Problems, problems from head (figuratively) to foot (literally)
Well, I've been thinking a lot about the upcoming elections, trying to decide who to vote for. And of course, that gets me thinking about a possible future disengagement-- Good or bad? If good, now? If good, and now, is it doable?-- geez, you could think yourself in circles over this issue alone!-- and the Israeli economy, which are the two issues most important to me. Like most other Israelis, I have no pretence of voting for a party that might bring peace at this point, but rather thinking about what is the least evil of our options right now . . . given that there can't be peace in anyone's wildest imaginations . . . because Hamas won the frickin' elections next door. So it's about disengagement. And the economy. And, boy, is my head is full of election-related thoughts. Must. Write. An. Election. Post.
I'm also thinking about the humanitarian crisis among the Palestinians, but every time I think about that, my mind reminds me that they voted in Hamas, and then an internal struggle ensues in which I try really, really hard to focus on the children who are about to run out of food, instead of mentally giving their Hamas-voting parents the finger. Mentally giving them the finger is really immature and unproductive. It's just that, well . . . even if they voted for Hamas because to them Hamas represents stability and lack of corruption, it means that for them, the destruction of Israel -- the destruction of me in a bombing or a stabbing or a shooting-- is acceptable collateral damage. And so all the brain cells that I used to spend worrying about their humanitarian crisis, I'm now more inclined to spend worrying about any of the other dozens of humanitarian crises on this planet. Except that the Palestinians live next door, and our lives and economies and destinies are so intertwined with each other's, that their crisis is our crisis. I actually really don't want them to go hungry-- we must be better than that-- and yet . . . and yet . . . they voted in Hamas. The voters have spoken, and they don't really care if I die. So why should I care if they are hungry? Why should I expend effort voicing concern for them, if my death is something they were willing to vote for? And yet . . . if small children are running out of flour and other basic necessities, right next door, then how can I not care?
Damn, damn, damn.
. . .
. . .
Damn.
. . .
Anyway, back to the election, I definitely have a lot of posts about this. However, they'll have to wait because I seem to have sprained my ankle this afternoon. It's not very bad (doesn't even look swollen), but it hurts to stand on it. So instead of writing an election post, or doing anything else productive, I am sitting at my desk with my foot on a chair with a bag of ice, watching the first four episodes of Babylon 5 on DVD.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Friday, March 10, 2006
Visit to the Other Side
On February 27, I wrote about how I think a lot of the perceived animosity that Orthodox people supposedly have toward the non-Orthodox is just that -- perceived, but not real. Meaning, in many cases, non-Orthodox Jews, and non-Jews, assume that Orthodox people are closed, unfriendly, condescending, etc etc and therefore don't even try to get to know any Orthodox Jews. Many of those people, when they do get to know Orthodox Jews, find that their stereotypes were all wrong, that it wasn't Orthodox Jews who had the problem, it was they who had the problem. If you meet people halfway, they will often come to you.
Now, I thought I'd qualified my post enough, but I got skewered in the comments anyway. Obviously, much depends on which Orthodox community you are talking about. I can't vouch for everyone's friendliness or the hospitality of every synagogue. I also know that many synagogues have a very cold atmosphere, and you'd have to spend a lot of time there to find the people who would be nice to you and open up to you.
I just know that the Orthodox people I hang out with are very cool to everyone, whether they are Orthodox or not, and the synagogue I attend is very friendly and welcomes everyone, no matter how you are dressed or how much or how little you know about Judaism. And no matter how much money you have. And no matter what your marital status is, or your color, or if your kids are adopted, or if you are disabled, or whatever. There are Orthodox Jews who are way cool. Yes, I myself have had to search to find a community I like, but it's there. My point being, I work hard not to wear the "veil of mystery" that I complained about in that last post, and I resent the stereotype that just because I'm Orthodox, my lifestyle is a state secret and that I'm somehow exotic and enigmatic, or backward.
Anyhow, last week I had a chance to put my idea to a test. The wife of my Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) third cousin, S., recently gave birth to their ninth child, and invited me to a kiddush (sort of an after-synagogue party with cakes, cookies, soda, and a little alcohol) at their home. Now, you have to understand some background:
But would their neighbors, who have no obligation to be nice to me, even acknowledge my presence? What would they make of me? I felt like I was entering the lion's den . . . that is, I felt, going into this kiddush, what I bet a lot of not-Orthodox people feel when they are going into an Orthodox environment. Of course, I had the advantage that, being in S's home, I clearly had some connection to them - I had an "in." But still, just how weird would I be perceived to be by S's friends, who had never met me? How uncomfortable would I feel . . . and how uncomfortable would I be made to feel?
The kiddush was a very sweet little affair. S and his wife, C, had invited over several families from the neighborhood. The dining room was set up for S to receive the men, and a large table was brought into a bedroom, where the women hung out. (S and C live in a three-bedroom apartment - there's not much room for anything, so improvisation is key. And of course the men and women can't mingle, God forbid!) The baby had been born two weeks before, and the neighborhood ladies had pitched in with making cakes and cookies and kugels. S's oldest son, who is 11 1/2, also made a delicious cake (leading to a discussion by some of the women about how, even though they think it's weird for a boy to want to cook, some of them have sons who really want to try, and they don't want to squelch their childrens' creativity, so they let the boys cook sometimes). Between the hours of 10-12, people came in and out, stopping by between synagogue services and Shabbat lunch at their homes.
Since I was staying for lunch, I was introduced to every woman who came in. It was hard for them to ignore me, since the room was small and S's kids were climbing into my lap. Obviously I'd been there before. Almost everyone asked "So, how do you know C?" and I would say "S is my third cousin."
Here is my report about the reactions:
The first woman I met responded "Oh . . . I didn't know S had . . . such a relative . . . here." Wo. How am I supposed to respond to that? I just said "Yes, he does." The woman seemed to realize that she'd made a faux pas and recovered as quickly as she could, making polite conversation. After a few minutes she went home for lunch. Not a good start!
Most of the women said "oh, that's nice" and then, unless they were busy tending to their own kids, asked me more questions like where I live, what I do, etc. As happens in most polite social situations, they responded simply with "oh, how nice," and didn't register any opinion about what I'd said. If they thought that I'm strange, they kept that to themselves. I had no way to know what they thought.
Finally, I was vindicated. Close to the end of the kiddush, I'd moved to the end of the table to make room for more ladies, so I was sitting next to the wall. Across from me was a woman about my age (it turns out she's a little younger than I am) in a white snood, and her three children were running around on the porch with S's kids. Since we were both trapped near the wall, we had no choice but to make conversation.
And you know what, this woman was really, really nice. She asked me questions that went beyond superficial things -- like she was really interested in my life -- and she shared personal stories about herself and the way she sees things. I don't mean that we became best friends, just that she obviously is a person with whom it's easy to connect. When she came to understand that one of the reasons I don't visit S and C more often is that it's a little overwhelming for me to spend 25 hours with their 9 kids, she immediately invited me to stay at her house (she has more room and only three kids) any time I want. And she was so friendly, I felt genuinely excited about taking her up on the offer.
Yes, it's true I had an "in." But what I learned is if you stick around long enough, you might find the cool people. And there usually are cool people. No stereotype will "stick" 100 percent of the time.
**
This episode brings up another question for me.
In the Modern Orthodox world, people sometimes throw a party called a "simchat bat" in honor of a new daughter. See, when a boy is born, there is often a party called a "shalom zachor." This is in addition to the bris, when there is another party in honor of the new child. Orthodox feminists raised the question: Why should there be parties when a boy is born, but not when a girl is born? So instead of a "shalom zachor," they throw a "simchat bat" to acknowledge their happiness at having a new baby daughter.
This is all very nice and good and sweet and feminist, but what I don't understand is how is this some feminist revolution in Orthodoxy? The ultra-Orthodox, as I noted above, throw a kiddush in honor of a new baby girl. Maybe not all haredim, but definitely many. There is even a superstition that if a woman is having trouble getting married, it's because her parents didn't throw her a kiddush when she was born (depriving the new baby of having people wish her and her family "mazal tov"). Throwing a kiddush for a girl, while perhaps not universally expected, is clearly not unusual in any way.
