had Crohn’s.

Ways to Show Your OC is Jewish

Wears Jewish jewelry, e.g. Star of David (also called Jewish Star and Magen David), Chai symbol (means life), jewelry with Sh’ma prayer, or hamsa (but beware this symbol is used outside of Judaism).

Mentions their temple, their Rabbi, having a Bat/Bar Mitzvah, going to Hebrew School, Shabbat, or a holiday coming up.

Have someone ask them a question about Judaism.

Have someone notice they have a mezuzah on their door.

Most Jews will have a mezuzah on the doorframe of the front door of their house/apartment, but they could even have one for their dorm room or whatever. It’s traditional to kiss your hand then touch the mezuzah when walking through the door, but most Jews don’t do this every time, at least not most Reform or Conservative Jews.

Have them call out antisemitism if you’re feeling spicy

The end! I hope this helped and if you have any questions my ask box is always open!

#writing advice #writing tips #writing help #jewish characters #judaism #writing resources #writeblr community #wtwcommunity #i said i would make this post literally months ago but i finally did it!

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years

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Menorah Lights, Blessing of Life

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: I would LOVE to see some Everlark Hanukkah fluff there’s way to little out there right now. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T - for non-explicit: adult situations, childbirth description, and breastfeeding.

Canon typical violence. Vague reference to a war zone/conflict.

This work contains religious and cultural imagery and traditions. There’s also some use of the Yiddish language, as well as some Hebrew. There will be a glossary and more in-depth commentary at the end of the fic, when this piece gets cross posted to AO3 in a few days. Peeta makes a quick reference to 1 Samuel 1:27 towards the end part of the fic.

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for this prompt. I have to be honest, and disclose I’ve never witnessed a Hanukkah celebration personally, and most of the events depicted in this story concerning the festival is a product of hours of research. I apologize for any inaccuracies or if I’ve inadvertently misrepresented any cultural or religious aspect of the holiday.

Extensive thanks to @rosefyrefyre, who was kind enough to beta read, spell check my Hebrew, direct me to some great sites to aid my research, and serve as the best resource for Judaism accuracy I could’ve asked for! Rose, I always learn something from my interactions with you. I’m grateful for your willingness to share your knowledge.

***Hannah: Hebrew origin. Means: ‘grace’/‘favor’; attributed meaning: ‘He (God) has favoured me with a child’.***

Happy Hanukkah to those celebrating the holiday!

————-

The house is reverently quiet, despite being crammed to the gills with all our family and friends.

Peeta checks his watch nervously for the fifth time in ten minutes. He’s so rigid, I know his leg will bother him so much tonight, he’ll take hours to fall asleep.

I smile at him, making a mental note to warm some lavender infused oils to massage the stump of his leg. It’s the least I can do for my husband.

Peeta lost his lower leg protecting me from shrapnel during an attack while deployed to the Middle East some 16 years ago. I was rendered deaf in my left ear on the same attack…we are a perfect match, my husband and I; he has to wear a prosthetic leg to get around, I have to wear a hearing aid, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the burn marks and other scars we sustained in the service.

“I think we should…” he says quietly, motioning to the small table we placed by the window earlier.

I turn to my cousin, Johanna, and nod.

Jo winks at Peeta and shuts the lights off, while I pull back the curtains from the windows and tie them up, revealing a waning sunset over the rooftops of our neighborhood.

Peeta stands a pace behind me, transfixed by the slim line of flaming orange in the horizon being swallowed by deep purples and indigos of the falling night. It’s Peeta’s favorite color.

“Almost time, Katniss!” he whispers, giddy, placing a match box on the table at the foot of the menorah.

There’s a soft buzz behind us, which means everybody is shuffling closer to the window. Outside, the world is busy with cars driving by, splashing the dirty slosh of melted snow accumulated on the ground from days ago; a dog barks somewhere in the distance, and a couple of people hustle home; but the thing that really catches my eyes, is that in a few houses down the street, candlelights start to flicker to life on windows and front porches, announcing the start of Hanukkah.

“Should—should we do it?” Peeta asks leaning closer to the window pane, clearly seeing the other houses already lighting their candles.

“There’s still a sliver of sun. They just can’t see it because they’re facing our way, against it.” I mutter back.

This is Peeta’s first Hanukkah as a host, so he’s a little eager. In fact, my beautiful husband was beside himself when everything fell into place for us to host tonight’s celebration. If he could’ve gotten his way, we’d have everyone over to light the menorah the whole eight days of the festival. But, we are expecting the arrival of our very own little miracle any day now, so hosting the first day was a very generous compromise with our family.

The thought warms me inside, and I caress my protruding stomach absentmindedly, staring at the darkening sky.

The sun finally sinks. “Now!” I grin at my other half.

Peeta grins back, handing me the candles. Two of them, to be precise; long and blue. If my Tatte —my father— were here, he would’ve insisted we used olive oil and wicks instead, but it’s only Peeta’s first Hanukkah leading, and he’s so nervous about the whole thing already…candles are perfectly acceptable.

First, I place the shamash— “Shamash means helper candle, Katniss,” Tatte would explain— in the middle peg of our menorah, so it sits higher than the rest. Then, I place the one other candle in the rightmost holder, to signify today is the first night of the Festival of Lights.

Peeta passes me the matches, and I light the shamash. I smile at him, encouragingly, and mouth the words: “Your turn,”

He takes a deep breath, wiggling his fingers at his sides, and then starts reciting the first blessing: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Asher kid-shanu bi-mitzvo-tav vi-tzee-vanu, Li-had-leek ner shel Chanukah.”

His Hebrew isn’t perfect, but he recites the whole prayer exactly as we practiced.

My mother, who’s standing with Peeta’s family, translates quietly, to not disrupt too much, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.”

Peeta waits a moment, and then recites the second prayer: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Shi-asa nee-seem la-avo-teinu, Ba-ya-meem ha-haim baz-man ha-zeh.”

Again, my mother translates, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.”

Peeta’s blue eyes shine joyfully in the dim of night.

“Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Sheh-he-che-yanu vi-kee-yimanu vi-hee-gee-yanu laz-man ha-zeh.”

He finishes the third blessing, which we only say on the first night, with utmost reverence, and holds my gaze for only a second.

My mother translates this prayer as well, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.” She explains this one we only say once, during the first day, but the first two, we recite every night.

I take the shamash from its holder and tip the flame into the wick of today’s candle, so it starts the mitzvah of the night. After the light has been kindled, we —the ones in attendance who speak Hebrew— sing Ha-nerot Halalu together.

When we finish, my sister, Primrose, starts singing Maoz Tzur, and Peeta turns puppy-dog eyes on me, because he loves my singing.

I chuckle ruefully before opening my mouth and letting the lyrics spill like second nature. The rest of the attendees join in singing, and suddenly everyone is participating in some way. When the song ends, another one starts, and the atmosphere grows animated and joyful the longer it goes. As it should!

Peeta’s brothers came with their families, so he goes to them to chat. My mother has been sitting with them, explaining the proceedings, since it’s the first time they’ve joined us for Hanukkah.

The candlelight flickers from the menorah, the only light in the room, just as we finish another song, and then Uncle Haymitch staggers into the middle of the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. The children peer up with interest, because most of them have known Haymitch long enough to guess what’s to come.

Haymitch moves his arms just a fraction, and all the kids slip out of their seats like an exhale, and then, the paunchy, ol’ grump is throwing small, shiny, gold disks up towards the ceiling, crowing: “Gelt! Gelt! Gelt for everyone!”

“I think he believes he’s some kinda middle-aged, Jewish Oprah!” Blight, Johanna’s husband, cackles somewhere behind me, as the children descend like locusts on the chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil scattered all over the room.

Peeta encourages his younger nephews to get in on the fun.

Between all three of our siblings, Peeta and I have seven nephews— two of them are teenagers— and one niece.

The adults shake their heads and smile from the sidelines, watching the children in merriment.

When all the gelt has been collected from the floor, Peeta asks the children if they would rather: eat, play dreidel, or hear a story. Since the oldest child in attendance is 8½, the kids settle on a story pretty quick.

I sink into the cushions of our plushest chair to watch my husband corral the little ones onto the rug for their story; one of my hands rests lazily on my heavily pregnant belly, while I hold a half eaten sugar cookie in the other one.

“So…who can tell me what we’re celebrating for the next eight days?” Peeta starts.

There’s a soft chorus of kiddy voices calling “Hanukkah!”

“That is right!” Peeta agrees, his eyes are wide, excited, merry, “and Hanukkah is a very important party, because it reminds us of the Miracle of Lights and the victory of the Sons of Israel over the mean ol’ gentiles—“

“Mamme says gentiles aren’t ‘all’ bad!” cries out Bekka, Johanna and Blight’s little girl, who looks like a carbon copy of her mother, except with long, wavy hair.

“Um…you’re right, I should’ve said ‘Greek invaders’ instead of gentiles…my bad—”

“Uncle Peeta…” one of our nephews— on Peeta’s side— blinks owlishly at him, “What’s a gentile?”

“Non-Jewish people,” says Asher, one of Prim’s twins.

“Oh…like Muggles are non-magic folk?” asks another of the Mellark boys.

“I guess so,” answers the other twin, Aspen.

“I don’t think we are Jewish,” comments one of Peeta’s nephews, turning inquisitive blue eyes to my husband and then to his own parents, “Are we?”

“No, buddy, you aren’t a Jew—“

“Uncle Haymitch says gentiles are helpless,” interrupts Aspen, shaking his head sadly, “He says the goyish thing gentiles do is putting mayo in their pastrami sammiches! So, if neither of you don’t put mayo in your pastrami, then you’re alright. You’re mishpachah, Bran!”

“Um…what does that mean?” asks Bran.

“We’re your mishpachah, right, Mamme?” inquires Asher.

“It means ‘family’,” explains Prim, making the Mellark boys look relieved, and even proud.

“Are you a gentile too, Uncle Peeta?” asks Asher, “Uncle Haymitch says you used to be his favorite Shabbos Goy of all times before you married Auntie Katniss.”

I almost choke on my cookie.

Peeta wheezes out a tiny chuckle, but is interrupted by my enraged sister.

“Boys!” Prim rushes from her chair, her daughter half asleep in her lap; she dumps the toddler into her husband’s arms to stand in front of the twins with her hands on her hips. “That is not nice! What have I said about repeating all the mishegas Uncle Haymitch says?”

“Not to…” the twins mumble contritely.

“Oy! I’m sitting right here, Sunshine!” Haymitch calls out. “Plus, kinder wisdom,” he pronounces it the Yiddish way, like the start of kindergarten, “it’s still wisdom!”

The twins are 7, but they can be a menace and clever to boot.

Haymitch continues, “Everybody knows the Boy used to be pretty helpful back in the day. I was almost sad when Sweetheart finally snatched him up, despite it being the smartest thing she’s ever done,”

“Haymitch…” I ground a low warning.

It’s a well known fact I kept digging my heels in against Peeta’s subtle advances for years, despite having feelings for him myself; I’m grateful my beautiful husband persevered though, because looking at him now, I can confidently say that our marriage, our family, would’ve happened anyway, despite my deep seated fears, the physical and mental toll being in a war zone took on us both, and all the heartbreak in between…

Unlike my mother, Peeta did not convert to Judaism in order to marry me. He did that on his own, way before I agreed to make our odd relationship official. I tried to persuade him from converting though— he does love Christmas and bacon— but again, he was committed to our faith with an iron will only the grave can quell.

“Eh!” Haymitch waves me off, “Nobody can win with you girls. Not even kvelling about one of your husbands!”

I sink deeper into my chair, sufficiently mollified. The old man can gush all about Peeta all he wants, as long as he doesn’t comment on me.

But Haymitch has a big mouth; he used to give me a hard time for my apparent ‘prickly personality’, often telling me I was so surly, I was practically gornisht helfn—beyond help—and once, he even said, I was as charming as a slug. I retorted he was probably looking at a mirror, and that was the end of that.

When Peeta started hinting at wanting more out of the casual arrangement we’ve had since the Army, and to my chagrin, two more suitors sprung out of nowhere, Haymitch had the gall to tell me that before Peeta, I was as romantic as dirt. Peeta gave him an earful for that one, though. It was glorious seeing Haymitch properly chastised by his favorite Shabbos Goy.

I giggle at the memory.

I finally relented a couple of years ago, letting my fears go. Haymitch was the first to congratulate me when I announced I was dating Peeta, like a normal couple. My uncle fixed me with a stare that said he expected me to really try, because this boy was a true catch, or as he called him then, “a mensch if he ever saw one.”

I happen to agree.

I sigh, massaging my ribs where the baby is digging its tuchis in.

Haymitch gets away with a great deal of things on the simple account that he was the only person who actually accepted, and welcomed our mother into our family, when she married our father. Everyone else called her an opinionated shiksa behind my parents’ backs, probably thanks to my Bubbe…dear old Grandma really disliked the idea of my father marrying a gentile girl, despite being clear as day how much they loved each other.

My sister glares at Haymitch too, then turns to her sons, “It’s the first day of Chanukah, nu?” The boys nod in affirmative, “Then be good, so Uncle Peeta can finish the story—“

“But, Mamme…we know the story!”

Prim gives them The Look and shuts them up right away. “Bannock, Graham, and Bran don’t know the story. They’re our guests, and we are called to be hospitable to everyone, right?”

I stare at Prim with mild amusement. She’s such a MOM!

“Yes, Mamme.”

I wonder if I’ll be able to master ‘the stare’ as well as my baby sister has?

Prim told me once, that everything she knows about mothering, she learned from the years in which I took care of her, after our father died, and our mother fell into a debilitating depression that almost killed us all from starvation and hebetude.

I have mixed feelings about that assessment, first, because: At first I was just trying to keep our situation hidden from others, so I made sure Prim and I were clean and presentable for school, that all homework was made on time, that we studied our Torah lessons, and that we attended Hebrew school without missing a class. I made sure Prim ate at least once a day, even if that meant I went without.

There were things I couldn’t provide for my sister, simply because I didn’t know how, and when the pantry was empty, I started secretly raiding the trash containers behind the stores in our neighborhood.

I was 11 then.

That’s when the first and only interaction with Peeta— or as I knew him then: the baker’s son— occurred before the Army.

Peeta had been watching me steadily lose weight and figured something wasn’t right. Then he saw how I dove out of his folks’ bakery’s garbage container and emerged empty handed, because trash had already been collected.

Instead of sneering, bullying me or calling the police, Peeta gave me two, fresh loaves of bread— the chiefest of foods in our culture— and thanks to his generosity, I figured out how to keep Prim, mother and myself fed when money was tight, hunting squirrels and little birds, long enough for my mother to find the strength to get the help she needed to get better.

Secondly, in my adult life, I’ve learned to appreciate our mother’s position. She had a really hard time with life in general. Her family turned their back on her when she converted to Judaism, yet people in our community mistrusted her because of my grandma’s own prejudice, the fact that my mother was a nurse and every now and then her hospital wouldn’t (or couldn’t) honor her religious freedom to observe the Shabbat didn’t help her case. People started trusting her after they saw her care for the sick in the community, often paying from her own pocket for their treatments.

