OyChicago blog

A few weeks ago, a ridiculous thought occurred to me. I could not remember the last time I bought new gym shoes.

I was looking down at my shoes, ready to show the elliptical who's boss (hint: not me), and I realized that I've owned those shoes for a very, very long time. I had no memory of buying sneakers after college. Did I buy them before college? Is there a chance that these well-loved shoes were more than 10 years old?

I think the "rules" say people should purchase new gym shoes every year or every other year, which meant that it was definitely time to buy a new pair. And now, as we speak, I'm breaking in some exciting new shoes just waiting to travel the world (or at least the inside of a workout room).

But all of a sudden, I'm feeling nostalgic for my old guys.

If you read my blogs, you might know I've become obsessed with The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo. One of the aspects of her book that make the haters hate hate hate hate hate is that Kondo recommends "thanking" each of your items before discarding them. Yes, it may be a little hokey to thank your oven mitts for a job well done, but it does make you feel less guilty about tossing them. "Thank you, oven mitts, for keeping my hands from getting burned as I baked cookies for my friends. But I don't need three pairs of oven mitts. I hope you make someone else very happy."

Thanking items before discarding them allows you to think about how items have more than their face value. Oven mitts lead to family gatherings. Dresses lead to memorable occasions. And gym shoes lead to health, fitness, and long walks with good friends.

So I'd like to use this post to thank my old gym shoes. It's truly been quite a journey. According to my Fitbit, which I've worn daily since November 2013, I've walked nearly 3,000 miles over the past three years. And these gym shoes have literally supported me every step of the way (except for those somewhat painful mid-workday walks with coworkers when I'm wearing flats).

These shoes have traveled with me around the globe -- to Israel, England, Holland, Belgium, Canada, Mexico, all over the United States, and throughout so many Chicago neighborhoods. They may have made me look like a tourist, but at least when I'm wearing them, I look like a happy tourist and not a "my feet are killing me so please don't make me ;go to one more stinkin' museum" tourist.

According to some exhaustive Facebook research, this is the first recorded photo of me in the shoes, taken while exploring downtown Chicago with my college roommates in September 2008:

These shoes have kept me comfortable, kept me walking, kept me exploring. They've been with me in probably more kinds of weather than is appropriate for non-rain boots.

So now, as the shoes are at least eight years old, worn and tattered, showing signs of retirement, I look ahead to my new friends for my feet:

And maybe I should set myself a reminder for this time next year to look into getting a new pair of -- gotta say it -- solemates.

Daniel Craig and Liev Schreiber as two tough Jews in 'Defiance.'

Back in 2002, a dude named Adam Weitz wrote a jokey list titled "Films about Tough Jews." The list, in its entirety, was:

The Ten Commandments
Casino

Hardy-har-har. Well, I just found that list this year, and I'm retroactively ticked off about it. There are a whole lot more movies about tough Jews than that. For the purposes of this list, we're going to keep it to Jews who show physical toughness, not just mental or emotional grit.

The mention of a mob movie on a list of "tough Jews" might itself be a reference to the 1999 book Tough Jews : Fathers, Sons, and Gangster Dreams. This is not the only book about the Jewish involvement in organized crime; another has the lovely title But He Was Good to His Mother: The Lives and Crimes of Jewish Gangsters. (There are also The Rise and Fall of the Jewish Gangster in America and even The Book of American Jewish Gangsters: A Pictorial History so you can tailor the costumes for your Jewish-mobster movie more accurately).

Movies about such tough Jews include the one about Bugsy Siegel and the one about Meyer Lansky. Jewish mobsters Moe Green (based on Siegel) and Hyman Roth (based on Lansky) appear in the Godfather films, too. A Jewish mobster movie that aims at the epic proportions of The Godfather is Once Upon a Time in America.

Jewish gangsters are even mentioned in the theme song to an Elvis movie. In "Jailhouse Rock," which imagines "the whole cell block" busting into song and "the rhythm section" was composed of "the Purple Gang."

The idea of "tough Jews" must include athletes, and they have been depicted on screen as well. There are boxers from Daniel Mendoza (back in the 1700s! No movie yet …) to Barney Ross and Max Baer (unfairly maligned in Cinderella Man). The Israeli victims of the Munich Olympics massacre included three weightlifters and two wrestlers. Speaking of the Olympics, Chariots of Fire features a Jewish athlete tough enough to compete in a race he didn't even train for … and, in a way, Ben-Hur becomes an athlete to compete in that famous chariot race.

Then there are the "tough Jews" who are soldiers and rebels. There are some movies about the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising and other movies about Defiance against the Nazis. There are several about the early days of Israel, including the Exodus from Nazi Europe and the American Jewish general who Cast a Giant Shadow over the founding of the Jewish State. There are even two about Operation Thunderbolt, in which Israeli soldiers achieved Victory at Entebbe over terrorist hijackers in Uganda.

Protecting the home front, Jewish police officers have appeared onscreen as well. Liev Schreiber plays a Chasidic cop on Fading Gigolo, Melanie Griffith goes undercover in a Chasidic community in A Stranger Among Us, and Andy Garcia investigates an anti-Semitic murder in Homicide (There is still room for a Jewish firefighter movie…).

It's harder to find Jewish characters in science-fiction, superhero and fantasy movies, but they are out there. While his heritage is not as well-known as his origin, Ben Grimm, a.k.a. The Thing -- a member of the Fantastic Four -- is Jewish. And I challenge you to find a tougher Jew than one who can stop a semi with his literally rock-solid shoulder.

Tough Jews -- in the heat of competition and on both sides of the law -- have been depicted time and time (and time) again in the movies. So if you want me to keep listing them, well, as the superhero says, "I could do this all day."

(OK, so Captain America, while he was dreamt up by Jewish artists, isn't Jewish himself. But he did do this.)

Andy in 2012

I was on my way to a work event and needed something to give me a little boost of energy. I quickly ducked into a CVS with the intention of grabbing a diet soda -- a little caffeine boost would do the trick. As I entered through the automatic doors, all the beverages were immediately to the right: Milk, then juice, then, here we go -- soda. I was in a hurry and quickly scanned my options, settling on Diet Wild Cherry Pepsi -- a real treat because most places don't carry it.

I turned around and headed for the registers, passing by the chips, cookies, and -- wait a minute -- out of the corner of my eye was the candy aisle. It's as if, they knew my weaknesses and placed it right in my path. I wasn't hungry, but somehow found myself stopping, turning away from the register and now walking into a sugary sweet display of all the most dangerous choices.

I fixated on the display of gummy candies, which I am convinced are singlehandedly responsible for putting my dentist's kids through college. I zeroed in on a bag of those fruit slices with the sugary topping glistening in the store lights. At $1.49 a bag, I contemplated whether it would be justifiable to buy the whole bag, eat only a few of them and then throw the rest away. I reached out and grabbed onto one of the bags, the plastic crinkling as I started to pull it off the shelf.

Then I said to myself,

I don't know if I need this right now. There will be other food at this event, so why do I need to eat this right now. The diet soda will give me the pick-me-up I am craving right now. Walk away now and go buy the soda.

I released the package from my grip, took a step back, a deep breath and turned back toward the register.

"Did you find everything you need okay?" said the cashier.

I am sure I walked out of there with everything I needed, but my mouth was still salivating at his question, because I was thinking about biting into one of those fruit slices. I was imagining how the sugar would have tingled on my tongue as soon as I put it in my mouth.

I muttered some kind of neutral response but I don't remember what it was. I was feeling too ashamed about my episode with the candy in aisle four. Sure I had stopped myself this time, but other times before that day, I had not chosen to stop. On my way out, I began to wonder if I ever came in for a diet soda at all, or if my subconscious plan was to sniff out the candy aisle all along.

Earlier this month, The New York Times ran a piece about the findings of a study of a group of contestants from the reality TV show The Biggest Loser. Admittedly, I have only watched the show a couple of times, but the premise is pretty simple: Extremely overweight contestants compete to see who can lose the most weight. The winner, after several months of intense dieting and exercise along with a host of other challenges, is crowned "Biggest Loser."

This study tracked contestants from Season 8 for six years after their dramatic weight loss to find that most had regained some if not all of the weight they lost on the show. Furthermore, the research found that major changes had occurred in each of their resting metabolisms after their extreme weight loss. In short, their bodies seemed to be working against them when it came to maintaining their dramatic feats of weight loss even more so than before they lost the weight in the first place.

Andy in 2005

I saw this article pop up in my social media feeds a lot; it brought on a strong reaction from many people. Over 2,700 people have directly commented on the article and I am sure thousands more have read it. I am not a scientist or nutrition expert, so I can't speak to the science behind what this research shows, but having lost over 100 pounds and worked to maintain that loss for over four years, I can definitely speak to it from my own personal experience.

If you read between the lines, this article tells the story of what draws us to the stories of these Biggest Losers. Those of us who want to see those pounds go away but feel helpless to stop ourselves from overeating find hope in the stories of the contestants on the show. If they can do it, so can we. We then find comfort in our own failures when we hear that even they couldn't keep the weight off. And finally, when we learn from the research that it's not them (or us) it's our metabolism that is to blame, that removes the guilt and shame from ever having this problem in the first place.

Sadly, none of this does anything to help. Whether we dive head first and guilt-free into a piece of chocolate cake or sit quietly in the corner, stuffing it into our faces fighting back shameful tears, we are still eating chocolate cake. If we eat enough of it, we will likely gain weight.

To be clear, I don't believe that eating cake or gummy candies or anything "bad for you" is a mortal sin, regardless of what may or may not happen to your body. I'm just pointing out that changes to our behaviors and habits must be a piece of changing our bodies. At the same time, I am also not interested in reducing what for me was a complex, physical and emotional journey to an oversimplified scientific finding, fad diet or the notion that walking away from the candy aisle made all the difference.

After struggling with food for almost my entire life, I have found that food issues and challenges with weight are immensely more layered and nuanced than a lot of popular media would suggest. I would love to see more articles that remove the stigmas around being fat, so we can have more honest conversation about how to take responsibility for eating our way to the healthiest versions of ourselves. If we can't talk openly about this then how will we truly know what we are losing for anyway?

"I hate you."

These are powerful words. They can ruin years of relationship development in two seconds. All the breakthroughs and trust painstakingly earned can all come to a halt. And yet what's the alternative? Just hold it in? Let it stew and get worse as the days go by? Hatred is such a strong negative feeling and seemingly the sign of a relationship doomed for failure -- disastrous if you express it and explosive if you don't.

To add confusion and kindling to this quandary, it happens all the time. Teenagers scream "I hate you!" (or other more flowery terminology …) at their parents. Spouses often feel if not express loathsome feelings toward their significant other after feeling despair, hurt, loneliness, or anger in their relationship. Yet sharing these feelings seems so counterproductive. Can't we just ignore it and get over it or maneuver around it?

Here's some advice, "Don't hate."

The great solution we've all been dreaming of: Don't hate! That would basically remedy the relationship-hatred-challenge … except it's not in touch with reality. We do hate, and we don't really have access to an internal switch that turns it off.

The Torah offers a beautiful insight into this emotional challenge. It doesn't simply say, "don't hate," rather it says, "don't hate … in your heart."

Our heart represents our private inner thoughts. It's kind of our internal chamber for thinking to ourselves. Using a bit of logic, this means if I tell the person I hate them, then I'm no longer hating them in my heart. So the Torah seems to be saying I should go tell them, "I hate you," right?

Well, the verse continues. "Rebuke your fellow…" Ok, fantastic, I'll give him a piece of my mind. But then it continues further, " …and do not carry on him a sin."

One could understand this to mean you can't blame the other person or put the fault on him. You might hate him with good reason. He did X, Y -- and Z too!  But here comes the clincher: There is another side to every experience. You need to tell him that you are feeling so hurt, sad, angry, and sometimes even stronger negative feelings towards him (i.e. hatred). But you also need to tell him, "I don't understand why you did this to me. I feel inclined to blame you, but I'm told (by the Almighty) not to blame you. So could you please explain to me what in the world happened?"

That sounds difficult, and yes, it is. But imagine what it would do for you and the other person?

The Torah continues, "… Don't bear a grudge." How could I not bear a grudge? Well, if you followed the rules of sharing your inner pain and hard feelings (no hatred in the heart), without blaming the other (rebuke without carrying a sin on him), then you will be able to get over your grudge too. And best of all, you will find a newfound stronger place of love between each other, as the verse continues, "Love thy neighbor (i.e. this newfound friend) as yourself."

It's 4 p.m. on Thursday and the house is currently cleared of the 14 relatives who will crowd around the stovetop asking for seconds on matzah ball soup. But we've still got time -- time to make roast and tzimmus, matzah farfel and broccoli, sweep the floor, wash the floor (since its sticky from unattended juice boxes bulldozed with petite feet of the same size) and set the table. Mom needs time without foot traffic, so the house is empty except for her and me. But the hours slip seamlessly like the Jewish CD that's flipping from track to track.

Soon the twins will be back and there are calls for "Bubbie, Bubbie" and sounds of the fridge door yawning open and winding back. Suddenly, I remember the presents I bought for my 7 (and three-fifths)-year-old nephews. They "wait right there" while I claim the rectangle boxes from my bedroom. They stare at the name-engraved siddurs, exactly the same, except that one is beige and the other brown -- fraternal twins, like the boys.

As they stand, thanking me as per custom, I cannot help but imagine they're disappointed that my gift doesn't come with preprogrammed games and lacks an "on" button.

Someone says they'll grow into it. And I wonder -- at nearly 22 -- have I grown into it? Essentially, I've grown up with tefilah (prayer) -- that I know -- but have I become a grownup with tefilah?

Age: 5 -- feeling sneaky

It's so quiet that I can hear the fluorescent lights hum in the sanctuary. Kayla's laughing next to me. She's smirking -- her siddur's covering her mouth -- but I can see it in her eyes. I start to laugh too because her mom doesn't know we're mouthing the words "bubblegum, bubblegum" over and over. Her mom thinks were praying the silent Shmone Esrei prayer, and gives us an approving grin. We're rocking back and forth, mumbling our "bubblegums," trying to fit in. We laugh because we'll probably be rewarded with stickers on our Mitzvah Charts.

Age: 11 -- feeling high

I am one of the only girls -- and by far the oldest -- traveling round and round the bimah (stage) on my dad's shoulders. It's Simchat Torah, the yearly celebration upon completing the five books of Torah, and we're 40 minutes into the huddled parade. Dad shifts me every couple of minutes. With 75 pounds above him, the 52-year-old calls to my older brother for backup. A man hugging a Torah shouts a prayer and suddenly, I am tossed into the air squealing peals of laughter with other children. Together we look like sautéing vegetables, flicking and falling in a chef's skillet. Somewhere over the divider, my mother is covering her mouth, complaining that the ceiling fans are too low.

Age: 14 -- feeling bored

I don't know how reading from the Torah became a popularity contest, but it just does. We're eighth graders, and though we feel on top of the world, in years to come, we'll cover up these pictures and declare "it was my awkward stage." I'm a goofy eighth grader and look to entertain myself in the classroom we converted into a makeshift prayer space. I ask the teacher supervising services if she has a band-aid. She checks the desk drawers and declares that there aren't any. I ask if she can please find me one. She leaves the room. While she's gone, I go behind the desk and rifle through the confiscated items inside its drawers. I remove rubber bands and popsicle sticks, and stash them away inside the kangaroo pouch of my Tommy Hilfiger sweatshirt. The teacher returns 60 seconds later with a band-aid and a "just in case" band-aid. I begin to craft a slingshot and shoot rubber bands over the mechitzah (dividing curtain). Popular kids laugh and I'm no longer bored.

Age 19 -- feeling the kedushah

Margin by annotated margin, my siddur becomes a thick enjambment of diary reflections and rhetorical questions. In my 6-foot by 4-foot turquoise text, blank spaces become as hard to find as downtown parking spots. I feel uplifted, inspired -- pure.

Age 21 -- feeling feminist-y

There's a circular sunroof just above the bimah that transforms the chem student reading from the Torah into a radiating Hercules. I imagine a ginormous hand reaching through the skylight -- like a hand unclogging a drain or King Kong plucking Ann Darrow -- and pulling him through the orb. Someone says a blessing, and I remember I'm supposed to focus. It is in this room, the upstairs sanctuary of Hillel, that I took an oath as a freshman to pray in daily, an oath I compromised to visit on Tuesdays and Thursdays as a sophomore and forgot entirely as a junior. Only the digital pestering of Facebook reminders brought me here on this Saturday morning. It's hard to ignore when there's a partnership minyan approaching, especially when you're friends with the people who organize partnership minyanim. It's even easier to get suckered into taking leadership roles. I approach the bimah while cursing myself for doing this. Grasp. Dip. Bend. Straighten. Someone spots me as I lift the Torah high, nearly touching the circle. I return to my seat feeling oddly empowered as the first woman to do hagbah (lifting the Torah) in Hillel during a partnership minyan.

Back to Pesach.It's the last day of the holiday and I'm waiting for Bubbie to finish breakfast so we can go to shul. I know this won't be quick. I grab a white siddur from the bookshelf and start from the beginning. After only 10 minutes of living room seclusion, I hear small feet patter and stop in front of me. I glance up and see one of my nephews. I look back down and continue, trying to convey that the proper respect for prayer is avoiding interruptions.

"Mom!" He shouts, though the kitchen is a few yards away. "Where's my siddur?" he asks.

She says it's packed in the basement, but he says he wants it.

"To use in the house or to bring to shul?" She calls back.

What comes next sends trills of pleasure down my spine.

"Both," he says.

I guess he found the "on" button after all.

Even though it seems like it was only a year ago, I'm about to have another birthday.

But this is no ordinary birthday. No, no, no. Not only is this the first birthday I'm going to celebrate without all of my baby teeth (I misplaced them on the bus), but it's also the fifth anniversary of my 24th birthday. So yeah, I'm going to be 29. I hope it will be a birthday to remember since I can't remember the last 28.

But fear not my generous Oy! enthusiasts, for I have a surefire plane to make sure this birthday is one for the books! That book being "The Book of Things Adam Kind of Makes Up to Make His Life More Awesome: Part 1." Journey with me.

I've never been big on birthdays. I'm usually normal size. But birthdays don't have the same profound impact on me as I've seen them have on others. I tend to care more for unique celebratory milestones, like when I celebrated turning 10,000 days old, or when I take a moment to enjoy some of the small things life throws my way. But this year, I'm quite looking forward to my birthday because it will be -- in my twisted logic -- the longest birthday I've ever had to perfectly accommodate the age that I will become.

You ready for this? Read on. Or read the title of the article. That's a dead giveaway. But then read on.

You see, I am fortunate enough to be going on a vacation this year to the most important state in the union, Hawaii, which is important because it helps make our flag look balanced. I mean, a 49 star flag -- that would be outrageous, egregious, and preposterous.

When I am in the Aloha State, a phrase which here means, "a quiet laugh," (Get it? A-low-ha. Heh heh … I'll see myself out) I will be celebrating my 29th birthday. I'll be doing this on May 12, because that's when my birthday is. I know because I was there.

But here's the thing, when in Hawaii the time zone difference from Chicago is 5 hours. So that means when it is 7 p.m. on May 11, Hawaii time, it will be 12 a.m. on May 12 Chicago time. So in a way, that is when my birthday is technically going to be starting. However, given that I am on Hawaii time, I fully intend to still consider the full day of May 12 -- all 24 hours of it -- as my birthday on top of the aforementioned additional time.

Do you see it? If you see it, that's great. You're amazing. You're basically mishpacha (family). If you don't, let me do some math for you so you can become mishpacha.

Let's break it down. My actual birthday is 24 hours long, but to everyone I know in Chicago, it will be starting five hours earlier since I will be in Hawaii. Mostly based on the fact that I know my Dad will be wishing me a happy birthday right at midnight Chicago time, it is safe to say that we can add five hours of celebratory shenaniganery to my normally 24-hour birthday.

So, 5 hours + 24 hours = 29 hours. And it's my 29th birthday.

I couldn't make this up. I couldn't have planned it. But if this was going to happen to anyone, it was going to happen be me. This blows the idea of a Golden Birthday (when I turned 12 on May 12) out of the water. Or my reverse birthday every year (again, given I was born on May 12, my reverse birthday is December 5). It's like some amazing, unbelievable, coincidence! (That's a previously written blog that came out last year -- on my birthday! It just keeps going!)

But when I had the realization that on my 29th birthday I would be having a 29-hour birthday, my jaw hit the floor. It was because I had tripped. But when I got back up, I immediately had to write this Oy! blog, which you are reading right now to immortalize my incessant dorkiness with the way I view the world and the fun moments that are hidden within the everyday ones. It was short. It was sweet. It took me about 29 hours to write ... it just keeps going!

Grandpa Max with Grandma Rita -- married 68 years -- circa the late 1950s.

My Grandpa Max passed away this spring -- on his 93rd birthday.

According to Jewish wisdom, dying on the same day that you're born is a blessing. In fact, Moses was said to have died on his 120th birthday. The Talmud teaches us that God calculates and completes the lifespan of a righteous person.

Jewish scholars say that righteous people are charged with a mission at their birth: To live their lives to the fullest potential and finish their mission completely. The mission ends on the very same day it was begun.

So that means Grandpa passed away on the exact day he was supposed to.