So the haredim call it a kiddush, and the Modern Orthodox call it a simchat bat, but what's really the difference? A party is a party. Obviously people in both communities are thrilled when they have a new baby girl, and get their friends together for nosh to celebrate. How is the simchat bat a new idea? It seems to me that it's an old idea with a new, more trendy, name.
If any of you readers can explain this to me, please educate me!
Have a Shabbat shalom.
On February 27, I wrote about how I think a lot of the perceived animosity that Orthodox people supposedly have toward the non-Orthodox is just that -- perceived, but not real. Meaning, in many cases, non-Orthodox Jews, and non-Jews, assume that Orthodox people are closed, unfriendly, condescending, etc etc and therefore don't even try to get to know any Orthodox Jews. Many of those people, when they do get to know Orthodox Jews, find that their stereotypes were all wrong, that it wasn't Orthodox Jews who had the problem, it was they who had the problem. If you meet people halfway, they will often come to you.
Now, I thought I'd qualified my post enough, but I got skewered in the comments anyway. Obviously, much depends on which Orthodox community you are talking about. I can't vouch for everyone's friendliness or the hospitality of every synagogue. I also know that many synagogues have a very cold atmosphere, and you'd have to spend a lot of time there to find the people who would be nice to you and open up to you.
I just know that the Orthodox people I hang out with are very cool to everyone, whether they are Orthodox or not, and the synagogue I attend is very friendly and welcomes everyone, no matter how you are dressed or how much or how little you know about Judaism. And no matter how much money you have. And no matter what your marital status is, or your color, or if your kids are adopted, or if you are disabled, or whatever. There are Orthodox Jews who are way cool. Yes, I myself have had to search to find a community I like, but it's there. My point being, I work hard not to wear the "veil of mystery" that I complained about in that last post, and I resent the stereotype that just because I'm Orthodox, my lifestyle is a state secret and that I'm somehow exotic and enigmatic, or backward.
Anyhow, last week I had a chance to put my idea to a test. The wife of my Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) third cousin, S., recently gave birth to their ninth child, and invited me to a kiddush (sort of an after-synagogue party with cakes, cookies, soda, and a little alcohol) at their home. Now, you have to understand some background:
- These relatives live in an extremely cloistered Haredi neighborhood, the kind with signs everywhere that say "Ladies! Please respect the residents of our neighborhood and dress modestly. Modesty means long sleeves and skirts, skirts without slits, and married women should cover their hair. Do not lessen the sanctity of our neighborhood. 'Those who love Torah will be blessed with long life.'"
- In this neighborhood, I stick out like a sore thumb. Sure, I was wearing long sleeves and a (very) long skirt. But . . . I can't describe this . . . my clothes just obviously are not the same style as that worn in the subculture I was visiting. Technically it was alright and wouldn't offend anyone, but stylistically it said "outsider" all over it. Then there was the fact that I was wearing sneakers, a clue-in that (driving on Shabbat being prohibited) I had to walk from way, waaaaaaay outside the neighborhood (an hour and a quarter each way, in fact -- thank God the weather was gorgeous last week!). And finally, my hair is uncovered. Since I'm clearly over the age of 19, my having my hair uncovered means I'm either single (and what business do I have being single at my age, and what else might I be doing with my time?) or I'm married but - gasp!- have not covered my hair. Either way, I'm an oddity.
- I've been to S's house on a few occasions, so the kids know me. Apparently, they really love it when I come over. The parents are nice to me too.
- For all that they are nice to me, I have never been in the homes of these cousins without overhearing them say something so offensive it makes me want to burst into a long lecture-- which I do not do, since a) there is no point and b) it's not polite to lecture people in front of their kids, or to lecture kids about something that contradicts directly with something their parents are trying to teach them. They are very different from me. There is no way we'd be close if it weren't for the fact that we're family. But we are family, so they are nice to me, and I'm nice to them, and we maintain a relationship. They have not tried to "mekarev" me to their ways, and I have not tried to change their minds about things (much) . . . I go, I play with the kids, we share stories (carefully avoiding certain topics) and that's it.
But would their neighbors, who have no obligation to be nice to me, even acknowledge my presence? What would they make of me? I felt like I was entering the lion's den . . . that is, I felt, going into this kiddush, what I bet a lot of not-Orthodox people feel when they are going into an Orthodox environment. Of course, I had the advantage that, being in S's home, I clearly had some connection to them - I had an "in." But still, just how weird would I be perceived to be by S's friends, who had never met me? How uncomfortable would I feel . . . and how uncomfortable would I be made to feel?
The kiddush was a very sweet little affair. S and his wife, C, had invited over several families from the neighborhood. The dining room was set up for S to receive the men, and a large table was brought into a bedroom, where the women hung out. (S and C live in a three-bedroom apartment - there's not much room for anything, so improvisation is key. And of course the men and women can't mingle, God forbid!) The baby had been born two weeks before, and the neighborhood ladies had pitched in with making cakes and cookies and kugels. S's oldest son, who is 11 1/2, also made a delicious cake (leading to a discussion by some of the women about how, even though they think it's weird for a boy to want to cook, some of them have sons who really want to try, and they don't want to squelch their childrens' creativity, so they let the boys cook sometimes). Between the hours of 10-12, people came in and out, stopping by between synagogue services and Shabbat lunch at their homes.
Since I was staying for lunch, I was introduced to every woman who came in. It was hard for them to ignore me, since the room was small and S's kids were climbing into my lap. Obviously I'd been there before. Almost everyone asked "So, how do you know C?" and I would say "S is my third cousin."
Here is my report about the reactions:
The first woman I met responded "Oh . . . I didn't know S had . . . such a relative . . . here." Wo. How am I supposed to respond to that? I just said "Yes, he does." The woman seemed to realize that she'd made a faux pas and recovered as quickly as she could, making polite conversation. After a few minutes she went home for lunch. Not a good start!
Most of the women said "oh, that's nice" and then, unless they were busy tending to their own kids, asked me more questions like where I live, what I do, etc. As happens in most polite social situations, they responded simply with "oh, how nice," and didn't register any opinion about what I'd said. If they thought that I'm strange, they kept that to themselves. I had no way to know what they thought.
Finally, I was vindicated. Close to the end of the kiddush, I'd moved to the end of the table to make room for more ladies, so I was sitting next to the wall. Across from me was a woman about my age (it turns out she's a little younger than I am) in a white snood, and her three children were running around on the porch with S's kids. Since we were both trapped near the wall, we had no choice but to make conversation.
And you know what, this woman was really, really nice. She asked me questions that went beyond superficial things -- like she was really interested in my life -- and she shared personal stories about herself and the way she sees things. I don't mean that we became best friends, just that she obviously is a person with whom it's easy to connect. When she came to understand that one of the reasons I don't visit S and C more often is that it's a little overwhelming for me to spend 25 hours with their 9 kids, she immediately invited me to stay at her house (she has more room and only three kids) any time I want. And she was so friendly, I felt genuinely excited about taking her up on the offer.
Yes, it's true I had an "in." But what I learned is if you stick around long enough, you might find the cool people. And there usually are cool people. No stereotype will "stick" 100 percent of the time.
**
This episode brings up another question for me.
In the Modern Orthodox world, people sometimes throw a party called a "simchat bat" in honor of a new daughter. See, when a boy is born, there is often a party called a "shalom zachor." This is in addition to the bris, when there is another party in honor of the new child. Orthodox feminists raised the question: Why should there be parties when a boy is born, but not when a girl is born? So instead of a "shalom zachor," they throw a "simchat bat" to acknowledge their happiness at having a new baby daughter.
