Changes

“The only inevitable thing is change, except from a vending machine.”

“What?”

I was sitting on the couch when Ari read that. He handed me the piece of paper it was on and, sure enough, that’s what it had said.

It got me thinking about all the changes that I had experienced over the past six months. A lot has shifted in my life, and I think it’s actually for the better. Ari and I are in a very different place than where we were before, but rest assured, the core hasn’t changed.

- A new job came into both of our lives. His is up in Los Angeles for 1-800-DENTIST, while mine is down in Laguna Hills for a company called Crittenden Research. My job has been a return to my roots as a reporter, which were planted in business writing. However, it’s very different, namely in the fact that if I don’t have an article in by 5 p.m., I won’t be verbally abused for it. Admittedly, it’s a nice change.

- We are also moving out of the ghetto apartment of Long Beach and heading down to Orange County – namely Costa Mesa, home of South Coast Plaza, one of the biggest malls in the United States. I am proud to say that I picked the apartment, complete with a bigger kitchen (!!!) and a sizable dining room for the Shabbat dinners I cannot wait to host. And it comes out to the same price we were paying before.

- I have also committed myself to make sure that I lead a healthier lifestyle. I am working out at least three times a week, loading up on veggies and trying my best to stay clear of my vices (namely pasta and ice cream). It’ a long road, but I know that I want to be healthy and active for the rest of my life. I won’t be perfect, but I feel like it’s something I can do.

Mind you, certain fundamentals haven’t changed – Ari and I are still not doing so hot in the monetary department, and I’m not sure when that will change (hopefully, shortly after the time that we move from the cursed apartment). But for the first time in a long time, our lives are turning in a positive direction.

Change is a difficult task. We like to be comfortable, so when things are shaken up, we are gripping at straws trying to figure it out. For the past eight and half years, Ari has had the same dry cleaner, gone to the same market (even after we moved away from his old place) and driven the same streets day after day. It’s a hard thing to give up the old ways, even after they have outgrown you.

I will miss Long Beach always; it was the first time that I really felt at home in the city where I lived. It’s hard to shake off the old ways and upend your lifestyle, even when it’s positive – it was a such a struggle for me at first when I got this job and had to start commuting again. Yet we are always thankful in the end when we move on and find a new world just waiting to take us in. It’s the leap into the unknown that is scary, but once we embrace it, it’s for the better. And, of course, when you have the best people surrounding you, helping you on that journey, what could be better than that?

So despite the fact that moving has made my apartment look like an episode of “Hoarders” and Ari is complaining every day about his soon-to-be extended commute, I am excited to embrace the future. It has taken us a long time to get to this point, and I cannot wait for what the future holds.

Unfortunately, there are no recipes for this week, as the move has been taking a toll. But next week, I will have a fabulous new one!

Elizabeth Taylor and the Power of Converts

Elizabeth Taylor has been talked about a lot in recent days -- her movies, her marriages, those eyes -- but the most interesting thing that has been mentioned is Jewish.

Yes, Elizabeth Taylor is Jewish. She converted in 1959 to the faith, after studying for a year. Two of her eight marriages were to Jews (director Mike Todd and Eddie Fisher, respectively). It was even announced today that she would be buried in Jewish tradition.

However, there are many people who would probably dismiss her conversion. She did not convert in the Orthodox way. She did it only because she was married to Jews. She may not have passed it on to her children. She didn't follow the traditional Jewish system, and wasn't as open about it.

I think of many things when I think about comments like these. I ponder people I grew up with whose parents didn't allow them to date converts because they didn't think the converts were Jewish enough. I think of the rabbis who would admonish that as a sin, as converts are considered to be even more Jewish than people who were born into the faith, as they had to adopt it and go through a conversion process. That's followed by thoughts of the rabbinate in Israel who has been so strict in recent years of who is Jewish versus who is not, dismissing completely legit conversions.

