The Glory of Cheese

Last night, Ari and I went out to Open Sesame – although we have very little money, Ari desperately needed a night out. Plus, I am convinced that the restaurant’s fried potatoes and Moroccan tea have healing powers.

And, as always, we got a really cool server, this time named Angela. She was the traditional Long Beach cool: thicker-rimmed glasses and a punk rock sensibility, but yet incredibly friendly and sweet.

Naturally, we got into conversation, and at one point, we started talking about cheese. Angela happens to be a big fan.

“I went vegan once, and I was so depressed,” she said. “But then I realized it was because I missed cheese.”

I understand her sentiments, because cheese and I have had a lifelong love affair, although I didn’t appreciate really good cheese until much later. It doesn’t matter, though: My name is Reina, and I am a cheeseaholic.

I didn’t start out with gourmet cheeses – mom bought American cheese like so many other mothers across America. But as a nice Sephardic girl, we ate a lot of cheese, as it is a huge staple in our diets (more about that later). So in addition, there were sharp cheeses and different types of parmesan. The adults ate goat cheeses, whereas my sister and I enjoyed cheddar, Monterey jack and Colby. The only cheese I didn’t eat was cream cheese.

My tastes changed when I got older. While working in Santa Clarita, I would go to the Whole Foods and try all the strange and special cheeses that they had samples for next to the fruit. It was an experience as to what flavor could be.

When I began to explore the culinary world, my outlook on cheese changed. From delicious creamy bries to the sharp crisp flavor of gorgonzola, I began trying them in my dishes. Smoked cheeses, herbed cheeses, creamy cheeses and even those that may not be considered the toast of the culinary world (I don’t care who knows it – I love pub cheese). Either way, I enjoy the salty bite, the smoothness on my tongue, and the joy that cheese gives. I’m just crackers about it.

But then comes the catch – the kosher catch. Dairy is a tricky subject in the kosher world, as there are people who observe chalav yisrael – which basically means that you can only eat dairy products that are produced exclusively by Jews (wine has a similar process, too). Although there are a group of Jews who observe this, not all do.

But then cheese gets even more complex – you see, the way cheese was traditionally made was that you took enzymes from a cow’s (or sheep’s, or goat’s) stomach and mixed it in with the milk. This is called rennet, or animal rennet. Orthodox rabbis say that this violates the concept of mixing milk and meat, whereas conservative rabbis say that since it is an enzyme, and not actual meat, that it is perfectly acceptable.

Today, it isn’t as big of an issue, because the vast majority of cheeses are produced with synthetic enzymes, such as vegetable and microbial rennet, instead of animal rennet. But there are difficulties in certifying certain types of cheeses – whereas it’s easy to find kosher mozzarella, ricotta, goat cheese and even spreadable cheeses that are, other cheeses such as cheddar, brie and blue are trickier.

Personally, I follow the conservative rabbis point of view, but I still read every label of cheese. I rarely buy cheeses with animal rennet, but when I go out, I don’t quiz my waiter about it. I love good cheese, particularly Artisan cheeses. I’m currently in a goat cheese phase, and I love Humbolt Fog – it combines the creaminess of brie and the tang of blue cheese with the unique flavor of goat’s milk. It is so tasty that every time I go into a gourmet grocery store, I look for it.

The quest for great cheese is a never-ending one – currently, I’m looking for a great gourmet cheese shop in Long Beach (and may have found one, thanks to Yelp – I will keep you posted). Although I am being more careful about what I eat, I think that it’s important to enjoy flavor. Appreciating the good stuff is crucial. As with life, we should soak up the taste of it, and linger on it even as the months pass us by. We should savor life, like a good wine – or, of course, a fabulous cheese.

Instead of giving a recipe for this, I’m going to make you do the legwork: Visit Wikihow and Food Network on how to make a fabulous cheese and fruit plate so you can enjoy cheese just as much as I do.

Weighty Issues

It’s no secret to anyone who knows me that I am not a tiny person. Whether it’s my height or my size, I’ve always been pretty big. But several days ago, I began to examine myself, and think about things. And I'm ready for a change. But first, let's go back.

For most of my life, I was always little heavier than all the other kids – partially because I was so tall. Thanks to dad, I’m big boned, so I looked a lot bigger than all those petite 7-year-olds. It was something I was always uncomfortable with. At 11, I was put on Speed-derived ADD medication. One of the side affects is that your metabolism is significantly heightened. I was slim, but not dainty: At the age of 12, I was a size 12. I hadn’t even hit puberty yet.