This is all very nice and good and sweet and feminist, but what I don't understand is how is this some feminist revolution in Orthodoxy? The ultra-Orthodox, as I noted above, throw a kiddush in honor of a new baby girl. Maybe not all haredim, but definitely many. There is even a superstition that if a woman is having trouble getting married, it's because her parents didn't throw her a kiddush when she was born (depriving the new baby of having people wish her and her family "mazal tov"). Throwing a kiddush for a girl, while perhaps not universally expected, is clearly not unusual in any way.
So the haredim call it a kiddush, and the Modern Orthodox call it a simchat bat, but what's really the difference? A party is a party. Obviously people in both communities are thrilled when they have a new baby girl, and get their friends together for nosh to celebrate. How is the simchat bat a new idea? It seems to me that it's an old idea with a new, more trendy, name.
If any of you readers can explain this to me, please educate me!
Have a Shabbat shalom.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
We Ogle. You Decide.
There are so many things wrong with this whole picture, I don't even know where to start. So I'll let the report speak for itself.
And then we wonder why teenage girls become anorexic.
Blech.
There are so many things wrong with this whole picture, I don't even know where to start. So I'll let the report speak for itself.
And then we wonder why teenage girls become anorexic.
Blech.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Appreciation Wednesday
Next week is the Jewish holiday of Purim. For those of you not in the loop, Purim celebrates the events described in the Book of Esther. You can read the whole thing -- it's very dramatic!-- but to sum up, there was this powerful politician in ancient Persia named Haman who, with the cooperation of King Ahashverosh (not sure how to write that except to transliterate from the Hebrew) plotted to kill all the Jews of Persia. At the time, that was pretty much all the Jews, give or take. This took place while the Jews were in exile from Israel during the period between the First and Second Temples. I'm not an expert in Jewish history but I think we're talking about something like 2,500 years ago.
Anyhow, unbeknownst to Haman, the Queen herself, Esther, was a Secret Jew. When she revealed to her husband, the king, that she herself would perish under Haman's plans, the king (who had other Reasons of State to be upset with Haman at this point anyway, at least if you read between the lines and believe the midrashim) got enraged, sentenced Haman to death, and gave the Jews carte blanche to defend themselves against any Persians who dared to take advantage of the death-to-Jews decree. Thus the evil decree was overturned, and the Jews narrowly avoided what would have been Persia's "Final Solution." There are some other interesting subplots in the story regarding how it is that Esther came to be Queen, the input of her uncle Mordechai into the events, a conspiracy by two of the King's servants to kill him, and some personal animosity between Haman and Mordechai. But the gist of it is: There was going to be a Holocaust. And then there wasn't. And so the Jews Were Glad.
An interesting feature of the Book of Esther is that God's name does not appear anywhere in the book, which is unusual for a book in the Biblical canon! One of the themes of Purim is that, after the age of prophets, it's up to us to recognize God's hand in events. He doesn't speak to us from the heavens and tell us what's going on; we have to look and listen and trust Him, and try to figure it out on our own. As the events in the book were unfolding -- and the events take place over many years -- things were looking mighty bad for the Jewish people. And yet, if you step back and look at the sweep of those years, you see that there was a plan unfolding all along, a very intricate plan, and that eventually justice prevailed.
The Book of Esther is a great comfort to me when I get upset over things going on in Israel right now. From up close, things look very bad. But I do believe that from God's standpoint, everything will turn out OK, that justice will prevail -- whatever that means-- and ultimately the Jews Will Be Glad once again. It might take hundreds of years-- who knows?-- but time means nothing to God. I don't mean to say that I think the State of Israel is necessarily a step toward a Messianic Age, any more than any other event in history brought us one step closer to some sort of nirvana, but rather that I do believe there is a plan, a very intricate plan, and it's simply impossible to see it from up close. You have to be able to step way, way back -- which is impossible in our limitations of time and space.
So, on this Appreciation Wednesday, one thing I appreciate is that I was brought up to believe in The Plan, because when I feel helpless and like things are out of control, it's nice to remember that things don't have to be under my control, they just have to be under Someone's control. Sure, sometimes I have doubts about the Someone and The Plan, but most of the time I do believe in it-- even if it's just because believing in it feels a lot better than not believing in it, and isn't any crazier. I don't know what The Plan is, but it's nice to think that one exists.
Second, I appreciate the time and energy some people spend to make Purim extra fun. It's a really joyous holiday, with people wearing costumes, bringing food baskets to each other in a sort of reverse trick-or-treat phenomenon, and eating and drinking themselves silly. There is also a tradition to make "Purim shpiels," that is, skits that satirize our lives. High school kids write skits making fun of their schools, the YU newspaper puts out a special Purim edition with funny (fake) articles . . . think April Fools Day, but it goes on the entire Hebrew month of Adar. It's sort of tricky to write satirical material that is funny without being hurtful, but when people succeed it's great for a laugh. (Personally, I really want to write a parody of Sheryl Crow's "Are you strong enough to be my man" called "are you Ach enough to be my Ayd," which you understand if you've learned the eighth perek of Bava Kamma . . . but I don't know if I have time.)
So, I wish also to acknowledge "Jameel" of "The Muquta" for creating hilarious spoofs of various Jewish blogs. Some of them are really fantastic. You can see the whole list at Jameel's blog, or click here for my favorites, spot-on spoofs of Orthomom, RenReb, The Rabbi's Kid(a bit biting), and Ask Shifra. Oh, and Dov Bear. Putting together these spoofs must take a long time, and it's nice that Jameel and his team of writers have gone to the trouble. Thank you, people, whoever you are!
I'll try not to be hurt by the fact that no one has spoofed Chayyei Sarah. Perhaps it is because my words have blinded you all with their wisdom? Perhaps this blog is simply beyond satirizing? Perhaps no one dares to spoof the sacred?
This, I can handle. :-)
Happy Wednesday, everyone.
Next week is the Jewish holiday of Purim. For those of you not in the loop, Purim celebrates the events described in the Book of Esther. You can read the whole thing -- it's very dramatic!-- but to sum up, there was this powerful politician in ancient Persia named Haman who, with the cooperation of King Ahashverosh (not sure how to write that except to transliterate from the Hebrew) plotted to kill all the Jews of Persia. At the time, that was pretty much all the Jews, give or take. This took place while the Jews were in exile from Israel during the period between the First and Second Temples. I'm not an expert in Jewish history but I think we're talking about something like 2,500 years ago.
Anyhow, unbeknownst to Haman, the Queen herself, Esther, was a Secret Jew. When she revealed to her husband, the king, that she herself would perish under Haman's plans, the king (who had other Reasons of State to be upset with Haman at this point anyway, at least if you read between the lines and believe the midrashim) got enraged, sentenced Haman to death, and gave the Jews carte blanche to defend themselves against any Persians who dared to take advantage of the death-to-Jews decree. Thus the evil decree was overturned, and the Jews narrowly avoided what would have been Persia's "Final Solution." There are some other interesting subplots in the story regarding how it is that Esther came to be Queen, the input of her uncle Mordechai into the events, a conspiracy by two of the King's servants to kill him, and some personal animosity between Haman and Mordechai. But the gist of it is: There was going to be a Holocaust. And then there wasn't. And so the Jews Were Glad.
An interesting feature of the Book of Esther is that God's name does not appear anywhere in the book, which is unusual for a book in the Biblical canon! One of the themes of Purim is that, after the age of prophets, it's up to us to recognize God's hand in events. He doesn't speak to us from the heavens and tell us what's going on; we have to look and listen and trust Him, and try to figure it out on our own. As the events in the book were unfolding -- and the events take place over many years -- things were looking mighty bad for the Jewish people. And yet, if you step back and look at the sweep of those years, you see that there was a plan unfolding all along, a very intricate plan, and that eventually justice prevailed.
The Book of Esther is a great comfort to me when I get upset over things going on in Israel right now. From up close, things look very bad. But I do believe that from God's standpoint, everything will turn out OK, that justice will prevail -- whatever that means-- and ultimately the Jews Will Be Glad once again. It might take hundreds of years-- who knows?-- but time means nothing to God. I don't mean to say that I think the State of Israel is necessarily a step toward a Messianic Age, any more than any other event in history brought us one step closer to some sort of nirvana, but rather that I do believe there is a plan, a very intricate plan, and it's simply impossible to see it from up close. You have to be able to step way, way back -- which is impossible in our limitations of time and space.
