It's beginning to look a lot like...

...Thanksgivukkah!

Never before and never again in this lifetime will there be a holiday mashup quite as awesome as what's in store tomorrow: Thanksgivukkah. The Pilgrims and the Maccabees, both champions of religious freedom, will share a day tomorrow, which they won't do again for another 70,000 years:

"This year, Thanksgiving and Hanukkah will overlap, producing an anomalistic hybrid holiday that’s come to be known as Thanksgivukkah. There are conflicting reports about whether it’s happened before and when it will happen again, but most mathematicians and calendar experts seem to think this is the first occurrence. Although the holidays would’ve overlapped in 1861, President Abraham Lincoln didn’t formally establish the holiday of Thanksgiving until two years later, in 1863, which means that 2013/5774 will mark the first Thanksgivukkah in history. 

Just how rare is this holiday? Some reports say Thanksgivukkah will happen again in 2070; others, like Jewish physicist and calendar expert Jonathan Mizrahi, say it won’t repeat itself until 79811. Either way, it’s safe to say that for most of us, Thanksgivukkah is, indeed, a once-in-a-lifetime event."                     

-ReformJudaism.org

To celebrate, I've put on my "Sweet Genius" hat and am preparing to make hybrid desserts to honor both holidays. I truly don't remember the last time I was this excited to bake. It's a Thanksgivukkah miracle!

Right now, it looks like a bodega threw up on my kitchen counter...

... but tomorrow it will look like culinary crossover creativity. I hope.

An unexpected answer

18-year-old Cheryl with Aunt Ruthie and cousin Ellen
(along with Uncle Sam and cousins Ricky and Allen)

At last night's Women's Passover Seder, the leader posed the question, "Which woman/women from your life had the biggest influence on you (Judaically speaking)?" The first participant spoke about her mother. Pondering the question for myself, my mind turned to my own mother. No doubt, she has influenced me in many ways, the vast majority of which I'm truly grateful for, but she'd be the first to tell you that she had little to do with my present-day observance of Judaism. The next participant spoke about her grandmother. And so my mind turned to my 95-year-old Gram from the Bronx and my Grandma Lil, who I only knew for a few years before Alzheimer's transformed her into a stranger. I learned a LOT of Yiddish from Gram; I didn't realize how much I knew until I started having regular conversations with Jewish people outside my family. "You probably don't know all these words I'm using. They're Yiddish," an older someone from my community once said. "Actually, I do," I responded in surprise. But how? I thought to myself. And then I remembered how my Gram, when I was younger, would give me a rough English translation after every Yiddish word and phrase she used. Eventually - unknowingly - they became part of my vocabulary. According to my dad, I would have learned equally as much about Jewish cooking from my Grandma Lil, but by the time I was old enough to understand, let alone appreciate, the meaning of her keeping a Kosher kitchen, she was too far gone for me to learn from her. She did take me to synagogue for the very first time, but I was so young that the only thing I remember about the experience was the Stella Dora cookie I ate there. Her sister, my great-aunt Rose, popped into my mind next, as I remembered that her kugel was the first one I ever tried. Aunt Rose, Uncle Arnie, and their daughter Barbara gave me my first taste (that I can remember) of Jewish observance, as I watched Barbara's oldest son, who wore a kippah (yarmulke), wash his hands and say a blessing before our meal. Would my answer then be my aunt? Or would it be my Great Aunt Ruthie or my cousin Ellen, both of whom introduced me to the rituals of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur? As I discussed it with Hubby later in the evening, I realized that while these strong Jewish women were definitely influences, my answer was surprisingly not them.

We're on a camel!

The woman who was the biggest influence on my Jewish identity was a young college student who was virtually a stranger to me. Last minute, Rachel was "randomly" placed as my third roommate on our Birthright Israel trip. Nervous about accidentally offending our other, Orthodox roommate with my lack of knowledge about Judaism, I relied on Rachel to answer my questions about keeping Shabbat, which she did with the utmost patience and respect, never once making me feel as stupid as I was afraid I sounded. At services, she explained the unfamiliar prayers that I now say from memory every weekend. She unlocked for me what I thought could only be accessed with a key given to you at Hebrew school.

Rachel and I remained friends after we returned to the States. Continuing to live Jewishly together on the University of Florida campus, Rachel helped me host my very first Passover Seder, guiding me through the foreign rituals, and helped me navigate the dining hall so that I didn't accidentally eat anything I shouldn't. After college, Rachel introduced me to Temple life, and years later, I was by her side as a bridesmaid in her Jewish wedding, as she was by my side at mine.

Had I had a roommate who was not as open as Rachel, not as patient and understanding and nonjudgmental, I might not have had the same Jewish experience, might not be living Jewishly the way I do today. And so it is to Rachel that I raise my Manischewitz, with sincere gratitude for her selfless sharing of knowledge and the hope that I can pay it forward.

I'm leeeeaving on a jet plane...