Peeta never struggled fitting in with my family. Then again, he’s so sweet and friendly with anyone, always so happy and ready to lend a hand…why everyone in our community loves him, and welcomed him with open arms as one of us. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to picture my loving, sweet husband as a seasoned Army veteran, who’s seen his share of destruction and death…then again, maybe it is because he’s seen humanity at its worst that he makes the extra effort to stay a pacifist and he chooses to show The Lord’s love unto others.

“Sorry, Peeta, please continue with the story. You’re doing a lovely job!” says my sister.

I chance a glance at my husband, and see the mirth in his bright, blue eyes.

“Thank you Prim,” he says, turning back to the boys, with wonder in his voice. “But, I was thinking, and this might be the best idea I ever had! What if we let the boys tell the story of Hanukkah tonight, since it’s true, they know it better than I do? They are incredibly smart young men!”

“Avadeh!” exclaims Haymitch from his spot.

The twins wiggle with excitement, and both of them turn eager, hazel eyes to their mother, seeking approval.

Prim takes a deep breath and nods.

Both boys turn their bronze haired heads back to Peeta, enthusiastically.

“Alright, go on then, tells us what happened!” Peeta encourages.

Asher starts, “The brave heroes, called the Maccabees, kicked out the Greek gentiles that wanted to make the people of Israel pray to their gentile gods! Then the priests came to ‘re-medicate’ the Holy Temple—“

“Rededicate!” Thom, Prim’s husband, corrects from the back of the room, but the boys are on a roll now.

“‘Redadecate’ the Holy Temple, by lighting the menorah. So, they looked all over the place, but found only one jar of ‘puridified’ oil—“

“Purified!”

“Yes, what Tatte said! They only found enough of the good oil, to light the menorah for one day!”

Asher pauses for effect, while all the adults react to the suspense accordingly, gasping and murmuring.

Aspen continues the narration after a second.

“At first, the priests thought: oh no! We don’t want to light the menorah for only one day, it needs to burn all the time to clean all the filth the Greeks left behind, so we can praise Adonai again!”

Hushed voices comment their approval.

The other twin picks up the story. “But they decided, that even one day, was better than none at all, so they used that little bit of oil, and fired up the lamp, and the lights burned for eight times straight!”

“Eight days…” corrects Thom.

“Eight days straight!”

“It was a miracle!”

Everyone claps, excitedly.

“The priests had time to…” Asher cranes his neck, seeking his father in the crowded living room, and then smiles, enunciating his word with precision, “‘purify’ more olive oil, to add to the menorah from then on!”

“That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah every year! To remember how our people defended their freedom,”

“And won back the Holy Temple,”

“And The Lord accepted their effort with a miracle of lights!”

The whole room erupts in cheers and song. Everybody hugs each other in celebration.

After a moment, our auntie Effie calls out, “Oh what wonderful storytelling, Tattelles!” She rushes over to the twins and smacks loud, wet kisses, on both of the boys’ cheeks, leaving red lipstick all over their wincing faces.

The twins wipe their cheeks with the backs of their hands, and Prim just sighs, hugging her sons to her chest. “Well done, Asher. Well done, Aspen.”

Peeta pats them both on the head, and ever the attentive host, directs everyone to help themselves to the many treats he made.

“Is everything fried?” asks one of Peeta’s sisters-in-law.

“For the most part,” I hear my mother say, fondly. “To commemorate the miracle of the oil, traditionally, Hanukkah food is fried.” She explains, patiently. “Everything is delicious, and Peeta and Katniss made quite the spread.”

My mother busies herself, setting up a stack of napkins on the table where we placed all the food; she then serves latkes to the Mellarks.

Haymitch grabs her hand and pulls her to sit by me. “Come rest, sit with your daughter, enjoy the lights. I’ll shmooze the bakers now, nu!”

My mother comes to sit next to me. She smiles tiredly, “How are you feeling, zeeskeit?”

I grin, she’s using the same term of endearment Tatte used to call us. It means ‘sweetheart’.

“I’m alright. Just a little tired. My back is killing me and I think I have gas, ‘cause my belly keeps rumbling and tensing up.”

My mother arches a dark blonde eyebrow, “Maybe the baby is on the way?”

“I suppose that could be a possibility,” I shrug. I’m 6 days shy of my due date, but the doctor says I’m healthy, and he expects no complications, whatsoever, plus first time mothers can be early.

Thom brings out a dreidel to play with the children.

My toddler niece rubs her eyes grumpily— she’s got gray eyes, like my father did. Like mine. Mother and Prim are blonde and blue eyed, but I favored my father in appearance…I wonder who my child will like? I hope it’s a little of both Peeta and I— the girl clings to her father’s arm, watching her brothers and cousins spin the top, suspiciously. Once she realizes gelt is involved in the game, she perks up a little, and tries to spin the dreidel to mixed results.

Everyone sits around the children, eating latkes dipped in applesauce or sour cream; Peeta decided not to serve any meat tonight, so we could eat dairy products. Effie is dipping hers in salsa…what an odd woman!

Johanna is eating an entire block of cheese, noshing on it like a mouse.

Peeta brings me and my mother sufganiyot; he smiles sheepishly. “These were a hit.” He says, “they’ve already disappeared from the tray.”

I stare at him with wide eyes. “Why does that surprise you, babe? Your cooking is amazing!”

Peeta rubs the back of his head, bashful. “Eh, it would be embarrassing if the baker couldn’t handle jelly filled donuts, nu?” he whispers, kneeling in front of my chair.

“Nonsense,” I say equally quietly, “you are the most talented person I know.” I kiss him on the forehead, after pushing back the ashy waves of hair falling into his eyes.

I hope our child has wavy hair like Peeta does! Mine is boring…not so much the dark as ink color, but the way it’s so thick and straight, the only way to keep it up is in braid.

Peeta gazes at me with so much love, my heart skips a beat.

“Have I told you recently, just how grateful I am to have you as my wife, lover and partner in life?” He reaches up to caress my face, and suddenly the hubbub of the party fades, leaving us in a bubble of our own.

“I’m grateful too!” I say, curling my sugar coated fingers around his, cupping my cheek.

It’s a veritable miracle that Peeta and I are here today, married and with a child on the way.

We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and frequented the same places; yet, despite crossing each other’s paths often, and outside the lone time with the bread when we were eleven, we never truly interacted with each other until we found ourselves deployed to the same base overseas.

Peeta enlisted in the Army fresh out of high school. I enlisted much later, when it became glaringly obvious that if I was going to pursue any higher education, it would have to be paid for by the military, since every penny Mother and I made, went straight into Prim’s Med school fund.

Prim took a couple of breaks from school while building her family, but she’s a pediatrician now, beloved by her patients and their parents.

Thom is in the field as well, as a Physical Therapist. He was Peeta’s PT for a while; that’s how him and my sister met. They married years before we did.

Call it chance or providence, Peeta and I had no idea we were in the same camp, until our names got chosen for some grunt duty I can no longer remember. We recognized one another instantly, and became very close friends while in the service. Close enough to share cots and knock boots when the itch was too unbearable to ignore. We discovered we had more in common than just our hometown, and then…the worst day of our lives happened, cementing our dependence on the other, like only tragedy can.

While on a mission, our unit got attacked. Our Commander, a burly man named Boggs, called for extraction while we ran for cover from a volley of bullets raining on us. In the confusion, Boggs stepped on a landmine that blew off both his feet.

I rushed to him, pulling him back to safety. I didn’t think of the shrapnel flying everywhere, but Peeta— who had located me a second earlier— did. He made it to me somehow, and shielded my body with his own, earning a mangled leg full of lead for his troubles.

Boggs was beyond medical help; the poor man bled to death in my arms in the transport back to base. Peeta was badly hurt, losing blood quicker than anyone in the transport could stomach. I tried to help him as best I could, wishing I had my mother’s touch or Prim’s cleverness; I placed a tourniquet on Peeta’s thigh. It saved his life, but cost him his leg.

It wasn’t until we arrived back in camp, and the adrenaline and terror left my body, that I was able to feel my own wounds. I had second degree burns in several places of my body; the fire and heat miraculously spared my face. Then, I noticed the ringing in my left ear wouldn’t go away, and when it did, no other sounds came in.

I was honorably discharged for my damaged ear, but I requested to stay close to my buddy, Peeta Mellark, until he was stable enough to go back home. When questioned about this, I simply replied, “We protect each other. Is what we do.”

Peeta was discharged too shortly after. We got shipped back home to America together, which is how we’ve been ever since.

Peeta and I survived against the odds.

It took us months and lots of counseling to be able to sleep through the night without waking up screaming.

It took him years to convince me it was okay to let my guard down around my heart. I was always so scared I’d lose him to some unseen danger, and like my mother, fall into such a deep depression I could harm any potential children we had together, because in my heart of hearts I knew Peeta was it for me.

It took us five, ten, fifteen years to be where we are at, and that in itself is a miracle I’m grateful for.

“Peeta, darling, the candles are almost out,” says Effie, who apparently is eager to turn the lights back on.

“Alright, let’s see…” I stand up to check just how consumed those candles really are, and as soon as I do, my incompetent bladder releases all the pee I have in my body, and then some. “Feh!”

My mother gasps and pushes Peeta back, who was still kneeling close by. “Katniss, your water just broke!”

“What?! Already? Whatdowedo?!” Peeta is frantic, practically jogging in place, hands hovering uselessly around my belly.

Effie screeches in a very uncharacteristic fashion. “Oh! What a big, big, big day this is, darlings! Katniss, doll, you might get to hold your very own bundle of joy in your arms on the first day of Hanukkah! What a blessing!”

“Well, first things first,” says my mother, going into nurse mode. “Everyone, calm down! This child is not about to drop just yet. Second, Katniss needs to get out of these clothes and into clean ones. Then we need to get you packed and ready to go to the hospital. Peeta, dear, you need to call the doctor, and let them know your wife’s water broke, and you’re heading to the hospital soon.”

“Okay! Yeah…on it!” says Peeta chewing nervously on his lower lip.

He reluctantly steps aside to make the call. By then, my sister is moving people around to get me through the room.

Delly, Peeta’s sister-in-law, comes from who-knows-where with an armful of towels to mop up the floor.

“Thank you,” I offer embarrassedly.

Delly waves me off, “Oh no, honey, don’t you worry about it. I know how these things go. You have more important stuff to think of right now. We will clean this place up, and probably call on grandma and grandpa Mellark, to let them know.”

I give her a hug, because she’s the nicest person I know, and barely hold back an ugly sob.

Peeta comes back from calling the doctor just as my mother is helping me into a pair of baggy sweatpants. Prim’s going through my bag triple checking what I packed, despite my protests that both Peeta and I have been checking on it every day for the last week.

“Everything is ready, Katniss. The doctor is on the way to the hospital. There’s a triage nurse already waiting for you, our paperwork is being processed as we speak, so all we have to do is sign it when we arrive, and Effie and Haymitch are taking over hosting duties from us.”

“Oh great!” I sigh, “you can say goodbye to all the wine in the house if those two are in charge,”

“Is that sarcasm I detect? That means the contractions aren’t even painful yet…” says Prim dryly. Then she and my mother giggle.

I glare at them, rubbing the back of my hips, my bones back there kind of burn.

Peeta seems confused and wisely keeps his mouth shut. He grabs the hospital bag I packed for me and the baby, a week ago, and shoulders a backpack for himself, he packed almost a month ago.

My mother rides with us to the hospital, and since everyone knows her and my sister there, I get extra pampered by the nursing staff.

My obstetrician, Dr. Aurelius, checks on me as soon as I’m put in the hospital gown; he’s a little concerned about my blood pressure, so the nurses keep an even closer eye on me. At 32 I’m not at any greater risk of things going wrong than any other mother-to-be, but this is my first child, so I endure their over prodding gratefully.

Labor itself goes quickly, only a couple of hours from the water breaking to the crowning. Peeta holds my hand through it all; he tends to me lovingly, feeding me ice chips, blotting sweat from my face and neck, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement into my ear, and when he’s not talking to me or the medical staff, he prays.

After surviving a war zone, second degree burns and a few broken bones, I think that giving birth is perhaps the least painful experience of all. Not in the literal sense of course— giving birth physically hurts like a mother!— but in the psychological-emotional sense. I’m going through this trial for love, with the expectation of meeting someone amazing in the end.

But when it’s time to push, a fear older than time itself chokes me up. “I can’t do this! Let the baby stay in my belly…I can keep the child safe here, please!”

“Sweetheart, look at me,” says Peeta cupping my face in his hands, “You are the bravest, most selfless person I know. I’m not denying how scary this is, bringing an innocent into the world, but you’re not alone…we have each other, and we will face this fear like we’ve faced any other fear, and we’ll beat it into dust!”

“Together?” My voice wavers.

“Together!” he vows.

“Katniss…the baby’s crowning,” says Dr. Aurelius, “This is it! On your next contraction, I need you to push real hard, alright?”

I nod, exhausted; Peeta squeezes my hand in his, and I squeeze right back.

“Here it comes!” I bear down with all my might and growl all the breath out of my lungs, and suddenly, the best sound in the world fills the delivery room: the meowling of my newborn reaches my ears.

“It’s a girl!” calls the doctor from between the stirrups holding my legs up.

The man holds the screeching child up, so we can see her, and my whole world shrinks to her tiny shape.

Peeta is crying.

I’m crying too!

My mother is somewhere in the background singing something I can’t quite catch, and everyone around is bustling to get my brand new baby girl cleaned up and measured. Then finally she’s placed on my chest, and my husband and I can’t stop staring and caressing her.

“Shalom, sheifale,” I sigh in contentment, kissing my baby’s forehead.

“Welcome, little one!” Peeta murmurs. Our daughter wraps her whole hand around her father’s index finger and holds fast to it.

Again, it feels like we are in this hermetic bubble, where only Peeta, myself, and now our newborn, exist. Meanwhile the doctor and nurses are still working on me, but that doesn’t matter. My family is finally whole, and that too is a miracle full of light!

“Mazel Tov, my dears!” says my mother, smiling at Peeta and me. “I’ll go tell the people in the waiting room the good news…do you have a name picked out already?” she asks tentatively, her face lit with happiness and relief.

“Hannah!” says Peeta right away. “For I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted my plea.” Peeta’s eyes widen, then he looks down at me sheepishly, “unless, you have something else in mind?”

“No!” I laugh, “Hannah is perfect!” I hold the babe higher on my bosom, and tilt her head towards my mother, “Hannah, say hello to Bubbie Lily, she’s my Mamme, and I am yours!”

My mother giggles, “Happy birthday, Hannah Mellark, and happy Hanukkah, zeeskeit.” My mother leans closer, and gives Hannah’s head a peck. “Next time I see you, there will be others with me…your mishpachah, who are eager to meet you, sheifale!”