So, on this Appreciation Wednesday, one thing I appreciate is that I was brought up to believe in The Plan, because when I feel helpless and like things are out of control, it's nice to remember that things don't have to be under my control, they just have to be under Someone's control. Sure, sometimes I have doubts about the Someone and The Plan, but most of the time I do believe in it-- even if it's just because believing in it feels a lot better than not believing in it, and isn't any crazier. I don't know what The Plan is, but it's nice to think that one exists.
Second, I appreciate the time and energy some people spend to make Purim extra fun. It's a really joyous holiday, with people wearing costumes, bringing food baskets to each other in a sort of reverse trick-or-treat phenomenon, and eating and drinking themselves silly. There is also a tradition to make "Purim shpiels," that is, skits that satirize our lives. High school kids write skits making fun of their schools, the YU newspaper puts out a special Purim edition with funny (fake) articles . . . think April Fools Day, but it goes on the entire Hebrew month of Adar. It's sort of tricky to write satirical material that is funny without being hurtful, but when people succeed it's great for a laugh. (Personally, I really want to write a parody of Sheryl Crow's "Are you strong enough to be my man" called "are you Ach enough to be my Ayd," which you understand if you've learned the eighth perek of Bava Kamma . . . but I don't know if I have time.)
So, I wish also to acknowledge "Jameel" of "The Muquta" for creating hilarious spoofs of various Jewish blogs. Some of them are really fantastic. You can see the whole list at Jameel's blog, or click here for my favorites, spot-on spoofs of Orthomom, RenReb, The Rabbi's Kid(a bit biting), and Ask Shifra. Oh, and Dov Bear. Putting together these spoofs must take a long time, and it's nice that Jameel and his team of writers have gone to the trouble. Thank you, people, whoever you are!
I'll try not to be hurt by the fact that no one has spoofed Chayyei Sarah. Perhaps it is because my words have blinded you all with their wisdom? Perhaps this blog is simply beyond satirizing? Perhaps no one dares to spoof the sacred?
This, I can handle. :-)
Happy Wednesday, everyone.
Monday, March 06, 2006
You can't buy love, but you can buy discretion
Yesterday I went to a press event at the very posh, very beautiful, very service-oriented King David Hotel, which is celebrating its 75th anniversary. The owner, the Dan hotel chain, brought together a bunch of reporters to learn about the history of the King David - which was, indeed, extremely interesting. I hope to pitch a story about it -- yes, these press parties really work, I guess-- so I won't write too much here, but I'm sure a little Googling will reveal much, for those interested in the history of Jerusalem.
Anyhow, after breakfast (in the wise words of a New York Times columnist, "if it ain't catered, it ain't journalism") we learned about the significance of the hotel in Jerusalem's history, and the Sales and Marketing Director gave us a lovely pitch about the high quality of service at Dan hotels.
Point: a man arrived without his luggage because his airline had misplaced it. In the middle of the night, the airline called the hotel to say the luggage had been found. Rather than wake up the guest, the hotel manager drove to the airport, picked up the suitcases, and deposited them outside the guest's door.
Point: A jetlagged woman woke up at 4 am and started working in her room. The switchboard operator noticed there was phone activity all of a sudden in that room, and took the liberty of sending up orange juice, coffee, and a croissant at 4 a.m.
Point: For $1800 per night, you too can rent the two-floored Presidential Suite, complete with sauna, large jacuzzi, and tremendous art-work thingy in the middle of the room. Sleep in the very bed that Clinton stayed in when he came over for Rabin's funeral. Sleep in the very bed that Madonna was going to sleep in, except that she made her reservation on too-short notice and so the hotel could not provide her with an entire floor to herself and her entourage. As they were entering the Presidential Suite, a guest across the hall emerged and snapped Madonna's photo, proving that just because you have enough money to stay at the King David does not mean you have any class. So Madonna switched to the Dan Continental in Tel Aviv. The very bed Madonna was going to sleep in! If that sort of thing is worth $1800 to you. Per night. And if it is, I want to know: Do you have a son? Who is single? And remotely cute? And not the bearer of any contagious diseases?
Point: The breakfast at the King David is incredible. Oh. My. God. This was actually my second time at breakfast there -- I'd done an interview there once before, for a story unrelated to the hotel itself -- and I must say, it's the lap of luxury. It is amazing. Having breakfasted at the King David, I can die a happy woman.
Point: Half the rooms have perfect views of the Old City.
Point: Did I mention the marble bathrooms? The bidets? The unobtrusive waitstaff? The clerks and waiters who treat you like royalty?
Point: Looking out the window from one of the luxury suites, onto the hotel's pool, tennis court, landscaped gardens, and garden cafe, I thought "this is the way I should live." I think in a past life I was an Edwardian-era socialite, a la Kate Winslet in Titanic, and standing in this room brought back latent memories. I also think I was a General in a war-time cavalry somewhere in Europe hundreds of years ago, but that's neither here nor there. The point is, luxury is something I could get used to, if only I were an heiress to a large fortune instead of a freelance journalist.
I used to want to be a hotel manager. Betcha didn't know that, now did you. Yes, I did. If I couldn't stay in a luxury hotel, I wanted at least to spend all day in one, providing to others the type of service that I myself deserve. I searched fruitlessly for a job in a good hotel where the fact that I can't work on Saturdays didn't matter. Such a thing does not exist. So I started working for NCSY instead. But this meeting at the King David brought it all back. I seriously thought for about 5 seconds about begging for a job there. But, you know, working at the King David, lovely as it sounds, would involve having to be somewhere all day every day. That is, giving up the life I have right now, in which I earn peanuts and live in one room and can't afford to buy a laundry dryer but can do whatever I want with my time. It is a tough call.
Anyhow, the Sales and Marketing man had been boasting that every room in the hotel is different, and that he is familiar with the layout of every room. And that he knows which rooms are the favorites of which "regulars." So as we were about to embark on the tour, I said "All I want to know is, which room was Natalie Portman's?"
Sales Guy: "Natalie Portman?"
"Yes, I'm a huge fan of hers."
"The movie star?"
"Yes."
"When did she stay here?" (He looked serious.)
(Dude,) "She lived here for six months. Remember, she was studying at Hebrew University for a semester? And lived here?" (Sheesh)
"Well, I am not familiar with that . . . but it is possible, of course, that she was travelling incognito."
[Pause]
Chayyei Sarah: "Herschlag. Natalie Herschlag."
Sales Guy: "Ah, yes, Miss Herschlag. Of course. Second floor. A lovely young lady."
Which just goes to show, money can't buy you love, but it can buy you a hotel staff who won't admit to knowing you. If I were a movie star . . . or an heiress to a large fortune . . . I would value such a thing. And I would look out my window onto the Old City every day and think "Wow, I'm in Israel, and I have everything I need."
. . .
Oh, yeah. I do that now.
I live in Israel, and I have everything I need.
And I had breakfast at the King David.
Not a bad life.
And now, for a funny sketch with Natalie Portman in it, click here.
Yesterday I went to a press event at the very posh, very beautiful, very service-oriented King David Hotel, which is celebrating its 75th anniversary. The owner, the Dan hotel chain, brought together a bunch of reporters to learn about the history of the King David - which was, indeed, extremely interesting. I hope to pitch a story about it -- yes, these press parties really work, I guess-- so I won't write too much here, but I'm sure a little Googling will reveal much, for those interested in the history of Jerusalem.
Anyhow, after breakfast (in the wise words of a New York Times columnist, "if it ain't catered, it ain't journalism") we learned about the significance of the hotel in Jerusalem's history, and the Sales and Marketing Director gave us a lovely pitch about the high quality of service at Dan hotels.