I then think of all my beautiful Jewish friends who converted to be a part of our faith, one of which who will be receiving her Hebrew name in her temple in several weeks. They had to give up so much to be a part of our world, which has sometimes meant having difficulties with family members who can't understand why they would let go of their previous faith. Some of them have been so dedicated to their Jewish life that they have become leaders in the community, with many new people never knowing that they were once a different faith. They have shown dedication above and beyond people that I have known who were actually born into being Jewish.

Sometimes I feel that we make being Jewish an exclusive club, that people outside of our circle aren't allowed in. I never wanted that to be the case when it came to my faith. When people ask me questions about being Jewish, I am happy to answer to the best of my knowledge. I don't try to convert; rather, education is the name of my game. At the same time, there are rabbis who deem people not good enough to be part of our tribe.

To which I pose to the Rabbinate: When is someone good enough to be Jewish? After all, when my mother was growing up, Orthodox rabbis said that Sephardic Jews couldn't possibly be Jewish. You are so quick to dismiss anyone who is different from our faith, pretending like they don't matter. For years, there have been complaints about intermarriage in the faith, and instead of barring those who want to be a part of it, shouldn't we try to bring them in? After all, as I have said before in this blog, isn't G-d the ultimate judge? You are interpreters of the law, and G-d is the only one with authority.

After all, Elizabeth Taylor performed acts to tzedakah that were beyond the imagination. She devoted herself to the state of Israel, purchasing bonds and raising money for different organizations. She condemned the UN when it equated Zionism with racism, visited Israel frequently and offered herself in place of the 104 Jews being held hostage by terrorists in Entebbe. She was willing to sacrifice her life for the Jewish people to survive. What more proof do you need that she is one of us?

So Elizabeth, wherever you are in our world, please know that your quiet devotion to our faith has been something that is a great anchor. We thank you so much that you chose to be with us, and we are a better people because of you.

In honor of Elizabeth, I actually am going to salute her English roots with a Shepard's pie. This one is vegan, though.

VEGAN SHEPARD'S PIE
1 pound wild and/or cremini mushrooms, coarsely chopped
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
2 carrots, chopped
1 teaspoon thyme leaves
2 tablespoons flour
1 cup mock beef broth
1 teaspoon tomato paste
1/2 cup frozen peas
Leftover mashed potatoes (see quick tip)
Salt and pepper


Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large saute pan. Add mushrooms and thyme leaves, allowing them to turn golden brown in the pan. Season with salt and pepper and set aside.

Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil. Add onions and carrots, allowing them to become translucent. Add back mushrooms and allow to mix. Add flour to absorb all the liquid from the vegetables, stir for several minutes. Add the cup of mock beef broth and tomato paste and allow to simmer for several minutes. Add the peas. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to broil.

Pour the mixture into an 8-by8 glass baking dish. Top with leftover mashed potatoes. Place in the oven and allow to brown for several minutes. Serve warm.

The Month of Our Gladness (?)

As many of you know from a previous post, I was in a wedding last weekend. As I stood on stage with the rest of the bridesmaids (and bridesperson – yes, there was a guy bridesmaid), the rabbi said, “Adar is the month of our gladness.”

The Hebrew month of Adar is associated with my favorite Jewish holiday: Purim. It not only has my favorite Jewish food (Hamentashen, or a butter cookie filled with a delicious jam), but on top of it there is nothing quite like dressing up, making a whole bunch of noise and watching a bunch of Hassids getting sloshed. And you thought St. Patty’s day was fun.

There has been so much to celebrate this month, from two weddings to babies being born, new jobs and new homes. And yet there are so many horrible things in the world right now: I think of the earthquake in Japan, the revolutions in the Middle East (overthrowing dictators good, people getting killed bad), the massacre of Itamar and of an 11-year-old girl in Cleveland, Texas, who is being blamed by a whole community for being gang raped. There are terrible tragedies, some that bring out the worst the human race has to offer.

The balance of happiness and sadness is a confusing one. How do we know when to celebrate and when it may be left to a better time? How can we dance at a wedding when everywhere in the world there is sadness, death and heartbreak?