“We’re almost done here, and you can see some of your family. But be mindful of visiting hours!” says Dr. Aurelius, pushing back from the instrument table.

We all say our thanks to the staff, and my mother goes to talk to our family in the waiting room. Peeta’s led to the nursery, to give Hannah her first bath. Once the baby is dressed and swaddled into a hospital blanket, Peeta snaps a couple of pictures of her with his smart phone and sends it to everyone one we know. The caption reads: “Hannah Mellark, because G-d favored us with a child!”

The nurse helping Peeta, takes two of those thin hats they give all the newborns, and fashions it into a single hat with a big bow on the front. Our daughter’s head will be warm and stylish.

Back in the room, Hannah latches onto my breast easily enough, and to our surprise opens her eyes, to show deep blue peepers, like her father’s!

“Look, Daddy, she’s got your eyes!“ I exclaim.

“Can she call me Tatte?” Peeta asks quietly, as if asking permission.

I nod, “Hannah, your Tatte gives the best hugs in the world!”

The visitors file in. My mother-in-law falls in love with Hannah, her first and only granddaughter. Peeta’s father tears up a little bit, and hugs his son, kissing his temple. I’ve never seen the Mellarks so happy and moved. A baby would do that, I guess.

After our siblings come to visit, Effie and Haymitch make a quick appearance. Haymitch holds Hannah the longest; he sings her a song in Hebrew, then says a blessing over her.

Effie pulls Peeta aside, “What we discussed…” she says demurely, smiling softly, and hands him a bag.

Since she already gave us practically half of Buy Buy Baby at our shower, I have no idea what else she could’ve gotten, but my husband’s entire demeanor lights up like fireworks when he peeks in the bag. He hugs Effie and thanks her profusely.

I fall asleep after a while.

When I wake up again, the room’s mostly dark, except for a soft, flickering light.

Hannah is not in her bassinet, so I sit up with a start, only to find the most wonderful scene in front of me: Peeta’s holding the babe by the window looking down the road. The blinds are open, and on the sill sits a child size menorah. The shamash is lit, but the day one candle is not.

“Peeta?” I call softly.

My husband turns, smiling, “You’re awake! We didn’t want to disturb you. You had a hard, busy day, but…” he shrugs, “It’s Hannah’s first Hanukkah, and I figured you wouldn’t wanna miss it,”

No, I wouldn’t.

I get up, gingerly, and shuffle towards my family.

I cock my head and study the candelabra, which looks suspiciously like the kind business owners put in their offices along their Christmas trees and other wintry decor to show how inclusive they are. This one is smaller than regular menorahs, made of plastic, with a cord sticking from the side which is plugged into the wall besides the window. The flickering light I thought at first to be a real flame, is just a small bulb with a candlelight effect.

“Where did you get an electric menorah?” I ask skeptically.

“Effie,” my husband blushes. “She said it was okay, as long as we lit a kosher menorah, which we did at home,” he says a little defensively, with a lot of pleading generously sprinkled in between.

My father would’ve frowned at the decidedly un-kosher menorah.

Reading my expression, my sneaky husband harrumps, “This is a hospital, Katniss. I don’t think they’ll be thrilled to find there’s an open flame in a room housing a newborn, no matter what holiday you’re celebrating.”

I sigh. He’s right. Safety protocols should be observed, and we did light a traditional menorah already; plus, this one is practically a toy for the baby…technically a Hanukkah gift.

I relax my stance. I wasn’t aware that my shoulders were so tense during that exchange.

“Fine,” I acquiesce, “show me how does the thing work?”

Peeta grins, looking at ease holding our daughter in one arm like a pro. No wonder he’s always our nephews’ and niece’s favorite uncle.

He pulls a couple of bulbs from his pants pocket, and holds them on his palm for me to peruse. “All you do is screw these in the small sockets, just like placing the candles in a regular menorah. Then, you press this button, and it lights up!” He points at a small button at the base of the toy.

I nod, accepting his explanation.

Hannah wiggles a bit in her father’s arm, then makes an aggravated noise. Peeta adjusts the child against his chest, and looks at me, expectantly.

“Hannah’s waiting, and she’s probably getting hungry. I should know, I’m her Tatte!”

I snort a reluctant laugh. The man can drive me crazy, in an endearing sort of way. How can I deny my family anything?!

We say the blessings together, then Peeta whispers all the ceremonial rules on lighting the candles to our baby.

Hannah has her fist wrapped around his finger again, so he picks up the pretend shamash with the same hand, and touches the tip of the bulb into the opening, so— according to him— Hannah is lighting the day one candle herself…symbolically.

He screws the bulbs in their right places, and switches the candlelight on.

I must admit, it’s not as tacky as I feared it would be. I make a mental note to let Peeta know I’m glad he thought of this, later…probably tomorrow.

We sing quietly, not to disturb anyone else on our floor. After the ceremony of the candles is done, we hold onto each other, watching the flickering lights, while Peeta narrates the story of the Maccabees to Hannah.

Everything is quiet after that; Hannah fusses once, so I take her into my arms, and sing a lullaby.

Peeta has been staring at me all night like I hung the moon in the sky. He gazes at our daughter like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and I’m sure my eyes reflect the same feelings as his.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right now, and live in it forever.”

I smile up at him, who in turn is gazing at our daughter and me with adoration; my heart fills to bursting!

“I do too!” I stand on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. “Happy Hanukkah, Peeta. Happy Hanukkah, Hannah.”

“Same to you too, sweetheart, and thank you Lord, for blessing our family with the miracle of life.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #prompt

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 6 years

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A long post, but really important. These are tweets from two good tweet threads: here and here

Image descriptions under the readmore

a tweet from Marcus Halley, @word_made_FRESH on twitter says

Helpful reminder, because I saw a progressive LGBTQ Christian use it (and then delete it): polemical usage of the word "Pharisee" is both antisemetic and unfaithful to the scriptures. Modern Xian interpretation of the Pharisees is deeply influenced by centuries of Antisemetism.

three reply tweets added on to the thread by bodhidave, @bodhidave3, say

1# New Testament scholars emphasize that the rabbinic movement (= "the Pharisees") and the Jesus movement were natural "sibling rivals." Both were looking to embrace forms of religiousness largely independent of Temple ritual.

2# But what was then a rivalry, because they were "close," became deadly when Christianity gained ascendancy in following centuries. The rabbinic movement survived the Roman destruction of the Temple, but in time were a minority in what became the Christian Empire.

3/3# (Theologically, rabbis were looking at making all of life "holy" - living mindful of the Divine with priestly purity guidelines [kosher]. The Jesus movement began as more eschatologically prophetic group, expecting the imminent in-breaking of the Divine Kingdom.)

Another tweet thread by Micahel Weiss, @RotationlSymtry, reads

The word "Pharisee" is an English rendering of the Greek rendering of the Hebrew word "P'rushim", which probably comes from the verb "parash" = "to set apart". So "P'rushim" might have originally meant "Those who are set apart", "Separated Ones", or possibly "Separatists". 2/

According to Josephus, the distinguishing features of the Pharisees' belief system were "exact application of the laws", a belief in the eternity of the soul (including punishment for the wicked and reincarnation for the righteous)... 3/

...and a belief that while everything is in the hands of God or fate, nevertheless humans have free will to choose good or evil. Josephus doesn't say much more than that about specific doctrines. 4/

However, Josephus himself was not a Pharisee, and it's uncertain how much personal knowledge he had of the sect. If you want to know what the Pharisees actually believed, you'd do better to look at their own writings. 5/

Fortunately, we have access to a large corpus of Pharisaic writings, because what we know today as the foundational corpora of "Rabbinic Judaism" -- midrash and mishnah -- are the product of the Pharisees. 6/

Actually that oversimplifies things quite a bit, because by the time the oral tradition was redacted into written form, the word "Pharisee" was no longer really being used. More accurate to say that the followers of the Rabbinic tradition viewed themselves as the successors... 7/

... of the Pharisaic tradition. That detail aside, it's accurate to say that from the perspective of Jewish history, "Pharisaic Judaism" is synonymous with "Rabbinic Judaism", which is synonymous with "Judaism." 8/

Of course there were (and are) non-Rabbinic Judaisms, too. The Sadduceean tradition was anti-Pharisaic, and the Pharisee vs. Sadducee dynamic is the background context for much of the NT. 9/

The main point of contention between the Pharisees and Saducees was regarding the oral tradition. Pharisees (and later Rabbinic Judaism) held as a fundamental point of doctrine that the Torah was revealed in two complementary corpora: one written, and one oral. 10/

The Written Torah was just the surface structure, the part that was explicitly visible; the Oral Torah tells you what the Written Torah *means*. The Oral Torah, to the Pharisees, was *most* of Judaism. 11/

The Sadducees regarded the entire notion of "Oral Torah" as absurd nonsense. If it wasn't written down, it didn't exist for them. 12/

So for the Sadducees, Judaism was mostly about Temple-based rituals (sacrifices) and the purity codes that surrounded them. Pharisees did not dispute the centrality of those rites, but saw in addition to them an entire world of non-Temple rituals. 13/

To take just the most obvious examples: lighting Shabbat candles at home, washing hands before eating, etc. are all Pharisaic rituals that function to decenter the Priesthood as the primary locus of holiness and recenter holiness in people's private homes and behavior. 14/

Now to Christians who are unfamiliar with this backdrop, the word "Pharisee" has a very specific meaning. In the NT, "Pharisee" is used almost exclusively in conjunction with the word "hypocrite". Where does this come from? 15/

One possible source of the view that Pharisees were hypocrites: the Rabbinic view that one should (must!) perform the mitzvot regardless of whether or not you "feel" them. Mitzvah means commandment, and commandments are not conditional on your emotional or spiritual state. 16/

Rabbinic Judaism teaches that a person should perform mitzvot whether or not it feels spiritually meaningful, and (more important) that regular performance of mitzvot will lead one eventually to a spiritually meaningful experience. 17/

At its most basic level, the teaching is: It doesn't matter whether you feed the hungry and house the homeless because you love the poor, or because you want a tax deduction, or because you want to be respected by others. What matters is that the poor are fed and housed. 18/

Eventually, if giving to the poor becomes a habitual practice, the giver will come to feel its spiritual effect, and will come to give for the "right" reasons. But the motivation is not what matters. Do it because it's the right thing to do, whether you "feel it" or not. 19/

The positive way to look at this is that our behavior is not conditional based on our internal state. "Na'aseh v'nishmah" means "We will do it (first); the inner experience comes later." 20/

But of course the negative way to view this exact same principle is that the external practice need not be matched by an internal conviction. From an anti-Pharisee perspective, Rabbinic Judaism is full of people performing empty rituals without an inner experience. 21/

Also worth mentioning here that Rabbinic Judaism did not and does not place any special emphasis on whether one gets an "eternal reward". The teaching is "S'char mitzvah, mitzvah" -- the reward for doing a commandment is that one has done a commandment, full stop. 22/

So that's the source of the "Pharisee = hypocrite" canard. It is true that Rabbinic Judaism is primarily concerned with the performance of the mitzvot, not with the inner state of one's soul. 23/

But here's the thing about this critique: the Pharisees were FULLY AWARE that their approach to Jewish practice had a tendency towards excessive displays of outward piety that were not matched by an inner dimension, and they critiqued THEMSELVES for their own hypocrisy! 24/

For example, in the Talmud (Sotah 22b) we find the phrase "the curse of the Pharisees" explained as a reference to several different types of Pharisees, each of whom is overly pious to the point of absurdity. 25/

So Pharisaic Judaism was self-aware about the internal tensions in its approach: the sages of Rabbinic Judaism all agreed that a focus on ritual precision was essential (so that one would know the proper ways to obey the mitzvot), while at the same time... 26/

...recognized that this emphasis had a tendency to pull some people toward a superficial, outward performance that emphasized religious punctiliousness at the expense of inward spirituality. In other words, hypocrisy. 27/

So when Christians call Pharisees "hypocrites", they're not saying anything about us that we don't also say about ourselves. 28/

And yet, having said all of that: using the word "Pharisee" as a synonym for "hypocrite" is, I maintain, offensive and anti-Semitic. 29/

"Pharisaic Judaism" is "Rabbinic Judaism" which is just "Judaism", so if you say "Pharisees are hypocrites", you are insulting all of Judaism and reducing us to our worst tendencies. 30/

Yes, sometimes we act without attending to the inner dimension of our practice. We know that, and we know that can be a problem. But you know what else we do? We ACT. 31/

When something needs to be done we DO it. We see a need and we ACT on it. Whether we want to our not, whether we feel it or not. If a mitzvah needs doing, we DO it. 32/

Characterizing that as "hypocrisy" is insulting and reductive. Judaism is about doing the work. Sometimes you don't feel it; we do it anyway. And that's the end of this thread, for now. 33/33

#pharisees #anti semitism #reading and studying the bible #judaism

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itztagninut · 6 years

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5 levels of the Jewish soul: RUACH

If you didn’t catch my last post about the first level of the soul, the nefesh, check it out here!

One concept that’s important to keep in mind is that the soul’s complexity deepens with each level. Although a nefesh is present in all living things, ruchot and neshamot are unique to humans and they develop later in life as you attain various levels of spiritual development.

While the nefesh is intrinsically connected to the body, the second level of the soul has a much more tenuous connection to the body. At the bare minimum, it is customarily leaves the body at night when dreaming. For others, it may even travel more frequently.

רוח ruach ✡ the middle soul

רוח ruach (plural רוחות ruchot) is an interesting word in Hebrew. It means both “wind” and “spirit.” I’ve always sort of marveled at how they can co-exist like that—in the Torah when they use the word ruach, you must rely on context clues to know which meaning it refers to. When I encounter it, I like to try reading it both ways, regardless of what the conventional translation is.

The ruach manifests in the emotions and morality. Your personality and your conviction is your internal wind. It is rooted in the sefirot which correspond to the emotions (from chesed to yesod). [1] The ruach is the ability to determine between right and wrong. Something I was taught is that in childhood, at a different time for everyone, you develop the ability to judge right and wrong but that it isn’t until you become bat mitzvah that you’re actually judged for your actions. There’s a grace period! Thanks, Hashem! In Halakha, traditional Jewish law, life begins at birth. In fact, the baby’s first moon cycle is a process of transition into life as the nefesh, which is received at birth, settles. [2] Later, as the child grows and their personality develops, so does their ruach.