My grandpa -- my dad's dad -- was a mensch who lived his life with dignity and integrity. A kind, humble, generous, and gentle soul with the driest wit.

It was the way he loved and teased my grandma for 68 years.

It was the way he would interact with people at the deli counter, Grandma's beauty parlor, or the convenience store where he bought his lottery tickets, how he'd disarm them with a joke.

It was the way he would rarely sign his paintings, because he didn't care to take credit for his work.

It was the way he served in combat during World War II on the beaches of the Philippines and in the jungles of New Guinea.

When he returned to Long Island after the war, he met my grandma, set up by their two sisters who dreamed up their shidduch (match) at a canasta game. Max worked long hours in the family school supply factory in Manhattan. He would bring home for his two sons -- and later his four granddaughters -- notebooks and pencils with our names etched on them.

He never went to college, but he read voraciously, and seemed to know just about everything. Every day, my grandma would do the crossword puzzle, and any time she didn't know an answer, she would enlist the help of her Max. Whether it was a baseball player, an obscure politician, or even the name of a 1990s boy band member -- somehow Grandpa knew the answer.

In his free time, he loved to paint, especially portraits of the people he loved; Max would capture not only their physical likeness, but their spirit too.

When I'd come to visit, we'd paint canvases with his special acrylics; I'd get frustrated when my artwork, unlike Grandpa's, looked nothing like the person I was painting. But Grandpa would always tell me they were beautiful. I knew that they weren't, but I also knew that Grandpa believed that they were because he only saw the good in his granddaughters.

In the summertime, Grandpa and I would stroll along the boardwalk near Grandma and Grandpa's home in Long Island. We'd sometimes chat about school and friends and other times just walk in silence, smelling the seaweed and ocean air, and listening to the soothing crashing of the waves. For my grandpa was a man who was comfortable with silences, and who only spoke when he had something to say.

Each one of us have our own Grandpa Max, people we miss every day, people that paved the way for us, who live on in us forever.

My other grandfather, Harry, died two weeks before my second birthday.

Even though I didn't get the chance to know Grandpa Harry, he always held this superhero status in my mind and heart. After all, my grandma, my mom, and other people who knew and loved him would constantly nourish me with stories about him, about his decency and his moral compass.

A Jewish socialist, he immigrated to the States from Russia in the early part of the 20th century. Here, he met my maternal grandma and they bought a farm in Wisconsin, where they raised cattle, corn, two sons, and a daughter. He and my Grandma loved Israel and he insisted on investing their meager savings in Israel's early days. Harry would say, "If this is worth nothing, then our lives are worth nothing."

Grandpa Harry died 36 years before Grandpa Max. These last few weeks, since Max died, I keep envisioning my two grandfathers, who had been fond of each other back when my parents were first courting, reunited with each other now. I bet that they, along with my late grandma, are enjoying each other's company and making each other laugh.

Death has this way of making us take stock of our lives. When our loved ones die, in the best of worlds, their passing makes those of us they leave behind want to live our lives with even more purpose and integrity. Like Grandpa Max and Grandpa Harry, the really great ones inspire us to live our lives to our fullest potentials, to complete our own missions.

My papa, Ralph Rehbock, has been the greatest influencer and teacher in my life. Since surviving the Holocaust as a young boy, he has never been shy speaking about his past, or about teaching the lessons of the Holocaust as a member of Illinois Holocaust Museum & Education Center's Speakers' Bureau.

Carly and her grandparents

As a young girl, I was -- and still am -- captivated by his story of survival, including the historical learning that indulges my love of history, while still sharing life lessons in kindness, the importance of helping strangers, and taking a stand against injustice. His experiences and his lifelong dedication to spreading knowledge of the Holocaust have inspired me to be a better person and take action against injustice, and hopefully I can encourage others to do the same.

As a direct descendent of a survivor, I know how important it is to keep the story of the Holocaust alive. As the number of survivors dwindles, their stories are being told less and less.

Ralph as a boy with his parents, Ruth and Hans

Considering he fled Germany when he was only 4 years old, my Papa's survival story was different than the narratives that I had learned in school. We were taught the stories of Anne Frank and Elie Wiesel, to name a few -- stories of concentration camps, Nazi invasions and the struggles of trying to hide as a Jewish person in Nazi Germany. I grew up believing that my Papa's story was atypical, and did not sound like all of the other survivor stories that I had been taught. As I grew older -- and wiser -- I learned how untrue that was.

My papa never had to hide in an attic like Anne Frank; he never had to survive a concentration camp as Elie Wiesel did. He did, however, have his life disrupted and completely changed due to the events of the Holocaust.

In 1938, while he and his family were visiting the American embassy in Berlin in order to get visas to come to the U.S., the Nazis invaded his home in Gotha. That was the night of Kristallnacht, the "Night of Broken Glass," when Jewish shops, buildings and synagogues were destroyed and their homes ransacked.

After going underground for a couple of weeks, my great-grandfather was able to hide in a plane bound for London, where he met up with his brother. A short time after, my papa and his mother went to board a train to England to meet him, but when they arrived at the train station they ran into Nazi soldiers who called "all Jews out!" and strip-searched them, including my papa and great-grandmother.

Ralph and his mother, Ruth Nussbaum Rehbock

Then a total stranger happened upon them and said, "when I signal you by tipping my hat, run with me." They had no reason to trust this man, but my great-grandmother made a split second decision, took my papa by the hand and ran with him. This stranger happened to know the exact time a train was passing that was heading for the Dutch border, which had not yet been invaded by the Nazis. The three of them ran across the tracks and jumped onto the moving train, which eventually led my papa and his mother to safety, first in England where they met up with my great-grandfather, and then ultimately in America. To this day, the destination of the train that they were supposed to take is still unknown.

My papa and his family survived due to the kindness of a stranger, and because of that, his story became less about his survival, and more about the ability of individuals to take a stand for humanity.

Today, my papa serves as vice president of the Illinois Holocaust Museum, which encourages visitors to "be 'Upstanders,' not bystanders," and the way my papa tells his story demonstrates how essential that adage is. I have chosen to live my life as an "Upstander" and I attribute that to all he has taught me.

Because of him, I strive to be as involved as I can with the museum. In college, I interned in the museum's collections department, where I spent my days immersed in the stories of survivors and the artifacts that were left behind. The allure of this internship was in part to advance my knowledge of the Holocaust (I was a history major), and more importantly, it was a way to be closer to my papa. I realized that interning at the museum was simply not enough for me. I wanted to do more, and to make a difference, just as my papa had always taught me.

Family photograph of the Nussbaum-Rehbock family, taken on June 27, 1937, in Gotha, Germany. Ralph (Rolf) is the boy in the center.

Eventually I became part of Generation2Generation. G2G is a group focused on teaching the stories of Holocaust survivors long after they are gone. My G2G partner, Holocaust survivor Doris Fogel, has introduced me to a side of the Holocaust that I didn't even know existed.

Doris and her family were part of a small group of survivors who lived out the war in a ghetto, in Japanese-occupied Shanghai, China. Each time we meet, I learn more about Doris' childhood and her eight years spent with about 23,000 displaced Jews. Just like my papa's story, Doris' story is not traditional, yet it is an incredible example of survival and strength.

Generation2Generation has allowed me to cultivate a relationship with Doris and dozens of other survivors, with the promise that we, as G2G partners, will continue to bring life to their stories for many years to come.

My proudest accomplishment to date, however, has been becoming co-chair of the Illinois Holocaust Museum's new Young Professional Committee that hosts fundraising and friend-raising programs to support the mission of the museum. This role has offered me the opportunity to spread knowledge and awareness of the Holocaust, and stress the importance of taking action, just as my papa impressed upon me and so many others.

Everything that my papa has taught me has prepared me for this role. His influence has been so obvious in my life, and I would like to take this opportunity to thank him. I thank him for believing in me and helping me to get to where I am today and I thank him for sharing his story and inspiring me to be a better person and an Upstander. I hope that my achievements are making him proud, as I have been proud of him since I was old enough to understand his story and its many lessons.

My grandfather's Judaism called to him when he was 16. It was 1942. His family had emigrated to America decades earlier and he was living the American Dream. They lived in a spacious apartment in the Bronx alongside Pelham Bay Park. He attended public school, hardly ever went to synagogue and was happily assimilated. Yet when relatives told stories they'd heard of Jews being rounded up and killed in the very European towns they had left behind, something in him stirred.

He tried to enlist in the Army, but was turned away due to his age. A few months later he turned 17 and tried again, this time in the Navy. They didn't check his age quite as carefully and he was selected for the Underwater Demolition Teams, the forerunner of today's Navy Seals. He carried out missions from submarines in the waters of Northern Europe and swam first onto the beach at Normandy to blow up the barricades that prevented the landing craft from deploying troops.

My grandfather Melvin

My grandfather likes to tell a story from after Normandy when he met a captured German officer aboard an aircraft carrier. The officer was laughing and smoking with some troops, acting as if he was "one of the guys." When he asked my grandfather why he was so sour, my grandfather replied in his broken Yiddish, "Ich bein a Juden" ("I am a Jew"). He says the officer's face turned dark and he didn't say another word.

My other grandfather, on my mother's side, heard his Judaism call to him when he was 12. He was living in a very small rural village in Lithuania. For months, his family had heard of round-ups of Jews -- and they were coming closer to their village. When they finally came, they were told by the S.S. that they would be re-settled, but my grandfather's family chose otherwise -- they escaped into the surrounding forest.

For four years they lived in the wilderness, facing hunger every day, frostbite in the winters and surprise raids by German units combing the forest for them. Two of my grandfather's siblings fought with the partisans, and one was killed shortly before the war's end, betrayed by her Polish compatriots. My grandfather lost siblings, nieces, nephews and friends -- and his youth.

He tells a story of smuggling food into the forest that he'd stolen from an outlying farm. He was returning alone with his bounty late at night when a pack of wolves began stalking him. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his grenade, the only weapon he had, believing it would be better to die like that than to be eaten by wolves. It was then, he says, that he felt the hand of God on his shoulder, and he knew that he would survive the night, and the forest.

My grandfather Larry (left) and family.

Most of his family survived the forest and eventually came to the U.S., but one family member who did not was his sister, for whom I was named and whose name I carry proudly today.

Both of my grandfathers' stories weigh heavily on my heart and mind. I constantly think about how we, in this generation can perpetuate their stories and achievements, as well as the memories of those we have lost.

I have chosen a career in the Jewish world to try and do what I can to strengthen our community, ensure that we have opportunities to remain a growing, vibrant and strong Jewish people. My previous work at the JDC brought me great pride; I was working for an organization that was instrumental in helping my grandfather, as well as millions of others, after the war ended. And now, living in Chicago with my husband and working at JCC Chicago, I am impressed with the breadth of opportunities available to families, young adults and children here. We are living in a strong community where we can be proud of our Jewishness and have spaces to celebrate it -- something that previous generations were not always able to experience.

Our Judaism calls to each of us. Sometimes it is a call of conscience or a call for help; sometimes it is a call to life or a call to spirit; sometimes it is a shout and sometimes a whisper; sometimes we must seek it out, and sometimes it seeks us out, whether we want it to or not.

The question for each of us is, how will we answer when it does?

I first remember learning about the Holocaust when I was 5 years old. Sitting in my grandparents' living room, the camera crew entered with all of their equipment and I sat quietly on the couch with the rest of my family as we waited for the interviewer to begin asking my grandfather questions.

Steven Spielberg's Shoah Foundation had contacted my grandfather about sharing his experience surviving three concentration camps during World War II. At the time, I knew that this was something important to my family, but I had little context for how and why this would have a major impact on my life.

My grandfather was one of the sole Holocaust survivors in his family. Prior to his deportation at the age of 23, he had lived in Plonsk, Poland, where he and an older brother worked as barbers. His family was placed into a ghetto before making the agonizing transport to Auschwitz in 1941. At Auschwitz, where he spent the majority of his captivity, his job was to cut the hair of the arriving prisoners -- stripping them of their identities as they entered the camp. The Nazis considered this necessary in order to carry out their plans of dehumanizing and eliminating the Jews of Europe, and that made my grandfather a crucial commodity to the Nazis. He was given extra food in order to stay strong enough to cut hair. So it was being a barber that kept him alive.

In January 1945, my grandfather was taken on a death march to Mauthausen and then later to Ebensee in Austria, where he was liberated by the Americans in May. My grandfather -- even in the face of death -- was incredibly lucky to survive the atrocities and horrors of the Holocaust.

Whenever we learned about the Holocaust in school and religious school, I was always quick to raise my hand and share my grandfather's story. I knew that having this family history was something that set me apart from many of my peers and I often wondered if they could grasp the gravity of what my grandfather had gone through, even though I never could. My mind always returned to one thing: an awareness that had my grandfather not survived, I would not be alive. I still grapple with this notion to this day as I talk about and continue to process my grandfather's experience.

Today, my grandfather is 96 years old. He is still cutting hair at his barber shop in West Rogers Park and he refuses to retire. He believes that his work is what keeps him going every day and if you ask him, he will tell you that he has enough money to pay the bills and to keep the shop running and that is all that he needs.

Forced work kept my grandfather alive in the camps, but now it is his own personal choice to work, and he chooses to do the work that has shaped his entire life. My family believes that his work is what keeps him alive. Despite his lack of hearing, he is still as sharp as a tack, and when you set him loose in a shopping mall, he will take off like he's running a marathon.

As I've gotten older, my grandfather has shared more and more about his past. This usually happens at the dinner table when he and my 90-year-old grandmother tell my brother and me what life was like in the old country. In college, I interviewed him for a class about workers in America and I enjoyed talking with him about his love for the barber shop and his commitment to his customers, some of whom are the third generation of their families to sit in his barber chair. He is truly an inspiring and resilient individual and I am proud to call him my grandfather.

As a Social Studies teacher, I also share my grandfather's story with my students. I remind them that although the Holocaust was an event in history, it is still so painfully tangible today in the lives of survivors and their families. I share his story to encourage my students to not be bystanders. I share his story to spread love and acceptance. I share his story because if I don't, who else will?

I am the grandson of Holocaust survivors who were lucky enough to escape the Nazis. My grandma and grandpa narrowly dodged the concentration camps where many Jews, including family members, would perish. Though they survived, they lost everything. Money, property, educations, careers -- all lost. After scraping by for almost 10 years in the Jewish ghetto of Shanghai, my grandparents made their way to Chicago to begin life anew. But the thoughts of what "could have been," and resentment for the pain inflicted upon them, would never completely go away.

^{The author’s grandparents on their wedding day in Shanghai, China, Nov. 30, 1947.}

Growing up, my grandma repeatedly shared stories about her experiences. How things changed when Hitler came to power. Her father's arrest on Kristallnacht. The slow boat to China. The cramped living quarters that they shared with family members. Her bout with typhoid. The devastating and lethal bombing raids by the Allies. Her father's job managing the Jewish district's cafeteria. Right down to the food they ate and the songs they sang, my grandma stamped the stories of her experiences into my conscience. As I would listen, the sense of her loss was palpable. Something intangible was destroyed that could not be recovered. Even at a young age, I remember being angry and confused at how such a sick drama could play out in real life, and sharing in her bitterness at what had been done to our family -- simply because we were Jewish.

Even today, though my grandparents are no longer with us, I continue to carry their stories with me, and I share them every chance I get. My grandpa always said that my brother and I were his reward for a very challenging and tumultuous life. My wife and I recently welcomed our first child into the world -- his first name is Zachary, which means "to remember," and his middle name is Jacob, for my grandfather. For me, the only act of defiance as powerful as telling my grandpa's story is to keep his family going strong -- and to always remember.

Now, more than 75 years after the Holocaust, justice for Nazi horrors is nearly impossible even as aging Nazis are being put on trial to answer for the atrocities at Auschwitz and elsewhere. For the typical 20- or 30-something, who is finishing her education, forging a career, or starting a family, outlets for meaningful Holocaust remembrance and education must be -- and are -- available.

^{Michael Bregman, as a baby, with his grandparents.}

That is why I could not be prouder and more excited to be a part of the Young Professional Committee of the Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center in Skokie. Founded by Holocaust survivors who regularly lead tours of the museum's exhibits, the museum is a permanent testament to the tragedies of the Holocaust and the stories of people just like my grandma and grandpa. The newly formed YPC is comprised of young professionals of diverse backgrounds. The up-and-coming community leaders of the YPC are taking up the mission of raising funds and awareness for the museum in order to preserve the legacy of our Holocaust survivors and to confront bigotry and intolerance in all its forms.

The responsibility to ensure that the experiences of my family and other families are not forgotten is as crucial as ever. Today we bear witness to virulent anti-Semitism in Europe and the rest of the world. The ignorance of Holocaust denial must be confronted urgently and immediately as it surfaces -- and in perpetuity. Telling the stories and educating future generations is the ultimate act of defiance and the best way to ensure that the tragic history of the Holocaust does not repeat itself. The YPC and the Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center are committed, with your help, to doing just that.

Michael B. Bregman is an attorney in Chicago with the firm of Ruff, Freud, Breems & Nelson, Ltd., and is an annual Co-Chair of the Young Professional Committee of the Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center.

The Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center is a special grantee of the Jewish United Fund of Metropolitan Chicago.

I cannot believe one of my sons is about to graduate from daycare. I know this does not sound like a milestone, but it is. I have watched an only child become an awesome brother (most of the time), and subsequently observed the start of an amazing bond, complete with unusual rituals.

One nightly ritual in my house is the running of circles. Ever since Henry, my oldest, could walk, he ran in circles. He doesn't even need anyone to chase him -- that's just his preferred method. And clothing (for him and his little brother, Joel) is optional, which I hear is very normal for kids under 5.

I'm also relieved that Joel can now chase Henry, because running around your house in tight circles while holding a 20-pound toddler is a scary workout. If you regularly read my posts, you know the exercise part of the equation is great for me, but the fear of falling is not. I'm happy to say, in almost two years of running with Joel, that has not happened, and he loves it.

Wrestling is another favorite family activity. When my nephews are over, the two of them, along with Henry, put on shows for us. Seeing as WWE wrestlers look like they are only wearing underwear, so are the boys. They run around and use props, like pillows, foam rollers, and couches. It's hard not to cringe when a child jumps off a couch and on to another person, but so far there have been no injuries and only a few tears.

Now Joel and Henry wrestle. It's hilarious. The almost-2-year-old is fearless, and Henry is gentle as Joel lies on top of him. At this point it's really sweet, and they laugh the entire time. In a few years it might not be so good-natured.

The loudest time at our house is meal time. I'm not sure where my kids get it, but they like to eat. We are so lucky that they ask for fish and vegetables. Henry loves sushi; it's hilarious how mad he gets if I eat more rolls than him. Joel is too young for sushi, but he does enjoy the veggie variety. He has recently started yelling at meals for no reason other than he thinks it funny. Henry also thinks it funny so he joins in.

One of the hardest parts of parenting is not laughing when you need to discipline your kids, and this is one of those times. Watching an 18-month-old squeal with food shooting out of his mouth is pretty funny; add a 4-year-old in the mix, and it's great television, but you have to put the kibosh on it. I am happy to say, Joel no longer throws food he doesn't want on the floor. Although that was entertaining, I should buy stock in the Swiffer.

The sweetest moments arise when one of the boys is sad. It doesn't matter if Joel is crying or Henry is crying; the other brother offers a consoling hug. Granted, the affection is not always appreciated by the injured/sad brother, but it melts a parent's heart. My goal as they continue to grow is to somehow develop more rituals that include hugging, helping each other, and avoiding WWE injuries.

McSweeney's is a non-profit publisher founded by editor Dave Eggers in 1998 and headquartered in San Francisco. Starting with a literary journal, it has expanded into a full-scale publishing house, offering novels, books of poetry, and other literature. The McSweeney's website, which it calls its "Internet Tendency," posts many humorous articles, including a series of lists. Rather than make you look through all 21 webpages of said lists for the Jewish ones, I went and did that for you. Consider it your afikoman present!

The Torah:

Biblical Figures of the NYSE

Tom Swifties Excised from the Bible

More Engaging Copy for the Ten Commandments

Jewish Holidays:

Jewish Holidays for Hipsters

Rejected Ben & Jerry's Passover Flavors

Plagues of Egypt That Did Not Make the God of Abraham's Final Cut

Yiddish:

Yiddish Spam [NSFW!]

Yiddish Words for the 21st Century

Israel:

Things I Could Have Said When the Strap on My Israeli Paratrooper Bag Broke If I'd Known the Outcome of Whichever War It Was Used In

Sentences and Short Dialogues Incorporating Names of Countries in the Middle East

Famous Jews:

Bob Dylan GPS Voice Quotes (My pick of the [at least] three about Dylan lyrics)

Judy Blume's Lesser-Known Philosophy Texts

Yakov Smirnoff Joke or Offensive to Russians? (Quiz)

Freudian Blender Settings

My Son/Daughter the Doctor:

Scientific Journals Available Electronically at the Mt. Sinai School of Medicine

Albert Einstein College of Medicine Professor or Dr. Pepper Knock-Off Brand? (Quiz)

A Light Among the Nations:

Kanye West's Lyric "The Way Kathie Lee Needed Regis/That's the Way I Need Jesus," Adapted for Other Religions

How Many Members of Each of the Following Religions It Takes To Screw in a Lightbulb

Jewish Culture:

Chain Restaurants That Went Kosher

Films about Tough Jews (I was disappointed by this one and may make a longer one myself.)