I was never athletic, but I did get plenty of exercise – I walked 1.6 miles every day from junior high home since the end of seventh grade. I also walked home during high school, although since the bus dropped me off, it wasn’t as far.

But then the ADD drug’s effect on my metabolism wore off – I’ve seen a lot of people who have been on these drugs gain a lot of weight once that happens. It started around the end of 10^th grade. I was a little heavier, but not ridiculously overweight by any means. Still, doctors got on my case about losing weight immediately. It seemed like everywhere I turned I was hounded by it – at home, in doctors’ offices and of course by peers.

Then came that doctor with the stupid pill that made my body think it was pregnant. I gained weight so fast that I had stretch marks across my stomach and breasts (they have healed over since then, but I’m still self-conscious). The next year, the doctor put me on an anti-depressant thought to make its patients lose weight. I would be weighed every time I came to his office. It was embarrassing – to this day, I have a hard time stepping on a scale.

My mother purchased clothes for me in high school that weren’t flattering, so I didn’t feel good about my size. She would always reminisce about when I was slimmer, as if things were better then (they really weren’t). But when graduation came and I had to find a dress that could go under my gown, we went and I found myself an adorable little black dress. I didn’t realize that I could be a little bit bigger and at the same time be slightly sexy. This changed me.

As I went to college, I discovered myself in a way that I couldn’t while I was in high school. I found clothes that were cute, and began to experiment with the way I dressed. But weight was always an issue.

At the age of 21, after I had my blood clots, I lost over 50 pounds. I came back to school to guys hitting on me as I would make my way back across Cal State Fullerton. I was doing it in a very unhealthy way, though – I was on a low carb diet, which has messed up my stomach ever since. I also had to deal with a bully who would love to put me down on a regular basis. Depressed, I seemed to gain back the weight almost immediately.

Time went on. I became kosher, and I met my husband Ari always wanted me to take care of my weight, and I don’t think I was really ready – until now.

Two days ago, there were three things that changed me drastically. As I wrote this blog post, I realized that because of my issues with the drugs and the way people viewed my weight gains has affected the way I eat and the way I view myself. I realize that there are certain things that I can blame myself for, but I realize that I was also molded into loathing myself. I had to forgive myself and those who thought they were trying to help.

I also read this article. The fact of the matter was that it was the truth about how we’re taught about our weight: If you’re X size, that will make you happy. But that is never the case. Weight loss can only take care of health. It won’t get you a man, it won’t get you all your far-out dreams, and it certainly won’t make you happy.

And then, of course, I watched my new favorite show, Glee. I only got to see a half an hour, but it was amazing. I watched as Mercedes, a larger African-American girl, was pressured to lose weight now that she was on the cheerleading squad. She was put on a fad diet. Eventually, she saw all her friends as food and passed out. Later, she sang “Beautiful,” by Christina Augilera, prefacing it by asking people how they felt about themselves, if they felt ugly or fat or whatnot. I was moved to tears. I tried to find the whole clip, but the most I could find was on The Daily Beast -- it’s embedded below.

I think of my poor sister, who is so consumed with the fact that she’ll only be happy if she is a certain size, because only then will she be attractive to someone (a total lie – I have found that attractiveness is not as often measure of how someone’s body looks, but rather the confidence they have). She seems to be unable to move on with her life because of this. I realized as I was thinking about my life the other day that it wasn’t my weight that was the issue – it was the lack of control I felt I had in my life, and the pressure that people put me under. I refused to wallow – instead, I was going to change me.

I decided that I needed to change my relationship with food. I need to think about it differently and be conscious about what I put in my body. I love food and I love to cook. I have happy memories over food, but the food is not what makes me happy. It can’t replace feeling good about yourself and your life, and I know that losing weight is not a miracle cure for the pain that is underneath the surface.

But above all, I refuse to let people put me down regarding how I’m shaped or how I eat. I know I will never be super-skinny – thanks to my bone structure and height, I know will probably never drop below a size 14, if that. I refuse to let doctors make me feel like I’m less because I may not be my average weight, or let people treat me differently because I am who I am. As the song “Beautiful” says, you won’t bring me down today, or ever, because I understand that I let people do it all my life. And I refuse to let it happen again.