At the time of death, the ruach and the higher soul, the neshamah, both depart for She’ol, the underworld, at least for a time. There, they await the earthly redemption of the nefesh, explained in my previous post. It’s clear that there is no clear picture of the Jewish afterlife, but one theory I find compelling is that of multiple underworlds. Perhaps She’ol is a complex of hells? While the nefesh is on its earthly journey, the ruach may also undergo its own purification in the region of She’ol called גי-הנם Gei-Hinom which may delay the nefesh’s redemption. [3] Although the ruach is essentially waiting for the redemption of the nefesh before it can move on, it does pray with the avot and imahot, the ancestors, three times a day to help the redemption of the nefesh. [4]

Additionally, the disembodied spirits that sometimes interact with the living are usually described as ruchot in Jewish culture (at least in Ashkenazi Jewish culture, though it is my understanding that this is relatively universal). In Yiddish a common curse is “a ruekh in dayn zeyde!” which essentially means, “may your grandfather be possessed by a spirit!” The name of the dybbuk, famous evil spirit of Yiddish mythology, is actually short for the Hebrew phrase דיבוק מרוח רעה‬ dibuk me-ruach ra’ah which means “an evil spirit that clings.” This brings us to our next note about the ruach: although humans are the only physically living creatures with a ruach, they aren’t the only creatures with a ruach. The Shekhina, the feminine aspect of Hashem that dwells amongst the diaspora, is often called the רוח הקודש ruach ha-kodesh, The Holy Ruach. Most of the spirits of the dead one interacts with are ruchot. And שדים sheydim, the often misunderstood Jewish demons/fae/djinn, are also disembodied ruchot.

personal experiences with the ruach

I found my ruach to be the most difficult part of my soul to interact with because it is the most invisible. As I said, your personality is your ruach—the wind doesn’t “feel” itself. It just is. As the middle soul, the ruach is pre-occupied with balancing the needs of the nefesh with the needs of the neshamah. One way the Talmud suggests exercising the ruach is via the performance of mitzvot and studying Torah (naturally). But it’s not just performing mitzvot and studying Torah, rather, the ruach is strengthened by doing these mental tasks as a way of arousing the emotions.

One practice I have developed around this is through studying Torah be-chevrusa, in partnership with others (literally “in friendship”). Another method is by performing several mitzvos in a short time which either put me out in nature, or put me to service of other people. These are just ideas, find something that resonates with your personal ruach! The ruach is associated with the 6 sefirot below da’at and above malchut, but I personally find it to resonate most strongly with chesed and gevurah and when strengthening and elevating my ruach before an important working, the acts that center me in chesed (or in gevurah, for certain types of work) tend to be the most helpful.

The ruach also is the primary vehicle for prophecy (Yeshayahu [Isaiah] 59:21, Yechezkel [Ezekiel] 36:27) which means that strengthening it can strengthen ones own divinatory abilities. Indeed, I have had great success using these techniques before important divinatory workings, though I’m still figuring it out myself. This is just personal UPG but I think that one’s personal power, one’s Will, also resides in the ruach, and that by elevating the middle soul my own personal power is also amplified.

As mentioned in the intro, ones ruach is tethered to the body much more loosely than the nefesh. Although I have had luck using my nefesh for the fetch method of hedgeriding, this is not necessary and there are ample stories in Jewish folklore of skilled sages sending their waking ruchot on theosophic journeys. Along with that, it is well known that the ruach is the part of the soul that goes exploring every night while you dream, so working on lucid dreaming (or dream work in general) can be another powerful way to connect with the ruach.

sources

1 https://www.chabad.org/kabbalah/article_cdo/aid/380651/jewish/Neshamah-Levels-of-Soul-Consciousness.htm

2 https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/the-beginning-of-life-in-judaism/

3 https://center-for-tanakh-based-studies.com/2015/03/20/sheol-life-after-death/

4 https://www.rabbidavidcooper.com/cooper-print-index/2010/11/7/2385-soul-transitions-after-death.html

#jewish #jewitch #jumblr #witchblr #witchcraft #spirit work #hedgewitch #oc

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josephbnaimitzvah · 2 years

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A Very (Very) Busy Few Days!!

We landed in Israel on Saturday and it has been an utter whirlwind since then. First things, first, photos! I have added a number of posts to this blog, broken down roughly by day, with some great pictures of our adventures.

So many people have asked me about why we chose to have Oscar and Judah’s B’Nai Mitzvah at Masada, or even in Israel at all. For people that have never been here, it may seem a strange choice to travel thousands of miles to a conflict ridden region of the world to celebrate a family event that most people have in their local synagogue.

The most honest reason is that I never really understood or identified with being Jewish as much as I do in Israel. That does not mean that I have not enjoyed or found meaning in Judaism outside of Israel; I definitely did. Jewish summer camp, youth group, being in a Jewish sorority in college, and marrying a Jewish man all offered me something tangible and connected to the idea of being a Jew.

But being in Israel is like having all of the good things about each of those experiences and then getting to feel that way in everything you do. Having a Jewish country means that all every day experiences are “Jewish” from buying an ice cream to watching the country close down for Shabbat.

I am sure the value of that reality is hard to translate, but the best analogy I can think of is ubiquity of Christmas celebrations in the U.S. Anyone living in the States knows that starting about November 1 every year, you can’t turn your head without being hit with a Christmas tree ornament. Most homes, businesses (including mine, because I love it), shops, restaurants, neighborhoods, and public spaces are covered in Christmas decorations. We even get new cups at Starbucks, which is a small message of communicating that the holidays are here. Everyone starts signing their emails with “Happy Holidays” and even the culture wars find new topics to argue over (taking the Christ out of Christmas, whether winter concerts at schools have enough for everyone, etc.).

There are probably lots of reasons everyone loves the holiday season. I have always assumed it was because it reminds those who celebrate of happy times, of being with family, of taking time out of life to celebrate and find joy. It is festive and it is fun. It often frustrated me though too, because I could never understand why it has to BE EVERYWHERE.

I often wondered whether it could still be Christmas without flooding our senses with what is, at its core, a Christian holiday. I used to feel resentment and a feeling of being left out, especially as a kid, during the holidays. Strangers ask kids what they want for Christmas and I had to explain, awkwardly, that my family is Jewish. The reaction was always strained with the adult not quite knowing what to say. I am still asked why we don’t put up lights or have a tree. But as I have gotten older, I no longer feel any negativity associated with Christmas, and have come to enjoy the time, without necessarily being part of it.

Why do I bring this up from a hotel room in Jerusalem? Because the way most Americans feel about Christmas, the sense of belonging, shared tradition, happiness and pride in celebrating, is what I feel in Israel. Hearing the stories of my religion come to life by walking the walls of King David, while also marveling at the way the modern Israelis have made a literal desert bloom, fills me up in a way I only experience here.

Brent and I never wavered about wanting the boys to be Jewish. So, to make it quite simple, we brought them here to celebrate their Bar Mitzvah so they could fall in love with the country, the place, and the feeling of being Jewish here. We want them to love being Jewish, and even with all of Israel’s complexities, it is easy to feel that way here.

I think we are off to a good start!

More later about our activities and the B’Nai Mitzvah, which was yesterday. Thanks to all for following along!

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dfroza · 3 years

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the courage to “believe…” transcends the world’s view of bravery.

and this is the rebirth of Light that strips off the old nature to fully reclothe the nakedness and shame of this world with grace.

A set of lines from Today’s reading in the New Testament:

We are convinced that even if these bodies we live in are folded up at death like tents, we will still have a God-built home that no human hands have built, which will last forever in the heavenly realm. We inwardly sigh as we live in these physical “tents,” longing to put on a new body for our life in heaven, in the belief that once we put on our new “clothing” we won’t find ourselves “naked.” So, while living in this “tent,” we groan under its burden, not because we want to die but because we want these new bodies. We crave for all that is mortal to be swallowed up by eternal life. And this is no empty hope, for God himself is the one who has prepared us for this wonderful destiny. And to confirm this promise, he has given us the Holy Spirit, like an engagement ring, as a guarantee.

The Letter of 2nd Corinthians, Chapter 5:1-5 (The Passion Translation)

with the whole chapter in The Voice:

We know that if our earthly house—a mere tent that can easily be taken down—is destroyed, we will then live in an eternal home in the heavens, a building crafted by divine—not human—hands. Currently, in this tent of a house, we continue to groan and ache with a deep desire to be sheltered in our permanent home because then we will be truly clothed and comfortable, protected by a covering for our current nakedness. The fact is that in this tent we anxiously moan, fearing the naked truth of our reality. What we crave above all is to be clothed so that what is temporary and mortal can be wrapped completely in life. The One who has worked and tailored us for this is God Himself, who has gifted His Spirit to us as a pledge toward our permanent home.

In light of this, we live with a daring passion and know that our time spent in this body is also time we are not present with the Lord. The path we walk is charted by faith, not by what we see with our eyes. There is no doubt that we live with a daring passion, but in the end we prefer to be gone from this body so that we can be at home with the Lord. Ultimately it does not matter whether we are here or gone; our purpose stays fixed, and that is to please Him. In time we will all stand in judgment before the throne of the Anointed, the Liberating King, to receive what is just for our conduct (whether it be good or bad) while we lived in this temporary body.

So because we stand in awe of the one true Lord, we make it our aim to convince all people of the truth of the gospel; God sees who we really are, and I hope in some way that you’ll look deeply into your consciences to see us as well. But we hope you understand that we are not trying to prove ourselves to you or pull together a résumé that will impress you. We are simply hoping that you will find a sense of joy in connecting with us. And when you are approached by others (who may value appearances more than the heart) asking questions about us, you will be able to offer an answer for them. If we seem out of control or act like fanatics, it is for God. But if we act in a coherent and reasonable way, it is for you. You see, the controlling force in our lives is the love of the Anointed One. And our confession is this: One died for all; therefore, all have died. He died for us so that we will all live, not for ourselves, but for Him who died and rose from the dead. Because of all that God has done, we now have a new perspective. We used to show regard for people based on worldly standards and interests. No longer. We used to think of the Anointed the same way. No longer. Therefore, if anyone is united with the Anointed One, that person is a new creation. The old life is gone—and see—a new life has begun! All of this is a gift from our Creator God, who has pursued us and brought us into a restored and healthy relationship with Him through the Anointed. And He has given us the same mission, the ministry of reconciliation, to bring others back to Him. It is central to our good news that God was in the Anointed making things right between Himself and the world. This means He does not hold their sins against them. But it also means He charges us to proclaim the message that heals and restores our broken relationships with God and each other.

So we are now representatives of the Anointed One, the Liberating King; God has given us a charge to carry through our lives—urging all people on behalf of the Anointed to become reconciled to the Creator God. He orchestrated this: the Anointed One, who had never experienced sin, became sin for us so that in Him we might embody the very righteousness of God.

The Letter of 2nd Corinthians, Chapter 5 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 56th chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah that points to Justice:

[Messages of Hope]

[Salvation Is Just Around the Corner]

God’s Message:

“Guard my common good:

Do what’s right and do it in the right way,

For salvation is just around the corner,

my setting-things-right is about to go into action.

How fortunate are you who enter into these things,

you men and women who embrace them,

Who keep Sabbath and don’t defile it,

who watch your step and don’t do anything evil!

Make sure no outsider who now follows God

ever has occasion to say, ‘God put me in second-class.

I don’t really belong.’

And make sure no physically mutilated person

is ever made to think, ‘I’m damaged goods.

I don’t really belong.’”

For God says:

“To the mutilated who keep my Sabbaths

and choose what delights me

and keep a firm grip on my covenant,

I’ll provide them an honored place

in my family and within my city,

even more honored than that of sons and daughters.

I’ll confer permanent honors on them

that will never be revoked.

“And as for the outsiders who now follow me,

working for me, loving my name,

and wanting to be my servants—

All who keep Sabbath and don’t defile it,

holding fast to my covenant—

I’ll bring them to my holy mountain

and give them joy in my house of prayer.

They’ll be welcome to worship the same as the ‘insiders,’

to bring burnt offerings and sacrifices to my altar.

Oh yes, my house of worship

will be known as a house of prayer for all people.”

The Decree of the Master, God himself,

who gathers in the exiles of Israel:

“I will gather others also,

gather them in with those already gathered.”

* * *

A call to the savage beasts: Come on the run.

Come, devour, beast barbarians!

For Israel’s watchmen are blind, the whole lot of them.

They have no idea what’s going on.

They’re dogs without sense enough to bark,

lazy dogs, dreaming in the sun—

But hungry dogs, they do know how to eat,

voracious dogs, with never enough.

And these are Israel’s shepherds!

They know nothing, understand nothing.

They all look after themselves,

grabbing whatever’s not nailed down.

“Come,” they say, “let’s have a party.

Let’s go out and get drunk!”

And tomorrow, more of the same:

“Let’s live it up!”

The Book (Scroll) of Isaiah, Chapter 56 (The Message)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, August 3 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons that looks at reverence:

Reading the news of this deceptive world (עולם השקר) demonstrates the veraciity of Romans 1:28: "Since they did not see fit to acknowledge God, God gave them up to a debased mind to do what ought not to be done." This is the word that describes our godless and brazen generation: "Because they hated knowledge and did not choose the fear of the LORD (יראת יהוה), they refused my counsel and despised my reproof, therefore they shall eat the fruit of their way, and have their fill of their own devices" (Prov. 1:29-1:31). God is patient and loving, of course, though there comes a time when his patience runs out, when -- after repeated warning and appeals -- a culture tragically hardens its heart further and further until God withdraws his salubrious influence and people are left to their own vain imaginations and darkened impulses.

A widely accepted maxim of the Talmud is: "All is in the hands of God except the fear of heaven (yirat shamayim)" (Berachot 33b; Niddah 16b). In other words, though God constantly showers the world with grace and light, He does not “force” us to revere His Presence but rather leaves that choice with us. Of course God could overwhelm us all so that we had no choice but to see and fear Him, but He “withdraws” Himself and restrains His influence in our lives so that we can exercise faith. As Blaise Pascal said, "there is enough light for those who want to believe, and enough shadows to blind those who don't." The Hebrew word for seeing (ראה) and the word for fearing (ירא) share the same root. We cannot genuinely "choose life" apart from personally seeing it, but we cannot see it apart from the reverence of God. The reverence of God sanctifies our perception and enables us to see clearly. Therefore the righteous “walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Cor. 5:7). [Hebrew for Christians]

8.2.21 • Facebook

and another about connection:

I’ve mentioned before that the Hebrew word “mitzvah” (מִצְוָה) is often translated as “commandment,” though its basic idea is about our connection to God (i.e., the root צוה means to “bind” or “unite”). Being connected with the Almighty means making time to get alone to talk with him, relating to him as your Heavenly Father, and trusting that he genuinely esteems you as his beloved child. Whatever else you may think about the commandments of God, this idea of a love connection is foundational and essential. The very first of the Ten Commandments is Anochi Adonai Elohekha (אָנכִי יְהוָה אֱלהֶ֑יךָ), “I am the Lord your God,” which invites you to open your heart to receive the touch of the Spirit of God. There is no love like that of the Lord, but you simply can’t feel that love if you don’t speak to Him, pouring out your heart and clinging to the truth of his love for you....

Pouring your heart out to God in an honest, spontaneous, and intensely personal way is called “hitbodedut” (הִתְבּוֹדְּדוּת) in Hebrew. After we “talk our hearts out” before the Lord, in our emptiness we can begin to truly listen, as it says, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength” (Isa. 30:15). Only after we sigh deeply and surrender are we receptive to the voice of the Spirit’s whisper. אַשְׁרֵי כָּל־חוֹכֵי לוֹ - “Blessed are all those who wait for Him” (Isa. 30:18). We wait, we abide, we persevere -- even when God seems to “take his time” or does not immediately intervene in ways we might apprehend. We do not lose heart, for we find strength when we trust in God’s love... The Light of the world still shines: Yeshua, be my inner word, my heart, and my groaning for life today, and forevermore, amen.