When I am not inventing new recipes in the kitchen, I find my favorite way to enjoy an evening is to get together with close friends and family over a warm meal. As most hosts will say, a lavish dinner is not an easy task to accomplish.

I like to think that I am a pretty fabulous host, the kind who is focused yet gracious; when my guests arrive, I seem perfectly put together and in control in a dashing outfit, seemingly relaxed and putting finishing touches on my food with a sprinkle of this, a dab of that and refilling everyone's emptying glasses.

Yea …not so much. Most of the time I am doing last minute dinner parties and running around like a chicken with its head cut off -- in yoga pants -- slicing, dicing, grilling and roasting. But you damn well better believe I am refilling everyone's glasses. That part is not optional.

I have always believed that every host has to have an arsenal of weapons at his or her side to prepare for dinners. And the most important weapon? The recipe.

The perfect recipe makes the host shine out like a star and leaves the guests salivating for more. Forget the chicken, forget the tenderloin; ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present to you the star of our show -- lamb.

Many of my friends and clients are terrified of making lamb. The hefty price tag per pound will intimidate any food-lover and make them question if they are worthy of cooking such a beautiful cut of meat. The bottom line is, yes, you are worthy and no, it is not difficult to make.

This recipe is a one-pan roast that is a true crowd pleaser. I used lamb loin only because it was given to me by a friend of mine who ordered meat from a purveyor and had no idea what to make with it. This recipe will work just as fabulously with boneless leg of lamb though.

The lamb loin is seasoned super simply with salt, pepper, really fruity olive oil and garlic powder. I added some potatoes to the pan and let them roast with the lamb, slowly absorbing the luscious juices. While the lamb cooks up, a quick whizz in the Vitamix and I have the sexiest and most delicious mint chimichurri to douse my taters and lamb in. It's delicate yet uber-flavorful -- perfect for this simple dish.

The aromas that fill the kitchen will truly make anyone's mouth water. And while that lamb is in the oven, you can even enjoy a delicious glass of wine. Go on, do it -- you deserve it! Yoga pants or not, you are still fabulous.

ROASTED LAMB LOIN WITH MINT CHIMICHURRI
From Girlandthekitchen.com

INGREDIENTS

1 lamb loin (they vary from ½-1 lb in weight)
2 pounds of red potatoes, washed and cut into 1 inch pieces
¼ cup of olive oil
¼ cup of mint, loosely packed
2 tbsp of dill
3 garlic cloves
Pinch (or more) of red pepper flakes
1 tbsp of freshly squeezed lemon juice
Water as needed
Salt and pepper to taste

INSTRUCTIONS

1. In a food processor or blender, combine mint, dill, half of the olive oil, garlic, red pepper flakes, lemon juice and salt and pepper. If the mixture is a bit to "tight" loosen it up with a bit of water.

2. Preheat oven to 450-degrees.

3. Line a baking sheet with a raised edge with foil. I actually prefer to do this in a foil pan. Much easier clean-up.

4. Place the lamb roast flat side up on the baking sheet. Place cut-up potatoes around the lamb roast and drizzle with remaining olive oil, salt and pepper.

5. Roast for 30-35 minutes for medium rare. Toss the potatoes halfway through cooking to ensure even browning. An instant-read thermometer should read 125-130 degrees for medium rare.

6. Remove pan from oven and place tenderloin on the cutting board. Let rest for 10 minutes.

7. Toss the potatoes with half of the chimichurri sauce.

8. Slice the lamb loin, drizzle with remaining sauce and enjoy.

^{The author and his wife, Laura, the directors of Chicago YJP.}

One of the highlights at the Seder is the four questions. The youngest gets up on a chair and proudly declares four simple and insightful questions. Everyone watches proudly as the next generation is inculcated with the fundamental Jewish concept of being inquisitive (and super cute). This endearing introduction to the evening instills the essential lesson of life-to question-because we know it is only through questioning and receiving insightful answers that true learning and appreciation for our rich heritage is accomplished. However, after the four questions, we are left with a minor quandary-what are the four answers?

The first and second questions, which inquire about the peculiarity of eating matzoh and maror (bitter herbs), are answered directly by the Haggadah quoting an ancient Talmudic passage that says: "This matzoh that we are eating is because the dough of our forefathers did not have time to become leavened…This maror that we are eating is because the Egyptians embittered the lives of our forefathers in Egypt…"

The third and fourth questions, which inquire about the tradition of dipping vegetables twice at the Seder and the mitzvah to recline during the meal, are seemingly left unanswered by the Haggadah.

Actually, the answer to give our children (and ourselves) for why we recline is because we are behaving like royalty. (Note: "reclining" does not mean slouching or being lazy. It means relaxed, leaning, and comfortable.) What does royalty have to do with Seder night? Everything.

First, we have to ask, 'What is royalty?" In Hebrew, the word for "master/ruler" is adon, which also means "a support from below." True mastery and rulership is to support those in need, providing a foundation to hold them up. The word for a leader is nasi, which also means a cloud, because the clouds are above pouring down the blessings of rain and sustenance to the needy below. The Jewish definition of royalty is to provide support from below and blessings from above.

In a DP (displaced persons) camp shortly after liberation, one of the survivors arranged the baking of matzohs for Passover. Supplies were very limited, and the matzoh was rationed at two matzohs per family. A great Chassidic rabbi sent his son for four matzohs. The man responded, "I'm really sorry. I wish I could, but there is a limit of two per family. I'd love to make an exception, but I really can't." The boy persisted saying, "My father never asks for special treatment, but he was adamant about this. He said he needs four." The man found it hard to refuse, especially since this rabbi did so much to help his fellow Jews during the war. So he gave him the four matzohs. Right before the Seder, the rabbi came to see the man. "I know the kind of person you are, and I was concerned. I was sure you would give out all the matzohs and not keep any for yourself. The matzohs were for you."

Despite everything they went through, they had such sensitivities to the needs of others. They exemplify the Jewish definition of royalty. We tell our children emphatically, "You, my precious child, are royalty! As part of the Jewish people, you must bring support, love, blessings, and hope to the world." That is true royalty.

And what about the question about double dipping on vegetables? For that, you'll have to ask around the table! Happy Passover.

Joshua Marder is a rabbi and licensed Marriage and Family Therapist. He and his wife, Laura, are the directors of Chicago YJP, a Division of the Lois and Wilfred Lefkovich Chicago Torah Network.

^{Chicago Bulls front office officials John Paxson and Gar Forman hold an end-of-season press conference}

Full disclosure: I probably watched five total minutes of Bulls basketball this season. It's probably the first time that has happened since I was 16 years old, living in a suburb of Detroit, only able to catch Bulls games through thick radio static way down the AM dial.

Sure, some of it had to do with my recent cable-cutting, but I also don't remember a Bulls team that I was less excited about both pre- and mid-season -- or one that lacked an identity -- as much as this one.

This was not the result the front office wanted when it brought in first-year head coach Fred Hoiberg after firing Tom Thibodeau. Thibodeau led the Bulls to a .647 winning percentage in his five seasons as head coach, but also had a contentious relationship with the front office over roster control and minutes limits, among other things.

In Hoiberg's defense, it was not all his fault. This is not the kind of roster that plays to his strengths as a coach. He's been given leftovers from the Thibodeau era -- one defined by defensive grit -- and has asked them to play a more offense-oriented game plan with a focus on outside shooting. It was never going to work, but I don't think anyone expected a team with this much talent to play their last game of the season on April 13, even in an improved Eastern Conference.

The Bulls are in one of the worst conditions an NBA team can find itself -- knee-deep in mediocrity. They finished the season 42-40, ninth in the Eastern Conference and on the outside looking in at the playoffs for the first time since the 2007-08.

The 2007-08 team looked much more like the kind of Bulls roster you'd expect to miss the playoffs. The largest percent of their payroll went to veteran journeyman Larry Hughes, who only played 28 games. It was Joakim Noah's rookie year, but he was sitting behind "the fro," Ben Wallace, who the Bulls had acquired from Detroit.

Coached by Scott Skiles, who was fired on Christmas Eve and replaced by Jim Boylen, the rest of the primary roster included Ben Gordon (the team's leading scorer, averaging 18.6 PPG), Luol Deng, Drew Gooden, Andres Nocioni, Joe Smith, Tyrus Thomas, Thabo Sefolosha and Chris Duhan. And don't forget the two common threads they shared with this year's group -- Kirk Hinrich (whom the Bulls traded at the deadline this year) and assistant coach Pete Myers.

The only reason the Bulls found any kind of hope and direction after that season was because the stars aligned. They landed the number one overall pick in the 2008 draft - despite a .017 percent chance -- and selected Derrick Rose, who went on the win Rookie of the Year and later an MVP award.

Say what you will about Rose lately, he was a franchise-changing player who just struggled with injuries and never made it back to his peak physically or mentally. Barring another miracle like that one, the Bulls enter the off-season a team searching desperately for answers with very few resources at their disposal.

The Bulls have never been the type of team to tank or clean house, but it's difficult to see the long-term answer on the current roster, and I just don't trust their history luring free agents.

The Bulls are just filled with pieces. Jimmy Butler has played like a star at times, and carried them on his back dozens of times, but I'm afraid the chip on his shoulder is becoming too heavy for anyone around him to bear. Some of the pieces are nice, but without major changes, the Bulls don't stand a chance against teams like Toronto, Atlanta, Miami, Charlotte, any team LeBron is on or pretty much anyone in the Western Conference.

I didn't skip out on my favorite team of all-time because they weren't good (I've survived plenty of those seasons and rooted for my share of Eddie Robinsons) ;I couldn't watch because there was nothing fun about the Bulls this season. The Bulls would do well to take a few pages out of the Cubs' recent playbook, not only in terms of building for the future, but also in the way the Cubs play the game -- joyfully.

There will be very little joy this off-season. The Bulls claim every player is on the table and movable. But unless there is a drastic change in front office or at least in their mentality, we may just need to start praying that those Ping-Pong balls bail us out yet again.

There's a bestselling book out about curiosity. It's written by a Hollywood producer who has spent his free time asking questions of interesting and accomplished strangers for the last 35 years.

In the book titled A Curious Mind: The Secret to a Bigger Life, Brian Grazer -- who produced films like Apollo 13 and A Beautiful Mind -- met with people from all walks of life with skill sets very different from his own.

Among them: pop culture artist Jeff Koons; the inventor of the polio vaccine, Jonas Salk; the king of pop, Michael Jackson; etiquette maven and Jacqueline Kennedy's social secretary, Letitia Baldridge; and science fiction writer Isaac Asimov. Grazer's purpose in these "curiosity conversations," as he calls them, was meant to broaden himself and his worldview on things he knew little about.

His project sparked my interest both as a journalist and a Jew. First, I entered the field of journalism in large part because I'm curious about people and what makes them tick. My day job enables me to spend many waking hours asking people probing questions, which inspire me to live my own life in a more meaningful way.

The idea of curiosity conversations resonates for us as Jews too. Questioning, after all, is a deeply Jewish activity. The very Talmud itself is based on rabbis questioning and debating the Torah with each other. And, in the pop culture realm, look no further than the quintessentially Jewish show Seinfeld, where Jerry has spent a career asking "What's the deal with… [insert life's peskiest, silliest musings here]?"

Our tradition allows space for us to ask the tough questions, and to be okay with uncertainty in life, faith, and, yes, even God.

Professor and Holocaust survivor and sage Elie Wiesel, who was an observant Jew as a boy before the war, wrestled with God about suffering during his time in the camps, and even questioned whether God exists. 'Where is God now?' Wiesel asks in his famed Holocaust memoir Night.

One of the things I love about being Jewish is there is space to ask questions; our tradition recognizes that not everything is absolute. There are, of course, Jews out there whose faith rarely wavers and then there are other Jewish people who aren't quite as certain. I meet Jewish agnostics and atheists who consider themselves part of the Jewish community.

This month, we will celebrate Passover, a holiday that invites questions. And along with the perennial Seder questions like "Why is this night different from all other nights?," Jews, this year and every year, have a lot of other big questions on their mind.

Why do bad things happen to good people? Why are we free when others are still oppressed? What is the most unique and precious gift we can each leave the world? How can we help others not as lucky as ourselves? Who the heck will be our next president? How will the world be different for our children than it was for us? How can fill we fill our days with meaning and love?

But maybe we're not supposed to have life all figured out by the time we get to a certain age because how dull would that be?

Maybe the real wisdom lies, not in knowing all the answers, but in knowing that it's okay to ask the questions.

I used to think I had a grasp on what it meant to live away from home. Since fifth grade I've spent summers in Wisconsin, Indiana, and Pennsylvania, went to school in Massachusetts and lived in Israel for nearly a year. None of these diverse experiences, however, prepared me for a full-time move to New York City.

The Big Apple is a transition in and of itself, especially for someone single and Jewish, but most of the lessons I learned leaving Chicago would've been the same if I were moving to New Mexico instead of New York.

We need only look at the Passover story to understand that we are a moving people. Although the Jewish spiritual homeland has always been Israel, our physical homeland has changed quite a bit throughout time, and the story we're about to read at the Seder alludes to one of the many times we've moved (both in the Torah and more modern times). 

Yet we often forget during this retelling of the narrative from slavery to freedom just how reluctant the Jews were to leave Egypt, despite being slaves. Today, the decision to leave where we're from is not any easier or more comfortable, but much like leaving Egypt began the real narrative of the creation Jewish people, moving changes the narrative for your life like nothing else can.

Young adults share a lot of the same life-shaping experiences: getting a job, making ends meet, having friends come and go, dating, etc. Some are intuitive, some you just fall into; I believe living farther away from home should be one of the staples of life after graduation.

I've been in New York for five months, and already I've felt the effects of moving on my personal growth. Here's why you should do it:

You re-define yourself

When I moved back to the Chicago suburbs after graduation, at first I just hung out with everyone from high school. It was great, except we pretty much picked up right where we left off, just swap out fast-food restaurants and our parents' houses for new bars.

My world turned so small that many of the Jewish singles events I attended felt more like high school reunions. Of the dozens of social events, there were usually more people there that I did know than those I didn't.

Living in another state, even if some of your college friends live in your new city, the overwhelming majority of people you meet have no idea who you are. You are whoever you want to be; past experiences or expectations do not shape or define you.

You go outside your comfort zone

When you're a young professional far away from your parents, many of the safety nets are gone. This is nothing like going to overnight camp or college; your parents can't bring something you forgot from home on a random weekend or help you put your furniture together. And even if they have the means to visit you a lot, it's never long enough.

This forces you to truly be on your own and fend for yourself in ways that go well beyond learning to feed yourself and do laundry. Since my move, I had to negotiate a car lease and coordinate the construction of a fake room. (For the unfamiliar who presumably have never lived or do not live in San Francisco or New York, that means turning part of the common living space into a room by hiring a company to build you one.)

This is that point that you realize that you can accomplish something out of your comfort zone.

A new culture also forces you to adapt to your surroundings, even if it's uncomfortable. For example, I learned what happens (or, I should say, doesn't happen) when you try saying "excuse me" when you're stuck behind a large crowd of people on the subway and need to get off.

There is no better time to do it

If moving is something you've wanted to do but weren't sure when you could do it, the answer is now. Especially if you're in your 20s, you likely have the freedom others don't.

It's in our nature to lament and procrastinate, but it's much easier to move when you have fewer responsibilities and can deal with "roughing it" for a few months while you adjust.

Before I made the move to Manhattan, my sister left Chicago with nothing except my old car, her clothes and a few essentials before creating a temporary home in Montana. Her move started a series of adventures and jobs, including dating a guy she met almost instantly after moving.

After I made the decision to leave Chicago too, my dad remarked that he found it interesting that my sister and I both left a comfortable environment to live in a more minimalist way -- my sister leaving the comforts of urban life and me opting for the high cost of living in Manhattan. Yet somehow we both feel freer in our new homes than we did living in Chicago.

Had either of us waited much longer, the move might not have happened at all (dealing with roommates and living in a fake room in my 30s doesn't sound appealing).

Similarly, if the Jews had waited much longer to leave Egypt for the land of Israel, Pharaoh's might have changed his mind before they fled, and then we wouldn't be celebrating anything this season.

If you've ever had thoughts or dreams of living somewhere new, I hope this Passover gives you the clarity you need to create the freedom you've dreamed of. I once heard Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks say at a lecture that what makes the Jewish people distinct from other religions is that we've learned to never look back.

Here's to a year of looking forward, pushing our limits and finding freedom by creating a new home. Chag sameach.

I've learned a great deal since graduating from Indiana University about 10 months ago. Sometimes, I find it hard to even believe that I was in college at this time last year. Trading textbooks for timesheets and "Two-Dollar Tuesday" for networking and fundraisers has provided me with a different perspective.

Here are three things I wish I had known before the band cued-up "Pomp and Circumstance."

Work ethic trumps all

As with most college seniors, I spent an incredible amount of time preparing for my future career. I took classes that would set me apart, attended networking events, traveled for informational interviews and even adjusted my wardrobe to look more professional. Although this helped, I've learned that maintaining a strong work ethic is paramount.

Who you know or previous experience may get your foot in the door, but work ethic is the staying force. It's not that the importance of a strong work ethic never occurred to me, but I undervalued the fact that it can propel your entire career.

We get so caught up in trying to control everything from paychecks to the merits of a graduate degree that it is easy to forget the value of showing up and approaching each day and each task with maximum effort. That is the best way to both stand out and make a positive impact.

A work-life balance is challenging, but important

Weekly happy hours and no homework were among the many things I eagerly anticipated during the transition from school to the working world. However, I quickly learned that achieving a work-life balance is not as easy as it sounds.

There are still opportunities to spend time with friends, visit family or catch the big game, but I oftentimes find myself fixated on work. From catching up on email to making myself available to clients or just discussing new and exciting experiences, work simply takes precedence. Perhaps my age and desire to earn the respect of my colleagues could explain my ambition, or maybe I just haven't learned how to keep these two things separated.

I love work, but also realize the importance of maintaining a balance. The ability to step back and take a deep breath is a key to staying sharp, keeping focus and ultimately continuing to learn and grow.

Keeping in touch is difficult

As I packed my car and headed home from school for the last time, I wondered how often I would talk with my best friends who weren't moving to Chicago. Perhaps we would connect daily or at least a few times per week? We would definitely keep our text and chat group right? It started off frequently, but as we all settled into new jobs or law school seminars, hours fell into days and days into weeks.

We all make time every so often, but it's just not as easy as we thought. Free time is hard to come by and daily conversations are the unfortunate casualty. This doesn't take anything away from the relationships forged and the bonds built, but it's simply difficult for communication to remain consistent.

While I wish I had known all this before graduating, the most impactful lessons are oftentimes learned through real-life experience, and I wouldn't trade the experience of the last 10 months for anything.

I'm 28 years old, going on 29. Right after that (a year, not immediately), I turn the big 29 plus 1. Quite the milestone -- though if we were in any other country, it would be quite the kilometerstone.

So time is of the essence! That essence being "Eau de Adam Needs to Do More Stuff Before 30." Since I have a little over a year until that decade-shifting age, I have decided to compile a list of 30 things I will (key word being "will") do before I complete another decade on this planet we call Mars' Neighbor. I'm a dork.

So here are 30 things I will do before I turn 30!

1. Turn 31. Gonna be tough to do this one, but I think with determination and perseverance I got it.

2. Fire a gun. I work with this jerk who happens to be a gun and I think it's about time I let him go.

3. Stop using the phrase, "All things considered." Most of the time, only some things are considered.

4. Lose a few pounds. A trip to England might help with that.

5. Run a half marathon. So a mara. Or a thon.

6. Go skydiving. Preferably in the shallow end.

7. Learn how to play an instrument. Maybe the kazoo.

8. Go skinny-dipping. Hmmmm, first I'm going to have to get skinny. So in the meantime, I'll go husky dipping.

9. Splurge on a once-in-a-lifetime meal at one of the world's best restaurants. Obviously Rainforest Café.

10. Sing karaoke. Specifically the song, "Tequila," because I know all the lyrics.

11. Travel somewhere new and different all by myself. I'm thinking of trying the grocery store.

12. Eat something exotic that seems disgusting. Perhaps gluten-free pizza.

13. Learn to speak a new language. This one will be tough since most languages are invented already and I'll have to discover a new one.

14. Travel somewhere truly exotic. Somewhere that feels like the end of the earth. So, I don't know, maybe Detroit?

15. Splurge on something I can't really afford, but that will last for years. I've really wanted an antique 6-foot hour glass that takes four and half years for each turn.

16. Try taking a class that is completely out of my element. Therefore nothing carbon-based.

17. Cross at least one item off my bucket list. Like actually buying a bucket.

18. Visit more states. I hear "confusion" can be a bit disorientating but worth the trip.

19. Start a 401k. Although I haven't even participated in a 5k.

20. Learn how to fly. A plane, a kite, whatever is easiest. I have no idea.

21. Visit the Great Wall of China. If that doesn't work out, visit The Pretty Good Wall of Evanston.

22. Travel to a remote desert island. Then travel to a TV desert island.

23. Watch a meteor shower. I don't care if astronomers view me as a peeping Tom.

24. Go to a cemetery and start bawling at the grave of someone I don't know. Then I'll belt out, "WHY!!!!???? WHY AM I CRYING AT THE GRAVE OF SOMEONE I DON'T KNOW!????"