For this, as in so many cases, I turn to Nony – my beloved grandmother, Regina Amira, of blessed memory. She was one of the happiest people that I have ever known. She loved to laugh, she loved to smile and she loved to tell jokes and make mischief. In fact, when she died, my mom’s best friend, Wendy, would say to me, “Your grandmother told the dirtiest jokes. She had a mouth on her like a sailor. I had to have Siggy translate half of what she was saying.”

She had a hard life, there was no doubt about that. She grew up poor and lived poor until she got much older. She made do with very little money. There was a lot for her to be miserable about.

However, there is a story that I love to tell about my grandmother, and it all has to do with a little packet of cream cheese:

At one point, my mom was at Costco and found individual packets of cream cheese to serve with bagels. She purchased it and brought it home for a party my parents were going to throw. Before the party, my grandparents came to visit, and my mom gave her a packet of this cream cheese.

Her face lit up as my mom opened the packet for her. All I can remember her doing is sitting in a chair, beaming, laughing, smiling like a happy schoolgirl eating this packet of cream cheese that wouldn’t have normally cost more than a dollar.

As she ate the cream cheese, she explained to me through the giggles that when she was a little girl, her parents were very poor, and cream cheese was a huge luxury. At times, her mother would bring her over, cut a little bit of cream cheese off of the block and give it to her as a special treat. This was the brightness through the dark of poverty.

It takes a special gift to see the light through the black, to create happiness where you feel like there will never be again. It’s about taking our joy and our sorrow with a grain of salt, to find the balance of the world within whatever event we are experiencing at that moment. After all, do grooms not break glasses under their feet to remember that, even on a day as joyful as their weddings, that there is still pain and suffering in the world, and even within our own hearts?

So I encourage you all this weekend to celebrate this joyous holiday. Go have some shots with some Hassids, wear your best costume and carry those graggers proudly. We have a lot to be thankful for in this world, and when there is an opportunity for celebration, we must celebrate. Even though there is still tragedy, and we will remember that there are people still crying for help, we will maintain the balance of love and hate, happiness and sadness. For after all, “If we do not laugh, we must weep.”

I made hamentashen for the first time last night, and here is the recipe I used. Enjoy!

HAMENTASHEN

1 cup (2 sticks) butter

2 eggs

2 cups of sugar

1 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons vanilla

4 cups flour

4 teaspoons baking powder

2 tablespoons milk

Your favorite filling, jam or preserves

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Cream the butter, sugar, eggs, salt and vanilla together. Mix the flour and baking soda together and mix into the creamed mixture in batches. Add the milk halfway through the flour incorporation. Combine until it becomes a nice soft dough.

Grease a large cookie sheet. Meanwhile, roll out the dough to 1/8th inch. Using a glass, cut out circles from the dough. Put one to two teaspoons of filling the center. Take each end of the circle and fold it up to the top, pinching it together. Do the same for the other sides until it forms a triangle. Put on the cookie sheet, leaving about 1 inch between each one for expansion.

Bake in the oven for 20 minutes, or until dough is golden brown. Allow to cool on the cookie sheet and remove with a spatula.

QUICK TIP 1: In this recipe, I used vanilla, but if that's not your flavor, feel free to use orange or almond extract. This recipe is basic, so add your own flavor!

QUICK TIP 2: When it comes to fillings, I love strawberry and raspberry as well as apricot. I don't dig on the traditional poppy or prune, but feel free to find your own mix. My cousin actually did a special chocolate filling for his at Yale one year. As for the recipe for that, well, he'd have to give it to you.

Beautiful

When I look in the mirror, I don’t see myself as beautiful.

It’s hard to look at myself sometimes. I critique – is that a double chin I’m developing? Ooh, I look like a pizza face, I have so many zits. I feel like my back is enormous – why do I have to look like I have boobs on my back too? I see myself in pictures online, and I untag myself on Facebook if I think I don’t look just right.

I’m sure there are tons of women who get this feeling. As I go to the gym, I watch women in the morning standing at the mirror for 20 minutes, making sure that they get their curls just so, pouting their lips as they put on their makeup. We struggle for it. We seem to have to fight to feel comfortable within ourselves.