Since the essence of Torah is connection to God, the greatest blessing is to be filled with the desire to draw close to him, to experience “hunger and thirst” (i.e., visceral yearning) for God’s presence and touch. Holy desire – expressed in the yearning of heartfelt prayer – is therefore a state of true blessedness, and the more desperate our need for God the more blessed we are. It is our holy need that creates a bond of connection between our soul and its Creator, and that is the deeper meaning of “mitzvah.” As Yeshua said: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied” (Matt. 5:6). [Hebrew for Christians]

8.2.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

August 3, 2021

The Infinite Wisdom and Knowledge of God

“In whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.” (Colossians 2:3)

One of the most amazing of the divine attributes is God’s omniscience. He not only understands all the complexities of relativistic science and higher mathematics, He ordained them in the first place! The same applies to every other discipline of study and activity.

And He knows all about each of us! “O LORD, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off” (Psalm 139:1-2).

As far as human knowledge is concerned, it is vital to know that “the fear of the LORD” is the very foundation of “knowledge” and of “wisdom” (Proverbs 1:7; 9:10). All the greatest scientists of the past acknowledged that they were seeking merely to “think God’s thoughts after Him.”

How foolish it is to ignore or to oppose God! There are only four places in the Bible that speak of God laughing (Psalm 2:4; 37:13; 59:8; Proverbs 1:26), and each of them describes His response to such folly.

Instead, we should marvel at all the wonders of His creation and providence. “O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!” (Romans 11:33).

Our text verse above (Colossians 2:3) is actually referring explicitly to the Lord Jesus Christ, the only-begotten and eternal Son of God. It is He who has given us access to the Creator God and therefore access to the divine knowledge and understanding. Part of the still-effective dominion mandate (Genesis 1:26, 28) is to learn what we can about God’s creation, always remembering that Jesus insisted that—no matter what unbelievers say—“the scripture cannot be broken” (John 10:35). HMM

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Cobra Kai: How the Show Tackles Bullying in Season 3

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At its heart, The Karate Kid has always been about standing up to bullies. Actually, when it comes right down to it, almost every high school drama is about standing up to bullies. It’s just that The Karate Kid responds with a crane kick to the face. High school bully versus underdog stories are easy to tell, and they resonate with anyone who survived their teenage years. That first major pubescent dose of testosterone or estrogen makes us all want to assert ourselves, and in that search for identity, many find it in bullying. Whether it was Johnny Lawrence (William Zabka), Chozen (Yuji Okumoto), or even Terry Silver (Thomas Ian Griffith), they all bullied poor little Daniel-san (Ralph Macchio).

Or did they?

Cobra Kai has fleshed out Johnny’s character to new depths, redeeming his shallow portrayal in the original movies. Through the Netflix series, Johnny has had the rare opportunity to explain his odious actions. Everyone is the hero in their own story, and Johnny sees Daniel as the bad guy. In the eighth episode of season 1, “Molting,” Johnny tells Miguel (Xolo Maridueña) his side of the events in The Karate Kid. “Out of nowhere he sucker punches me,” whines Johnny about their first fight at the beach.

And it’s true. Johnny pushed Daniel first, but Daniel caught him back with a sucker punch (Daniel relies heavily on sucker punches throughout the films). Daniel stole Johnny’s high school sweetheart Ali (Elisabeth Shue). Daniel drenched Johnny with water in the bathroom at the high school dance (as he was rolling a joint – something he omits from his retelling to Miguel). Daniel won the All-Valley Karate Tournament with an illegal kick to the face. In Johnny’s eyes, he’s the victim of Daniel’s bullying. And this is perpetuated in Cobra Kai. Daniel is now in the position of power, the head of a successful business and living in a mansion with his wife and kids. Johnny is now the underdog and must cope with some of Daniel’s microaggressions.

It may seem far fetched to some, but the notion that Daniel as the bully isn’t new. Barney (Neil Patrick Harris) from How I Met Your Mother thought so too, and that was back in 2003. In the season 8 episode “Bro Mitzvah,” Barney’s dream was to have the hero of The Karate Kid attend his bachelor party. However, when his friends arrange for Ralph Macchio (playing himself in a hysterical cameo) appears, Barney is disappointed because to him, the real hero is Johnny for exactly the reasons that he outlined in “Molting.” It’s a standout episode with Zabka also making a cameo appearance as himself. And while Barney could be accused of being a bully in a manner of fashion too, this notion is upheld within a contingent of the Karate Kid fanbase who now feel validated by Cobra Kai’s take on it.

Johnny’s story arc is one of the most engaging aspects of Cobra Kai. Over the course of the first two seasons, he has transformed from being a stubborn loser to a sympathetic antihero. Even though Johnny was raised as a privileged kid living in an Encino mansion, his stepfather Sid (Ed Asner) is horribly abusive. Johnny’s sins are the perpetuation of Sid’s bullying behavior, exacerbated by Kreese’s (Martin Kove) merciless Karate lessons. While Johnny’s backstory doesn’t redeem all his nefarious actions, it does provide some insight into his motivations. And in his heart of hearts, Johnny still wants to do the right thing.

Cobra Kai has really shined in how it represents bullying. Bullying has become a global crisis, so much so that in 2018, the UNESCO Institute for Statistics released data showing that one third of young teens around the world have experienced bullying. In the United States, bullying is linked to low self-esteem, anxiety, and depression in childhood. And although bullying isn’t typically the sole cause, it can be contributing factor in teen suicide and school shootings. Undoubtedly, bullying has always been a social issue, however nowadays there are new factors to consider. Currently we live in a world of cyberbullying. Racism, exclusion, harassment, are all regular headlines of our daily newsfeeds. The youth of today face a more complex world, especially when it comes to bullying.

Cobra Kai has been engaging the high school bully trope from multiple perspectives well beyond the ongoing 30+ year feud between Johnny and Daniel. Back in the 80s, Johnny, Chozen, and Terry were the bullies. Now with Cobra Kai, it’s become far more complex. The new generation of teenage characters all grapple with their shifting social standings and relationships. Take Eli Moskowitz (Jacob Bertrand). At the beginning of the series, he’s a victim of bullying, picked on for his cleft lip scar. But as he becomes empowered through his Karate training, he heeds Johnny’s advice to ‘flip the script’ transforming into Hawk, a mohawked tattooed bully. But after seeing his character’s trials, is he really a bully at heart?

“It’s kind of a loaded question,” says Bertrand of his character. “Honestly, I would say he’s more of a bully. I think everyone has the opportunity to make choices. And I think, yes, he definitely has been a victim in the past, but that doesn’t really excuse his actions for what’s transpired. Especially for Season 3 being under Kreese’s wing and having him leading Cobra Kai, I think that furthers some of his bad guy tendencies.”

Another leading villainess from season 2 is Tory Nichols (Peyton List). Tory is a troubled teen who comes from a poor family. According to Tory, her mom worked as a waitress but was fired for taking some discarded food to feed her family. Always looking out for number one, Tory’s background is a little mysterious because she has had some previous martial arts training, leading many fans to wonder if her previous sensei was a character from the original series, perhaps even Terry Silver. But is she a bully or a victim of circumstance?

“I think a victim,” says List hesitantly. “I mean… Yes. Both. 50/50. I have to admit, I justify everything she does. I don’t really like the victim mentality though, and I don’t think Tory would either. So I don’t think she would think of herself as a victim, but I do think after a certain amount of abuse and tearing down from the world, that it just gets wearing, and it’s easy to act out, but that is the easy route.

“So it’s both. You see how conflicted I am?”

No matter how you slice it, the lineage of bullies traces back to one man – the founder of Cobra Kai, Sensei John Kreese. Kreese has always been a sociopath. He was a Green Beret during the Vietnam War who earned the rank of Captain, as well as a U.S. Army Karate championship title. In Ssason 2, Kreese tells some stories about serving in Operation: Desert Storm and other U.S. military actions, however Johnny’s top student Miguel (Xolo Maridueña) confidentially points out the errors in his tales to Johnny. It motivates Johnny to follow Kreese, only to discover that he’s been living in homeless shelters for the past decade or so. Kreese admits that he tried to re-enlist but was rejected, alluding that it might have been because of failing the psychiatric evaluation. The implication is that Kreese suffers from PTSD.

Does this redeem Kreese’s heinous behavior? Not really. Kreese has been poisoning the minds of teenagers for three decades and that’s utterly unforgivable. As Daniel’s mom Lucille LaRusso (Randee Heller) once said about the Cobra Kai Dojo, “They’re nothing but a bunch of bullies,” and there’s no one to blame more for that than Kreese. But at least Cobra Kai gives it some reason for his mercilessness. Rumors have been circulating that there will be some sort of redemptive arc for Kreese in Season 3. But honestly, that’s going to take a lot of redeeming before Kreese gets any sort of pardon.

What’s more, the season 3 trailer revealed that Chozen will be appearing in Cobra Kai. In The Karate Kid Part II, Chozen was a special kind of over-the-top psycho bully who went so far as to push Daniel-san into a death match over ‘honor.’ Might there be some redemption coming for Chozen too? No spoilers here. Wax on, wax off and tune in.

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Cobra Kai season 3 premieres Jan. 1 on Netflix.

The post Cobra Kai: How the Show Tackles Bullying in Season 3 appeared first on Den of Geek.

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storiesbybrian · 4 years

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No Goats Were Harmed in the Celebration of this Bar Mitzvah

Most of Carew’s friends had self-righteous parents, well-meaning adults generally respected and admired by their adolescent kids. But Carew’s parents meant extra well, like repair the world well. When he was younger, their moral exertions felt negligible. While trick or treaters came away from the Shapiros’ front door with copies of Notes from a Birmingham Jail, Carew still hauled in a bucketful of candy from their less, or maybe more civic-minded neighbors. But as the hormonal tide of adolescence rolled in, Ralph and Bettina started requiring Carew’s participation in their ethical olympiad. Carew presumed they mistook his physical maturation for a readiness to join the family’s devotion to restorative justice, because he was still too immature to allow himself to realize that their disruptions of his constant attempts to, in honor of his namesake, steal third, were not entirely unintentional.

At a bat mitzvah party in April, just after his mother had finished helping lift his classmate Aviva’s family members up in chairs, while Carew tried finding the best angle to see some flesh through all that royal blue taffeta, but not wanting to see too much lest the arousal become unbearable, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and even recognizing the feel and weight of his father’s caress, his first thought was that a policeman had responded to a call from Aviva’s horrified parents and got there as quickly as he could to haul Carew to jail on charges of private lewdness.

“Hey,” Ralph said. “Got a sec?”

Carew tried to recover from the jolt of contact, and then from the strange absence of relief that he’d been approached by someone who loved him instead of an apprehending officer, accomplishing neither and just following his dad out of the hotel ballroom and into a lobby where children were giggling at each other’s high-pitched profanities between sips of helium from unknotted, steel-colored balloons. Ralph gestured toward a circular banquette that reminded Carew of an impaled ring of pineapple. Bettina exited the ballroom, checking her watch for confirmation that this appointment was happening right on schedule, and sat down next to her son, close enough to darken his blazer with the sweat she’d worked up during the hora.

“Hey buddy,” she said.

“Do we have to leave?” Carew asked.

“No no,” Ralph said. “We just wanted to ask you, well tell you, well-”

“Carew,” Bettina said. “Do you remember Aviva’s Torah portion?”

“Well, I didn’t really study-”

“No. I mean, do you remember what it was about?”

“Oh,” Carew said. “Yeah, it was about all the specific instructions Moses got on Mount Sinai for the Ark of the Covenant and how to decorate the tent where they’d keep it.”

“Never mind that last week was Mishpatim where they lay out the rules for free labor,” Bettina said. “Post-Exodus codification of ethical slavery. Hmph!”

“Well your mom’s the family scholar, that’s for sure!” Ralph said. “But, do you see anything related to uh-”

“Terumah,” Bettina said.

“Right, Terumah here? Like, anything?”

“Um, shiny decorations?”

“Carew,” Ralph said.

“Well I think it’s a really fun party, and Aviva looks beautiful!” Carew said. “I mean, look how much fun Mom’s having!”

But even with his balls distorting every signal his brain received, Carew knew there was no point in arguing with people who believed they were doing God’s work, and that the smartest thing would be to warn his friends that his bar mitzvah was going to be… unusual.

The Shapiros biked home through the faint crispness of early Spring. Ralph ignored his son’s subdued disappointment (he was beginning to feel deceptive about all of Carew’s feelings and activities he pretended not to notice), while simultaneously making it seem like keeping up with Carew was a struggle, knowing Carew was no dummy and that too much obtuse encouragement would be identified as the pathetic compensation it really was. Inhaling deeply, imagining his family crashing through the remnants of winter, the contrast between how Ralph felt and how he wanted Carew to think he felt amounted to a level of manipulation that made him very uncomfortable. Bettina cruised ahead in the biking gear she’d changed into after cake was served. The moon came in sight and Ralph decided that blow-softening wasn’t manipulation. It was kindness. And parents always guided their children, whether they noticed it or not, and if anything, Carew should have as great a sense of autonomy as possible. So Ralph kept his tongue dangling in faux exhaustion as they approached the biggest hill they’d tackle between the Marriott and their house.

With her toes clipped to her pedals, Bettina was halfway up the hill before Carew started climbing, Ralph not far behind. Her breathing was easier and skin drier than it had gotten in the thick of the Romanian folk dance she’d been sure to explain to Ralph and Carew had been appropriated as “Jewish tradition” by kibbutzniks in British-mandated Palestine in the 1920s. As ever, she’d assured her husband and son that the hora’s ersatz authenticity shouldn’t diminish the joy it brought to families who assumed their ancestors had been stomping, circling and hoisting for centuries. But that was one more thing to cross off the list on Carew’s big day.

“Come on, you two,” she called back down the hill.