25. Try something that terrifies me. Like picking up a phone call from a number I don't recognize.

26. Attend a major sports event. Whether it's the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup Finals or a Cubs win. (This joke was funnier a few years ago.)

27. Make my bed. Into what you ask? Well I could make a broach. A hat. A pterodactyl!

28. Stop trying to be ahead of the game. I'm tired of being chased by the game.

29. Learn to count to 30.

One of my odd jobs in rabbinical school was working to build an alumni database for a national day school association. I was tasked with creating two events, one in Chicago and one in New York, to bring together alumni from its different branches and build brand awareness. Immediately, I went to a few friends of mine who had a band and asked if, as alumni, they'd headline a concert. The leader of the band looked at me and said, "I am not an alumnus. You cannot graduate from camp, youth groups, and clubs."

I was not there to argue semantics. Maybe he was right, but he was not correcting the wording so much as informing me that he had no attachment to the Jewish organizations that added value to his upbringing. This person has 15 friends who are inseparable, some of the closest-knit Jewish friends I had ever met, and their bond directly stemmed from attending summer camp and day school. How could he not credit the contributions of these organizations that clearly influenced his Jewish upbringing?

In general, I have been surprised to find out how many of my camp friends have not visited camp since their final days as campers or on staff, or how many day-schoolers are reluctant to credit their success to their day school education. The solution is twofold: Organizations need to connect to the individual's lifelong journey and individuals need to recognize the outlets organizations offer that do not involve spending a summer at camp or going on a free 10-day Israel trip.

I might be an exception to the rule. The nature of my work as rabbi automatically keeps me connected to my summer camps, youth groups, day schools and other pivotal Jewish organizations from my youth. As a leader of a non-profit, I recognize that once we stop attending these camps, youth groups, and schools, our affiliation begins to dwindle because we no longer need them in our lives.

So for these Jewish organizations, whose resources are stretched and sparse, it is difficult to invest in these "alumni," these non-dues-paying individuals whose careers and places of residence are in flux. Synagogues, for example, work daily to procure young professionals, but we acknowledge that most people return to synagogue when they have children.

I recently heard the paradigm "our personal organizations (i.e. camp, Hillel, etc.) are our stocks." People are always interacting with their stocks, tinkering with the finances and engaging with them. Federations -- and Chicago is lucky to have one like JUF, which supports such a vibrant Jewish community by promoting a variety of religious and cultural Jewish experiences -- are our mutual fund. They remain steady, a safety net in case our smaller organizations falter. They ensure we are able to have robust Jewish options, a voice in the larger world and ultimately, they provide care for the Jewish organizations and experiences to which we hold a deep emotional attachment.

For individuals with an emotional investment in a Jewish program or organization, today's landscape can be overwhelming. All Jewish organizations are starving for resources, so they're asking for an investment or your reinvestment. They are understaffed and competing with one another. It is often healthy competition, but they must meet budget, inspire participation and constantly rebuild numbers to maintain the services that they provide. To continue to provide the same or better opportunities that years and even generations of Jews were able to benefit from, organizations rely on their "alumni" to help support the future. Way back when, they needed you to participate or sign up, but the truth is that they need you just as much now, when you are not directly benefitting from your investment.

While Jewish youth organizations might cut off at a certain age, our connection to them does not have to. A counselor of mine once said to me that Jewish summer camp was not intended to be Jewish education for the campers, but rather for the staff members. With that in mind, how can we reimagine the continual benefits we gain by interacting with these organizations? And how can we optimize that long-ago investment?

An organization's board members are often chosen because of the "three Ws:" work, wisdom and wealth. I would say this holds true for what Jewish organizations need from their alumni. Of course they need people to write checks to ensure the lights stay on, staff is paid and families can feasibly afford programs. But all organizations need a healthy volunteer base and fresh perspective to create new ideas and meet unmet needs. So if you cannot open your pocketbook to provide the wealth, try to become the work or wisdom that your Jewish organization needs.

The highlight of my rabbinic career thus far -- outside of meeting Mel Brooks -- was at a Jewish camp where I met a young boy named Charlie who I had helped convince to go to camp that summer. When I first saw Charlie at camp, he spewed out the activities he was doing, Judaism he was experiencing, and how it was the best decision of his life. I walked away almost ready to retire -- what could possibly top seeing another child so happily Jewish? If you ever loved your camp, school or Hillel as much as Charlie, it's your obligation to never end that relationship, just as much as it's the organizations obligation to offer pathways that allow us to never stop engaging.

I take deep pride in my position as a board member of a Hillel. I have seen remarkable change happen during this time. I hope others can find ways of engaging with the programs and organizations that impacted them, or work to create new avenues to express their Judaism that perhaps they wished existed when they were younger. If you found friends, meaning, value, or even a sense of belonging in your Jewish "alma maters" it is important to invest in your past in order for these organizations to have a future.

My spiritual home doesn't actually have a home. It meets in my living room, or an apartment building party room, or an art gallery. On the third Friday of the month, the room is filled with the sounds of harmonized singing, the smells of homemade goodies, and the images of people making new friends. At the end of the night, I come home feeling energized. It's a minyan night.

I am so proud to be celebrating the fifth anniversary of Windy City Minyan, an independent minyan for young adults in the Lakeview area.

After I graduated college, some friends and I attended an intergenerational independent minyan in the Lakeview area for a few years. We loved this monthly tradition, but the minyan suddenly stopped meeting. I emailed the minyan's organizer to say I was sorry the minyan hadn't been meeting. He responded by asking me to take it over.

It wasn't the answer I had expected, but I gathered some friends and we decided instead of reviving the old minyan, we'd start something new. At that time, very little existed for young adults on Shabbat (now, of course, there are many options!), so we decided to focus our minyan on that population. After debating between names like Chi-town Minyan, Second City Minyan, and Deep Dish Minyan, we settled on Windy City Minyan.

Windy City Minyan held its first Shabbat service five years ago, on April 22, 2011, at my apartment. We spread the word to our friends and were so excited to see friends of friends and people we did not yet know.

We are so proud of what this minyan has become. Each month, we get between 30 and 80 participants, many of whom are new to Chicago and use this as an opportunity to meet new people. We see people who grew up in all streams of Judaism, as well as some new to the religion.

As an independent minyan, we don't follow a specific movement of Judaism, but we define ourselves as egalitarian and we use the Conservative movement's prayer book. But being independent gives us flexibility: For example, we made a decision that we will face east (towards Jerusalem) in spaces that make sense to do so; but if east is the entrance to the apartment, we face the opposite way so as not to make latecomers uncomfortable, citing the verse of Talmud that warns against embarrassing people. We aim to be as welcoming as possible, including a greeter and a "welcome" sign at the door.

Our service leaders are our community members, and we encourage as much participation as possible by inviting people to lead Kabbalat Shabbat, Ma'ariv, and Kiddush, and also give a D'var Torah and share what Shabbat means to them (what I informally refer to as our "Shabbat Nugget"). Some are seasoned leaders and others use this welcoming group as an opportunity to learn to lead a service for the first time. All are appreciated.

We meet in apartment buildings and party rooms, and once we even met in an art gallery. Like traveling salesmen, we have a suitcase full of supplies like prayer books, painters tape for signs, door stops, garbage bags, and paper goods so that hosts merely need to let us in and we'll take care of the rest.

Following the service, we always have an oneg (reception) with appetizers and snacks -- many of us on the committee use this as an opportunity to refine our baking skills -- and twice a year we hold a potluck dinner.

Prayer doesn't always speak to me, but at Windy City Minyan, I find myself getting lost in the melodies, being completely present, thinking about the power of our voices coming together as this nomadic community. This minyan has taught me more than I ever thought I'd know about marketing, social media, room rental contracts, acoustics, Shabbat worship melodies, other Jewish organizations, apartment layouts, and logistics. I have made so many friendships and have had the opportunity to meet a lot of interesting people.

Thank you to everyone who has participated in this minyan over the last five years. I'm excited to watch it continue to grow.

Please join me in wishing Windy City Minyan a happy "minyan-niversary," and come celebrate with us at 7 p.m. on Friday, April 15 near Belmont and Lake Shore Drive for Friday night services -- and for the first time ever, a Havdalah service at 7 p.m. Saturday, April 16 near Roscoe and Sheffield. Visit us at windycityminyan.com or find us on Facebook for the exact address and more information.

Shabbat Shalom … the next Windy City Minyan is never more than a month away!

The global attitude toward accepting and integrating refugees has become increasingly more challenging of late. In Europe and North America, political leaders struggle to find physical and emotional space for the millions of refugees fleeing from Syria. Although Israel is not a destination for Syrian refugees, it is the destination for countless African refugees who seek to escape corrupt and militarized governments.

Where I live in Tel Aviv has one of the nation's largest and most concentrated populations of African asylum seekers, the majority of whom come from Eritrea and Sudan. This piece is about one of the remarkable men in my community who fled his homeland to take refuge in Israel.

Meet Teklit, a refugee from the previously war-torn and now suspiciously silent country of Eritrea. When Teklit was 17 years old, he was arrested by the Eritrean national police for asking too many questions about the government and its practices. As a rising track star preparing to join the national team, Teklit was too far into the local spotlight for the government to allow his questioning to continue.

For months, Teklit lived in a one-room cell with other political prisoners. His shared cell was dark and damp with no proper beds or toilets. At the center of the room was a hole where he and his fellow prisoners relieved themselves. The air was thick with the scent of human waste and disease spread quickly among the inmates. If one person grew ill, within hours, the entire cell was sick. To Teklit and his peers, this place was "hell on earth," but luckily for Teklit, his former athletic career caught the eye of the national military.

Ever weakened by his time in prison, Teklit remained a strong and disciplined young man. So the military offered him a choice: remain in prison, or join the army he had been arrested for questioning. Knowing this might be his only way out, Teklit accepted their offer and joined the military.

For six months, Teklit trained with the Eritrean army, living in both the constant fear of being returned to prison and the fear that remaining in the military would require him to do harm to other human beings.

"I did not want to kill anyone," he said, "so I ran."

Moving as fast as their legs could carry them, Teklit and a friend fled the army and made their way towards the Eritrean-Sudanese border. For two days, they waited to cross the heavily guarded border to what the young men hoped would be their salvation. When the time finally came for them to enter Sudan, they crossed the border running to avoid the gunshots of the Sudanese border patrol.

The moment he set foot in Sudan, Teklit became a refugee -- a person without a nation or a home. Arriving at one of Sudan's many refugee camps confirmed this status. The camp was sparse, with few resources to accommodate the countless individuals seeking shelter there. Just as in the Eritrean prison he left behind, disease ran rampant, and before long, Teklit contracted Malaria. He survived thanks to the kindness of his friend, who used his savings to pay for Teklit's medical care.

After his recovery, Teklit made his way to Cairo hoping to find a home for himself in Egypt. "I heard that they were kind to Christians there," he recounted, but Egypt had changed in the last few decades. Now, "they asked your religion before they asked your name," and "Christian" was no longer an acceptable answer.

So for much of his time in Egypt, when asked, Teklit said that his name was Mohammed or Ishmael to avoid unwanted attention. Knowing that he could not live like this forever, Teklit made the decision to go to Israel, which he'd heard described as a haven in the Middle East.

Escaping Egypt through the perilous Sinai Peninsula, Teklit arrived in Israel feeling safer than he had in ages. Even after a month of homelessness and sleeping out in the rain, he described Israel as "heaven." But now, after eight years of living as an asylum seeker possessing no clear legal status, Teklit views Israel with a mixture of gratitude and frustration.

While he has the freedom to speak his mind and practice his religion without fear of arrest within Israel's borders, as a stateless person it is difficult for him to find a regular job or attend university; nor can he obtain a visa to immigrate to another country. He faces a struggle similarly felt by the thousands of families and individuals fleeing from Syria -- as well as the less publicized flights from Sudan and other war-torn African countries . For now, he cannot return home, and until he gains legal refugee status -- something that is nearly impossible in Israel -- he feels, at least under law, that he is not a human being.

Unfortunately, as we've seen in the news over the last few weeks, many countries including the United States find excuses to avoid becoming responsible for refugees of war. Israel is no different. A few weeks ago, Teklit's appeal for refugee status was closed on the grounds that he failed to show up for both of his required interviews, when in reality, he showed up early for both interviews only to be turned away because his interviewer was "sick" or "out for the day."

As a young man in his late 20s, Teklit should be attending school or starting his career. Instead he is stuck. He has no rights, no legal identity, and nowhere to go.

Part of my program in South Tel Aviv focuses on helping African refugees live a better life in Israel, but we cannot change anyone's legal standing. All I can do is write; to share Teklit's story with the world in the hopes that someone with more power than I can help change refugee lives for the better -- in Israel and around the world -- so that no one will ever again say, "I am not a human being."

"Tell me about your Jewish background."

There were days I asked that question what felt like 100 times, but each time the words left my mouth, I always anticipated what I would hear in return from the person on the other end of the line.

This past February, I worked as part of the Birthright registration crew for Shorashim, an amazing organization headquartered here in Chicago. I took my Shorashim trip to Israel in the summer of 2007 and the memories of that adventure still flicker brightly in the back of my mind.

The trip to Israel was my first taste of life abroad, an introduction to Israeli culture, to a culture other than my own. It was all of the things it promised to be prior to takeoff and much more. It was equal parts fun, mesmerizing, challenging and ultimately, uplifting. Those 10 days traversing across the land of milk and honey certainly left an indelible mark.

Registration entailed answering phones, reaching out, conducting a whirlwind of "brief five-minute phone interviews," and it was invigorating. An opportunity to simply talk to people about why they want to go to Israel, where they come from and what they're up to? Please. Sign me up. I'm chatty. It's a fact of my life.

Most people were perfectly pleasant. Some people really stood out. When I heard heartfelt stories of how they came into their Judaism, how their families immigrated to the U.S. or Canada, hearing the spirit and joy with which they regarded their Jewish upbringing thus far and how exciting the prospect of going to Israel for them, it was hard not be awed, even a little overcome by their passion and heart.

Talking with so many young people from all over the country, I was reminded that it takes all kinds. You know? That unique, grounding feeling that everyone is so different, yet we're all the same. There is a powerful thread that ties us all together, an unspoken bond of growing up Jewish, of being Jewish, no matter if we are observant or grew up not knowing very much about the religion.

A spark exists -- dormant and waiting to ignite in some; brilliantly shining in others -- that unites us all; a preternatural understanding that defies articulation; knowing someone, without really knowing someone at all. I could go on. It's real, and it's special. It's not about being "religious" or "spiritual." It's the thought that in this world, it's somewhat of a feat just to "be" Jewish at all, in all of its lovely iterations.

To the kids (ahem, young adults) heading off to Israel this summer, this season and hopefully many seasons to come, I wish you all the luck in the world in discovering something small, or something huge, about what being Jewish means to you. The opportunity to visit the country can have a lot of implications, political or otherwise. But at this age, on the cusp of real live adulthood, focus on what's important to you and use that as the lens to view this experience. It doesn't need to be a serious, soul-searching journey. It could be the most fun you've ever had. It could be a religious awakening; it could be the exact opposite. The point is, make it yours.

Talking with would-be participants and sharing my stories of a trip eight years in the past felt easy and comfortable, as if I'd just returned from Ben Gurion Airport. To be able to breathe new life into a treasured moment in time is an uncanny happening, one that I'm really grateful for. It's also a testament to how things never unfold quite how you think they should, but it's the unexpected opportunities that can bring about the most contentment.

Oh! And if you're 18-26 and haven't been on Birthright yet, go, go, go! (P.S. Shorashim really is awesome. Believe me, I'll tell you all about it).

"How about that," remarked my friend Sharon to Rose and I as we were heading out the door, balancing a toddler, diaper bag and empty serving bowl, "I think we managed to have some sort of an adult conversation today."

She was right -- it was pretty novel to be leaving a meal with five adults and five kids under the age of five and realize we talked about anything of substance. And by sort of adult conversation, she meant that we carved out five minutes of non-kid related, uninterrupted conversation to talk about our recent trip to Israel. Those readers with kids probably understand the reason to celebrate this. But for those without little ones, let me describe how an afternoon like this typically works, so you can appreciate the milestone we achieved.

Let's use the example of going to a friend's house for a few hours over lunch on Saturday afternoon as an example. Here is how the time spent might break down in order of most to least amount of time spent on something. Recognizing that different parents always handle these things differently, I also indicated what more experienced parents do in order to make each of these pieces of the afternoon go more smoothly and free up time to actually eat and socialize as adults.

37 minutes dealing with interruptions from kids:

This comes in a variety of ways and ranges from asking for more of what is already on the table like grape juice, demanding to have something that's not on the table like chicken nuggets, or just making noises because food was dropped. Littler ones also like to bang on the table and toddlers love to grab their parents' arms with their hands that are covered in something sticky. For this reason, experienced parents don't wear long sleeves.

34 minutes trying to make sure that your child is eating.

This ranges from getting bibs to rolling up sleeves to cleaning up spills to cutting up food, encouraging more bites or reminding the kid to chew and swallow between bites. Experienced parents have actually given most of this up altogether, figuring if the kid is hungry the kid will eat.

24 minutes talking about poop, potty and diapers and all things about kids' biological functions.

This is actually how every conversation goes as a parent. All parents act this way no matter how experienced.

22 minutes getting everyone settled, arranged and set up at the table.

There are boosters and high chairs to juggle, seating arrangements to play with and questions about who can drink out of what type of cup. Experienced parents offer to help set the table.

19 minutes checking if that is my kid crying, yelling, making noise or just figuring out where is my kid?

This involves a lot of getting up -- usually mid-sentence -- to respond to cries and crashes from the other room. Experienced parents also know to fear unusual calm and silence. "Where's Johnny? It's very quiet in there. Oh here he is in the kitchen, helping himself to fistfuls of cake. How does everyone feel about fruit for dessert?"

17 minutes saying goodbye and getting ready to leave

This is because you have to look all over for shoes, toys, and collect all of your other things and change a last minute diaper after everyone is ready to go. Experienced parents pack light.

12 minutes eating

It's hard to believe that over the course of the entire meal that is all that is left for actual food consumption by the parents. Experienced parents eat a snack before they come and, as stated above, don't worry as much about their own kid eating .

9 minutes dealing with a big incident or meltdown (that feels like 90, by the way).

This can be a real tough part for everyone and experienced parents know better than to stare. Their kid actually does look like that when he acts up and staring like they have never seen a tantrum of that size only makes everyone feel worse about it.

All of that leaves about five minutes for having a grown up conversation about nothing related to children. If you are keeping tabs, that's about 3% of the total time spent. The reality of having young kids pretty much changes the paradigm of what it means to have social time. Looking at the breakdown above, it might seem that as parenting begins, socializing with other adults ends.

However, the truth about all of this is that I absolutely love it. I really wouldn't have it any other way. Children have a way of naturally breaking up every routine you could have possibly ever had. In my experience, the challenge of parenting is not to get on top of any type of routine but simply to embrace the idea that the structure you have set up for your family's day is subject to change at any second. Going through that day in and day out helps me to expect all of the unexpected challenges that come my way during the rest of my week when I am not actually parenting. It's a perspective that I hope stays with me long after my kids are grown and having to experience this as parents for themselves.

Three teen boys running around with saggy pants and backpacks. One of them is wearing a black hoodie -- hood up, a bandana covering the lower half of his face. That kid has a gun in his hand. He's shooting it. The police are called. You know what happens next…

What happens next is I get a call from my son. He tells me his friend was being an idiot and shooting squirrels. Someone called the cops. Can I come pick him up? He gives me the address. It's not the address of the police station.

I am the first parent to arrive on the scene. There are two police Suburbans parked, their engines running. My son and his two friends are standing nervously. Two guns and a giant canister of ammo sit on the hood of one of the police vehicles. The officers are extremely polite. They tell me that the boy with the hoodie had been shooting his Airsoft gun and both my son and the third boy had not. They said the boys had all been cooperative. My son was free to go. Free. To. Go.

I found out later -- many days later -- that my son also had an Airsoft gun. A gun that was shifting anxiously in my son's backpack, while he was being respectfully questioned by officers. A backpack that was never searched -- a gun that was never discovered.

My son, at age 13, had just gotten a big dose of white privilege. A privilege that may have saved his life.

My son came home that day. He left his bed unmade and his towel on the floor the next day and the day after that, and the day after that. My son continues to have breakfast every Sunday with his grandparents. He still opens up a mouth about having to clean his dishes before going out with friends. He still takes too long doing his hair and regularly makes his brothers late to school. He got strep throat. He turned 14. My son came home.

Tamir Rice was black. He was 12 years old. He was playing with a BB gun in a park. He will never play in that park again. He will never celebrate another birthday. He was shot by an officer before he had a chance to explain his gun was a toy; before he had a chance to hide it in his backpack; before he had a chance to call his mom and say he needed her to pick him up; before he felt his nerves kick in worrying about what his mom was going to say. He'll never come home again.