Point: a man arrived without his luggage because his airline had misplaced it. In the middle of the night, the airline called the hotel to say the luggage had been found. Rather than wake up the guest, the hotel manager drove to the airport, picked up the suitcases, and deposited them outside the guest's door.
Point: A jetlagged woman woke up at 4 am and started working in her room. The switchboard operator noticed there was phone activity all of a sudden in that room, and took the liberty of sending up orange juice, coffee, and a croissant at 4 a.m.
Point: For $1800 per night, you too can rent the two-floored Presidential Suite, complete with sauna, large jacuzzi, and tremendous art-work thingy in the middle of the room. Sleep in the very bed that Clinton stayed in when he came over for Rabin's funeral. Sleep in the very bed that Madonna was going to sleep in, except that she made her reservation on too-short notice and so the hotel could not provide her with an entire floor to herself and her entourage. As they were entering the Presidential Suite, a guest across the hall emerged and snapped Madonna's photo, proving that just because you have enough money to stay at the King David does not mean you have any class. So Madonna switched to the Dan Continental in Tel Aviv. The very bed Madonna was going to sleep in! If that sort of thing is worth $1800 to you. Per night. And if it is, I want to know: Do you have a son? Who is single? And remotely cute? And not the bearer of any contagious diseases?
Point: The breakfast at the King David is incredible. Oh. My. God. This was actually my second time at breakfast there -- I'd done an interview there once before, for a story unrelated to the hotel itself -- and I must say, it's the lap of luxury. It is amazing. Having breakfasted at the King David, I can die a happy woman.
Point: Half the rooms have perfect views of the Old City.
Point: Did I mention the marble bathrooms? The bidets? The unobtrusive waitstaff? The clerks and waiters who treat you like royalty?
Point: Looking out the window from one of the luxury suites, onto the hotel's pool, tennis court, landscaped gardens, and garden cafe, I thought "this is the way I should live." I think in a past life I was an Edwardian-era socialite, a la Kate Winslet in Titanic, and standing in this room brought back latent memories. I also think I was a General in a war-time cavalry somewhere in Europe hundreds of years ago, but that's neither here nor there. The point is, luxury is something I could get used to, if only I were an heiress to a large fortune instead of a freelance journalist.
I used to want to be a hotel manager. Betcha didn't know that, now did you. Yes, I did. If I couldn't stay in a luxury hotel, I wanted at least to spend all day in one, providing to others the type of service that I myself deserve. I searched fruitlessly for a job in a good hotel where the fact that I can't work on Saturdays didn't matter. Such a thing does not exist. So I started working for NCSY instead. But this meeting at the King David brought it all back. I seriously thought for about 5 seconds about begging for a job there. But, you know, working at the King David, lovely as it sounds, would involve having to be somewhere all day every day. That is, giving up the life I have right now, in which I earn peanuts and live in one room and can't afford to buy a laundry dryer but can do whatever I want with my time. It is a tough call.
Anyhow, the Sales and Marketing man had been boasting that every room in the hotel is different, and that he is familiar with the layout of every room. And that he knows which rooms are the favorites of which "regulars." So as we were about to embark on the tour, I said "All I want to know is, which room was Natalie Portman's?"
Sales Guy: "Natalie Portman?"
"Yes, I'm a huge fan of hers."
"The movie star?"
"Yes."
"When did she stay here?" (He looked serious.)
(Dude,) "She lived here for six months. Remember, she was studying at Hebrew University for a semester? And lived here?" (Sheesh)
"Well, I am not familiar with that . . . but it is possible, of course, that she was travelling incognito."
[Pause]
Chayyei Sarah: "Herschlag. Natalie Herschlag."
Sales Guy: "Ah, yes, Miss Herschlag. Of course. Second floor. A lovely young lady."
Which just goes to show, money can't buy you love, but it can buy you a hotel staff who won't admit to knowing you. If I were a movie star . . . or an heiress to a large fortune . . . I would value such a thing. And I would look out my window onto the Old City every day and think "Wow, I'm in Israel, and I have everything I need."
. . .
Oh, yeah. I do that now.
I live in Israel, and I have everything I need.
And I had breakfast at the King David.
Not a bad life.
And now, for a funny sketch with Natalie Portman in it, click here.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Ah, a NYTimes Editorial I (almost) Fully Agree With
From today's Times:
However, I do agree that if the money came from PA-resident Palestinians' pockets, then the money should should somehow get to their government, even if their government is evil.
The answer is simple, or should be. Israel should say "We're having nothing to do with you. You can collect your own damn taxes and your own damn customs. Your money, your business." Israel shouldn't be doing anything "on the authority's behalf" right now. Why should we? They won't even recognize our right to exist.
Let the true, badly-needed humanitarian aid roll in . . . I'd be the first to donate money if I knew for sure it was paying for flour, medical care, and diapers. It's true I'd feel even better if the first in line to receive those things were people who didn't vote for Hamas . . . but fine, I won't split hairs to that extent. But don't ask me or the government that represents me to do anything, anything at all, to bail out a government led by murderers of innocent children. The very idea is a joke.
Now, regarding the idea of the PA getting their aid from Iran instead . . . yes of course that will be bad. However, there are times when one has to consider the ramifications of one's actions not only on others, but also on oneself. For the US to say "well, the PA is going to get their aid from somewhere, it may as well be us rather than Iran" may sound reasonable at first, but it means that the US would be throwing money to, in RenReb's words, "murderous bits of filth." How can the US be waging a "war on terror" and then make out checks to a government led by Hamas? It's just a joke. It doesn't matter what would happen instead.
The US has to stand by its values, even if the result is ugly. That's called "having integrity."
From today's Times:
America cannot bankroll a Hamas government that preaches and practices terrorism, denies that Israel has any right to exist, and refuses to abide by peace agreements signed by previous Palestinian governments. That should be blindingly obvious . . . .Hamas won the recent Palestinian election fair and square. American officials, who say they are so forcefully committed to the cause of expanding democracy in the Middle East, should not even entertain the idea of doing anything to try to somehow undermine the results and install a different government. But that does not mean continuing to provide the subsidies that help pay for the Palestinian police, civil servants and other employees . . . .
. . . . Money should continue to flow to nongovernmental relief organizations for humanitarian projects, provided that the recipient organizations have no links of any kind to terrorist activity or organizations. The same thing goes for independent foundations that remain committed to the principles of the Oslo peace agreements and peaceful dialogue with Israel.
No one should imagine that this strategy is likely to convince average Palestinians that they made a mistake in picking a Hamas government. The withheld American aid will very probably be replaced from less scrupulous sources, like Iran or oil-rich Arab countries.
Still, the United States would make a resounding diplomatic and moral point by cutting off aid . . . .
The only part I disagreed with was this:
And Washington should continue to press Israel to resume turning over to the Palestinian Authority the Palestinian tax and customs funds that Israel collects on the authority's behalf. This is not aid, but the Palestinians' own money.
No, no, no. For any Israel Treasury check to be made out to the Palestinian Authority right now would just be ludicrous. In the Times' own words, this should be blindingly obvious.However, I do agree that if the money came from PA-resident Palestinians' pockets, then the money should should somehow get to their government, even if their government is evil.
The answer is simple, or should be. Israel should say "We're having nothing to do with you. You can collect your own damn taxes and your own damn customs. Your money, your business." Israel shouldn't be doing anything "on the authority's behalf" right now. Why should we? They won't even recognize our right to exist.
Let the true, badly-needed humanitarian aid roll in . . . I'd be the first to donate money if I knew for sure it was paying for flour, medical care, and diapers. It's true I'd feel even better if the first in line to receive those things were people who didn't vote for Hamas . . . but fine, I won't split hairs to that extent. But don't ask me or the government that represents me to do anything, anything at all, to bail out a government led by murderers of innocent children. The very idea is a joke.
Now, regarding the idea of the PA getting their aid from Iran instead . . . yes of course that will be bad. However, there are times when one has to consider the ramifications of one's actions not only on others, but also on oneself. For the US to say "well, the PA is going to get their aid from somewhere, it may as well be us rather than Iran" may sound reasonable at first, but it means that the US would be throwing money to, in RenReb's words, "murderous bits of filth." How can the US be waging a "war on terror" and then make out checks to a government led by Hamas? It's just a joke. It doesn't matter what would happen instead.