This morning, I woke up and I looked in the mirror, and for the first time in an incredibly long time, I saw a beautiful girl looking back at me. Not perfect by any means, but beautiful for everything she is and the things that she isn't. And it felt so good to be okay with it all -- and be able to move forward.

Funny Jewish Quotes

Hey everyone! Today has been a funny day (complete with Ari’s story from the Census training, where “military barracks” became “military borekas”), so I decided that instead of the traditional blog post, I’m going to put in some of my favorite funny quotes. Now, before you accuse me of being lazy, hold it right there! You will get a recipe today – and a photo! Woo-hoo!

So here they are, some of my favorite funny quotes, including one from me:

“Koolaid is goyish. All Drake’s Cakes are goyish. Pumpernickel is Jewish, and, as you know, white bread is very goyish. Instant potatoes – goyish. Black cherry soda’s very Jewish. Macaroons are very Jewish – very Jewish cake. Fruit salad is Jewish. Lime Jell-O is goyish. Lime soda is very goyish. Trailer parks are so goyish that Jews won’t go near them.” –Lenny Bruce

“Luck is not a lady for me right now. Rather, it is an elementary school bully that is wonderfully adept at stealing your lunch money on a regular day basis.” –Me

“There’s only one difference between Jews and Catholics. Jews are born with guilt, and Catholics have to go to school to learn it.” –Elayne Boosler

“True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked. “ Erich Segal

“I don’t believe in the afterlife, although I am bringing a change of underwear.” – Woody Allen

“No one will ever win the battle of the sexes; there’s too much fraternizing with the enemy.” –Henry Kissinger

“Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.” –George Burns

“When women are depressed they either eat or go shopping. Men invade another country.” –Elayne Boosler

“Age is strictly a case of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” –Jack Benny

“For every ten Jews beating their breasts, G-d designated one to be crazy and amuse the breast-beaters. By the time I was five, I knew I was that one.” –Mel Brooks

“My father never lived to see his dream come true of an all-Yiddish-speaking Canada.” –David Steinberg

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I’m not sure about the universe.” –Albert Einstein

“I once complained to my father that I didn’t seem to be able to do things the same way other people did. Dad’s advice? ‘Margo, don’t be a sheep. People hate sheep. They eat sheep.’” –Margo Kaufman

“I have become my own version of an optimist. If I can’t make it through one door, I’ll go through another door – or I’ll make a door. Something terrific will come no matter how dark the present.” –Joan Rivers

So now that we have our great quotes, it’s time for our amazing recipe: Onion tart, with a pic!

ONION TART

3 large onions

3 tablespoons butter and/or olive oil

1 ready-made pie crust

1 small container of semi-soft cheese, like Alouette or Boursin

1 cup shredded or sliced mozzarella cheese

½ cup parmesan cheese

¼ cup pine nuts (optional)

Slice the onions. Meanwhile, heat the butter/oil in a large skillet. Once hot, add the onions. Allow to cook down for 30-40 minutes over medium-high heat, until they are carmelized.

While this is happening, slightly underbake the pie crust according to package directions. Once cooled, add the semi-soft cheese at the bottom (don’t worry about evenly spacing it out). Add the hot carmelized onions on top of the cheese. Sprinkle the mozzarella and parmesan on top, and add the pine nuts.

Turn up the oven heat to 450 degrees. Place the tart in the oven and allow to cook for about five minutes, or until the cheese turns golden brown. Slice and serve hot. It’s pretty to look at, too!

QUICK TIP: These can be done with mini phyllo shells to make a hors d’oeuvre. Just use less cheese and onion in each one, and bake for less time.

P'tayavon!

Distractions

*DISCLAIMER: I am not a doctor. I wouldn’t ever claim to be one. This is my story with my meds. I am not encouraging anyone to get off of medications. If you are on any prescription medications, you should always talk to your doctor before attempting anything.

Since I was 11 years old, I knew I had ADHD. This just became common knowledge. Until the age of 19, I was on all sorts of prescription drugs to control the ADHD and the factors it came with.

I had a little bit of everything, from traditional ADD medications to anti-depressants. I even took a pill which had the lovely affect of making my body believe that it was pregnant at the age of 16, causing a substantial weight gain. When I got into college, I found out from my psychology textbook that this same medication is used on schizophrenics. Needless to say, I was pissed.

Eventually, I wanted to stop taking my medication. I went to my psychiatrist, who gave me the go-ahead. I wanted to test myself in the real world, sans drugs, as I never had the chance. After some withdrawl, I got into a groove, and I’d say that I found a great deal of success – I became a lot less apathetic and more into enjoying life and everything it had to offer. But as anyone who knows me can tell you, I am still a little ADD-ish.