I can't stop thinking about it. But I can if I want to. I'm not raising a black son. I don't need to teach my son -- my sons -- to keep their hands on the steering wheel when they get pulled over. I don't have to help my sons' white friends understand that the usual mischief boys get into can't be for mine because I fear his life may be taken in a "misunderstanding" because he's black. When the dispatcher comes over the radio saying, "Suspect is a black male…" somehow those words -- BLACK MALE -- strike such a fear, that a routine nuisance call can escalate to a child dying in a park next to his toy gun. The gratitude that my son came home is forever paired with shame. There can be no solace in injustice, even if my son came home.

Anyone who knows me well would never imagine me quoting something football-related. I've never seen one episode of Friday Night Lights (much to my sister's chagrin), but I love the mantra: "Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose." Many have adopted this phrase as a source of inspiration for coping with various hardships or they even channel it to win the big game. I think, with clear eyes and a full/open heart, anything is possible -- be it professional, athletic, or merely adopting a socially open attitude.

In our 20s, we're desperately trying to figure out who we are; in our 30s, we begin to come to terms with who we're growing up to be. Perhaps a cliche for good reason -- I think women really begin to find themselves in their 30s and I've just started that journey. I'm less afraid to speak my mind, and I find myself progressively fearless in pursuing outlets that truly bring me happiness.

My 20s were a more tentative time, both professionally and socially. As someone who grew up in Chicago's northern suburbs, it was easy to take my ready-made friend network for granted when I returned to Chicago after college. Like many home-grown Jews, I found my way back after a few years away. I eased into city life, surrounded by a combination of suburban, home friends and friends who had migrated from my Big Ten school. I spent several years in my 20s blending friend groups with other friends who went to nearby Big Tens, until our roots were nearly seamless. Additionally, I layered in friends from various jobs and social groups.

My last roommate, a non-Chicago native, found this city to be quite difficult to break into for the very reasons that made my return easy. I had a foundation dating back to my childhood. The Jewish community here is very tight-knit, and many of us grew up in the area -- newcomers don't know where to begin.

As such, it is fair to say that I was somewhat nonchalant about becoming active in the Jewish scene in my early 20s because I felt like I had already grown up in it to some degree. I cherry-picked events, while my roommate faithfully kept up with nearly every opportunity.

However, as friends pair off and get married, single ladies must inevitably keep refreshing their single friend network, or else they risk getting too comfortable on the couch in PJs, binging on Netflix.

A couple times in my 20s, I tried JUF's LEADS program with the expectation of, perhaps, collecting a few new friends and a new love interest. During those 20s trials, I knew one or two people in my group and we stuck to each other like glue. We lost out on the whole benefit of LEADS -- meeting new people. I made few friends through the program.

For those who aren't familiar, LEADS is a social series for young professionals comprised of groups of 10 to 15 people that meet in multiple neighborhoods around the city. Group members are matched based on age and location, and come together weekly for eight sessions to discuss and explore contemporary Jewish issues. After most sessions, all of the LEADS groups converge for a bar happy hour. The program is ideal for young professionals looking for new friends, newbies to the city and even couples who are looking to branch out.

I think those who might find the most immediate success from LEADS are those who are willing to push themselves out of their comfort zones. I've spoken with several friends who were new to Chicago, tried LEADS early on, and made some great, new friends from the program. Newcomers have to attend with an open mind to truly benefit from the program's network.

I didn't reap the program's benefits until I tried LEADS again this past fall. I've spent the past year re-grouping socially after a couple very close friends moved cities. I signed up for LEADS without a safety net -- I didn't sign up to be in a group with any existing friends. I decided to go in alone and see what happens. I also approached this experience without any agenda and truly wanted to meet some interesting people.

Luck met opportunity and this LEADS session was my best. I certainly can thank the fact that I had a wonderful group. But, I also think my success had a lot to do with my frame of mind and my open, "full heart." I shed my high school-esque need to stick to a built-in safety net and opened myself up to a handful of really fabulous people, many of whom I now spend time with on a regular basis.

I was actually on the young end of the group's spectrum, which consisted of Jewish professionals in their mid-to-late-30s. The group had a level of maturity, cooperation and warmth I had never experienced. All of us seemed to shed those 20s insecurities.

This LEADS experience created a snowball effect -- I am now more involved than ever in the Jewish community and attend regular events, often with the friends I made from fall LEADS. Not to mention, I've met so many new and interesting friends through the contacts I made from the group.

All of that early 30s self-awareness I've gained so far has also provided me with the right attitude and openness to let some really great, new people in. If we accept that we never stop growing, it's amazing who we might meet along the way.

"Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, Can't Lose."

Spring LEADS registration is closed as sessions begin next week, but for information about future LEADS sessions and other YLD opportunities, emailyld@juf.org

I am not one of those people who think 40 is old. I'm a few weeks from hitting that milestone, and I'm not having a midlife crisis -- well, at least not yet.

I am, however, changing how I work out and eat. Long gone are the days of leg-pressing 800 pounds (my only weight-room brag), bench pressing, and carbo-loading. With minor hip and shoulder surgeries along with a broken bone in my foot behind me, I'm more cautious at the gym.

Here are a few hacks that keep me pain-free and fit:

Speed walking: Trust me, I never wanted to admit to speed-walking; I once guilted a client into running because I incessantly made fun of her power-walks. Now, I love it. It doesn't hurt my foot like running and I still feel like I'm getting my heart-rate up. If I'm not outside, I'm using a self-propelled treadmill because it's a more natural motion and you burn more calories doing it. My favorite is the Woodway because its surface is easier on your joints then the usual treadmill.

Workout prep: I warm up before workouts, and use a foam roll often. If I'm at the gym, I head to the sauna for five minutes before working out. It's a great way to warm up my muscles. After my hip scope, my doctor suggested it, and I'm hooked. When I get out on the gym floor I'm doing butt-kicks, high-knees, hip-swings, shuffling or some forms of yoga moves before I hit the weights. I use a foam roller after workouts, and if I don't have time, I'll do it at home while watching TV.

Body weight exercises are my jam (I think that's how kids are using that word)! I use a TRX often for rowing exercises and legs. I'm a huge fan of single leg exercises like squatting and deadlifting. Since my wrists are a little creaky I like to use a Perfect Pushup to perform pushups or use two dumbbells instead of putting my hands flat on the ground. I do pump some iron and use a lot of bands.

Recovery: I'm ok with being sore after a workout, but if I feel like I was hit by a car, I'll make sure to change my workout next time. I am also a huge fan of massages. I don't get them often enough, but if you can afford it, do it. Just make sure you find a good masseuse.

Cold showers are also part of my routine after a workout. They wake me up and help cool me off so I'm not a sweaty mess when I return to work. When I have time, I'll take a bath in Epsom salt. I love getting in the water and I try to swim or at least walk in the water once a week or more during the summer. I also love Forrest Yoga. I recommend trying to find a yoga class you really like and mixing it into your routine once a week. On days I do not workout, I'll do a handful of yoga poses at home. Since my 4-year-old does it at school, it's a fun family activity.

Along with foam-rolling, I like to use a tennis ball or lacrosse ball to massage my muscles and bands for stretching. My only tip here is start easy and warm up the tissue before digging real deep. Kelly Starrett has a bunch of interesting videos online where he uses bands, rollers and balls for stretching. It's also important to listen to your body. If you have a tough workout planned but feel like crap, take it easy.

Time: I could easily spend a few hours in the gym, but who has that type of time? With a full-time job, a part-time job, a wife and two crazy boys, I want to get in and out of the gym. I also move a lot throughout the day. I'll get up and do some stretching in my office. My boss is on to me -- he'll look at me in a meeting and know my subtle move is a stretch. Since I do not have a ton of time in the gym, I take little breaks when I work out and I am big fan of intervals. Interval training is when you increase and decrease your intensity level during the workout. A basic example: sprint for 30 seconds, and then walk for 30 seconds, repeat that for 20 minutes. This type of training has shown tremendous results for weight loss, and speed improvement.

Sure, I still want to look good in my Speedo (for the record, I don't really own a Speedo), but I'm training for life. I want energy to keep up with my boys and the strength to be able to toss them in the air for a long, long time.

If you're not exercising, get moving. Start slow and listen to your joints, whether they're antiques like mine or still young and fresh.

Like so many other Jewish little girls on Purim, my big sister and I would both dress up for our annual Purim carnival as Queen Esther. The morning of the carnival, my mom would dress us in regal dresses, bright red lipstick, and a homemade crown or sparkly tiara my mom had bought for this very occasion--and only this occasion--so as to raise grounded daughters the rest of the year.

And in households down the street, the Jewish boys I knew would dress as the male hero of Purim--Mordechai.

Our costumes were a fun way to reinforce the attributes of these Jewish heroes who were brave, and stood up for what's right.

But then, after a couple hours at the carnival, we'd reach our Purim fill. The combs at the ends of the tiara would start to scratch the backs of our ears, the lipstick would smear on girls too young to pull off crimson red, and our bellies would ache from cotton candy and hamentaschen overload. At that point, we'd go home, take off our royal dresses, and return to our comfy play clothes--still brave girls--minus the fancy costumes. And being ourselves, it turned out, was pretty nice too.

Thirty years later, my generation of Queen Esthers and Mordechais are all grown up, but we're still working on taking off our masks.

For most people, learning to be comfortable in our own skin, becoming our authentic selves, is a lifelong work in progress.

In some ways, media today--particularly social media--has made it all the easier to don a mask. On Facebook, for instance, we package ourselves exactly the way we want the public to see us--as the shiniest, happiest-looking versions of ourselves. As we scroll through our newsfeeds of our friends' adorable babies and dogs, or better yet, the baby posed with the family dog, brides and grooms so perfect they might as well perch themselves on top of a wedding cake, and pictures of us sipping piña coladas on the beach, things look fantastic.

Yet, that's just it. Those pictures are fantasy. As someone once told me, "I wish I was having as much fun in real life as I am on Facebook." Because, come on, get real. No one's that happy all the time.

But it's not all fake. Despite the virtual masks we sometimes wear, society can be an easier place to be real and open these days than in the past--if we choose to.

As the world grows smaller, we're revealing ourselves and relating to one another in a way that often makes us feel less alone. In this age of sharing (and over-sharing), some of us are shedding light on the parts of us that aren't so shiny and happy all the time. In the world's biggest group therapy session, we're electronically sharing our emotional, mental, and physical struggles with each other more than ever before. We're bonding over our shared human experiences of love, loss, failure and success, spiritual growth, and purpose. We're more likely to admit that life isn't only sunshine and rainbows--and that makes each of us feel less alone in whatever we're going through.

A couple of years ago, I wrote a blog post about my mom's struggle with--and, thank God, her triumph over--bipolar disorder. My mom post garnered more "likes" and positive response than any other piece I'd written in 15 years. For months, people would approach me with their personal mental health struggles. Before that time, I had rarely spoken or written in a public forum about the previously stigmatized illness.

But then I figured times have changed and her illness is no longer shrouded in darkness, and it's something so many people are touched by. Plus, I realized that being open could go a long way in helping people face whatever hardships they're dealing with.

It's wonderful to teach our kids to embody the bravery of heroes like Esther and Mordechai, and it's exciting to dress up as someone else every now and then.

But when the tiara starts to itch and we grow tired of our disguises, let's remember that the best and bravest face to wear at the end of the day is our own.

Last weekend, a high schooler I work with asked me when I graduated from college. I told her 2012.

"Wow! That was soooo long ago," she said, without a gleam of sarcasm.

Was it? As I processed that it has been almost four years since I was last a student -- in the formal sense at least -- it seemed hard to believe for a moment. My days of late nights in the library, marathons of student org meetings, and, of course, happy hours and frat parties, however, seem exceedingly far behind me.

Still, as a young professional, I find myself reflecting on college and school in general quite often. As I wrapped up my conversation with this student, I started to think about what I learned in college, both within and beyond the classroom.

This also led me to think of all of the things that I wish I had learned, but never learned in any level of school. There are many professional and life skills more beneficial in our daily lives than physics and calculus, which I think I managed to never take nonetheless, but that is beside the point.

The skills that 20-somethings need to know go beyond what is conveyed in textbooks. Although I am fairly confident this is something every Millennial who enjoys crafting prose has touched upon at some point, I am beyond confident that it's still all too relevant, which is why I present to you my list of top 10 things I wish were taught in school.

Disclaimer: Although I am fully capable of doing some of these things (Microsoft Office is my everything -- is that weird to say? Probably.), please know that if anyone asked me to do my taxes alone or change a tire, I would be more lost than Nemo.

1. How to do your taxes

2. How to change a tire

3. How to jump a car

4. How to make an effective budget

5. How to use Microsoft Office

6. How to effectively manage stress

7. How to unplug/disconnect from technology

8. How to understand insurance policies (yes -- all kinds, people need to know more)

9. How to invest your money

10. How to hang a picture without damaging the wall

I could probably go on for pages on things that I wish I would've learned in school, but I will leave you with this. Life skills are just as important as academic knowledge, and let's hope the next generation can collectively become more functioning adults. Until then, I am off to Google picture-hanging techniques or something like that.

^{Esther beseeches King Ahasuerus to revoke his decree against the Jews}

If someone pushed a button that released a fleet of nuclear missiles all over the United States and then quickly shot down each one saving everyone from utter destruction, would we call them a hero? Would everyone cheer for joy at their "savior" who saved them from imminent death and destruction and appoint them as the leader of our people for his great care and love of our nation?

No, we'd lock them up! The nerve of them to put us all through the horrifying traumatic experience of potentially we were all going to die! Who cares if they stopped it? It's their fault it happened!

All of this sounds very logical. Then we come to the holiday of Purim. We're all familiar with the story how Haman (Booo!!!) wanted to wipe out the Jews. He set up a date that every Jew in the entire land of Persia was going to be killed. Then Mordecai and Esther make this unbelievable divinely staged rescue of the entire nation, and everyone is saved.

But wait one minute -- we're skipping one step. The story actually says, toward the beginning, "When Haman (minor egomaniac) saw that Mordecai (our beloved protagonist) did not bow down and prostrate himself before him (serious narcissism issues going on), Haman was filled with rage (the ancient anger management groups weren't helping) … so Haman sought to destroy all the Jews throughout the entire kingdom …"

Wait a minute? The whole stage of destruction was set by our beloved hero? Yup. And we celebrate his victory for the Jewish people of stopping this destruction. Wasn't it all his fault?

We had another moment of blame opportunity in our history where things didn't go so well, all the way back in the beginning of the Torah. A quick recap: G-d says, "Don't eat the fruit." Snake says, "Eat the fruit." Eve eats. Adam eats. G-d confronts them, "Adam, what happened?" Adam says, "It was the woman." G-d says, "Eve, what happened?" Eve says, "It was the snake." And everyone gets punished happily ever after.

Why were they punished? Weren't they just pointing out the truth?

The difference between these two stories is all about taking responsibility. Adam and Eve had a choice not to eat, but they blamed others for their misbehavior. They didn't accept responsibility and they were punished.

In the story of Purim, the Jewish people could easily have shirked their responsibility for this decree of destruction and blamed Mordecai. But let's look a little deeper. Haman was angry because Mordecai wasn't bowing down. Why wasn't he bowing down? The Talmud tells us that Haman wore an idol around his neck. Everyone else acquiesced. Everyone bowing down was inevitably bowing to an idol, which constituted a complete abandonment of the most basic tenet of Judaism, our belief in one G-d. That belief was being put to the test. Mordecai was the only one who actually passed it.

Deep down, everyone knew this truth. Instead of covering up their angst and fears with blame, they took responsibility for their behavior They recognized that their bowing down was an abandonment of their faith and heritage. The Jewish people accepted responsibility and realized it was incumbent upon them to preserve Judaism for all future generations. Subsequently Mordecai and Esther led them toward a path of teshuvah, which literally means "return" but is better understood to mean acceptance of responsibility and a commitment to change.

This is a beautiful lesson of Purim. We have two ways to approach our challenges in life: We can look at our difficulties and complain about all the challenges we see, or we can accept responsibility for our reality and make a commitment to change just like our ancestors did.

There is a fantastic opportunity for anyone who wants to enjoy and experience the Purim spirit this year in Chicago. Join us at the Downtown Purim Lunch and Learn at noon on Thursday, March 24 at JUF building, 30 S. Wells St. There will be a reading of the Scroll of Esther, accompanied by a slideshow with translation, and insights to help us internalize the deep messages and lessons of our Jewish heritage.

^{Photo credit: Shahar Azran}

Growing up in the Chicago Jewish community, I was raised with a deep sense of pride in our history. I was taught how to love my community and to love my city because of its rich cultural history. Chicago's Jewish community is marked by people who really care about each other and I knew growing up that I was never alone.

Since making aliyah and moving to Israel three years ago, I've realized how fortunate I was to have spent not only my childhood, but also my formative college years, in such a tight-knit place. Yet, in Israel, I feel a distinctly different sense of fulfillment.

One of my Jewish heroes, the educator and visionary Avraham Infeld, says that "being Jewish is like having a five-legged table" standing on memory, family, covenant, Israel, and Hebrew. Interestingly, Infeld refers to Jewish "memory," as opposed to Jewish "history," because unlike a history book, he explains that memory is a living thing driving us forward constantly.

Living in Israel, this sentiment proves true for me on a daily basis. I feel as though I am tapping into a living, vibrant communal memory.

Today, when I ride the bus in Jerusalem, the thousands of years of Jewish memory passing by my window are also pulsing through my veins, bringing me in and making me part of it. These quiet, passing moments help validate my decision to move to Israel, because at the end of the day, it was a choice I made -- and it wasn't easy.

I've always had a deep connection to Israel. I participated in Jewish life in ways that will sound very familiar to many of my peers. I was raised in a religious Zionist household, studied in Israel after high school, served as president and Israel Intern of my campus Hillel, and already had family and friends living in Israel when I made aliyah.

Still, aliyah is an individual decision, and everyone has to make it for her or himself.

I have also realized that, like with any major life decision, whether it's graduating school or moving to a new city, you have to really want it in order to succeed. Otherwise, it can be too easy to get discouraged. That's just human nature. When it comes to Israel, people talk about the wars and the violence and the bureaucracy and the supposedly rude disposition of Israelis, but knowing these issues in the abstract versus dealing with them in real life are two different things.

No one prepares you for when the IDF enters Gaza and you have loved ones fighting there. No one prepares you for when terror attacks start happening on a daily basis, and you stop feeling comfortable wearing headphones while taking a walk or allowing yourself to doze off on the bus. And putting the waves of terror and violence aside, it's tough to prepare to take on a new identity of "immigrant," an identity I will carry for the rest of my life. I've been learning to embrace a new normal and everything that comes along with it as part of the journey. Just like Chicago, or any city, you can't have the good aspects without the challenging ones.

Ultimately, finding ways to remind yourself that you do, in fact, want to be in Israel is not as hard as you might think.

This country has a funny way of presenting us with striking moments of clarity and inspiration. I once had a cab driver who thought I was a native Israeli because of my Hebrew during the drive, only for me to get flustered and promptly forget the Hebrew word for "compliment." And I recall conversations with strangers on international flights that have reminded me that life is equally fragile wherever you are. Sometimes these moments will be fleeting, and sometimes they plant themselves firmly in your head.

One of those lasting moments came last April while I was working at Yad Vashem experiencing the national ceremony for Yom HaShoah, Israel's Holocaust Remembrance Day, for the first time. Each year, six Holocaust survivors are chosen to share their stories and light six torches symbolic of the six million Jews who were murdered in the Shoah. One of the torch-lighters was Avraham Harshalom, who told his story about surviving the camps, escaping to Israel and fighting to establish its independence. After the ceremony, I approached Avraham in awe just to say "thank you." I thanked him not only for his service to our country and his contribution to Jewish memory, but also for the stark reminder that living in Israel, today, right now, is a privilege not to be taken for granted, and it's something that I want.

History can be documented and catalogued on paper, sealed in a book or put on a shelf. Memory, on the other hand, can be fuzzy at times - but it moves us and it's personal. That is why I live in Israel, because being here makes my Jewish memory lucid and enduring and alive and provides me with endless motivation to continue embracing this journey.

^{Courtesy Katie Matanky}

Katie Matanky is a proud Chicago native living in Jerusalem and working in International Relations at Yad Vashem. She made Aliyah on the 50th Nefesh B'Nefesh charter flight, in 2013.

Learn more about the aliyah process at theSpring Aliyah Fair in Skokie on March 9.

I recently learned that some elementary school-aged children are asking their parents for permission to download a smartphone app called Musical.ly. This app allows users to create their own lip sync selfie music videos that can be shared, liked and commented on across social networks.

Yes -- elementary school children. The ones in question are in third and fourth grade.

One parent told me that a friend of her daughter was sad because she made a video and nobody "liked" the video. Sure, we're all familiar with "likes" from our beloved Facebook, but a) most people I know didn't join Facebook until at least high school, and b) most people I know aren't recording selfie lip sync videos.

I can only imagine these poor girls, who probably shouldn't be quitting their day jobs (being a fourth grade student) to make these videos, probably the subject of teasing and maybe even that "nobody-liked-my-Facebook-post" feeling of loneliness. (Seriously, can more people please press "like" when I post my blog to Facebook? Please?)

These fourth grade kids have most likely not yet developed their public speaking inhibitions or their judgment about what is and isn't appropriate for the immortal Internet.

Boy, am I glad this kind of app -- or this technology in general -- wasn't around when I was busy trying to read about Ramona Quimby and Wayside School.