Jewish women come with a whole mess of beauty issues. Typically we fight with our dark curly hair and our noses. Nothing seems to be right enough, whether we look too Jewish or we don’t look Jewish enough (or in my case, I don’t look Sephardic enough). For example, my grandmother longed to be a busty blonde her entire life. She also wanted to be tall. However, despite her longings, she was perfectly wonderful just the way she was.

We have been conditioned: Fat equals ugly. Young is preferable to old. Blonde is better. Our locks should be lustrous and we should be picture perfect when we wake up in the morning. We should even look perfect when we work out. I have seen girls in full-makeup mode at the gym, right down to the lip gloss. If I have any makeup on at the gym, it’s what I was wearing the night before to go out and didn’t take off.

Our quest for beauty does more harm than good. Eating disorders run rampant, from overeating to anorexia and bulimia. It disables people from functioning properly. I have watched my sister beat herself up over countless years over her weight, delaying her life by saying, “When I lose 75 pounds, I will do [something she could do without losing 75 pounds].” She longs for how skinny she was back in high school. She yearns for a past look.

But let’s face it: When I look at a reflection of myself, with my size 20 jeans and big boned tall body that makes me tower over other women like a giant, I feel out of place. My sister’s insecurities may have prevented her from living a full life like I have had, but we all still have them.

I grew up in a time where Britney Spears was the ideal of what a girl should look like – sexy, six-packed and blonde. I grew up in a town called Thousand Oaks, where girls wore short skirts in order to get the teachers to give them As in their classes and were wearing stiletto heels that made them look like porn stars. It was uncomfortable, particularly when I experienced a 40-pound weight gain in my junior year.

The pressure didn’t stop at home. My mother, who has struggled with her weight, longed for the days where my body used to resemble Gwyneth Paltrow’s (I don’t). She couldn’t accept that I could be perfectly happy in a body that doctor’s didn’t qualify as a normal weight. She’s not the only one – I see the way that I am judged and viewed differently because of my size. The people who love me don’t care, but it is hard to approach people being me.

My struggle to feel beautiful has consumed me over the years, even as I left my parents’ home to make my own. Yet, unlike my sister, it never got in the way of living. I was meant to live. It’s the spirit that my grandmother instilled in me as a child. We are so much alike, she and I – lovely and perfectly happy people on the outside, brimming with so much life it spills on everyone else. Despite that, on the inside we longed to be the things we never would be.

It’s 10 years since high school. I have found my own identity and try my best to take care of myself. Yet as I look in fashion magazines, I am haunted by the perception of beauty. I feel like a strange freak in this world, not fitting into one community or another, not feeling beautiful and not knowing how I should feel. No matter how many times my husband says that I am gorgeous, I can’t find it in me.

And yet, it is comforting to know that on top of the pop charts right now there is a size 16 soul singer from England with the country’s number one album and a self-proclaimed monster on top of the single’s chart (for the record, that would be Adele and Lady Gaga). The Daily Beast proclaimed the end of the pop princess, where image was everything in lieu of the talent.

I was reminded that it’s the gifts that we give to the world that matter more than how we appear to everyone. Yes, there is a lot of emphasis on our beauty as women, but what ever happened to our brains, our senses of humor or our hearts? Why should we care about being able to turn people on when the best thing in the world is to stimulate the intellect? What ever happened to finding success and going beyond physical appearances, but making the best of it? It is important to be healthy, but I don’t think it matters what size jeans I wear, as long as I feel comfortable in them. We lose ourselves in vanity sometimes, and we need a reminder to who we are, and that we are such special people. We need to have that kick in the head to tell us that those who love us will do so no matter what we look like.

So when I look in the mirror, I will stare into my green eyes and remind myself that no matter what I think of my body that I am beautiful in more ways than one. And that’s what really matters. After all, in the words of that number one hit of the week, “I was born to survive… I was born to be brave… I was born this way.”