The asphalt sparkled under the sodium lights, wiped briefly dark by their passing shadows. Ralph raised from his seat to put more body weight on his pedals. Though he’d long outgrown the bitterness he carried from his own bar mitzvah 34 years earlier, he could still hear the clang of metal chairs unfolding on his family’s cracked driveway while his father set plastic bottles of off-brand soda on a card table in preparation for the spare, poorly attended celebration of his attainment of Jewish manhood. He remembered coming home from school that Friday, hoping for some rest before services that night. But his father needed him to clear out the garage so they could set up a ping pong table borrowed from the synagogue before Sabbath began. Ralph tried to muster gratitude for his parents’ efforts, mainly because he loved and genuinely appreciated them, but also because he sensed his father was testing him, daring him to complain, or even betray a glimmer of disappointment that no hall would be rented, no meal would be served and Saturday night’s dj would be Grandma Corrine playing her favorite cassettes on his boombox. Ralph hoped that he’d been gentle enough with his father’s pride that an unspoken accord was reached, one that recognized how gracefully Ralph handled the weight of expectations his father was placing on him. But, as he stood on the ping pong table wrapping a lone blue streamer around the dangling lightbulb, it felt eerily like the perfect time for his dad to offer some sign, some expression of appreciation, not only for the flawless job he’d done in front of the entire congregation that morning, but for the perfect dutifulness and lack of entitlement he’d shown in its aftermath. But, like so many of his Hebrew school classmates who had better things to do that night, this was one more rejected invitation. Now that Ralph could stand and be counted as a member of his community, the faith he’d maintained and even bolstered that his father was watching him intently for signs of true manhood was shaken by a suspicion that the real message his father was sending him, intentionally or not, was get used to disappointment. And Ralph’s response had been a private vow that when he had children, they would know that he was proud of them. And when they reached adolescence, he would celebrate them lavishly.

Carew pedaled harder, catching Bettina near the top of the hill, and as Ralph crested a few seconds behind, he loosened his tie to let the wind of the downhill cool his hot, sweaty neck, amazed by how wildly he could vascillate between feeling like he’d arrived at a given moment along a coherent, linear path, and the more realistic sense that a man’s life entailed cracking, spilling, gutting and rotting before hurriedly gathering up the filthy encampment one laughably called the self, and how fraudulent but necessary it seemed to keep zooming out until the whole mess was far enough away to seem whole again.

The trio turned onto their street and Carew and Bettina broke into an all out race. Ralph hung back, hearing his wife and son laugh as they shot, Tron-like toward the three-story house they’d owned since Carew was 9. He still got a jolt of dopamine from attributing his success to discipline and hard work. But as soon as they’d met, Bettina told him about the “green lights for whites,” ticking off a list of unacknowledged advantages he’d been granted by seeming, even as a Jew, acceptable while so many people of color worked harder than Ralph ever did, only to wind up in Ralph’s parents’ neighborhood, so much more grateful for so much less that they still sent their kids off to fight wars to protect such sacred privileges. The way Bettina’s discourse swooped in for intricate detail, then back up to the general idea had an electric effect on Ralph. He listened eagerly as she described how black people stuffed themselves into “honky-ass personas” just to be considered for a job, a raise, a clerkship, a business loan, a taxi ride, an office lease, only to be perceived as threatening anyway, and the resilience it took to go through that much self-betrayal. Sitting with her over coffee, Ralph felt cleansed of whatever residual self-pity he still carried from his modest upbringing, and he loved her instantly. He loved how fiercely she inspired him to be a better man than he thought he could be. He loved how Bettina helped him love himself more.

Carew beat Bettina by a few bike lengths and Ralph opened the garage with his phone. They hung their bikes from hooks on the giant peg board Carew and he had put up the previous summer, and hung their helmets from their handlebars.

“Can I play FIFA for a little while?” Carew asked as they entered the house through the garage.

“What chapter are you on in your book?” Bettina asked.

“Um, the one where Menelaus retrieves Patroclus’s body from the battlefield.”

“Book 17. Alright. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Thanks mom!”

Carew dashed further into the house while Ralph and Bettina shared their special “that boy’s alright” smile with each other.

Bettina knew more history, but Ralph had more history with bar mitzvahs. They were able to acknowledge this difference and felt assured that they could avoid a conflation that might damage the harmony with which they were enlisting their son to enjoy a much more serious type of bar mitzvah. But as much as they wanted to believe there was no daylight between their values and those of their adolescent son, Ralph had caught signs of Carew wobbling, lololol’ing at offensive jokes in chat rooms, exaggerating how much he bench-pressed, shunning some of the kids he’d played with since kindergarten, shrugging and looking at the ground when speaking with other adults; all normal, but still disappointing. Maybe now wasn’t the best time for statements some might call radical, statements that might knock Carew over just when he needed more shoring up. Ralph understood that harboring notions of secret, nay conspiratorial alliances with his son was an invocation of exactly the kind of privilege Bettina loved him for purposefully eschewing. But he began to wonder, Am I limiting myself for the sake of wokeness? It was an insidious thought, a damn spot he couldn’t scrub out, which is why he avoided sharing it with Bettina. Because she was right. A teenager’s well-being had nothing to do with caterers and fog machines.

Since becoming a widower when Carew was 10, Ralph’s father came over every Friday for dinner. Tension got high enough often enough that the ritual never felt permanent, like any Friday might be the last one. But seven nights later, he’d be out on the front porch in his houndstooth fedora, holding a half-gallon of non-dairy mint chip. On the Friday six weeks before his bar mitzvah, Carew went out on a limb.

“Grandpa Eddie, have you ever heard of Utnaphishtim?” Carew asked after his grandfather had blessed the wine and bread.

“Who?”

Carew looked at his mother like he needed help. He did, but not the way Bettina thought.

“Utnapishtim,” Bettina said. “A character in the Epic of Gilgamesh who mirrors Noah in the Torah.”

“Oh boy,” Eddie said. “Here we go. Alright, let’s get it over with. Come on, come on. Do I need to take notes?”

“It’s-” Carew began, knowing his mom would take the bait and activate a high and mighty tone that Carew loved, whenever it wasn’t directed at him.

“It’s contextual, Eddie, and no I will not apologize for using that big, fancy term,” Bettina said. “Because we want Carew to understand the cultural values of-”

“Cultural values?” Eddie said. “The Jewish People-”

“They weren’t Jews, Eddie,” Bettina said.

“They were Hebrews!” Carew and Ralph said in unison.

“My favorite part of the evening,” Eddie said. “When my daughter-in-law gives me Judaism lessons. Actually Bettina, the Hebrews split into the Judaeans, aka ‘Jews,’ and Israelites around 2600 years ago. So as I was saying, while other cults in the desert were trying to make camels fly, the Jewish People invented the very concept of ‘cultural values’. What happened to the people that wrote this other flood story?”

“Dad would you please pass the broccoli?”

“OK, Eddie,” Bettina said. “Sorry for getting pedantic. No offense.”

“None taken,” Eddie said. “And the chicken’s delicious tonight, too.”

“It’s just that we’re very excited.”

This is what Carew was waiting for.

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asked.

Bettina looked hopefully at Ralph, who took his cue.

“Dad,” he said. “We’re taking on the Bar Mitzvah Industrial Complex!”

“Really,” Eddie said, showing no signs of awareness that Ralph’s bar mitzvah was the moment when things began to change between them. “And how do you plan on doing that? No wait, lemme guess. You’re renting a cruise ship and filling it with endangered animals.”

“Cruise ship?!” Carew said. “Like one with a big water slide?”

“Carew,” Ralph said. “No one’s renting a cruise ship.”

“Uh Ralph,” Eddie said. “Are you ever gonna give that broccoli back?”

Carew continued his studies, still hopeful Grandpa Eddie might make enough trouble to steer his parents’ lances toward a different windmill. In one of his weekly meetings with Rabbi Foreman, he asked the rabbi what made Noah so superior to the rest of the antediluvian global population? If the life expectancy was upwards of 500 back then, didn’t that mean people were treating each other better than they did nowadays? And what about all the animals on the Ark? Were they the moral exceptions to their species too, or were those left behind just innocent casualties of mankind’s iniquity? Most students just wanted to memorize the Hebrew so they didn’t embarrass their parents when the big day came, so Rabbi Foreman was thrilled by Carew’s inquisitiveness. On the other hand, he was in too much demand as it was, and afraid that kindling too much warmth with the Shapiros would make it harder to fend off Bettina’s involvement in more synagogue affairs. The recycling program she’d implemented was one thing, writing letters to supermax inmates another, and it was too hard to explain the thorniness to Carew’s mother without exposing himself to accusations of complicity in society’s dooming actions. Still, when a young congregant was genuinely curious about Torah, his rabbi should the last person to mute that interest.

So he explained about Nephilim, the semi-angelic beings in the previous chapter, who had intermingled with mankind to produce giants not only capable of fathering children in their 500s, but of building watercraft that could rescue all of life on Earth. Rabbi Foreman spun the same yarn Carew’s parents did, about how research used to be relatives’ encyclopedias and trips to the library and requests by mail to the Smithsonian Institute, and how he wondered if the knowledge stuck as well when it was easier to come by.

“So you see,” the rabbi said. “These ancestors, they were heroic in the ways that mattered most to our people, mentally, morally, and yes, physically.”

“Or maybe,” Carew said. “They exaggerated their virility because men who subjugated women back then were just as insecure about their masculinity as they are now.”

“Maybe,” Rabbi Foreman said, stroking his beard and looking at the clock.

The rabbi thought about the passage immediately following the Earth’s restoration of habitability. It was only three verses, about post-flood humanity’s attempt to build a tower to the heavens. Maybe they were just striving for safety beyond the floodline. But even if their reasons were not as noble, Rabbi Foreman never really understood why mankind’s unity incurred the wrath of God. What was so wicked about working together to build something great? Or was the destruction of a great tower and the scattering of its tiny inhabitants supposed to be a much more symbolic rebuke of toxic masculinity?

“Rabbi Foreman?” Carew said.

“Yes.”

“I asked if we could meet a little later next week? I’m supposed to visit that dairy my parents talked to you about.”

The following week, in the car on the way to Telmont’s Dairy Farm, Carew dispensed with all subtleties and socraticisms and spoke openly about his feelings.

“I feel trapped,” he said.

“The windows are shut to keep out the manure smell, buddy,” Ralph said.

“Dad.”

Bettina shot Ralph a look and he dropped his innocence act at once.

“Trapped, you say?”

“No. Mom. I just- look. I know how that sounds. But yeah. Like I feel like I either have to be in lockstep with you guys or I’m a bad person. Feels… stifling.”

All three Shapiros stared out of their respective windows at the farmland they were passing, the corn and tobacco fields just beginning to brown, the pasture sod stiffening at the tips. Carew drummed on the little shelf by his door.

“Carew,” Bettina said. “What would make you feel better?”

“I mean,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. “Just, a normal party? Where our friends and family can have fun instead of being reminded of how short they’re all falling?”

Bettina parked the car by the dairy office and turned around to face her son.

“But they are falling short, son,” she said. “Even we, who work so hard, don’t always embody our ideals. Do we, honey?”

Carew shook his head, unable to keep tears from springing forth.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Well you should be!” Ralph said.

“Ralph!”

“No! Look at this!” Ralph said. “Oh I want a big party, OMG stop making me feel so guilty! How in the world have all the years we’ve put into raising him amounted to this?”

Carew wept more openly. His mother handed him a recycled tissue.

“Fine,” Carew said. “Let’s go commune with beasts.”

“No,” Bettina said. “Wait a second!”

Carew and Ralph were already out of the car, refusing to look at each other. Both were confused, but Ralph’s impulse to project certainty was stronger. Carew seemed to have already abandoned whatever that little rebellion in the car was, but something felt unsettled.

A screen door squeaked open and whacked shut. A large woman in a Doc Martens and a tattered gingham dress crunched across the gravel to greet them. Both of her arms were fully sleeved in tattoos.

“Hi!” she said. “Zippy Telmont. Y’all must be the Shapiros!”

Bettina was still in the car. Carew’s face was still streaked and puffy. Ralph was still too furious and confused to be authentically friendly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Zippy. Could you, would you mind if I just talked to my son for a minute here? Alone?”

“OK. I did think y’all were the ones on a tight schedule, but…” Zippy lowered her face to her phone and walked back into the office, murmuring to herself.

Carew glared at his father, sensing his doubts, silently accusing him of bullying. Ralph stood guilty as charged, trying to slow his breathing. And maybe it was the inhalation of cow patty fumes, but suddenly Ralph was disgusted by the dairy, and ashamed of their plan to bring friends and family there to work the land alongside the addicts and runaways Telmont employed. His hands were balled up and he wanted to get back in the car and drive away and never come back. Looking around, his gaze fixed on a brightly painted silo jutting from behind the office. It took him a moment to decipher the nursery rhyme splashed along its walls, the red and blue Holstein’s lunar leap, the laughing mutt, cheshire musician and romantically involved tablewear all waving from the back of a psychedelic haywagon. Bettina finally got out of the car, but stayed where she was, giving Ralph a chance to resolve his own outburst. Ralph just stared at the silo, hoping Carew might look at it too, and find a better message in its cartoon than anything Ralph could think of to say. Carew blew his nose and shrugged at his dad.

“Ready?” Ralph asked. Carew nodded and Bettina came to join them. Zippy loomed behind the screendoor. Ralph beckoned her and she came out and shook everyone’s hand.

“Alright!” she said, squeezing Carew’s shoulder with an absent-mindedness that felt studied. “Lemme show y’all around.”

Two weeks later, Carew Daniel Shapiro flanked Rabbi Foreman on the pulpit. Facing a sanctuary packed with family, friends and fellow congregants, Carew recited the blessings that bracketed the last four verses of Genesis 11, and his Jewish adulthood was official. He also read chapters 7-10 in Hebrew, and chanted chapters 54 and 55 from the Book of Isaiah. The pervading theme of both readings was the assurance of post-flood humanity’s survival.

In his speech, Carew got tepid laughter from a line about the flood in Genesis being “the ultimate Chapter 11.” He wondered aloud what bar mitzvah boys 1000 years ago thought about Noah. Did 600 year-old superancestors seem as improbable to pre-Enlightenment teenagers as they did to millenial ones? Or were medeival communities superstitious enough to believe such holiness and longevity were still within reach? Carew paused for effect, paying extra attention to his mother in the front row. Her eyes were glistening and he knew he was on the right track. He pivoted to a bit about how common language wasn’t much of a safeguard from miscommunication and saw that Bettina was so rapt by what her son was saying that she didn’t even look around the sanctuary to check everybody else’s reaction. Carew closed his speech by quoting God’s promise to Noah:

“So long as the earth endures,

Seedtime and harvest,

Cold and heat,

Summer and winter,

Day and night

Shall not cease.

Shabbat Shalom.”

Carew stepped back from the podium. Knowing he was a few hours away from getting bossed around by people with much bigger problems, while covered in dung, he tried to bask as presently as he could in this moment. The most prominent face in the front row now was his grandfather’s. Eddie was brimming with such pride that he unconsciously clapped a hand on his son’s thigh. And at that moment, for the first time in a long time, everything was alright with Ralph.

#shortfiction #fiction #bar mitzvah #writing #stories #Judaism #short stories #short fiction #Noah #Noah's Ark #"Tower of Babel

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dybdahltravels · 5 years

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Back to Casablanca

April 9, 2019

Bonjour and Salaam

We are in Casablanca where we started our Moroccan trip nearly 4 weeks ago. We have visited every single city listed on the map below and can honestly say that we thoroughly enjoyed each and every place.