The US has to stand by its values, even if the result is ugly. That's called "having integrity."
Thursday, March 02, 2006
What Chayyei Sarah is . . .
Reading
Writing about
Wearing right now and recommending highly to all the ladies, because it smells so incredible you could get drunk on it.
Also writing about
Happy to have finally published, because now I can blog some other stuff about it.
Enjoying tremendously, because it's so gorgeous!
Trying not to wallow in depression and anger and sadness and confusion and fear over: examples from a quick Google search and my own blogroll here, here, here. There's lots more on all sorts of details but you get the picture.
. . .
::sniff, sniff::
. . .
[sorry, that was me smelling my forearm, because I smell frickin' amazing.]
. . .
Right. Anyhoo, I've recently connected with an old work acquaintance from VH1 -- as I've said, one of the best officemates a person could ask for -- who is now going to school here, taking a journalism class, and picked me, Chayyei Sarah, to be the subject of a profile! So I got to talk to her for two hours about my life and my opinions about stuff. Me: Wow, I love talking about myself! Her: Most people do. Thanks for picking me, Jeca, and it was really great to catch up!
. . .
::sniff, sniff::
. . .
OK, bye!
Reading
Writing about
Wearing right now and recommending highly to all the ladies, because it smells so incredible you could get drunk on it.
Also writing about
Happy to have finally published, because now I can blog some other stuff about it.
Enjoying tremendously, because it's so gorgeous!
Trying not to wallow in depression and anger and sadness and confusion and fear over: examples from a quick Google search and my own blogroll here, here, here. There's lots more on all sorts of details but you get the picture.
. . .
::sniff, sniff::
. . .
[sorry, that was me smelling my forearm, because I smell frickin' amazing.]
. . .
Right. Anyhoo, I've recently connected with an old work acquaintance from VH1 -- as I've said, one of the best officemates a person could ask for -- who is now going to school here, taking a journalism class, and picked me, Chayyei Sarah, to be the subject of a profile! So I got to talk to her for two hours about my life and my opinions about stuff. Me: Wow, I love talking about myself! Her: Most people do. Thanks for picking me, Jeca, and it was really great to catch up!
. . .
::sniff, sniff::
. . .
OK, bye!
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Appreciation Wednesday
(Wow, three posts in one day.)
There was an article in the New York Times recently -- one of those "mysterious cases brought to a doctor" columns-- about a woman who turned out to have scurvy. The physicians almost missed the diagnosis, because who gets scurvy these days? Everyone eats some fruit sometimes, right? Or drinks OJ now and then? And even if they don't, plenty of foods are enriched with Vitamin C. It's almost impossible to be so deficient in Vitamin C that you'd get scurvy. Turns out this lady has, or thinks she has, a long list of food allergies, and her diet consisted pretty much of gluten-free bread and peanut butter. That was it. And so she almost died.
The story got me thinking about the vitamins I take every day to supplement my diet. I do make attempts at a healthy diet, and do eat fruits and vegetables, and whole grains, and lean proteins -- in addition, unfortunately, to lots of unhealthy things that I should stay away from. I'm very educated about what I should eat, and though I do not always succeed in maintaining the diet I should stick to, things could be a lot worse.
Still, it always helps to supplement, just in case. And so every day, I take one multi-vitamin and at least 1000 mgs of calcium. (Note: It's important to take these things spread out over the day -- no more than 500 mgs of calcium at once, and I also split the multivitamin and take the halves a few hours apart -- because the body can't absorb it all at once!)
The calcium supplement is really important for me, because I'm somewhat lactose intolerant (still exploring what milk products I can and cannot have -- and it seems to change all the time!) and my kitchen is entirely fleishik. I use Rice Dream in my cereal, and the only dairy product I consume on a regular basis is a certain type of Israeli cheese which I love and doesn't seem to make me ill. Every so often I have some milk, but I usually regret it later. If it were just a matter of my diet, I'd probably be in the hospital sooner rather than later with some horrible bone problem, just like that woman who got scurvy.
And so, these calcium pills are my only defense against osteoperosis and other bad things. And today I'm appreciating that my vitamin and mineral supplements are available to me, and that I've been educated enough to take them. Someone went to the trouble of researching what nutrients our bodies need, and someone went to the trouble of developing pills that could provide nutrients we're otherwise missing. And even if some of those people are only doing it for the money, and even if nutrients in pill form are not as easily absorbed as food sources, it does make me feel a lot better to know that I'm getting something healthy out of these pills -- that, if for some reason, I go a little too long without eating enough selenium or chromium or vitamin K, that I'm not going to become deficient in those things. Of course it's not an excuse to eat a bad diet, but every good thing we do for ourselves is . . . well, one more good thing!
So, I appreciate all the scientists and pharmaceutical people and public health folks and nutritionists who get vitamin and mineral supplements into our drugstores and into my cabinet and into my mouth. I especially appreciate the folks who provide me with a way to get some calcium without ill side effects - my bones thank you!
(Wow, three posts in one day.)
There was an article in the New York Times recently -- one of those "mysterious cases brought to a doctor" columns-- about a woman who turned out to have scurvy. The physicians almost missed the diagnosis, because who gets scurvy these days? Everyone eats some fruit sometimes, right? Or drinks OJ now and then? And even if they don't, plenty of foods are enriched with Vitamin C. It's almost impossible to be so deficient in Vitamin C that you'd get scurvy. Turns out this lady has, or thinks she has, a long list of food allergies, and her diet consisted pretty much of gluten-free bread and peanut butter. That was it. And so she almost died.
The story got me thinking about the vitamins I take every day to supplement my diet. I do make attempts at a healthy diet, and do eat fruits and vegetables, and whole grains, and lean proteins -- in addition, unfortunately, to lots of unhealthy things that I should stay away from. I'm very educated about what I should eat, and though I do not always succeed in maintaining the diet I should stick to, things could be a lot worse.
Still, it always helps to supplement, just in case. And so every day, I take one multi-vitamin and at least 1000 mgs of calcium. (Note: It's important to take these things spread out over the day -- no more than 500 mgs of calcium at once, and I also split the multivitamin and take the halves a few hours apart -- because the body can't absorb it all at once!)
The calcium supplement is really important for me, because I'm somewhat lactose intolerant (still exploring what milk products I can and cannot have -- and it seems to change all the time!) and my kitchen is entirely fleishik. I use Rice Dream in my cereal, and the only dairy product I consume on a regular basis is a certain type of Israeli cheese which I love and doesn't seem to make me ill. Every so often I have some milk, but I usually regret it later. If it were just a matter of my diet, I'd probably be in the hospital sooner rather than later with some horrible bone problem, just like that woman who got scurvy.
And so, these calcium pills are my only defense against osteoperosis and other bad things. And today I'm appreciating that my vitamin and mineral supplements are available to me, and that I've been educated enough to take them. Someone went to the trouble of researching what nutrients our bodies need, and someone went to the trouble of developing pills that could provide nutrients we're otherwise missing. And even if some of those people are only doing it for the money, and even if nutrients in pill form are not as easily absorbed as food sources, it does make me feel a lot better to know that I'm getting something healthy out of these pills -- that, if for some reason, I go a little too long without eating enough selenium or chromium or vitamin K, that I'm not going to become deficient in those things. Of course it's not an excuse to eat a bad diet, but every good thing we do for ourselves is . . . well, one more good thing!
So, I appreciate all the scientists and pharmaceutical people and public health folks and nutritionists who get vitamin and mineral supplements into our drugstores and into my cabinet and into my mouth. I especially appreciate the folks who provide me with a way to get some calcium without ill side effects - my bones thank you!
Additions to my blogroll
Wow, two posts in one day.