I find now, more than ever since I have been unemployed, I find that I let these distractions get to me. When I was working, I was in full control and got everything done. I kept myself focused and determined. I was organized and ready to go. But with no schedule or anything to keep me in check, it becomes difficult to keep it together.

Today is probably the best example of this: I woke up this morning, ate breakfast as I always do. I decided today I got to write that blog post, as I haven’t been blogging in a while. Then, as I get on my computer and begin to try to blog, I get distracted by starting to futz around with my iTunes. Focus, Reina, focus! Blog post!

I decided then that I couldn’t stay in the house, what with the TV and everything. I had to get out. I decided to head into Cerritos to my new favorite Coffee Bean (the guy who serves the drinks is a total sweetheart – plus, there’s a Chipotle next door). But with that big shopping center across the street, I couldn’t go without taking a walk. I ended up walking, hopping in and out of stores ogling things I couldn’t afford – so much so that two hours pass!

I finally get to my Coffee Bean, and then check the news – only to get distracted by “Glee,” my brand new favorite show, and their newest guest star, Jonathan Groff, who was in Spring Awakening, a musical I love. So here I am, at the Coffee Bean with my delicious 32-ounce Tropical Passion iced tea with Wikipedia opened to his page, trying desperately to get this blog post out without drifting off into thinking about a grocery list, troubles with finances and job hunting.

Maybe one day I will take ADD medication again, although I am resistant to. There are days where I suspect that I may have been addicted to my medication, because there are times where I feel that the only thing that can solve things is a bit of Adderal or some other Speed-based ADD medication. Instead of the side effects of medication, the only effect that I have is that I am Captain Oblivious. Personally, I find it more endearing than those I got from the medications.

But I realize now that it weakened me in so many ways. Once I got myself off the drugs, it seems like my life turned around. I became a better student and found myself. I carved my own path. My decision to do what I did was not smiled upon, but I took my life into my own hands. Prescription drugs were no longer a crutch, and I took responsibility. I had to.

I am not discouraging anyone from taking medication – in fact, there are many people who need their prescription drugs, both for the safety of themselves and the safety of others. In many cases, medication is crucial; in mine, it was standing in my way. I know that I am a rare case, able to make a choice about my life. And life has never been sweeter.

So here is my favorite sweet treat: Chocolate-dipped fruit. As Ari’s cousin/my kindred spirit Sabrina once said, “You men have your beer and football, us women have chocolate-dipped strawberries.” Plus, you will save tons of money instead of buying dipped strawberries at a chocolate shop for $3 a pop.

CHOCOLATE DIPPED FRUIT

2 cups chocolate morsels

1 cup strawberries

1 banana

½ navel orange (see Quick Tip 1)

Toothpicks

Prepare a baking sheet with a sheet of wax paper on top.

Peel the banana and slice into 1-inch pieces. Wash and dry the strawberries. Peel the navel orange and tear into segments. I like doing this by slicing off the top, then slicing slighting into the skin of the orange and peeling with my fingers. Put toothpicks in them. Set aside.

Melt the chocolate chips in a bowl. Microwave for 30 seconds and stir. Repeat until all the morsels are melted. Once completely melted, dip the fruit into the melted chocolate and place on the wax paper. Continue until all the fruit is dipped.

Put the baking pan in the refrigerator and allow to cool for at least 1 hour. Serve.

Quick Tip 1: If you don’t like any of the fruits above (for example, I don’t like bananas), feel free to substitute with raspberries or blackberries. They work well with the dipping process.

Quick Tip 2: When you wash the fruits, make sure that all the fruit is dry before you dip them. Otherwise the chocolate won’t stick to the fruit and the water will mess up the chocolate.

Fun and fabulous photos

Hi everyone!

As we go into Shabbat, I figured it would be nice to have some photos of food and fun. Here are some great photos over the past few months.

A jar of homemade marinara sauce. It's so good when it's homemade! I'm pretty close to nailing this recipe, and I know what ingredient I'm missing. Once I have it confirmed, I will make it and post it.

A picture of the first attempt at tofu coconut curry. I'm going to take another shot at it pretty soon!

Great food and great friends go together so perfectly... just like Josh and Nelli!

Mmm... Jeff's pastrami burger...