Wedding Fever

In the next two weeks there are two weddings that I will be attending (Jenna and Sean, who are to the right, and Nelli and Uri, who are down below), and that has led me to do a lot of thinking about the institute of marriage – something that has nothing to do with weddings.

Let’s face it – when it comes to weddings, the overwhelming majority is serious political actions. Each person involved is trying to make a power play so they can have control over this or that. There is also a lot of spending involved, another display of who wants it more. On top of that, making sure that everything is ready on time, from the dresses to the chair coverings, is sometimes enough to put any military to shame. Despite this, there is a beginning – the engagement – and an end – when the final thank you notes are sent out and the photo albums are assembled.

But as two of my friends prepare to walk down the aisle a week apart from one another (with many more to come, both engaged and borderline engaged), I feel that I should say something about the institution of marriage. And yes, food will come into play.

When Ari and I were under the chuppah, we had finished taking two marriage classes and felt that we knew what we were in for. We had a lot of the talks we needed to have. And then the rabbi who married us told us that no matter what class we took, we could never really be fully prepared for what was in store for us.

Of course, this rabbi was wise, so he was right. Neither Ari nor I could anticipate the next three and a half years, filled with bouts of unemployment and insane money struggles. As someone once told me, “Couples have divorced for less than what you guys have gone through.”

Let’s face it: Marriage is one of the toughest things of all. You have to take the baggage you have collected over the years and combine it with the baggage your spouse brings in, making it all work. Preferences of who does what in the household, from cooking to doing laundry, have to be hammered out. Roles have to be taken. And sometimes, communication breaks down. At one point, Ari said to me, “We don’t speak the same language,” it hurt me. But then I told this to a brilliant woman by the name of Netta. And she said it in that matter-of-fact way she did with so many things: “Of course you don’t. He speaks man. You speak woman.”

I often think of my grandparents and wonder how they did it. Papu and Nony were married for 66 years, and somehow were loving and having sex into their 80s (I found the proof in the Viagra packages hidden behind the bar). How did they spend 66 years together, the majority of which was in poverty, without wanting to absolutely tear each other apart? How does love survive all those years together?

In addition to that, in a generation where a good portion of my friends watched their parents either split up or grow to hate each other, how do we even find the strength to commit to someone? How do we find the courage to stand under the chuppah, knowing we’re going to be waking up every day to this person? Marriage is supposed to be the answer, but it often leaves us with plenty of questions.

They are questions that my friends Jenna and Nelli probably aren’t as concerned about as they are walking down the aisle. They are ridiculously in love with Sean and Uri, respectively. They will be beautiful brides on their respective wedding days, as will my friends Lisa, Christina and Naz (by the way, their grooms are David, Paul and Boaz – didn’t want to shaft the gents on this one). We forget that the wedding, no matter how grand it is, is only for one day. It is beautiful and pristine and possibly perfect. Marriage is a wild ride, filled with twists and turns, and sometimes a little bit of nausea. But it is one that I hope all these brides and grooms with approach with dedication and love.

And for the record, I do the cooking while Ari does the laundry. Therefore, it’s only right that we do a wedding-themed recipe item. This dedicated to the two beautiful brides – Jenna Pinkham and Nelli Greenspan. Jenna, it’s actually inspired by your husband-to-be, who made me a delicious kosher paella for us in your old place. May you make this in your home for your husbands (or may they make it for you). Mazel tov!

KOSHER PAELLA

1 pound boneless skinless chicken, cut into 1-inch pieces

2 tablespoons paprika

1 tablespoon oregano

¾-1 pound spicy sausage, sliced into ½ inch pieces on a diagonal

2 tablespoons olive oil

4-5 garlic cloves, minced

1 large yellow onion, diced

4 tomatoes, diced

2 cups short-grain rice, preferably Aborrio

4-6 cups of chicken consommé

Large pinch of saffron

1 medium jar of hearts of palm, sliced

1 medium jar marinated artichoke hearts

½ cup frozen peas

1 red bell pepper, sliced

Salt and pepper

Rub the chicken with the paprika, oregano and salt and pepper to taste. Allow to sit for at least ½ hour. Use this time to chop.