It makes me wonder … if this technology was around when I was an elementary school kid, what kind of videos of me would be easily searchable? App developers, take note!

Lia Does Her Homework. Join in once a week as you watch Lia work through math, English, and science assignments. Watch until the end for "extra credit!"

Lia Follows the Rules in Gym. You don't have to be the best athlete; just listening to the teacher and putting in a good effort is nice, too! Watch Lia's short videos as she studies the rules of soccer and shows up to class on time regularly.

Lia Plays Dress-Up. It's fun, it's wholesome, and it's not even Halloween or Purim! Jump into the costume box as we pretend we're princesses and Dorothy with our favorite friends.

Lia Gets Into a Fight. Not a fist fight, of course, but a petty elementary school girl fight! More enticing than Serial, this podcast will follow the ins and outs of which girls we're talking to this week and which ones we won't make eye contact with. Note: We NEVER talk to boys.

Lia Plans Her Birthday Party. What shall it be this year, YouTube fans? Should we have a jewelry-making party? How about a party where we jump into foam blocks at a gymnastics place? Or perhaps a pottery-painting party? Stick with us every step of the way as we tour venues, interview store owners and sample birthday cakes.

To the little girls hoping to become Musical.ly stars -- maybe just stay little girls a little while longer.

Imagine this for a moment.

You are the creator of something completely new, special and unique. Your creation is about to come into the universe, and you are given the task of choosing the name. You have some ideas, but the moment to decide is rapidly approaching.

What do you do?

My heart skipped a beat just thinking back to the very first time I recall ever thinking of baby names. I was in second grade.

I was already over a year into a very serious relationship with a girl that I cared very deeply about and felt very close to (in case you were wondering, yes -- it was reciprocal). Anyway, we were so certain of a relationship lasting (spoiler alert: it didn't) that one day we were working on a list of baby names that we liked for our children.

It was an impressive list. On one side of the paper was a list of girls' names, in purple or pink, and the other side had boys' names, drawn in blue. I don't recall all the names on the list, but it grew over time, with her and I exchanging the list between each other like a secret note. I smile remembering how she would pass me in the classroom and, on occasion, whisper something like, "I like Jacob," just to remind me which way she was leaning if it was going to be a boy.

Those were the days. It wasn't so hard back then to think of great Jewish names for children. Playing House is playing House, but as a husband and a father-to-be, it was not as I had imagined it as a second grade kid.

When my wife, Ashley, and I were considering names for our daughter-to-be, we were faced with that big decision for the first time. We had talked about it a lot over the course of our relationship and discovered a lot about what names mean to both of us. We both shared deep connections with loved ones who had passed, but now that having our daughter was imminent, the question was whether or not we could come to an agreement.

Early on, Ashley was not shy to point out that there was also the child's Hebrew name to consider, which she said she was more than happy to defer to me if she could choose the English name.

Nice try, hun.

Of course she was only joking, but she knew this was going to be a big deal for both of us, and it was nice that she respected what value the Hebrew name would bring to our child. We also wanted to enjoy the experience and savor the journey we were taking together. So, we did like any good Jewish parents would do and started going through every Jewish baby name book our parents gave us, while adding our favorites along the way, Jewish or not. 

We zoomed across countless websites that poured over every detail and described every back story and origin for the name you could possibly think of. We talked to everyone, and I mean everyone -- I even polled my then-third grade class for their favorites.

Now, figuring out how Ashley and I were going to come together to make this decision was another challenge. After soliciting more advice, we went with an idea where we started in separate rooms and each wrote our own lists. Then we exchanged lists in the same room and circled the ones we loved, crossed out the ones we absolutely could not negotiate, and left the rest as options.

I confess that it took me much longer to draft my list than Ashley, because I think she already had her list in her head for a long time, but the plan worked. When we swapped lists, it was astonishing how close we were to agreement, and there wasn't one name that both of us agreed we had to have. So we went back and forth on a handful of names, all the way through our move out to the suburbs weeks before the delivery, even into July 4th weekend, which was more than a week before the due date. At that point, the only thing we were both in agreement over was to not decide until we met her -- whatever felt right among the choices we both liked would win.

Well, she couldn't wait to get her name, because on July 5, 2014, our daughter came into the universe healthy and with eyes wide open. In time (about 10 minutes later), we looked at each other, then at our daughter, and knew in our hearts what she would be called.

We introduced her to our families as Emma Bayla, named after my grandfathers Edward Silver and Samuel Edward Moffic, and Ashley's grandmother Barbara. Her Hebrew name, which we also chose together, is Adiya, meaning "G-d's Jewel." We couldn't be prouder and happier with our decision, though in a way, we believe she chose it for herself. This weekend she turns 20 months old, and happily squeals her name loud and proud, "Emma! Emma!"

As for our son coming in April -- well, that's a whole other blog.

Until next time, L'Chaim!

Every Sunday morning, I sit down in front of my steaming cappuccino and plan my menu for the week. It's a piece of my week that I look forward to. Typically, I'm overwhelmed with ideas thanks to my daily Facebook feed of bloggers, but every once in a while I get stumped -- and it is typically when I get to the word chicken.

Chicken breasts can get quite blah after a while. Plus, considering it is the only animal protein (other than fish and eggs) that I allow in the house, I have to be creative!

On one of those Sunday mornings, I chose to sip my cappuccino in front of the TV as I watched a riveting episode of the Shahs of Sunset, a guilty pleasure of mine. It just so happened that in the latest installment of the Shahs, they were sitting around an ornately decorated table in the reunion special. And as they threw one jab after another at each other, I was distracted by the gorgeous food on the table. Yellow rice. Grilled meats. Yogurt sauce. This all reminded me how very much I love Persian cuisine.

In the summer, I frequently grill up chicken tawook very similar to Azita's joojeh kebob. The yogurt gives the chicken a perfectly delicate texture and a slightly tangy flavor. It's fantastic on the grill.

But of course I found a way to improve this.

I used a yogurt marinade along with lots of garlic, onions, cilantro, parsley, lemon juice and salt and pepper. I also added some gorgeous saffron that gives this dish a distinct yellow color.

Saffron is really pricey, but fortunately you will only need a few threads. And Costco recently started carrying it for a nice price. If you cannot find saffron, you can cheat and add some turmeric to the mix instead to give it a nice color. 1 tablespoon or so will do.

Saffron Yogurt and Garlic Marinated Chicken
By Girl and the Kitchen

INGREDIENTS

2 pounds of chicken breast cut in half so they are thinner (you can also use boneless, skinless chicken thighs but use 3 pounds)
1½ cups of yogurt
8 garlic cloves
1 large onion peeled and cut in half
½ a cup of water
8 threads of saffron steeped in a ¼ cup of water or 1 tbsp of turmeric
a handful of cilantro
juice of one lemon
salt and pepper to taste
4 tablespoons of butter
more olive oil for frying

INSTRUCTIONS

1. Before adding the saffron to the chicken, you have to steep it like a tea in hot water. It will start to release it's beautiful golden color.

2. Place yogurt, water, garlic, onion, saffron or turmeric, cilantro and lemon into a blender or a food processor and pulse until smooth. Taste for salt and pepper and add as necessary.

3. Place chicken cutlets into a sealable bag and add yogurt mixture on top.

4. Close the bag and swish the mixture around so everything is evenly covered. Let stand for 60 minutes to 24 hours.

5. Place butter and olive oil into a pan, ensuring that the butter melts.

6. Over medium heat, fry the chicken on one side for about 5 minutes or until golden brown.

7. At this point, you can either turn over the chicken and cook on the other side or place into a 450-degree oven for 5 minutes.

8. If grilling, cut the chicken into large cubes and marinate. Then place on skewers and allow for it to grill for 6 minutes on each on a high flame.

We have all seen him swim. Glued to our televisions over the past few Olympics, Jason Lezak has become one of the most decorated swimmers, Olympians, and Jewish athletes of all time. His participation in the Maccabiah Games over the World Championships was a historic Jewish sports moment.

I am really excited that Lezak is now a part of my team at TheGreatRabbino.com. Read the interview and sign up to bring him to your event. And swimmers everywhere can sign up to go to Israel with the legend himself. Just click HERE.

1. Tell us about yourself.

I grew up in Irvine, California and began swimming at the age of five, played on the high school basketball team and become an All-American in water polo. In 1998, I made an impact at the U.S. National Championships that year winning my first national title in the 100m freestyle and then went on to win a gold and silver medal at the 2000 Olympic Games. At the 2004 Olympic Games, I took home a bronze medal in the 4x100m freestyle relay and the gold in a world-record-breaking swim in the 4x100m medley relay. I also represented the U.S. in Israel at the Maccabiah Games. It was a tough decision to make having to pass on the World Championships but this was more than just another swim competition.

2. You had such a historic Olympic career. What was the highlight?

The 2008 Olympics 4x100 free relay. We had lost the previous two Olympics after never losing before in Olympic history. To help bring back gold for USA was really special.

3. What was the best part of swimming with Michael Phelps? What makes him so unique?

To watch him prepare for a race and see his focus and determination. He is unique because not only does he do all the strokes at the highest level, he can do short distances as well as middle distances. Never has there been anyone who comes even close to him.

4. Is there any event you wish you had competed in but it didn't work out?

I wish I could have represented the USA at Maccabiah in 2001 and 2005, but unfortunately it interfered with World Championships. Since I was swimming professionally as my job, I needed to go to the Worlds.

5. Are you good at other water sports like skiing, diving or water polo?

I was an All-American water polo player in high school. Every year at UC Santa Barbara the coach wanted me to join the college team, but I decided it was too tough to do both if I wanted to achieve my dream of making the Olympics one day.

6. What was your Jewish upbringing like?

I was brought up in a Reform synagogue. I went to Hebrew school as a kid and had my bar mitzvah at 13.

7. What have you been up to since you last swam in the Olympics?

After I retired from swimming in 2012 I have been doing swim clinics across the country, swim camps around the world, motivational speaking, and other appearances. I love the sport of swimming and enjoy still being a part of it in a different way.

8. Anything else you want to share?

Going to Israel in 2009 was a special trip for me. I learned so much of it as a kid and always wanted to experience it. I always saw myself as Jewish and an athlete, but being able to compete in the Maccabiah games, I -- for the first time -- saw myself different. Putting them together I was a Jewish athlete.

To say the last eight months have been a whirlwind would be a tad of an understatement. Following graduation from Indiana University-Bloomington last May, I picked up almost immediately and moved to the Windy City for a fabulous opportunity with a communications firm in River North.

Hailing from Akron, Ohio, I will always be a loyal Northeast Ohioan, but I would be lying if I said I didn't already have a soft spot for Chicago. Here are a few of my "outsider" impressions over the last eight months.

Chicagoans love their skyline

I am often reminded that the lush skyline of Cleveland -- which consists of factories, old banking buildings and a football stadium dubbed the "factory of tears" -- bears no resemblance to the likes of "Big John," the Willis Tower, the Trump Tower and the Aon Center. The skyline is truly a remarkable piece of the city. I constantly find myself looking up at the beautiful buildings and architecture while perusing the loop on any given Saturday.

Chicago is a city built on hard work

A blue-collar work ethic was one of the main reasons I decided to remain in the Midwest for work. Day in and day out I am constantly amazed by the collective work ethic of the city. No matter the time, day or place, Chicagoans always seem to be plugged in and working. Of course I know no one works all the time, but for a young professional still trying to find his way in the world of work, it is inspiring to be surrounded by hard-working folks who are proud of what they do.

Watering holes, watering holes and bars

No if, ands or buts about this observation: There is absolutely no shortage of bars in Chicago. I realize I am pointing out the obvious, but coming from a city with a few decent bars and a college town dominated by two, the variety is unbelievable. As a Cleveland sports and Indiana Hoosiers fan, I am loyal to Vaughn's Pub and Kirkwood's respectively, but I can't wait to explore. I am increasingly fascinated by the way bars in different locations show off the unique characteristics of each neighborhood.

A vibrant Jewish community

One of my first Fridays in the city, I was jogging on Fullerton near the lake when I came across a large group in the park. With my curiosity piqued, I did a bit of investigating and what I found gave me the chills. A large group of young Jews had gathered in the park to celebrate Shabbat.

I have been to Israel three times and celebrated holidays at the Western Wall, but this scene was truly incredible. With the backdrop of a large, immaculate city on one side, the gorgeous shore of Lake Michigan on the other and the Shabbat prayers rising in unity somewhere in between, I truly felt at home for the first time.

Diversity

Chicago is incredibly diverse in more ways than one. In addition to the unique and vibrant neighborhoods, I have encountered people of every background, race, ethnicity and religion. While I will admit to noticing both tension and ignorance, I know people are proud to call Chicago home. I even had a cab driver comment that he tried moving to New York for a few months, but ended up moving back to the friendly confines of Chicago because his ethnicity was often looked at with disdain.

Regardless of ethnicity, race or sexual orientation, Chicago truly has a place for everyone.

As I finish writing this, I'm on a plane traveling from my old home to my current home, yearning to catch a glimpse of that breathtaking skyline. I can't wait to see what else this magnificent city has in store.

Life. Not the cereal, or the "Game of," but the one we all live in. That life. It's a tough one, and sometimes, a little escape is in order. When stress threatens to take me down a peg or two, I say, "Hey! How did I get on this wall of pegs?" But in every other case when stress needs to be managed, I find solace, beauty and peace in the wonderful world of video games.

It is often stereotypically said that introverts like myself are keen on staying home and reading books. Well for me, I like to stay home and play video games. And also sometimes read books. (Comics count as books!) So what follows is me explaining to you -- my unabashedly attractive Oy! readers -- how in my world, I use video games as my go-to activity when I need some time to escape. 

Warning: I will be mentioning specific videogame titles in what follows, so as to help inform you as to what I'm talking about if you are curious enough. And there will be links to more information about these games. Yes, it may require additional reading but reading is good -- like playing video games to some people.

Now please enjoy my abbreviated list of 18 five ways that video games are my books.

1. They can have amazing stories

I'm a different kind of gamer than most people think when I tell them I play video games. I love games where story drives the game. I'm the only person I know that plays Halo -- a mostly online multiplayer shooting game -- for its single player story (also called a campaign) and doesn't go online to play with others. I never do that. Introverts unite separately!

Anyway, a few of my absolute favorites are the BioShock series, whose story revolves around a man-made city at the bottom of the ocean and then a man-made city in sky. Then there's The Last of Us, a game set in a post-apocalyptic world that is not so much about the post-apocalyptic world but more so about the relationship of a 50-something year old man and a teenage girl as they come to fill a surrogate father-daughter role for each other as they go through a relentless and harrowing journey where they learn to trust and love again. See!? If you get me started on those games, I will never shut up. Ask my girlfriend of the torture she's been through. Which leads me too…

2. When playing through a good game, it's all I can think and talk about

Not only that, it helps me bond with others. James Bond, for those of you that played Goldeneye 007 on Nintendo 64 growing up. But it's true, because games take roughly the same amount of time as books for me (about 8-12 hours on average), I play them over a few days if not weeks. This gives me a lot to look forward to every day, knowing I have some stress relief  and an amazing other world to keep revisiting once I get home.

But when it is a phenomenal game, it's still all I can think and talk about, even when I'm not playing it, like with The Last of Us -- that's a game I'd talk about at any given moment. Like this moment. You know, the moment where now I'm thinking about it and will probably have to play it again because it gives me oh so much happiness.

3. They are art

There has been a long-standing debate about whether or not video games are art. I stand firmly on the side that says indeed, video games are art. The visceral nature of them can be astounding. The storytelling can be a strong factor, but even games without story have so much nuance and precision in them that you can feel the meticulous nature that went into creating them. Visually, they are getting to unparalleled levels of realism. Many games use motion capture, or taking real actors and capturing their movements, voices and expressions with a computer and then utilizing all of that data to actually create the characters. It's astounding how beautifully rendered this can be. It gives me a sense of being fully immersed and experiencing something special that few other mediums can accomplish. I could probably write an entire article on why video games are art if I wanted to. Perhaps not the worst idea for the future …

Here's one scene in particular to show my point on how video games are art. It's from The Last of Us, of course, because this game deserves another mention. I cried when I first played through this scene. (Warning: Slight spoilers for the game and NSFW language) They were manly videogame tears, so it was cool.

4. They have unlimited replay value

Like a great book I want to read over and over, there are many video games I want to experience and play through over and over. This is because each time I will discover new things and take an extra moment or two to really dive deep into certain areas. Sometimes knowing what to expect increases that anticipation of getting to that awesome part even more. And you know you found something special when every time I play through the game, the experience is not diluted, but enhanced. Like every play through of The Last of Us. Not sure if I've mentioned that game before, but it's good.

5. It feeds my love of voice acting

I love voice acting, especially in animated form. So that obviously lends itself well to my love of video games. I even once wrote a huge list of 25 of the best voiceover actors out there. Sadly, there is no link. (That's a funny joke if you know video games.)

While I could list some many voice actors and the many great games you can hear their voices in, I'll keep it short to some of the pinnacle games I feel deserve an immediate mention. There's everything from the game Portal 2, one of the funniest games in existence, the Uncharted series, which is basically a modern day Indiana Jones, and really anything involving Mark Hamill, Troy Baker or Nolan North. So basically the Batman: Arkham Asylum series. Or The Last of Us, since both Troy Baker and Nolan North have prominent roles in that one.

The point of all of this is I love The Last of Us and you should all go and play or watch someone play The Last of Us. Or watch this, a cut together version of the videogame with all the story moments. It's only four hours!

Thanks for letting me talk to you about something passionate to me. This gives you a free pass to tell me something you are passionate about without interruption for about 1,200 words. Right after I go play The Last of Us.

What curse? The 2016 Chicago Cubs have no idea what you're referring to. When Steve Bartman reached for that infamous foul ball, Kyle Schwarber was 10 years old. Addison Russell was 9. When the black cat ran across the field in 1969, Cubs' manager Joe Maddon was 15. And nobody around the organization was around for the curse of the Billy Goat.

Fans on the north side of Chicago are all too familiar with the dark history of their beloved Cubbies, but bring up any talk of a curse around this current team and you won't get so much as a raised eyebrow. This is a new team, a new regime and a fresh start for one of the two original National League franchises.

These are not the "Lovable Losers" anymore, as they enter the 2016 season with perhaps the largest target they've had on their backs since '84 or '69. And it's probably even bigger.

The Cubs are legitimate contenders this season; the pick of many to represent the NL in the World Series. Ever since the organization hired boy genius Theo Epstein in 2011, the team has improved every season, but nobody quite expected the jump they made last year.

In Epstein's first season the Cubs finished 61-101. The next year they finished 66-96. In 2014 they improved by seven games in the win column to 73-89. And last season the Cubs finished the year 97-65 and made it all the way to the NLCS.

When Epstein came aboard he drew out a six, perhaps seven-year rebuilding plan with a focus on big picture. But as they enter year five, the Cubs are looking like the perennial October team we all dreamed of but few realistically envisioned in his introductory press conference.

Spring is right around the corner and for the first time in a long time the change in weather might not be the thing Chicago residents are most excited about. There is a change happening in the entire sports culture of this city, and if results can match expectations, Chicago will see a celebration unlike anything the nation has ever seen before.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. It is a long season and a lot can happen. So let's just start with the big storylines to watch as the Cubs begin spring training next week.

Innings for the starters

It became apparent in the playoffs last year that the Cubs' starting rotation was only formidable for about two and a half games each series. Management did something about that in the off-season by bringing in John Lackey, but their lack of depth also cost them because of the physical toll it took on Cy Young winner Jack Arrieta and last year's big acquisition, Jon Lester. Arrieta had a career year but also pitched 229 innings, second most in the NL. Lester pitched 205 and Lackey pitched 218 as a member of the Cardinals. These are veteran players and those are a lot of innings.

When the playoffs hit we saw a noticeable drop in Arrieta's game, due in part to the amount of innings he had put in including the playoffs. His four complete games were tied for the most in the league and his 3,438 total pitches thrown were the most thrown by anyone in the NL.

This year with Lackey bringing depth to the rotation and the Cubs' sights set on the playoffs, Maddon will have to manage the innings of his veteran starters early in the year, perhaps allowing for extra days off for them and innings limits early in the season. Of course try telling that to Maddon while Arrieta is in the midst of an 8-inning shut-out, but it's a good problem to have.

Who will be the fifth starter?

The top four spots in the Cubs' starting rotation seem set with Arietta, Lester, Lackey and Jason Hammel. But the fifth starter spot will likely be fluid and something to keep an eye on throughout spring games and early in the season.

Kyle Hendricks appears to be the favorite to start the year given his spot in the rotation last season. The 26-year-old isn't flashy, but he has really good stuff when it is accurate. Hendricks struggled last season, however, especially in the playoffs, and the Cubs will really need a reliable fifth starter in order to help keep days off consistent for the other four guys.

Trevor Cahill and Adam Warren will also be given a look in that spot. In 11 games with the Cubs, Cahill went 1-0 with a 2.12 ERA. He pitched really well in long relief out of the bullpen where he would be valuable for Maddon again, but if Hendricks struggles or there is an injury to someone else in the rotation, Cahill may be the next man up.