Aroma Cafe up on Sunset in Los Angeles is one of my favorites too... best hummus ever!

And finally, one of my delicious noodle bowls... Ari just loves noodle bowls!

I'm making mac and cheese this afternoon, and hopefully I will be able to get some incredible pictures from that as well to post. P'tayavon!

The Question

Today I had a job interview with Response Magazine. This magazine was possibly the first place I have ever had an incredibly enjoyable job interview, and I am hoping to get a callback.

Why do I bring this up? Because this interview had the most interesting and intriguing interview question I have ever had. It came from the publisher, and he asked this: “Say we hire you in three weeks. In the meantime, we give you the corporate credit card to spend on whatever you want. There is no limit. What would you do?”

Not your typical interview question. It wasn’t a question of ethics, because he said it was specifically a personality question. But it still intrigues me even as I sit in Panera. Imagine that we could live our lives with no financial limitation. We wouldn’t have to worry about where our next dime came from. We could live our lives freely. How would our decisions change? How would our lives change?

It’s particularly strange for me to think about, because I have been living almost my entire married life in complete and total financial limitations (there were two months where that wasn’t the case, but over the course of two and a half years, but still). I couldn’t be able to dream what we would do first, how our lives would so dramatically change if there was no limitation to what we can do.

I try to think about whether it would be a positive or negative. Being a person who has lived their life many a time without money, I think of the wonders and joy that would come if we didn’t have to worry about that. No need to be concerned where the next paycheck comes from! We’d be able to buy a house, go on vacations, have a dog! (I really want a dog) I would have my wonderful kitchen and serving area, complete with all the dishes and servingware that I would need to host a crowd. We might even be able to have a baby, as we would be able to afford the high price for a surrogate.

And yet, I know that the problems that already exist don’t go away just because there happens to be some money thrown around. Just because you can afford everything your heart desires doesn’t mean there won’t be problems – after all, some of the richest people in the world happen to be the saddest ones.

Plus, I realize the things that we will get later in life, when we can afford them, will be that much sweeter when we receive them. After all, who really can appreciate a house when they can just plunk down some money for one with no problem, or haven’t worked to get one? My trip back to Israel will be so much sweeter than if I was able to do it ten years ago with no problem. And if we were able to afford to get a surrogate in the future, however unlikely it may be, wouldn’t it be a truer blessing if we thought it was an impossibility at one point?

In a world that runs almost exclusively on money, hope is the greatest way to stay afloat during poverty. When we have money, I realize it will only solve one problem we have. Money can solve financial issues, but it can’t take care of love or give you peace of mind about everything (it only gives you peace of mind that all the bills are paid).

I’m not going to say that money doesn’t matter – trust me, I know it does, from personal experience. But the truth of the matter is that it shouldn’t be all that there is.

Oh, and the answer I gave? First I would pay off the website, then take Ari to a nice dinner. This would be followed by me buying myself a plane ticket to Israel, visiting all my buddies out there, then hopping through Europe. Upon my homecoming, I would cook a gourmet dinner for everyone -- friends, family and even the guys who interviewed me. How insanely Jewish could you get with the last part?

So, as a cheapo, here is my cheapo recipe for a chick’n parmesan. It’s soy, and if you want, you can make it vegan.

CHICK’N PARMESAN

3 soy chick’n patties or 12 soy chick’n nuggets

½ cup grated mozzarella cheese or soy alternative

¼ cup parmesan cheese or soy alternative

1 cup spaghetti sauce

Preheat the oven to broil. Microwave or cook the soy patties/nuggets according to package directions and place them on a baking sheet.

Cover the patties/nuggets with spaghetti sauce and parmesan cheese. Put mozzarella on top. Put the pan into the oven for 3-5 minutes, until the sauce is hot and the cheese is melted. Serve over spaghetti.

Exile from the Holy Land: A Love Story

In honor of the holiday of Yom Ha’atzmaut, I am finally going to tell my Israel story. It’s not the prettiest of stories, but after 10 years, I refuse to hide anymore. I will tell, because I will not allow my silence to eat at me anymore.

Every Jew has been to Israel has a story about their adventure there – like, “Remember when we went down the Jordan River?” or “Remember the Dead Sea?” Every story comes with an amazing laugh or a great reminiscing smile.

My story of Israel doesn’t come with a lot of these memories. There are some, but they are overwhelmed by one particular memory. Most people don’t know, but my Israel story comes with a different side of Israel. It’s one of heartbreak and exile.