Casablanca is a huge city and the business hub of Morocco. Casablanca like many major cities is EXPENSIVE to live in. People who work in the city and those who get paid very little money for their work - for example restaurant or hotel workers - cannot afford to live in the city and must live outside the city and make a long commute daily. Sadly, this condition exists in most cities - sometimes relatively small cities. Shortly before the trip, I heard an expose’ about this exact problem in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

We are tired. We are all fretting about the trip home and our bags are packed. I am always amazed that we reach a moment in time on each of our adventures when it is time to go. When we cross that line - IT IS TIME TO GO! Feel free to drop us off at the airport NOW, please. The day before we leave is an exercise in pleasant participation but our heads and our hearts are already gone.

We took a few hours today to see some of the sights of Casablanca beginning with the famous Hassan II Mosque. This place is magnificent. We have been to many mosques in Turkey, Bosnia, Spain, Portugal and other places BUT in Morocco it is illegal for a non-Muslim to enter a mosque. The only exception to this law is the Hassan II Mosque.

The Hassan II Mosque or Grande Mosquée Hassan is the largest mosque in Africa, and the 5th largest in the world. Its minaret is the world's tallest minaret at 210 meters or 689 feet tall. It was completed in 1993. It is exquisite!!

The mosque sits on the ocean with an entire wall of doors facing the sea. The ceiling ( pic below) opens and weather permitting, the doors and ceiling opens to enablel the people that come here to pray to pray in touch with the elements of nature.

Below is a pic from the Internet - we did not see the ceiling open but I’m sure it must be very lovely. It takes 10 minutes for the ceiling to open - FYI.

The craftsmanship is breath-taking.

The women’s prayer area is also beautiful - BUT the women and men do not pray together. The best area is designated for the men and women pray upstairs - if there is an upstairs - or behind the men if no upstairs exists. I believe it is well established that “Separate but Equal” only enhances “unequal.” Most maddening is the fact that this concept is sold as a way to honor and protect women. GRRRRRRR! But back to the building itself.

Beautiful!!!!

Above is the the qibla. The qibla designates the direction in which to pray - toward Mecca. Of course this qibla is MUCH fancier than you might see in a village mosque. We were told that every single citizen made a donation for the building of this mosque. Now I’m calling BS on that - BUT there are “reward points” (my words) for donating to the building of a mosque - so maybe the majority did contribute - but everyone? Doubtful. I’m saying, too bad nothing goes on your heavenly score card for building a school. :(

It is necessary for all worshippers to wash - or preform ablution - before praying. Below are the fountains in the basement of the Mosque for this process. The process is well defined and involved washing your hands and arms, face and feet. Each area is done in a particular way beginning on the right side and a certain number of times. Here is it done with water - but in regions where water is scarce , the ablution can be done with sand or a rock.

This cleansing reminds me of a Hammam - which is also called a Turkish bath. We were told that most Muslims in Morocco - if they can afford it - go to the Hammam once a a week. So, I decided to do it. I don’t have pictures but I can tell you what we did. You are given a robe and a small envelop with a pair of disposable panties - on size fits all and they cover almost nothing. You are led - especially if you are not wearing your glasses - into a small very hot room made of marble. The place where we had the Hammam was in a big hotel - but most communities have a Hamman for everyone to use. In the communities, they have a men’s and a women’s Hammam and large groups enter at one time. In the hotel everyone has a private room. The room has a bench and a large sink full of hot water - the bench and floor are hot. The attendant (girls for girls and boys for boys) starts pouring big dippers of water over your entire body. Then you lay down on the hot bench and the attendant puts soap all over you - front & back. Next the attendant puts on a glove that is like a scrubber mitten - and the scrubbing begins. It is rough - but it feels OK. After you are scrubbed, the attendant rinses you with the hot water again. Your head is next and you get a shampoo and a face scrub. When you are all done with the scrubbing and rinsing you lay on the hot marble bench for about 10 minutes and you get some kind of body oil - maybe argon oil - on your body and on your hair. That is a Hammam. Nora said that she didn’t have any hair left on her arms after her Hammam - and when I checked I didn’t either! I don’t know if I would ever do it again - but I’m glad I experienced it because now I know.

Back to the mosque:

I will say that we stayed too long. Naime was doing her best to explain to us the basics of Islam - and women - but we were too tired and much too skeptical of all religions to be open to her explanations. Most of us believe that religion is a great tool to control the masses and that differs not one bit regardless of what religion you are studying. It seems a little crazy and very obvious that there are huge opulent mosques, cathedrals, temples, etc, when hunger exists among the believers. The fact the a certain group of people have “discovered” the truth and their truth makes everyone else’s truth false, just doesn’t fly for me. I hope we were not rude nor disrespectful to Naime. I don’t think we were - but remember I began this post by saying, “we are tired.”

Back to our day in Casablanca.

After we left the Mosque we went to see two other places of worship, a Synagogue and a Catholic Church. Casablanca is the largest city in Morocco. As I have mentioned, Morocco was once home to many Jews and Christians but now the population of both groups is very small. We have seen a couple of Synagogues - but they are historic and not currently used. We have seen one other Church and that did have a congregation but it was very very small. In Casablanca the Synagogue and the Church are in use and active. Below is the synagogue and they were decorating for a bar mitzvah. It was a beautiful building built in the late 1940s.

Here is the church - but in the 1950s.

We made a quick stop in front of a a big square by a courthouse and the new opera house that is being built. There we saw the water guys again and took a pic. These guys walk around ringing a bell - and they carry water in a goat skin pouch and they will sell you drink for a donation. The “donation” is supposed to be made by reaching in your pocket and giving them whatever your fingers touch. I think they might make more money taking pictures - because is it polite to pay them IF you take a pic.

We paid them for the pic - but not the water. While the people in Morocco drink water from the tap - visitors are advised not to do so. Moroccan city water is treated but not like the water treatment method that is used in the US. Your body gets used to the bacteria that is left in the water after the treatment but it takes a while. To avoid the problems that the are caused by drinking the water (usually very bad diarrhea) visitors drink bottled water. We also follow this rule about food, “cook it, peel it or toss it.” For example while we are traveling we eat only cooked veggies - not raw - unless we can peel it ourselves. We eat fruit - but only fruit that can be peeled. In the US - I always rinse my fruit before I eat or serve it - but in Morocco it is the rinse water that is worrisome to travelers.

This square was filled with pigeons and people feeding pigeons. I confess that I am not a bird lover. I LOVE to listen to the birds sing. I enjoy watching them at feeders in my yard or building a nest - but I am not inclined to walk into a flock of pigeons - but that is just what we did. - for a group pic.

Then the young man taking the pic decided it would be great fun if all these bird - suddenly flew. You can see how much I liked that idea!!!!

We made one final stop inside a government building. The building was strikingly beautiful and - as always - in a place of prominence was a picture of the King - Mohammed VI.

And that stop ended our official tour. We spent what was left of the day relaxing by the hotel pool with our friends. We will all begin our long flight home tomorrow.

I have a couple more posts about things we discovered along the way and then I will sign off.

My next e-mails will be sent from Michigan.

Stay tuned.

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wahbegan · 7 years

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Gather ‘round, children, while i hyper-analyze everything in the SECOND IT (2017) trailer

As before, i’ll put this under a READ MORE both to have mercy on your poor souls and in case i need to edit anything later

1. All right, so it opens up with EDIT: Oh, i’m an idiot, shout-out to @final-gurl for pointing this out, but there’s a quick flash of what looks like Stan at his Bar Mitzvah, so i guess the narration is from him and not from Bill as i previously thought. That actually adds extra poignancy to his speech since he is in some ways the one most affected by It. Stan’s Jewish faith is something that isn’t touched on a whole lot in the book, it’s implied that his parents aren’t very strictly orthodox and maybe not even kosher, so it’s nice that they’re giving it more of a prominence in the film.

2. Now intercut with the speech is just various scenes of The Losers being The Losers, they never go swimming in a watering hole in the book either and the rest are just fairly generic walking shots, so it’s hard to analyze anything here, although it is nice to see that this movie is definitely making The Losers the focus and not the clown. We also see Bill and Bev talking a bit I assume when they first become friends, so that’s cool. This appears to be in the daytime at...their school? Maybe? Rather than her first scene hanging out with them after the movies at night right before the sink scene in the book but w/e nitpicking I dunno but either way it’s cool that they show her being added to the group cause she’s the second-to-last inductee to The Losers, the last one being Mike Hanlon. Which brings us tooooo

3. The Apocalyptic Rock Fight and yes that is what Stephen King calls it i’m not just bullshitting this out of my ass is clearly shown in this trailer and it does look way more epic than it did in the 1990 miniseries so i’m very happy about that. It’s not in a gravel pit, it’s down by the stream, but besides that it’s almost exactly like I pictured it from the book, and the shot composition is really good, I can’t fucking believe they got Oldboy’s cinematographer for this movie but I digress. Anyway, it looks to just be Henry and his two besties Belch and Vic rather than the whole gang of dudes he was with in the book, but that makes sense since they really only show up for that one scene and there’d be no reason to include them in the movie and no time to get into their little backstories at all, the audience would just be like “who the fuck are these people”

4. When Stan says “when you’re alone as a kid,” during his speech, it flashes over Ben Hanscom walking with his backpack from behind, like a “victim-being-stalked” shot, so I assume this is when he’s on his way back from the library and he’s followed and attacked by Henry Bowers and His Merry Gang of Pre-Teen Psychopaths (that one i did just bullshit out of my ass), as well as Eddie mysteriously being drawn to 29 Neibolt Street, which i mean i know is obvious and i’ve talked about before but they seem really to bank on that scene a lot like they’re clearly putting a lot of work into it and banking on it being terrifying which i think it should be

5. When Stan says “monsters,” we get a micro-second long flash of several less-than-savory human characters. First up is the couple in the car. I couldn’t tell you off-hand who they’re supposed to be, it could just be a random couple illustrating Its control over the people of Derry, i’m not sure. Next is Henry and His Merry Gang of Pre-Teen Psychopaths, who, probably due to the nature of some of their more disturbing actions, seem to have gotten an age upgrade to just be Henry Bowers and His Merry Gang of Teen Psychopaths. The one with the long black hair we see creepily grinning at Richie is Patrick Hockstetter, who i talked more about in my first trailer breakdown. Then we have the kid in the baseball cap i’m assuming is Henry’s right-hand man Belch, due to his being described as always wearing a cap in the book, then Bowers himself, and then who i assume is Vic. Vic is an interesting character he’s like The Merry Gang of Teen Psychopaths’ token nice member. Not nice, per se, but he’s the one who says i believe it’s either him or Belch cause both are sometimes freaked out by Henry’s behavior, but i BELIEVE Vic is the one who says “Jesus Christ, don’t actually cut him!!” when Henry begins carving his name into Ben Hanscom’s stomach and seems to be on the fence about defecting to the Losers towards the end. I say it’s him cause, once again, i know for a fact long black hair is Patrick and Mr. Mullet is Henry, and Belch is the one always wearing a baseball cap. Anyway, after that, we have based on the location, who i’m assuming is Norbert Keene, the pharmacist who Eddie Kaspbrak gets his asthma medication from. What’s weird about this shot is Norbert Keene isn’t....eeugh well he isn’t exactly nice but he’s not a bad guy, either, he’s the one who ends up telling Eddie basically that he doesn’t have asthma, his medication is a placebo, and his mom has Munchausen by Proxy. Here he’s grinning like a right sleazeball fucking paedophile so maybe he got an adaptational villainy upgrade? Or maybe they just deliberately picked a creepy shot. Who knows

6. Quick shot of the Losers investigating what i assume is 29 Neibolt Street, and then them all biking towards something. Probably 29 Neibolt Street as well, since Mike appears to have....some kind of gun? Now they do attack it with a gun at 29 Neibolt Street in the book, but it’s just Richie and Bill that go there, and it’s Bill’s Dad’s gun (guess how much good that does). What Mike’s carrying looks like some kind of zip gun? And if the silver canisters he’s wearing a bandolier of are supposed to be its ammunition i frankly have no idea what the fuck it is. EDIT: @final-gurl also pointed out it looks like it may be a flare gun.Due to time constraints they may have merged the scene where Richie and Bill attack it with a gun and the final confrontation with it in that house where Bev shoots it with a slingshot, but that doesn’t explain why the gun is now Mike’s or why it’s now a probably flare gun

7. This next bit is AMAZING okay so i don’t remember a scene like this ever happening from the books but this appears to be the big sewer entrance in the Barrens where they go in before the final confrontation, so like the entrance to Its lair, basically. Now even though this doesn’t look to be that or any scene from the book per se, it does give a really good sense of the characters. Bill is determined and all business, all about killing this motherfucker that killed his brother (he also doesn’t talk much, presumably to hide his stutter as they did during the first trailer), Stan Uris is Stan is kind of the Agent Scully of the Losers, he’s the last to accept anything supernatural, he’s the least able to deal with the truth, he’s the most anal-retentive and fact-oriented, and in general the most “adult” of the Losers. He’s also quiet and withdrawn. This is all sort of implied to be why he committed suicide oh spoilers in 1985 rather than go back to face It with his friends, because his mind just isn’t the kind that can deal with things like eldritch abominations. I mean he grew up to be an accountant for God’s sake. Anyway, Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier does fucking horrible impressions and accents, is infamous for them in fact, and it often gets him in trouble with the bullies. This looks to be his “Pancho Villa” voice he’s doing here, which is frequent throughout the books. He’s also the snarkiest. Eddie is a hypochondriac, mainly due to his incredibly overbearing and emotionally abusive mother. All this is very nicely demonstrated in what i think is the best indication of their characters we’ve gotten so far. Betty Ripsom, the girl they mention, we never see her death, but for some reason Pennywise is particularly fond of using her voice to taunt other victims from the drain, notably Bev in the sink scene and Betty’s parents in another unrelated scene

8. The two really quick flashes appear to be Bill in 29 Neibolt Street which we’ve also seen a lot and then also Stan Uris completely in the dark looking terrified of something so i assume that that’s when he gets locked in the Standpipe with It in the form of the children who drowned in it. That’s a really great scene, too and i’m happy that it looks like they’re adapting it because that’s the only thing really i could think of that this could be from

9. Pennywise taunting Eddie from 29 Neibolt Street. Since Eddie’s already been running away and is looking back over his shoulder, and turning into a clown and presenting balloons to his victim is usually something he’s done after he’s already terrified someone and they’ve run away. So this is probably he’s been the Leper chasing Eddie and Eddie has just gotten away. Pennywise and his balloons look weird and out of place in the shot special-effects wise, which i talked about a little bit more in my other post but yeah makes sense from a plot point of view.

Anyway, that’s it for now thanks @dirt-goddess for saying you love it when i nerd out you’re like literally the only one lmao and once again shout-out to @final-gurl for the corrections

#stephen king's it #it 2017

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keshetchai · 8 years

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So I want to clarify here: I DO think that criticisms from trans Jews and trans conversion students are 100% necessary and important discussions to have. I understand that I - frankly - don’t or can’t “get it” the way people who have a personal stake in the matter do, and I’m not trying to shut that down re: that other post, but I kinda felt like we were ultimately having a conversation that was gonna fly way over the (gentile) OP’s head.