Warren came over from the New York Yankees in the Starlin Castro trade and will most likely stay in the bullpen, but he may be someone worth looking at for a spot start from time to time. He has a career 3.39 ERA and started 17 games last year for the Yankees.

While it is possible the Cubs could still make a move mid-season to help fill out their starting rotation, you'll likely see a good amount of musical chairs from Maddon as he experiments with different guys in that fifth spot.

Development of the youngsters

The Cubs farm is growing them faster than they can bring them up and that is another good problem to have. Last season we saw Kris Bryant and Jorge Soler as expected, but Russell and Schwarber getting called up early was a bit of a surprise. But no matter how and when they made it up, they did everything they could to set the bar extremely high for themselves coming into this year. Rookie of the Year Bryant hit .274 with 26 HR and 99 RBI. Schwarber hit 16 home runs in only 69 games and Russell hit .242 and was one of the team's best defensive players before an injury kept him out of the NLCS.

Then there's the playoff run Soler had. In seven post-season games, Soler hit .474 with a .600 OBP and three home runs in 19 AB. Javier Baez saw a nice post-season bump as well, hitting .333 in place of the injured Russell.

Now with a full season and post-season experience under their belts, there will be a lot of pressure on this young core to take the next step alongside veterans Anthony Rizzo, Jason Heyward, Ben Zobrist and Miguel Montero. If these guys can continue to develop at anywhere near the pace they did last season, the Cubs are going to have one of the most formidable lineups in baseball.

The one outlier perhaps is Baez, who has struggled moving back and forth between the Minors and Majors last year. He is an incredible talent defensively with a lot of power behind the plate, but he strikes out a lot and could become a liability in a lineup built on high pitch counts and on-base percentage.

Sure there will be slumps and steps backward -- most of this group is under 25 years old -- but they play with a poise and maturity rarely seen with this many young players on one team.

Who will bat lead-off?

This is definitely the most intriguing question in the Cubs' lineup entering the season. Last year the Cubs were fourth in the NL in On-Base Percentage (.344) from the lead-off spot. Dexter Fowler saw the most at-bats at the top of the order, but with Fowler gone there are a couple of different ways the Cubs can go.

The Cubs acquired Heyward and Zobrist, both fully capable of jumpstarting your order. Zobrist is a switch hitter and Heyward bats from the left side. Heyward is a career .268 hitter with a .353 OBP. At 34 years old, Zobrist has almost identical career numbers with a .265 average and .355 OBP. Given Maddon's tendency to be aggressive on the base-paths, he may go with Heyward more often, who is more of a threat to steal a base, but both guys will likely see time at the top of the order this spring.

Some of this will also depend on how well the youngsters play. If Baez's struggles continue heading into the season, Zobrist will likely be an everyday second baseman and a sure thing at or near the top of the batting order. However, if Baez plays well, he could give Heyward days off in center field as well, based on what we're hearing. So the two could form a platoon in that leadoff spot for most of the year until Maddon decides to set a lineup heading into the post-season. Either way, expect to see a lot of experimentation with the lineup this spring and even into the first couple months of the season.

Embrace the target

Gone are the days of the Cubs taking opponents by surprise. As deep and talented as they are, they are no longer full of "unknowns." Everybody will be on everyone's scouting report from day one. Pitchers will have a much better idea how to keep pitches to Schwarber off the rooftops. The core players have continued to develop their A-game, but this year everyone will be bringing their A-game when the Cubs come to town. And how does Maddon plan to approach the added pressure?

Maddon stresses never taking anything for granted or becoming complacent, and if the Cubs have a hard time keeping themselves humble, you know their opponents will be doing everything possible to bring them down.

"Embrace the target" has become the mantra for the 2016 season, yet another t-shirt worthy phrase out of the mouth of their eclectic, fearless leader. But it isn't just the target on their own backs they should be working to embrace. It is the ultimate target ahead of them as well -- the World Series.

Raiders of the Lost Ark, in which Indiana Jones went after the Ark of the Covenant, currently has an 8.5 on imdb.com. It's the highest rating of any film in the franchise, with The Last Crusade -- in which Indy pursued the Holy Grail -- at an 8.3. The other two films don't rate anywhere near that high.

So the message is clear: Indy needs to go after something Biblical. Nothing else has that kind of emotional impact. Only, what's left for him to look for?

Answer: The Staff of Moses.

Moses' staff started off as a simple shepherd's crook, but went on to become the basis for every sorcerer's staff or fairy's wand that followed. Seriously, why else is a stick the symbol of magic? Why not a glove, or a kerchief, or a gemstone? Because Moses invented the magic wand.

The Blue Fairy, the Fairy Godmother and Tinkerbell … Gandalf, Dumbledore and Jafar… from Hermes and Circe of myth to the magician at a 5-year-old's birthday, each has a wand or staff of some sort. (As for Hermes' snake-entwined staff becoming the symbol of doctors and healing, that's also Biblical in origin; see Num. 21:8-9).

Now, Moses's staff has three main powers. One is its command over water. We read about it turning the entire Nile to blood (Ex. 7:19-20), splitting a sea (Ex. 14:21), and drawing water out of a boulder (in both Exodus and Numbers).

Another power relates to its control over simpler animals. In the second and third plagues, it calls forth infestations of frogs (Ex. 8:1-2) and lice (Ex. 8:13). Even its very first miracle is to turn itself into a snake (Ex. 5:2-4); it repeats this transformation in Pharaoh's court and devours his magicians' snake-staffs as well (Ex. 7:10-12).

In fact, this could be a major plot point when Indy finds Moses' staff. Why? Indy is famouslyterrified of snakes! He would have to overcome his fear in order to retrieve the artifact.

The last power of the staff would be why the Nazis want it (it's always the Nazis). In one battle retold in the Torah, the Israelites win as long as Moses holds the staff aloft (Ex 17: 9-13). Of course the Nazis would crave an object that helps them win wars with ease.

So, Mr. Steven Spielberg, I think you see the cinematic possibilities of the Staff of Moses for the next Indiana Jones film. Imagery-wise, we're talking about water effects, swarms of small creatures, and an epic battle. But this time, the object of the quest goes right at the heart of Indy's character, because it's both what Indy wants -- and fears -- most. How epic is that?

The other object in the Torah that would be worthy of an adventure is the Urim V'Tumim, the High Priest's gem-studded breastplate that could foretell the future and reveal secrets. But that's harder to explain … we can save that for the sixth movie.

A few months ago I did something totally crazy -- I created a human! A tiny, beautiful, miraculous human. Well, I guess I had a little help from my husband, but I did most of the heavy lifting (pun intended).

And while, amazingly, I am not the first and only person to accomplish this ridiculously incredible feat, I know I will not be the last. So I thought I'd share what I learned throughout my pregnancy -- things I wish I'd known before starting out on this crazy journey.

1. People will say the weirdest stuff to you -- don't let it get to you.

People will tell you that you're carrying big. "Yes, I'm sure there's just one in there," you will tell them. They will tell you for sure you're carrying like it's a girl, even though you have the ultrasound pictures to prove it's a boy. They will tell you horrific labor stories that you can't unhear. One day, when I was about 8 months pregnant, I was walking out of Starbucks and this woman just pointed at me and said, "You're pregnant!" and kept walking. No shit, Sherlock.

The thing is, people will also be pretty nice to you and treat you like some kind of super human (which you are). They will hold doors for you, help you carry things, and occasionally they will give up their seat on the train for you -- but not always. Well-meaning strangers will smile at you, ask you when you're due, offer words of advice, wish you well, and warmly welcome you into the club of parenthood. You will totally do the same annoying thing the minute you become a parent.

Read the rest on Kveller.com »

"I read three papers a day and watch the news constantly, I would know if there's something to organic food." That's what my dad said while we were discussing the merits of organic food. I know that organic food uses less pesticide, no synthetic pesticides, and no antibiotics -- but are those reasons enough to buy organic?

I buy a few things organic and I was starting to wonder, was my dad right? The main things I buy organic are the dirty dozen, which you can find on a list the EWG puts out each year. They also list the clean 15, which are generally foods with thick skin that you do not eat, like avocados.

There are a ton of articles on the topic, but who to trust? Monsanto, the largest manufacturer of seeds and pesticides, pays universities to conduct studies on many things, like safety of pesticides. On the other side of the spectrum are organic advocates that also conduct studies. So, who do you believe?

I did a lot of research and reading on the subject, but for further clarification I spoke with Robin Levy Brown, a friend and nutritionist who works for the Midwest Dairy Council and previously worked for the Chicago Public School systems. Like many articles I read, she said ideally buying local is best. It's the freshest food and travels the least amount of miles to get to you, so it's also environmentally friendly.

I also asked Robin about meat. A lot of articles I came across, like this one, talk about buying organic meat because 80% of all medicine in the US is given to livestock, and that might be the reason drugs are less effective on people. According to Robin, dairy cows given drugs are taken off the lot until they are tested and there is no sign of drugs in their system. Organic farms have to sell an animal when it gets sick. The Natural Resources Defense Council (NRDC) says that farms are using drugs to make their animals gain weight faster (and in the case of dairy, produce more milk), and they are working to get the FDA to close loopholes allowing this practice to happen.

If you have been in a store lately you might have seen, rBST free meat and dairy available. rBST is a drug Monsanto produced to help cows grow faster, it's basically a synthetic growth hormone. Food labeled rBST free is not necessarily organic but it is free of growth hormones. Robin did calm my fears when she said rBST has no effect on the human body. It is not recognized by the human body and is completely destroyed by our digestive tracts.

Getting back to vegetables, do we need to spend the extra money on organics? Having fewer pesticides is good for the soil and in theory better for consumption. Of course organic farms still use pesticides and fungicide but they have to be natural (which may or may not be safer -- for a closer look checkout this article in Scientific American).

Are you confused? Have you come to your own conclusion? After reading way more than I had anticipated -- and since I'm not an expert -- I have come to the personal decision to do the following:

- Buy local first
- Buy a few organic produce items
- Buy organic or rBST free meat
- Keep reading
- Plant my own garden

Hungry for additional resources? Contact Ron at ronkrit@juf.org.

On a recent snowy Chicago Friday night, I attended a pop-up Shabbat dinner in the Uptown neighborhood of Chicago, where the menu, prepared by a gourmet Jewish chef, featured a modern twist on traditional Jewish food -- matzah ball soup, butternut squash cholent, pastrami, and of course challah and wine. The dinner was sponsored by OneTable, a nonprofit Shabbat initiative that started in New York and has recently expanded to Chicago to bring the Shabbat table to Jewish 20- and 30-somethings in a fresh way.

As delicious as the pastrami and wine were, we were there as much for the connection with one another as we were for the food.

People crave connection; it makes us human. Philosophers and scientists agree that the largest indicator of happiness is building strong relationships of all kinds with other people. And as Jews in America, particularly in Chicago, one of the strongest Jewish communities in the country, we're blessed with the resources and tools to make forging connections easier.

You could say, we in the Jewish community of this "city of big shoulders" have each other's backs.

We're members of a tribe that connect to each other in so many ways. We connect through our grandparents and great-grandparents having survived the pogroms of Russia or the horrors of the Holocaust. We connect through a love of Israel and our shared favorite haunts on Ben Yehuda street. We connect with pride when we see a Jewish person triumph, but at the same time, we connect with horror when we see an infamous Jew, like a Madoff, commit shame. We connect through our skill at breaking into the same Jewish camp song in unison at any moment in time. We connect through knowing that almost from birth we're taught it's how we treat each other that counts -- at that all the rest is commentary. And we connect through sharing our family kugel recipes; your grandma made hers with raisins, and mine used currants.

Our people connect through so many of the joys of life -- Torah, family, love, Shabbat, holidays, comedy, food, and even dance. My mom has always been an enthusiast for the " hora," the circle dance performed during Jewish celebrations, which physically connects us to each other as we link arms in celebration. In fact, Mom has always implored me never to sit out a hora at a wedding because we have to embrace the joy wherever we can find it. (She's a wise one, that Jewish mom of mine.)

But we as a people know all too well that connection isn't just about simcha. As I get older, I not only see more blessings, but I, unfortunately, witness more sadness too. In fact, I know now that none of us are immune to tsuris. But when we do experience hardship, it's comforting to know that we're part of a community that doesn't let us suffer alone.

Over the years, each time one of our friends goes through pain, I watch our Jewish network mobilize to help the struggling friend find the hope, the light, the inspiration, and resilience that eventually can transcend the tragedy.

A minyan -- a quorum of 10 people -- is often required for certain Jewish observances. It seems like the minyan concept extends in other parts of Jewish life as well as we watch so many members of a community support each other in times of trouble.

I hope your days are filled with blessings, but it's comforting to know that when life wounds us, we're part of a community that's there to help us heal and light the way through the darkness.

To learn more about OneTable, visit www.onetable.org.

For my friends -- and most 30-something women -- brunch is a ritual. Plans are made weeks in advance, restaurant recommendations are vetted and you know to block out two hours or more in order to properly catch up on the status of everyone's busy lives.

This past Sunday we celebrated one girlfriend's engagement, got the details about another's three-week honeymoon in Thailand and heard the latest in the never-ending parenting adventures of my two other girlfriends and their kids. (There are five between the two of them.)

As for me? I filled everyone in on the new dating apps I downloaded over the weekend.

^{The brunch group}

In my 30s and newly single after ending a long-term relationship, I recently found myself navigating unchartered territory with my best friends. These are girls I have known for years, who are like sisters to me and have been there for me through the best and also worst moments in my life. How was it that I suddenly felt like I didn't fit in? There was a time when text messages between my girlfriends and I centered on what bar we were going to that night, the drunken texts we had mistakenly sent to that ex-boyfriend, or who had the worst hangover. These days, our texts read a bit more like the "Real Housewives of Chicago."

After we ordered cocktails, the conversation immediately turned to my girlfriend's recent engagement. We heard all about the proposal, learned about the venue she had just booked and were informed that she would not be having bridesmaids (phew). My other married girlfriends chimed in to give advice or recommendations for hair, make-up, wedding planners and everything in between. Meanwhile, I quietly sipped water from one of the pink-striped straws with a cut-out diamond on it that someone brought to brunch as a party favor.

Truthfully, all the wedding talk had me feeling a bit anxious. I was incredibly happy for my newly engaged and recently married friends, but being two months out of a relationship, I felt slightly discouraged. I was starting back at square one -- they were settling into the rest of their lives.

Friendships change when your friends get engaged or married, and it doesn't make it any less difficult to adjust when you're the only single gal in the group. You're busy swiping left or right while they are busy wiping their kids up and down -- or tracking down a Lanvin dress for their wedding. How can they possibly relate to the bad date you just went on while they are planning Disney World vacations with their husband and kids?

Meanwhile, your calendar fills to the brim with engagement parties, wedding showers, and children's birthdays that the best excuse in the world couldn't get you out of, yet when you try and plan a night out to celebrate your recent single status, no one can find babysitters, dinner reservations at Next can't be rescheduled and staying out past 10 p.m. is a thing of the past.

After wedding-planning discussion, ogling my girlfriends' engagement ring and hearing hilarious mommy-disasters, I did, however, find that my "single girl" stories were their own source of entertainment for the group. I talked about my solo post-breakup trip to New York City to see friends, shop and have some much-needed fun, and they couldn't have been more encouraging when I mentioned the date I had gone on with a very cute, successful guy I had met through one of my numerous dating apps. They also didn't fail to mention that they never liked my recent ex and were very happy I had moved on.

It was then I realized that although I was in a totally different place in my life than my friends, it didn't stop them from caring about me. They might not be clued in to the newest dating app nor I to the latest Disney phenomenon, but true friendship never changes. At times, it can be challenging to accept all those differences, but that doesn't mean you are inadequate or don't fit in with your friends anymore -- your journey might just be a little different than theirs. If you are lucky enough to have great friends (as I certainly do), it shouldn't matter if you are single, married or divorced -- your friends will love and support you no matter what.

Most importantly, they'll be there when you dust yourself off and get yourself back out there to find your Prince Charming -- or at least someone who won't make you split the check on the first date.

Jennifer Rottner is 34, lives in Old Town and works in Communications for the City of Chicago. She hates cilantro, loves Dateline and would love to meet a nice Jewish boy.

For more stories in the "Single, Jewish and Figuring It Out" series, visit oychicago.com/single.

I'll never forget my first Shabbat at home after spending five months in Jerusalem studying Judaism at the Pardes Institute. I had spent my entire life in the northern suburb of Deerfield before going away to college, yet I came back feeling like a stranger in my home town.

I picked a synagogue within walking distance of my house, one with a parking lot full of cars and a microphone on the bimah (stage). These things never fazed me the last 22 years of my existence, but they weren't what I had been used to in Jerusalem. There was a big difference walking past buildings made of golden Jerusalem stone to get to shul each week, compared to navigating around Lexuses and Land Rovers.

Clearly I was not prepared for just how difficult my first Shabbat as an observant Jew would be.

I wore my tallit out of the synagogue one humid summer afternoon and walked down the shoulder of a major road. Instead of the typical "Shabbat shalom" greeting I'd get walking the streets in Jerusalem, drivers pointed and stared at me with looks of confusion and amusement as they drove by. The whole walk back I wondered what the hell I was thinking when I made this permanent change in my life.

^{A family visit during my time living in Jerusalem}

When I was getting ready to leave Israel, a friend suggested I pick up Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik's Lonely Man of Faith, a book about the struggle that comes with trying to be a spiritual person in a physical society. Needless to say, the book has been apropos of the last five years of my life, and today that struggle includes not only my relationship with myself, but also those around me.

When you're studying in Israel, you spend your day learning about the laws and customs and reading commentaries on the Torah until you feel like your eyes will fall out. It results in an infatuation with what you're learning, and as part of that natural progression, you often become more religious. But that didn't prepare me for what I would call the "wear and tear" of my observance.

On a spiritual level, there were many times when my life in Chicago's Jewish community felt like my walks to and from the synagogue in Deerfield -- lonely and full of doubt.

At first, I thought I could gracefully say goodbye to Chipotle veggie bowls, pray on a daily basis and wear a kippah at all times. And there were times I could. But over the years, the sailing of observance has proven anything but smooth.

There is no law in Jewish texts, for example, explaining what to do when your company orders lunch for the office every day and the only kosher option available has lousy service. Nor does it tell you what to do when asked why you can't break Shabbat, no matter what it is you're missing out on. I wasn't prepared for attracting unwanted attention, or offending those who matter most to me, so I punted on the aspects of Judaism that I knew I'd want to take on eventually, but couldn't presently do on my own. Instead of working on my growth, my priorities shifted to doing what was convenient and keeping my ambition under wraps.

A lot of this had to do with the reality I faced in terms of dating. The already small Jewish dating pool was even smaller now. Despite moving into the city to be part of a more religious community and improve my odds, it felt like within a few months I had I met every single Shomer Shabbat Jewish girl in Lakeview. When I started to put myself out there, the "non-negotiables" I promised to look for on dates suddenly became flexible.

Worse, I often had to defend myself for believing what I believe. When out on a date or meeting someone new, I often said I went to dinner at a friend's on Friday night and hung out with friends on Saturday, instead of just mentioning Shabbat. Although it was an accurate description, it felt inauthentic to the meaning behind what I was doing. Spending Shabbat afternoon eating lunch, playing board games and going on walks is more meaningful than just hanging out. It's immersing yourself in an entire community for 25 hours in a shared spiritual experience that is incomparable to anything else.

And now I find myself in New York, a city where I can practice however I want without feeling guilty about it, or lonely.

I have been here just a couple short months, but there's already been a big difference. When my company learned about my Shabbat observance, the CEO followed up and asked me about my level of kashrut so that the company could accommodate me during company meals. I've never heard such a nuanced question from a non-Jewish person I've worked for. Overall, non-Jews have a better understanding of Judaism in New York than Chicago, but it wasn't until I saw this for myself that I fully realized the difference.

You would think this would make the transition to taking the next step easy, but it's not. While physically I live in New York, in my mind, I'm still in Chicago. Five years of a certain feeling or experience do not go away just because you change your home address.

It took me about a month before I was fully able to utter the phrase Shomer Shabbat, even to other people who are equally or more religious than me -- even in New York. While it's technically easier to be religious here, a part of me still feels tepid about it. The line I walk might no longer from the high wire-act I used to perform, but the muscle memory from that act is still there. Over time, I hope it is easier to balance.

For more stories in the "Single, Jewish and Figuring It Out" series, visit oychicago.com/single.

Every few weeks, I go with my grandfather to visit his best friend. We see each other every other week; sometimes he treats me to dinner at Taboun in Skokie, and other times I visit him at home. But my favorite visits take place at Irving's retirement home. 

At 95 years old, my grandfather spends much of his time at home, except for the three or more times a week that he and my grandmother go to visit Irving. My grandfather and Irving exchange newspapers in big piles that I swear neither of them reads. In fact, I'm pretty sure they've been passing the same papers back and forth for years. Sometimes they argue over politics, and other times they binge-watch Fox News. When I come along, it's not uncommon for me to ask Irving a question only to have my grandfather spout the answer for him (or vice-versa). Despite the fact that both of them seem to be losing their hearing, they never have trouble hearing what the other is saying.

^{My grandfather and his wife, Judy, who I consider my grandmother.}

But our conversation usually starts with my grandfather asking me, "Have you met a nice Jewish man yet?"

I laugh and tease back. "I thought you were going to find me someone, Grandpa," I say.