I don’t often talk about it, but the story goes something like this: It was July 16, 1999. I was on an Israel program, 10 days into a six-week trip. We were about to leave the kibbutz we had been staying on that weekend, when the director of the program called me into the small kibbutz office. He put my mother on the phone, who was forced to tell me that they were kicking me out of the program. No reason was given. They just were, and I would leave the country that evening. They tried to blame me, but it was all a lie.

The last day – from talking to the girl who would become my friend for the next 10 years to spending 45 minutes in the Old City – was a blur. Random flashbacks show up from time to time, whether it’s my red-headed friend running across the courtyard, her face red and streaming with tears after she found out I was leaving, running my fingers across the Wailing Wall and sobbing, or the sun setting over the city of Jerusalem. But will never forget holding my friend Eve’s hand and crying from the glorious beauty that was Old City when my eyes first came across it.

The horrible things that happened after I came home – from finding out that I was just a turnkey in a plan for that Israel program to avoid going out of business to being offered a legal settlement that was never paid upon, being told to not tell my story to anyone, ever – don’t matter anymore. I realize how much this experience, of being thrown away like a piece of garbage from this program and being thrown out of Israel for an unknown period of time, changed me.

I became much tougher, not letting the world get to me as much as it had before. I was wounded, but it gave me strength. I found the positive aspects that come from such a negative experience, and instead of letting it become my crutch, it became the stepping stone that I have used throughout the course of my life. The sense of ethics it gave me – not tossing aside any person just because it would save my own skin – was crucial to how I live my life. It inspired further study into what ethics really meant, both for this world and for me. What that horrible director did to me gave me strength -- so much so that last year I actually decided to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the worst day of my life.

And yet, I miss Israel with every sinew of my body. I long for my return to the Promised Land, being able to land in Tel Aviv and kiss the holy ground. I yearn to be able to touch the Wailing Wall, to be able to let it dry my tears. I miss even what I have never had the chance to see before – the Dead Sea, the shores of Tel Aviv, and Sfat, where I have always longed to spend a Shabbat with the mystics. My heart has ached for Jerusalem and its holy light ever since the day I left.

It wasn’t like I never had the chance – a lot of people I knew lied that they had never been to Israel before in order to go on the Birthright Israel trip. “You can just lie,” they said. They thought I was so stupid to refuse to do that – after all, didn’t I want a free trip to Israel? Didn’t I want to go back? The answer was absolutely, with every molecule in my heart – but I was lied to as I was kicked out of Israel. I refused to lie to get back in. I was better than that, better than that evil man who sent me into exile.

Still, I fill up with jealousy as I watch my friends and other people I know go back and forth to Israel like it was a hop, skip and a jump away. Most of them don’t know the truth about me. In fact, my own former roommate didn’t know until I had told him about a month ago over dinner with him and his amazing girlfriend. I came to the conclusion then that I should no longer be holding my exile inside of me. It was a cancer on my soul. I decided that I shouldn’t lie to anyone who asks me whether I had been or not. I am way past that point in my life of deluding anyone or telling people, “It’s hard to talk about,” or even just whispering about it.

And I try desperately to comfort myself, tell myself that one day I will return. Ari has told me that we will go someday, although every day that we are both unemployed, it seems more and more unlikely that we’ll be able to make it there. I have thought about attending the Jerusalem Culinary Institute, but it’s another one of those impossible dreams.

I then wonder about our ancestors, who saw the Second Temple destroyed in 70 CE and then were forced into exile, never to see their homeland again. Their descendents only got it back 62 years ago. I understand their mourning, the pain our ancestors must have felt to leave their home, and the desperation to find a new place to call home.

Fortunately, I did find a home in the end – Orange County, and then Long Beach, became my home, and I love it with all my heart. But no matter how far away I am, I don’t stop dreaming about the Old City at sunset, the blue of the Red Sea and the first time I laid eyes on the world’s largest crater, where there was nothing but earth and sky, and fell in love with a country half a world away from anything I had known.

And one day, I will return. I will return to the land from my exile, and G-d willing, in my lifetime, I will see the Holy Temple built up once more, and we will celebrate in its joy and perfection. We will see the end of war, strife and sorrow, and find the cause for celebration.

I wish you all a happy Yom Ha’atzmaut, celebrating all that Israel has given to us. I know it gave me something to live for throughout the dark times of my life. Let Israel be the light that shines on for us and guides us through the darkness.