This one is just to point out that I've added four blogs to my blogroll. I want to especially point out three of them:
What Would Phoebe Do? is by a recent graduate of the University of Chicago, who describes herself as a "Francophilic Zionist." Gosh, that's a tough one, Phoebe. I feel for you! She's smart and has interesting things to say about France, Israel, her alma maters, and being young in New York.
Ask Shifra is home of one of the funniest series I've seen yet, a "soap opera" entitled "The Modern and the Orthodox." See the first five "episodes" by going to her sidebar. I've been laughing so hard, my sides hurt. Her other posts are entertaining and/or thought-provoking as well.
Last but not least, I finally went to visit the blog of one of my frequent commenters, Step Ima, and spent about an hour last night reading every single post. A 36-year-old divorcee with no children, she's been dating a rabbi, also divorced, who has four children. The blog follows her through her journey toward possibly becoming a "Step Ima." ("Ima" means mother in Hebrew.) If you are interested in blogs about dating, relationships, and family dynamics, this one is just riveting.
Read and enjoy - and remember, always be respectful when commenting!
Wow, two posts in one day.
This one is just to point out that I've added four blogs to my blogroll. I want to especially point out three of them:
What Would Phoebe Do? is by a recent graduate of the University of Chicago, who describes herself as a "Francophilic Zionist." Gosh, that's a tough one, Phoebe. I feel for you! She's smart and has interesting things to say about France, Israel, her alma maters, and being young in New York.
Ask Shifra is home of one of the funniest series I've seen yet, a "soap opera" entitled "The Modern and the Orthodox." See the first five "episodes" by going to her sidebar. I've been laughing so hard, my sides hurt. Her other posts are entertaining and/or thought-provoking as well.
Last but not least, I finally went to visit the blog of one of my frequent commenters, Step Ima, and spent about an hour last night reading every single post. A 36-year-old divorcee with no children, she's been dating a rabbi, also divorced, who has four children. The blog follows her through her journey toward possibly becoming a "Step Ima." ("Ima" means mother in Hebrew.) If you are interested in blogs about dating, relationships, and family dynamics, this one is just riveting.
Read and enjoy - and remember, always be respectful when commenting!
Now that's SOME whiskey!
A distillery in Scotland is rolling out a 184-proof whiskey. For about $700, you can pre-order a case of 12 bottles (that's around $60 per bottle) of this not-your-mama's-kiddush rocket fuel. Delivery is estimated to take 10 years. I, personally, cannot stand whiskey, but I know some of my readers will be very excited by this announcement (cough, cough, Judah, cough, cough).
Now, you are probably wondering why I care. Well, I care, because this reminds me of one of the best freelance gigs I've ever had, which I may as well share with you.
I do not remember how I got this job at all, but somehow, the marketing company for a major brand of Scotch (famous for their White Label), found me. They were looking for journalists in various parts of the USA to help them find suitable candidates for this Scotch company's print ad campaign. To be chosen to be featured in the ad campaign, one had to fit a very long, very specific list of criteria, and finding people who met all the criteria was proving to be a challenge. They figured that reporters were good at finding out things, and hence Chayyei Sarah was offered an investigative challenge.
At my interview in Connecticut, one of the last questions they asked me was: Do you like Scotch? I sort of waffled and said something like "um, yeah, sure." The marketing lady leaned over to me and said "I know. I can't stand it either. Are you willing to be seen sipping it and smiling?" To that, I could agree. (This reminds me of the interview I had at VH1, where they asked me, offhandedly on my way out, "You like music, right?" and I was like "oh, yeah, definitely." But the thought bubble over my head was saying "if it's by an 18th-century Austrian, that is.")
Anyhow, I had to do a little soul-searching as to whether to take this gig, since I not only do not enjoy drinking, I'm sort of anti-drinking. I don't understand why it's fun to lose control over your faculties, and unfortunately I know people whose lives have been harmed by alcoholism, either their own or their family member's, and so I wasn't sure I wanted to be involved in helping to market a Scotch whiskey. I talked to a lot of people, including Scotch hobbyists and various religious and career mentors, and decided in the end to take the job.
I have to say, once I decided to waive my moral concerns, this was a most excellent gig. First of all, I got a free trip to Las Vegas. There, on a Friday morning, all six of us campaign-ad-candidate hunters were assembled, and schooled in the ways of Scotch. I still have all the materials from our full-day session on how whiskey is made, how it gets different flavors, etc. And, we had a Scotch tasting of all the major brands. This was where the sip-and-smile came in. Of course we all oohed and aahed over the superior quality of our client's product - and the fact is, the White Label was the smoothest and therefore the easiest for me to get down without choking. And, by then, I actually knew what "smoothest" means in reference to whiskey, so I felt so much more cosmopolitan already.
During the meeting, they threw us gambling chips whenever we participated by speaking up or getting a question right. After, the rest of the journalists and the reps from the client company went down to the casinos to have fun, and got a free night in this awesome hotel. I, however, had arranged to stay at a motel a few miles away, because the meeting was on a Friday and I wanted to be near the Young Israel of Las Vegas for Shabbat. The client had been more than happy to put me up at the (much cheaper) motel. So, at about 3 pm, I excused myself from the post-meeting chatter and headed downstairs.
Of course I had to walk through the lobby-level casino to get out. And I had two gambling chips in my pocket. Now, as much as I'm anti-drinking I'm even more anti-gambling. I'm anti most addictive and pointless behaviors. But, you know, you can't be in Las Vegas for the weekend and not gamble. So, to fulfill my chiyyuv (obligation), I went over to a slot machine, put in my two "hard-earned" chips, pulled the lever, and got . . . nothing. Shrugging, I went outside to hail a cab.
As soon as I got outside, I realized that I'd left my garment bag with my Shabbat clothes next to the slot machine. So I ran back in to find it. But you know, they design these casinos in such a way that once you get in, it's hard to get out. There were three wings, each of which looked exactly the same. There are no clocks or windows anywhere, so that people don't realize how much time they've spent gambling. And there are no landmarks or clear signs showing where anything is, to encourage people to get lost and spend more of their time and money in the casino. I had absolutely no way of identifying which bank of slot machines I should be heading toward. It took a security guard, who radioed to his office, to tell me that my bag was at the security station - and he had to walk me there, and then walk me outside again, or I'd have gotten lost for sure.
I now had about 20 minutes before sunset to get to the motel. Suffice to say that I walked in about 2 minutes before Shabbat, and the wonderful clerk, who was used to Orthodox Jews staying over Friday night because the motel is, after all, located next door to an Orthodox synagogue, volunteered: "Oh, you're Sabbath observant? No problem. We'll leave your electronic key here at the desk, and whenever we see you coming in we'll automatically send a non-Jewish employee ahead of you to open your door. I'll tell the maid service not to turn off your light. Don't worry, your room is only one flight up. Have a pleasant stay." I had reached motel nirvana. If only the hotel employees in Eilat were as knowledgable.
I should say here that the Young Israel of Las Vegas is one of the friendliest shules I've ever visited. By the end of services on Friday night, I had invitations for both dinner and lunch, one at the rabbi's house and one at a congregant's. The weather was a bit warm for my taste, but the residential area of town (outside of the casino strip) was very pretty, and the people were exceptionally nice.
Anyhow, my mandate was to find five people or sets of people who displayed, shall we say, a certain go-getter quality. Six journalists finding five candidates each would give the client 30 choices to pick from. I would be paid a certain (very generous, from my starving-writer perspective) amount for each candidate I found. Remember, the list of criteria was very long and specific. It had to be people who had given up a significant measure of material security or physical comfort in order to pursue a passion. This passion had to be unique in some way, and something "relatable" to men between the ages of 25-35. The set of people who had together made sacrifices to follow this passion had to have, ideally, two or three members, though in theory it could be up to five people. They had to have already achieved some sort of notable success, and yet still be on a "journey" toward their goals. The "passion" they were following could have nothing to do with children or with the homeless (duh). If you think about it, it's pretty hard to find people who meet all those requirements!