Meanwhile, heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil over medium high heat in a large skillet – the bigger the better. Brown the sausage and chicken and set aside. Add remaining olive oil and sauté the garlic and onion. Add the tomatoes and allow to get soft.

Add the rice and toss for several minutes to toss in the oil. Add the consommé and saffron and allow to cook for 20 minutes, or until the rice is fully cooked. Add the hearts of palm, artichoke hearts and peas. Top with red bell pepper. Cover with foil and allow to sit for 10 minutes before serving.

Anti-Semitism and the It Girl

When I grow up, I want to be Natalie Portman.

She has been an icon in the Jewish community for years – beautiful, smart, talented and doesn’t get caught drunk in public. She’s a self-proclaimed vegetarian, so she’s as good as kosher in the public eye. She just won an Academy Award and is bringing another member of the Jewish people into the world. But today, I salute her in what has been a flurry of anti-Semitism.

As violence erupts in the Middle East, we as Jews wonder what is going to happen to our beloved Israel. We hear dictators talking about how Israel is to blame for something or another, whether it’s for the uprisings or for the reason why people want the current leadership out. We’re not sure what’s going to happen next.

And outside of the Middle East, we have people like John Galliano, who has been leading the house of Christian Dior, mouthing off about how horrible Jews are and how much he loves Adolf Hitler. The fashion industry, despite having many prominent Jews in it, such as Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren, still has issues with the Tribe. Rumors have swirled over the years about how some fashion houses won’t hire you if you are Jewish, among other rumors.

Natalie, our beloved Jewish girl, could have kept her head down. She may be the newest face of Dior, but she’s an actress. She could have not gotten involved, or even defended Galliano, as many people in the fashion industry are. But Natalie stood tall. Here was her statement:

I am deeply shocked and disgusted by the video of John Galliano’s comments that surfaced today. In light of this video, and as an individual who is proud to be Jewish, I will not be associated with Mr. Galliano in any way. I hope at the very least these terrible comments remind us to reflect and act upon combating these still-existing prejudices that are the opposite of all that is beautiful.

I’m not sure if a PR rep wrote this, but it is incredible that she did so. By the way, this is not the first time that Natalie has expressed her pride of being an MOT. While she was studying at Harvard, as anti-Israel attacks were raging on the campus, she wrote an Op-Ed for the Crimson newspaper, stating her support of Israel.

It is so special and rare when we have someone like Natalie, who is so eloquent and strong in her convictions. Yes, she’s beautiful, but lots of actresses are, and that’s why they make the big bucks. But Natalie goes beyond that.

She is smart and can speak in a coherent sentence. She’s fun, but never delinquent in her behaviors (I’m looking at you, Christina Augilera and Charlie Sheen). She’s comfortable in her own skin and absolutely real, right down to her push for raunchy romantic comedies for women. Yet she has great humility and respect to those who came before her and who help her.

Let’s face it: She’s the coolest girl at the lunch table, and everyone seems to relish her presence – Aaron Sorkin, my spirit animal when it comes to writing, was doing interviews for my favorite film of the year when he remembered having Natalie invite him over for dinner and going over the gossip of what was going down at Harvard as Facebook launched. He was in awe of her. As are we all.

So in honor of Natalie, who eats no meat, we are going vegan today for our recipe. Natalie, if you are reading this, there is plenty more where this is coming from.

ZUCCHINI BASIL SOUP

1 tbsp oil (canola or olive)

2 lbs. zucchini

1 large onion, chopped

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 cup fresh basil

4 cups vegan chicken consommé or vegetable stock

½ cup soy creamer

Warm the oil in a soup pot. Add the chopped onions and garlic. Saute until transparent. Slice the zucchini and add. Saute for 3-4 minutes. Add the four cups of consommé or vegetable stock and cup of basil. Simmer, covered, for 20 minutes.

Puree with an immersion blender. Turn off the heat and add the soy creamer. This soup can be served hot or chilled for a couple of hours in the chill chest and served cold.