The best gift I've given myself this year is that of travel. From the weeklong vacation I took to California at the beginning of January to see a dear friend get married, visit my dad, and meet my stepfamily

source image

to a Memorial Day reunion with my best friend in Chicago

to the impromptu Charleston dinner cruise I took with Hubby during the summer

to our return trip to Charleston over Thanksgiving weekend...

these little getaways provided much-needed mental holidays. Though the trip I'm leaving for today is not purely a vacation - I'm attending the URJ/WRJ Biennial in D.C. as a representative of my temple's sisterhood - I'm looking forward to one last getaway, catching up with people I haven't seen in over a decade, having fun with new friends, and OMG hearing the President of the United States speak.

Yes, the best gift - one that I am incredibly grateful for - is being fortunate enough to travel and experience fun times with good friends.

Here's to a new year!

http://comments.funmunch.com/rosh-hashanah-comment-2227.html

L'Shanah Tovah! For those of us who practice the Jewish faith, it's the eve of a new year. As I throw bread into the lake tomorrow afternoon, a ritual known as tashlich, symbolizing the castoff of the year's transgressions, I will also symbolically purge all the negativity that has been standing in my own way. Asking for forgiveness of others for mistakes I have made, I will also forgive myself for plans unfulfilled and goals unachieved. Releasing the bread crumbs from my hand, I will let go of the past year, no longer dwelling on what did or didn't happen but instead looking forward to all the possibilities that come with a metaphorical clean slate. 

In the days leading up to Erev Rosh Hashanah, I have of course reflected much on who I've been and what I've done (and, more obviously to me, haven't done) this year, as well as where I want to go from here, as is custom. But instead of doing a lot of paca-paca (talking) about it, I am resolved for the changes to be reflected, and thus apparent to you, in my future actions. Here's to a happy 5772!

Growing Up Different, Trying to Look the Same

This post was inspired by Natasha Solomons' Mr. Rosenblum Dreams in English. 

I received a complimentary copy of the book for review through the online book club, From Left to Write. You can read additional posts inspired by the book here.

As one of only two Jewish kids growing up in a small northern town where the John Birch Society was still active, assimilating is something I did without thinking about it. I always knew we were "different," and while I personally didn't mind it (I was always grateful that I didn't have to sit on a creepy old guy's lap to get presents), I didn't want anyone else to see me as such. I wore the chai my nana gave me tucked into my shirt, I said "Christmas" instead of "Chanukah" when talking to my friends, and I even played the Star of Bethlehem in my Montessori's Christmas play (I'm pretty sure I thought I was playing the Statue of Liberty... if you saw the pictures, you'd understand).

When we moved to Central Florida, I finally met other kids who were "like me." (I almost did a backflip when the first boy to introduce himself to me said that his last name was Schwartz.) It was great to have friends I could play dreidel with and go to the movies with on Christmas day, but not much changed: I was outwardly Jewish when we were together, but I quickly decorated a Chanukah bush before one of my Christian friends came to my house to exchange presents.

In high school, my circle of Jewish friends grew. Finally, there were enough of us to have a club: The Skinny Jewish Honor Society. Obviously, it wasn't a real club, but it was a natural camaraderie that I had yet to feel until then. It was also the first time I remember hearing "Jewish humor" and Yiddish idioms from people other than my family not on TV. I no longer had to remember to say "butt" instead of "tush" for fear of people looking at me weirdly, a thing much more significant than it sounds.

Surprisingly (to me, at least), my first "real" boyfriend was Jewish. I remember going to his sister's bat mitzvah after we had gone our separate ways. It was the first time I had been to a synagogue since going with my Grandma Lil when I was little, so little that the only thing I remember about the experience was the Stella Dora cookies at the Oneg. I felt lost and out of place among my own people.

When I started college at UNC Charlotte, I was the shiny, new Jew once again. If I had received a quarter for every time someone had told me, "You're the first Jewish person I've ever met," I wouldn't have needed all those student loans. My extended family lived two hours away in Greensboro, a very Jewish area of North Carolina, and it was during my visits with them that I became more comfortable in synagogue. Still, when I went back to campus, I left my Judaism at the door.

Moving to the University of Florida two years later, I felt like I had hit the mother load of Jews. Where did they all come from? I thought. (The answer was Boca.) I never knew so many Jewish people existed in one place outside of New York. Over time, I became active in Hillel, went to Israel, and began living Jewishly - openly. I finally rediscovered a part of myself that I hadn't realized I lost through assimilation.

When I returned home, waiting to start my graduate program, I attended Shabbat services on a regular basis at a temple I never knew existed, though it had been standing a short distance from my home for twice as long as I had been alive at the time. My friends knew that if they wanted to hang out on Friday night, it would be after services; there was no pretending of where I was or what I was doing.

There is still sometimes pressure to assimilate. Teaching at a rural school in Northern Florida, I was basically told to "just go with it" when I objected to them playing Christmas movies over closed-circuit TV after final exams. Go with it I did not. I brought in my DVD player and showed one of the movies from our English department's approved list instead.

These days, I'm no longer interested in assimilating. I'm confident in how I practice my faith. Though I participate in Christmas celebrations more often than not, I do it out of love for my Christian friends and in-laws, not out of desire or pressure to fit in with the majority. Our Jewish traditions are beautiful. They should be celebrated proudly, not in secret.