At first, we six journalists were split up by geographic region, and so I was trying to find candidates in New England. But then, due to the difficulty of our task, we soon were told that we could each cover any area we wanted - just find people! So, I sent an email to my 300 closest friends (ah, Jewish Geography is a wonderful thing!) outlining what I needed. In the next few weeks, I found about 10 potential candidates, of whom five were approved by the marketing company - and so I was set.
But it turned out that some of the other journalists were having trouble filling their quota, and so I got an email saying that if I was able to find up to three more candidates, I would be paid extra for each one. In the end, I found eight approved candidates, and got paid more money than I have seen from any one client, before or since. I was, like, the queen of this print ad campaign.
Sigh. Those were good times . . . .
Oh, and by the way, the client did choose one of my candidates to form a partnership! I don't know if they were included in a print ad, but they did form some kind of marketing collaboration. I was invited to a party (in Boston, it just so happens, where I was staying with my parents) to celebrate at a huge Scotch tasting, but in the end I declined. I hate Scotch, I hate drinking, I didn't know how I'd get home afterward . . . frankly it was easier and more fun for me to stay home watching television.
But still, those were good times!
A distillery in Scotland is rolling out a 184-proof whiskey. For about $700, you can pre-order a case of 12 bottles (that's around $60 per bottle) of this not-your-mama's-kiddush rocket fuel. Delivery is estimated to take 10 years. I, personally, cannot stand whiskey, but I know some of my readers will be very excited by this announcement (cough, cough, Judah, cough, cough).
Now, you are probably wondering why I care. Well, I care, because this reminds me of one of the best freelance gigs I've ever had, which I may as well share with you.
I do not remember how I got this job at all, but somehow, the marketing company for a major brand of Scotch (famous for their White Label), found me. They were looking for journalists in various parts of the USA to help them find suitable candidates for this Scotch company's print ad campaign. To be chosen to be featured in the ad campaign, one had to fit a very long, very specific list of criteria, and finding people who met all the criteria was proving to be a challenge. They figured that reporters were good at finding out things, and hence Chayyei Sarah was offered an investigative challenge.
At my interview in Connecticut, one of the last questions they asked me was: Do you like Scotch? I sort of waffled and said something like "um, yeah, sure." The marketing lady leaned over to me and said "I know. I can't stand it either. Are you willing to be seen sipping it and smiling?" To that, I could agree. (This reminds me of the interview I had at VH1, where they asked me, offhandedly on my way out, "You like music, right?" and I was like "oh, yeah, definitely." But the thought bubble over my head was saying "if it's by an 18th-century Austrian, that is.")
Anyhow, I had to do a little soul-searching as to whether to take this gig, since I not only do not enjoy drinking, I'm sort of anti-drinking. I don't understand why it's fun to lose control over your faculties, and unfortunately I know people whose lives have been harmed by alcoholism, either their own or their family member's, and so I wasn't sure I wanted to be involved in helping to market a Scotch whiskey. I talked to a lot of people, including Scotch hobbyists and various religious and career mentors, and decided in the end to take the job.
I have to say, once I decided to waive my moral concerns, this was a most excellent gig. First of all, I got a free trip to Las Vegas. There, on a Friday morning, all six of us campaign-ad-candidate hunters were assembled, and schooled in the ways of Scotch. I still have all the materials from our full-day session on how whiskey is made, how it gets different flavors, etc. And, we had a Scotch tasting of all the major brands. This was where the sip-and-smile came in. Of course we all oohed and aahed over the superior quality of our client's product - and the fact is, the White Label was the smoothest and therefore the easiest for me to get down without choking. And, by then, I actually knew what "smoothest" means in reference to whiskey, so I felt so much more cosmopolitan already.
During the meeting, they threw us gambling chips whenever we participated by speaking up or getting a question right. After, the rest of the journalists and the reps from the client company went down to the casinos to have fun, and got a free night in this awesome hotel. I, however, had arranged to stay at a motel a few miles away, because the meeting was on a Friday and I wanted to be near the Young Israel of Las Vegas for Shabbat. The client had been more than happy to put me up at the (much cheaper) motel. So, at about 3 pm, I excused myself from the post-meeting chatter and headed downstairs.
Of course I had to walk through the lobby-level casino to get out. And I had two gambling chips in my pocket. Now, as much as I'm anti-drinking I'm even more anti-gambling. I'm anti most addictive and pointless behaviors. But, you know, you can't be in Las Vegas for the weekend and not gamble. So, to fulfill my chiyyuv (obligation), I went over to a slot machine, put in my two "hard-earned" chips, pulled the lever, and got . . . nothing. Shrugging, I went outside to hail a cab.
As soon as I got outside, I realized that I'd left my garment bag with my Shabbat clothes next to the slot machine. So I ran back in to find it. But you know, they design these casinos in such a way that once you get in, it's hard to get out. There were three wings, each of which looked exactly the same. There are no clocks or windows anywhere, so that people don't realize how much time they've spent gambling. And there are no landmarks or clear signs showing where anything is, to encourage people to get lost and spend more of their time and money in the casino. I had absolutely no way of identifying which bank of slot machines I should be heading toward. It took a security guard, who radioed to his office, to tell me that my bag was at the security station - and he had to walk me there, and then walk me outside again, or I'd have gotten lost for sure.
I now had about 20 minutes before sunset to get to the motel. Suffice to say that I walked in about 2 minutes before Shabbat, and the wonderful clerk, who was used to Orthodox Jews staying over Friday night because the motel is, after all, located next door to an Orthodox synagogue, volunteered: "Oh, you're Sabbath observant? No problem. We'll leave your electronic key here at the desk, and whenever we see you coming in we'll automatically send a non-Jewish employee ahead of you to open your door. I'll tell the maid service not to turn off your light. Don't worry, your room is only one flight up. Have a pleasant stay." I had reached motel nirvana. If only the hotel employees in Eilat were as knowledgable.
I should say here that the Young Israel of Las Vegas is one of the friendliest shules I've ever visited. By the end of services on Friday night, I had invitations for both dinner and lunch, one at the rabbi's house and one at a congregant's. The weather was a bit warm for my taste, but the residential area of town (outside of the casino strip) was very pretty, and the people were exceptionally nice.
Anyhow, my mandate was to find five people or sets of people who displayed, shall we say, a certain go-getter quality. Six journalists finding five candidates each would give the client 30 choices to pick from. I would be paid a certain (very generous, from my starving-writer perspective) amount for each candidate I found. Remember, the list of criteria was very long and specific. It had to be people who had given up a significant measure of material security or physical comfort in order to pursue a passion. This passion had to be unique in some way, and something "relatable" to men between the ages of 25-35. The set of people who had together made sacrifices to follow this passion had to have, ideally, two or three members, though in theory it could be up to five people. They had to have already achieved some sort of notable success, and yet still be on a "journey" toward their goals. The "passion" they were following could have nothing to do with children or with the homeless (duh). If you think about it, it's pretty hard to find people who meet all those requirements!
At first, we six journalists were split up by geographic region, and so I was trying to find candidates in New England. But then, due to the difficulty of our task, we soon were told that we could each cover any area we wanted - just find people! So, I sent an email to my 300 closest friends (ah, Jewish Geography is a wonderful thing!) outlining what I needed. In the next few weeks, I found about 10 potential candidates, of whom five were approved by the marketing company - and so I was set.
But it turned out that some of the other journalists were having trouble filling their quota, and so I got an email saying that if I was able to find up to three more candidates, I would be paid extra for each one. In the end, I found eight approved candidates, and got paid more money than I have seen from any one client, before or since. I was, like, the queen of this print ad campaign.
Sigh. Those were good times . . . .
Oh, and by the way, the client did choose one of my candidates to form a partnership! I don't know if they were included in a print ad, but they did form some kind of marketing collaboration. I was invited to a party (in Boston, it just so happens, where I was staying with my parents) to celebrate at a huge Scotch tasting, but in the end I declined. I hate Scotch, I hate drinking, I didn't know how I'd get home afterward . . . frankly it was easier and more fun for me to stay home watching television.
But still, those were good times!
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