I want to apologize for not responding to all my reblogs or addressing everything - people were making great and critical points that deserve to be seen. But also that particular post and my initial response to it “here’s the logic behind this thing, please don’t insinuate it’s barbaric/stupid/proof religion is Dumb,” was geared for explaining something at the level of “It’s not stupid for religious people to do this” rather than like the deeper questions of who we require to do it, how we police it within the community, if that’s in need of re-thinking, how do we address biological centrism, and what does it mean for trans men and all women (be they cis or trans)?

And those two conversations eventually do overlap. It’s a large part of why I think the progressive movements are always hesitant to make circumcision totally optional because A.) it is something many countries ban or try to ban in order to discriminate against Jews and B.) if some Jews give it up, Antisemites will push for *all* Jews to give it up if it’s declared “optional” to the religion. Because it returns back to defending it on the level of “it’s stupid” or “it doesn’t make sense or mean anything.”

It does make sense, and it does mean something though. Progressive Judaism will have a hard time navigating the “how can we adapt what makes sense and is meaningful about this mitzvah for more people?” If we don’t address the basic premise of its sense and meaning.

Which is not to say that I think we should put the question and the criticisms on the backburner for the sake of not exposing the Gentiles to “more reasons to force us to stop this altogether” - but rather to say our ability to handle this issue internally increases if we can explain the reasoning for the mitzvot and even provide the logic to Gentiles who are criticizing it. Ideally I want progressive Judaism to say “this thing has a lot of deep ritual meaning and we’ve been doing it for thousands of years. However, to bring more people into the process of the ritual and address trans/non-binary identities, we’ve looked at what the ritual consists of, why we do it, and why people continued to do it - and then we looked at what we can do to legitimize alternatives, how we can align alternatives with the original intent of the ritual, and how we can maintain the integrity of tradition in addition to being progressive.”

Circumcision will probably never completely end or stop in Judaism, so I would hope that the progressive stance would be “here’s a spectrum of how we can approach the entering into the covenant for people” and that still needs the clarification of “here’s why this is important/worthwhile *and* here’s why alternatives to that are equally important and worthwhile.” But also Gentiles just need to be told "it's not stupid just because you didn't understand it."

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

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3 Musketeers recently announced its first new flavor in six years. It is called “Birthday Cake,” and according to the press release, it features “vanilla-flavored nougat and colorful sprinkles covered in rich milk chocolate.”

This certainly sounds cake-inspired, in that some cakes are vanilla and some vanilla cakes have sprinkles. I agree; I, too, have partaken in such cakes. I have also eaten chocolate cakes, though, that I believed were birthday cakes, and red velvet birthday cakes, and once a rum cake that was also in commemoration of aging.

Is there a type of cake that is for birthdays? Have I been doing birthdays wrong? When did we decide that “birthday cake” had a distinct flavor somehow different than “graduation cake” or “bat mitzvah cake”?

The list of products designed to taste like birthday cake is long. In 2012, for example, Oreo introduced a limited edition birthday cake Oreo to celebrate the brand’s 100th birthday. The Huffington Post described them as having a “strong vanilla aroma” and tasting like “someone slathered an Oreo with vanilla frosting out of a can.” (This is praise.) Like the 3 Musketeers, it featured “flecks of rainbow sprinkles.”

A year later, USA Today reported at least 17 “birthday-cake flavored new products” had recently hit the market, including, but not limited to, Good Humor birthday cake bars, and party cake Peeps. 2014 saw the coming of the short-lived birthday cake M&M, which was billed, cryptically, as “delicious milk chocolate infused with birthday cake flavor.”

As time marches on, birthday cake has continued to proliferate: Airheads, the candy shaped like a slap bracelet, released a birthday cake flavor in celebration of itself in 2016. “Your mouth just pools with saliva the second you bite into this thing,” one poet-reviewer wrote of the experience, “but at least it’s cake-flavored saliva.” That year, the New York Times announced the coming of the “Funfetti Explosion.” Funfetti, to be clear, is basically the same as most interpretations of birthday cake: yellow base, with mixed-in rainbow sprinkles.

Now there are birthday cake Red Vines, which are counterintuitive, in that they are not red (technically they are twistettes), and birthday cake Auntie Anne’s pretzels, which are surprising, because they are pretzels. According to Nielsen, the flavor “birthday cake” has seen sales increase “more than 29 percent since 2017.”

“The Birthday Cake flavor is vanilla cake and sprinkles mixed in,” offers a representative for Halo Top, which makes a birthday flavored frozen dessert. “The flavor profile is basically the texture of eating vanilla cake batter with sprinkles!”

“I think it means box-mix or grocery store yellow cake that tastes mostly like butter, egg yolks, sugar, and lots of artificial vanilla extract,” says Kristen Miglore, creative director at Food52, and author of Genius Desserts. The colorful sprinkles don’t really do anything in terms of flavor, but they “really drive home the birthday vibes visually.”

Annette Warrell-Jones, marketing manager at the Warrell Corporation, a candy manufacturer, which is, at this very moment, working on a “natural birthday cake-flavored” cotton candy, agrees that, in her estimation, the flavor of birthday cake is essentially vanilla batter. Everyone agrees on this: Birthday cake is vanilla. Birthday cake has sprinkles.

I want to know when we all decided this, but nobody will tell me. It is just the natural order of the universe. It is what a birthday is.

“Our mission is to spread small moments of joy with our fans and this latest flavor brings that celebratory feeling to the everyday,” the 3 Musketeers press release patiently explains. It occurs to me at this point that it would be difficult for 3 Musketeers to release a chocolate birthday cake bar, since 3 Musketeers bars are chocolate already. It occurs to me “yellowcake” is also a form of concentrated uranium.

Leah Morrow, executive pastry chef of the Williamsburg Hotel and Brooklyn Bread Lab, suggests the tyranny of yellow cake with sprinkles stems from our collective longing for lost youth. “It is nostalgic to see something cream colored with flecks of color, like a vanilla cake with vanilla icing and sprinkles,” she says. It is not that birthday cake even has to remind you of your childhood in particular, but just a childhood. The concept of childhood.

“It’s a children’s flavor, and children celebrate birthdays with a gusto,” suggests Warrell-Jones. Birthday cake, as a flavor, is the simplest kind of birthday cake, cheerfully uncomplicated, the primary colors of cake. Birthday cake is basic, and it is pretty, and in an ironic twist of anti-aging, it reminds us all of when we were basic and pretty, too.

“I believe that a birthday cake is a cake made specifically for who’s birthday it is!” Morrow tells me. But as we have learned by now, birthday cake (cake) and birthday cake (flavor) are not the same.

Birthday cake is part of a shared mythology. It is the default all-American cake, just like the golden retriever is the default all-American dog. Unlike yellowcake it has no war baggage; unlike wedding cake it comes with no responsibilities. It is gleefully unsophisticated. That’s the point.

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Original Source -> The weird hegemony of “birthday cake” flavor

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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kidsviral-blog · 6 years

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How “Black-ish” Reflects My Own Experience As A Black Person In America

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/how-black-ish-reflects-my-own-experience-as-a-black-person-in-america/

How “Black-ish” Reflects My Own Experience As A Black Person In America

ABC’s new family sitcom — the No. 1 new comedy of the season — isn’t just challenging the largely lily-white comedy lineup of the networks, it’s doing something more: reminding me of my own childhood.

View this image ›

ABC, Carsey-Werner Productions, Courtesy of Kelley Carter

Grandma Louise’s voice comes in just as clear as day, when I overheard her talking to my parents, describing my childhood experience: fly in the churn of buttermilk.

I was the fly. The buttermilk was the all-white world I was growing up in. I would never know the struggle that my parents did — Dad grew up in the South and was a college freshman in Montgomery, Alabama, by the time the civil rights movement hit its height, and Mom grew up on Detroit’s lower west side, where they were busing kids all over the city in order to force segregation.

My life was vastly different, and it came with its own set of problems. In your formative years, you often see yourself through the prism of your friends. In third grade, we had a project where we all had to write about ourselves as if we were entries in a dictionary. In my description, I wrote I had blonde hair and blue eyes. In sixth grade at a school dance — one of the first times I wasn’t one of the only black kids in class — a group of my friends and I all were dancing, trying to imitate what we saw the black kids doing. I was surprised when one of the girls strolled up to me and whispered, knowingly, “Look at them trying to dance like us.” She looked at me like I was crazy when I gave her my reply. “I’m trying to dance like y’all too. Teach me.”

I was the fly.

My parents unknowingly signed up for this battle when they decided that having a decent salary and good academic pedigree meant taking your family out to the suburbs. With few exceptions in this country, when you’re black, that typically means being sans people who look like you.

That’s why I laughed. I laughed loud and hard last weekend when I finally gave ABC’s new show Black-ish a second chance. I’d seen the pilot months ago, and while I was intrigued and, well, publicly championing a show that featured an affluent black family with a prime spot on network TV to anyone who asked me, I wasn’t quite sold on it. The pilot was loaded, and featured lesson on top of lesson on top of lesson. Dre (Anthony Anderson) is from the â€˜hood. Dre promised his mom and dad (Laurence Fishburne) he’d get a good education and get out of the â€˜hood. Dre is married to Rainbow (Tracee Ellis Ross), who is a doctor. Ooh, look: Black people can earn college degrees! See?!

Then there was the teen son who wanted a bar mitzvah, and the African rites of passage ceremony, and the lesson on keeping it real.

I thought it was doing too much. The couple’s oldest son prefers field hockey to hoops. Then there was the honorary brother handshake. The wannabe honorary brother who whispers when he wants to know the mundane: “How would a black guy say â€˜good morning’?” All in the first episode.

It was funny. But, yawn. Most of us live this without a laugh track. And to me, there wasn’t much else to say. I wasn’t keen on the idea of a weekly show that essentially could end with “…and that’s your lesson of the day on black people, America…” because quite frankly, I get tired of tutorials.

Still, I made a commitment to watch the show. I want it to do well. As a black journalist who covers the entertainment industry, I need it to do well — it gives me a chance to write and report on stories that are important to me, and to the readership I hope to serve. Plus, at the end of the day, I do like seeing reflections of myself, my family, and my social circle play out on screen.

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Justine Zwiebel for BuzzFeed

The early success of Black-ish is undeniable. It’s ABC’s No. 1 new comedy and has attracted an audience as diverse as, well, America.

So I watched. And I fell out (and tweeted it out) when Anderson’s Andre Johnson uttered my grandmother’s buttermilk phrase almost verbatim, in reference to his children’s academic experience. And I chuckled when I watched Andre and his wife Rainbow bumble their way through executing disciplinary action on their kids, because they were whipped as kids, but didn’t know if that was the right course for them. It was hilarious when Dre wasn’t quite so sure that his kid’s teacher could teach a lesson on Harriet Tubman (in spite of her impressive academic background) because, well, she isn’t black. And I audibly LOL-ed when Dre tried to teach his son Andre Jr. (who would rather be called Andy because it sounds “more approachable”) the importance of the Negro head nod.

But the best part was in a recent episode where Dre is concerned his son doesn’t have any black friends and goes out to find some for him. (Hi, Mom.)

That so was my parents.

Yes, Dad grew up in small-town Alabama and Mom in big-city Detroit, but her parents migrated from Alabama themselves, hoping to escape the carnage of the pre–civil rights south. My folks met in grad school, a few years after Dad — who pledged the same fraternity as Martin Luther King Jr. and Thurgood Marshall, both of whom came to fraternal meetings to inspire their young brothers to get involved in the movement — moved to Detroit.

They connected because they were both the second-born children in their large families, and my mom says that she fell for my dad’s strong sense of family. They were their parents’ dreams; the very idea that two kids from the sticks and the ghetto, respectively, could grow up to be well-educated black folks with letters behind their names, was feted in my family.

By the time I came along, they were living in a two-story house with a two-car garage and a pool in the back. It all felt so… American Dream-ish. We moved around a lot, mostly living in college towns, and our neighborhoods often had one thing in common: lack of diversity. That speaks more to the socioeconomic realities of our country, and less about my parents trying to escape black people. They weren’t. But what they were trying to do was allow their daughter to grow up in the best neighborhoods they could afford. The unexpected turn of that were the things I’m sure my parents hadn’t accounted for. My life was being a Brownie (and the only brownie in the bunch!), longing for blonde hair and blue eyes (like my BFFs!), and wanting to put suntan lotion on my chocolate brown skin (my friends all did it!).

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Guess which member of this Brownies troop I am? Kelley L. Carter

That brings me back to Black-ish. I get it and it speaks to me. Loudly. One of my favorite throwback sitcoms was Family Ties. Brilliant show, that was: Two former peacemaking hippies grow up to rear children under a Republican presidency in the 1980s. Masterful. And funny. And that built-in tension coupled with relatable storylines? Magic. And I’d be remiss if I failed to mention The Cosby Show, which premiered on my birthday. I can still remember watching in awe a family that actually was my family. That premiere came 30 years ago, and proved that American families may look different, but share innate commonalities. It also illustrated that nuclear families can also be brown. And… upper-middle class. More importantly, I’m guessing it made the pitch for a show like Black-ish, perhaps its spiritual descendant, all the easier. There was no need to explain that black people can carry a sitcom in spite of their blackness.

With Black-ish, you have two parents who were able to attend college and navigate fantastic careers — she’s an ER doctor, he’s an SVP for a marketing company — and because of that success, they’re able to live in the best neighborhood their salaries can afford. But here’s the rub: You’ve got four brown children who stand out. And who don’t share your struggles. And who sometimes look at you cockeyed because when you describe your struggles or the struggles of your parents, they don’t get it. The president is black. The President, man. “Obama’s the first black president?! He’s the only president I’ve ever known,” little Jack (Miles Brown) says over a dinner of baked fried chicken. The leader of the free world looks like them, has a family who looks like them, and by the way, so do a whole lot of other successful people we collectively celebrate.

But there’s still this idea of knowing where you come from. You have to be armed with it, no matter how flowery your childhood is. There’s almost nothing more jarring than to be the kid who grew up in Utopia, who never had a moment of friction, and then go off to a PWI — Predominantly White Institution — and discover at 18 that you’re black. You know… black. And what being black means.

Thankfully, that wasn’t my experience, because the second my mother saw me lathering suntan oil on my arms and spritzing my Jheri curl (it was the ’80s!) with Aqua Net, she rounded me up, took me to the bookstore, and bought up everything in the African-American collection. It was important to my parents that in spite of the world they were able to allow me to exist in — and become an adult in — that I carry the most important pieces of me, with me.

And of course, to be OK with my blackness. Not my “blackishness,” but my blackness. Because even though being black isn’t a monolith experience — there’s an important, shared cultural experience that we all should be equipped with, be mindful of, and celebrate.

Just like Blackish‘s Dre and Rainbow are trying to do.

ABC / yugottabesonice.tumblr.com

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/kelleylcarter/how-black-ish-reflects-my-own-experience-as-a-black-person-i

#abc #ABC comedy #anthony anderson #blackish #Tracee Ellis Ross

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