For the next 10 minutes, I absentmindedly leaf through the piles of ignored papers while my grandfather threatens to start taking out advertisements in local Jewish newspapers to find my beshert. Then someone, usually my grandmother, gracefully manages to change the subject, and Irving and my grandfather retreat into their comfortable silence.

That's usually how it goes, except for this one time, when a few days after our visit, I got a text from from my grandmother, who -- at my grandfather's request -- sent an email to a friend asking if she knew of a potential match for me.

Apparently, my lack of a love life at the old age of 27 was such cause for concern that my grandfather felt he needed to intervene. I was torn between sighing and laughing.

To be fair, it's not like my attempts at dating on my own have produced stellar results. My close-knit group of friends makes it difficult to meet anyone new, and my attempts at online dating resulted in dates with men such as the one who was only using dating sites as a tool to find a job. I suppose I could use all the help I can get, so what was wrong with being set up by my grandfather?

In past generations, it was commonplace for relatives to introduce young Jews. And in a way, it felt more romantic in my mind to be able to say my future partner and I were matched by relatives instead of a computer.

So after the original humiliation waned, I was weirdly excited about the idea. I wanted to be set up by my grandfather.

Judaism speaks to me through traditions. I didn't grow up in a kosher home or go to synagogue every Shabbat, but the memories that revolve around Jewish customs -- throwing plastic bugs at the Passover Seder, or watching my 85-year-old grandmother become a bat mitzvah -- those are some of my favorites. Only recently did I become interested in learning more about the Jewish values and history behind the traditions I adore. I'm slowly starting to bring more of these practices into my daily life, so it felt fitting that I take a path to finding a life partner with more traditional roots.

I didn't hear back from my grandparents for a couple months, so I tried my hand at online dating again. After one eventful date with a gentleman who thought it appropriate to spew racist and obscene jokes the entire time, I pretty much resigned myself to being a spinster.

Then one day I received a call from an unknown number. I promptly let it go to voicemail, of course, but it turns it was from a nice young Jewish man, Alex, whose aunt was friends with my grandfather's friend, the one my grandmother had emailed. He was interested in meeting me.

I spent a good day trying to decide if I should call him back. After all, he must be a bit odd if he was willing to be set up on a blind date by a relative. Then again, so was I.

I boldly called Alex back (after spending a long time trying to plan out what I would say). Our phone conversation was quick and casual. He claimed to know of the best local sushi place, and intrigued by such a bold statement about one of my favorite foods, we made a date for later that week.

The afternoon of our date, I ran home from work and felt butterflies as I tried to decide what was appropriate to wear on a blind date set up by my grandfather. I decided on an outfit I felt comfortable and confident wearing. I felt good. Instead of my usual anxious nerves, I experienced more of a joyful nervous feeling.

Alex met me at the door to the restaurant. My first impression was relief; he was reasonably dressed, taller than me and fairly attractive with strong bone structure and dark hair, on top of which he kept a well-worn kippah. It was actually refreshing to see -- it suggested a comfort and pride in his religion, which I appreciated. So far, so good, Grandpa.

Figuring out what sushi to order made for an easy conversation starter, and while I usually stick to the rolls that have ingredients I can pronounce, Alex was a bit more knowledgeable and able to recommend some nigiri to go with my standard roll.

The food arrived on long, elegant rectangular trays. In between bites of salmon-topped California rolls and tuna-covered spicy vegetable rolls, I learned that we both enjoyed books that have elements of fantasy and science-fiction. I also learned he was a creative professional, but when I asked his career and plans, he became a bit distant.

Alex said his family frowned upon his current profession. He explained that he went to an Orthodox Jewish day school growing up where he felt his talents in the arts were stifled, and where men were discouraged from creative pursuits.

I tried to interject, my hand fiddling idly with the paper used to wrap napkins, but he was talking so passionately that I felt compelled to listen. He then concluded that all this had disenchanted him with Jewish culture.

Having grown up in a community that valued and supported all art forms (and all genders in the arts), I couldn't imagine how difficult this must have been. I was upset for him.

Then Alex navigated his feelings into a conversation around non-traditional gender roles in comics and film, and halfway through my nigiri, I realized I hadn't spoken more than a word at a time since we had ordered. I tried to chip in during one of his lectures about a movie series, but I got maybe four words in before my comments were refuted and forgotten.

After some perfect mango mochi, Alex walked me to my car and we made tentative plans to meet again, but our date left me kind of stunned. I wish I had gotten the chance to really introduce myself.

For days I played it all over in my head. Did he really talk so much or was I just exaggerating it in my mind? I talk a lot when I'm nervous, so that's what he's doing? I should give him another chance.

But I didn't. Not because of his relentless chatter, but because our lives seemed to be in very different stages. Alex was looking into possible new careers; I was just settling into my job of choice. I was just starting to feel the attraction of Jewish culture and tradition; he was pushing it away.

Harder than making that decision, however, would be telling my grandpa that all of his hard work and effort didn't pay off. Standing in his kitchen as my grandmother made us matzah brie, I told him about the date he had set up. Halfway into the story, my grandpa interrupted. "Wait a while," he said. "I have to put my ears in -- I can't hear what we are talking about."

After I told the whole story again, he smiled. "Oh well, there are still hundreds of grandparents at the nursing home; I'm sure one of them has a good match for my granddaughter. I'll keep asking."

Perhaps my grandfather's scheme didn't pan out (at least not yet -- I did get a new email from my grandmother just last week … ), but he did help me realize something extremely important. I do want a future life-partner with whom I can explore our Jewish identities. And more than that, I want my beshert to be someone like, well, Irving -- someone I can sit in a room with, week after week, whether in conversation or in complete silence, and never tire of their company.

Danielle Borher is young Jewish woman in Chicago juggling a career in healthcare while exploring her Jewish identity. When not being set up on blind dates by her grandfather, she occupies her single-dom by performing on stage, taking long walks with her crazy dog, Kayla, and competing in Karate.

For more stories in the "Single, Jewish and Figuring It Out" series, visit oychicago.com/single.

Once upon a time, I was lucky in love.

Nathan and I hit it off at his 20th birthday party at Washington University in St. Louis. We became fast friends between the kisses, parties and laughs.

Several months after we started dating, I joined his intermural Ultimate Frisbee team and sprained my ankle colliding with a teammate. After the game, Nathan helped me up the stairs to my apartment and fetched me an ice pack. It was the first time someone wanted to take care of me -- and make out with me. Isn't that all anyone ever wants?

Throughout the next several years, Nathan helped me understand sports and politics. He was brilliant, humble and hilarious. He could kick most people's butts in racquetball. He loved to travel and explore restaurants with me. Somehow I had found an amazing man -- I always told him how lucky we were.

It wasn't all peaches and sparkles all the time, though. After our first year of dating, we did the long distance thing when I took a job in Indiana and he had a year left of school. When it was over, I didn't hesitate to join him in Milwaukee as he began medical school. Three years later, my job ran out of funding, but I got an offer in Chicago -- the city where Nathan was hoping to match for his residency; the city where we were both born and had family. Doing long distance again after more than four years together was not ideal, but we knew it would be temporary.

Then came Match Day, and Nathan matched in Milwaukee. He was upset. He was looking forward to a change of scenery, and he wouldn't get it for another few years at least. I cried about it, but knew it would be harder for both of us if we weren't together. Things were better for both of us when the other person was around.

A month later, Nathan proposed at the Trevi Fountain in Rome, the pinnacle to a wonderful, nearly two-week adventure. "Ilana, I love you. I want to do it all with you. Will you marry me?" It was the happiest day of my life until the day we got married.

I came back from our trip and started looking for jobs in Milwaukee again (while wedding planning), hoping to find something before my lease in Chicago ended. When I came up empty, I moved in with his parents in the suburbs to at least shorten the distance between Milwaukee and Chicago. By December, I quit my job and moved back to Milwaukee without anything lined up. Again. For him -- for us. We were married in May.

^{Ilana and Nathan on their wedding day.}

It was just a year ago January that I remember sharing with Nathan some amusing anecdote about a colleague's dating misadventures. We both chuckled, glad that we didn't have to date as adults. I told him it sounded hard, exhausting and frustrating. How lucky we were, nearly nine years after our first kiss, to only have to date each other.

And then, one month later, Nathan died unexpectedly. Needless to say, I didn't feel so lucky anymore. I was a widow at 29 years old.

The day after I finished sitting shiva for Nathan, I told my boss that I wanted to move back to Chicago. I felt a strong need to continue cultivating my relationship with my in-laws, and brothers-in-law. I spent the last nine Thanksgivings with them, including this past one, the first without Nathan. They were my family. I wanted access to a vibrant city, where I could run into old classmates at events or on the street. I needed to be in a city where people knew me before I was a part of "IlaNathan."

Of course, I also knew I needed to be in a city where there were other Jewish unmarried 20- and 30-somethings, people with whom I could learn, laugh, explore and hopefully -- one day -- love. In Milwaukee, my friends were almost entirely couples getting ready to start families; the Jewish life there was stifling and devoid of ample age-appropriate single, Jewish men.

For months and months after Nathan died, my heart wasn't open to letting another man in, yet my fingers were going through withdrawal without Nathan on the receiving end of my texts. Maybe I wasn't ready for love, but I needed something -- someone -- to fill this tremendous void, someone to check in on me, flirt with me, admire me, and, yes -- send me thoughtful emojis.

I asked other young widows what was appropriate. It turns out, there's no Emily Post to guide you through the dos and don'ts of widowhood. They said anything that made the days more manageable -- that made me feel less sad in the moment -- was the right thing to do. "You do you," is a common mantra among this peer group.

Regardless, friends were surprised when I went on my first first date in nearly a decade. Friends judged. Friends were in disbelief that I was moving forward, and that I was no longer part of the couple they had admired for so long.

^{Ilana (bottom right) with Nathan's brothers and their significant others.}

I judged too. I too was in disbelief. On my second date, I left and cried the entire car ride home. Is this my new life? Going out with guys who live in apartments that smell like a locker room? Guys with makeshift coffee tables made out of plastic hampers, littered with papers and unidentifiable sticky substances everywhere? Guys who need convincing that an eight-hour first date is a bad idea? Having to explain to these guys what happened to the one I was with for nine years?

Apparently, this is my new life.

At first, I was upfront about being a widow. I included a line about it on my dating profiles. I didn't want to waste my time with someone who wasn't emotionally mature enough to handle my loss. But as time went on, I decided that wasn't fair. Most people don't include their dating history on their profile -- why should I?

Eventually, the "W" I felt emblazoned on my chest faded. My coping mechanism of choice has been to schedule myself stupid. I am determined to continue putting myself out there, to meet people who can introduce me to more people, to cast as wide of a net as possible.

So far, I have met people at happy hours, alumni events, Shabbat gatherings, speed-dating events, and a ton of other young professional programs. I smiled. I drank. And I told my story.

I joined a book club and told them about Nathan. I opened up to my colleagues about why I quit my last job and moved to Chicago. I'm sure I have made a lot of people uncomfortable -- but I'm not sure I care.

^{Ilana (right) at a Jewish young adult event.}

And I've continued to date, mostly through the online dating platforms I never thought I'd have to use. And it is exhausting, frustrating and hard. I've been on maybe two or three dozen dates since Nathan died. I've cried after some, and harder after others.

But I'm opting to spend much of my time offline, because it only takes a few minutes of talking to someone to know if there's potential for romance, or to find out that they're younger than 26. Of course there isn't anything inherently wrong with being in your early or mid-20s, but I know in my heart of hearts that as a now 30-year-old widow who at one very recent point in time had baby names picked out with her husband, men of a certain (younger) age simply aren't going to get me.

The loneliness can be consuming, but I know I'm not alone in my quest to find another Jewish partner. I know I'm not even alone in knowing what I'm looking for, though I don't know that I'll be able to recognize it in a package that's not Nathan. I know there are others my age (and older) craving events that offer a better chance of developing more meaningful connections.

So I continue to look for my next beshert, sometimes with a slightly jaded outlook after now being alone for a year -- sometimes with a more hopeful outlook when I meet someone inspiring, someone who makes me laugh and is able to teach me about something I wouldn't have otherwise known.

There's still so much I don't know, but one thing I do know is that as sad as I am and as unlucky as I feel, I'm lucky to have known Nathan. I only hope that one day, someone else feels as lucky to know me.

For more stories in the "Single, Jewish and Figuring It Out" series, visit oychicago.com/single.

After taking my kids to pet the dolphins, kiss the sea lions and watch the killer whales at a marine mammal theme park in Florida, I was told I have to see the documentary Blackfish.

For anyone unfamiliar with the film, it follows the history of three deaths associated with a captive killer whale named Tilikum, along with the history and context of other captive killer whales. It shows sailors (with big beards and tattoos) crying over how sad it was to take the baby whales (adult whales were too large to transport) from their families in the wild and the mother whales moaning as their babies are taken away from them. There are scenes of whales that have been "raked," or scraped by other whales' teeth, attributed to the animals' aggression due to the confinement of their tanks. It tells stories of these socially advanced marine mammals being isolated from the other whales or in tiny pools.

The filmmakers interview whale trainers who describe their sadness at seeing the treatment of these creatures, and pepper in gut-wrenching facts such as how the life span of killer whales is only half or a third as long in captivity as in the wild.

Needless to say, I had a newfound dismay with our innocent trip to see these sea creatures.

But I decided to continue my explorations beyond the documentary; I believe in trying to judge everyone favorably, and I felt the least I could do was give my childhood-idealized theme parks a chance to defend themselves. I soon found major research-based responses to practically everything I found so disturbing in the documentary.

For example, killer whales have not been taken from the wild since the '70s. Raking happens in the wild too. Parks with tiny pools are no longer active and often whales are separated to protect them when being attacked by their "comrades." There is a multitude of trainers who vehemently disagree with the film's depictions, including some of the people interviewed in the film claiming their words were taken out of context. The "baby whales" were only taken from their mothers after many years fully grown with babies of their own, which were actually transferred with them. And many of the "facts" about moaning, expected lifespan, and even accusations of these creatures being traumatized to the point of becoming psychotic murderous creatures were speculations and unfounded in research or facts.

So now what do I do with all this? Well, as a rabbi, I see truth. No, I don't see any truth in how to decipher which side to believe. I don't think most of us will really know a full truth about orcas in captivity, and I have no personal claim in any direction on the topic.

However, there is an important truth that I do claim we can learn from the two sides presented here in understanding the human psyche: We are inclined to believe what we hear and see.;

When something is presented to us, especially when presented emotionally and with conviction, we are inclined to believe it. And then we become impassioned about it. We'll even start to take action based on the passions we now feel. Sadly, we often skip the integral step of asking ourselves a simple question -- "Is that really true?" Is the perception I am being fed the actual truth of what happened?

It can be slightly daunting to tell our kindled emotions to slow down for a minute as we intellectually process the validity to what is being presented. If asked, we would all claim to be truth-seekers, but in order to truly seek truth, we have to sometimes give truth-seeking credence even beyond our emotions.

Part of the prayer the Shema includes a perplexing passage that says, "Do not stray after your hearts and after your eyes as they lead you astray." One could ask, if we can't trust our hearts and our eyes, what are we supposed to do?

The answer is that we have to think. Our hearts become impassioned by what is seen long before we have contemplated validity and truth to it. The Torah teaches us time and time again the importance of thinking for ourselves. Sometimes the supremacy of using our mind has to come before our heart's first impulse and even over our eyes' first impression.

I don't know how to feel when I think about the orcas still in captivity, but I do know that I've got a new understanding of the phrase, "Think twice before you act."

I'd like to use this space to share with you the five books that have changed my life. Please let me know if these books have changed your life, too; and feel free to comment with books that have changed your life!

I'll share these in the order by which they changed my life.

1. The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell

It's possible that The Tipping Point was the first real non-fiction book I willingly read. The book teaches us how small changes can make a big difference. One of my favorite takeaways from the book is the idea of a "connector." If you're planning an event, you don't need to make 100 phone calls to invite people; instead, call the five "connectors," the people who have a million friends, and they'll bring their networks. I use these concepts every day in my work life, volunteer life and social life, and I'm grateful to this book for piquing my interest in marketing and communications.

You should read this book if … you're looking for easy fixes to increase your success with friends, business, or volunteering.

2. Curly Girl: The Handbook by Lorraine Massey with Michele Bender

Curly girls, make some noise! Throw away your hair straighteners! Let your curls shine! Curly Girl: The Handbook is a curly manifesto, encouraging girls (and boys!) with curly hair to wear it proud. In another generation, curly hair was considered unprofessional, Lorraine Massey writes, but today it's fun, hip, smart, sexy and appropriate for the office.

This book offers both encouragement for curly girls and step-by-step tips on how to manage, maintain, and enhance curly hair. The advice offered in this book has helped me feel confident with my wavy hair, and since reading the book more than six years ago, I have not once straightened my hair (sorry, Mom!).

You should read this book if … you have curly or wavy hair and need some emotional (or shampooical) support.

3. The Spirituality of Welcoming by Dr. Ron Wolfson

This book is truly the reason I got into my current line of work -- synagogue membership and community. Dr. Ron Wolfson writes about the power of creating welcoming spaces and friendly communities. Synagogues (and really, any congregation or organization) can't just be about a big beautiful building -- people must feel comfortable and cared for.

Do your synagogues have directional signs? Would a visitor know where to hang her coat? Have visitors' needs been anticipated? After reading this book, I applied to work at Temple Jeremiah as the membership director and have never looked back. (Side note: When I met Dr. Wolfson a few years after reading this book, I was completely star-struck and felt I was meeting my celebrity idol.)

You should read this book if … you're involved with welcoming newcomers (and aren't we all?).

4. The Five Love Languages: The Secret to Love that Lasts by Gary Chapman

My husband, Adam, recommended that I read this book when we first started dating. This book discusses five different ways of expressing love, and while this book focuses on romantic love, I think it can be applied to friends, family members, and even co-workers.

People express love differently and it is important to understand how your partner expresses and receives this love, whether it's in the form of words of affirmation, physical touch, acts of service (like taking out the garbage or doing the dishes), quality time, or gifts. I found this book to be so eye-opening and a fascinating study on relationships.

You should read this book if … you're in a romantic, friend, work, or family relationship.

5. The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo

This is my new Obsession -- with a capital "O." I never, ever thought that tidying actually mattered all that much; everyone has a room that's off-limits during dinner parties where you throw all of your stuff into, right? But boy, do I think differently now.

In The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up , Marie Kondo writes that you should only keep items that bring you joy, and everything else should be thanked and then discarded. Once you're left with only joy-sparking items, every item will have a home and should be returned to its home when you're finished with it.

Since reading this book in November, I've focused on little else other than tidying using Kondo's method. As a result, I've donated a dozen bags of clothes, three bags of books, and two bags of DVDs; thrown away another dozen bags of garbage and papers; bought a scanner so I can aim towards a paperless lifestyle; and given each of my items a home. There's still more work to be done, but our apartment is on its way to being a much happier place.

You should read this book if … your house or apartment isn't what you want it to be (or if you just have too much stuff).

A Jewish ethicist, Rabbi Elya Lopian, once commented that the true measurement of a person's middot, or character traits, is how he or she treats those in his or her own home. He observed that often people are much nicer to strangers than to loved ones in their own family. I so relate, because I am generally viewed as a nice person to strangers.

For me, a casual interaction with someone in a store isn't a big deal. It's a once or twice relationship. It's not directly ongoing, nor is there much to be gained from investing time or effort into the person at the cash register. In your family, being nice is a constant challenge. That's why it's more difficult to keep your cool, speak pleasantly, be appreciative and display a level of respect at home.

This is something -- especially in dealing with my kids -- that I am constantly working on. It's a job in the real sense, because effort is involved. There are times that I win and there are times that I slip and lose it. It's less frequent than it was, say, two years ago, but it happens.

Last night, I placed an order for some take out. I went, picked up my order, and came home. When I started unloading the purchased items, I realized that I was missing something. I quickly called the establishment and asked if the item I was "missing" was meant to be included with my order. It was. So I asked if I could come back and pick up the item and, of course, they said yes.

I showed up, explained the situation and they apologized profusely. I told them that it really wasn't a big deal and that I was sure they were just busy when they put the order together.

Then, on my way back, I wondered why I didn't adapt this easygoing attitude at home. Here I was telling them "no big deal," when I had paid for an item and didn't receive it. Yet, I find myself frustrated and impatient when I ask one of my kids to pick up their dirty clothes and they choose not to. It's not like I paid them to actually clean up their clothes; there was no implied exchange for services rendered. There is, however, a relationship built on trust, love, respect and appreciation. That's really the kicker.

When working with any "volunteers" it's imperative to appreciate what they do. I realized that my strategy of working on patience and keeping my cool only really affects how I perceive things, or the input -- not the output.

So, when I came home, I went straight into my son's room and told him that I really appreciate all the effort he puts into studying, and that I understand that after a full day of school he might be too tired to care about the state of his room. I also told him that if he wants help picking up clothes, I'd be happy to assist him.

If I can be nice and understanding to the person behind the counter, then I should be even more so to my own family. Well, at least, that's the plan.

As a child I was a big fan of sports jerseys. I would buy the jerseys of all sorts of athletes. The problem was once that player got traded, it took years before some of them became retro and "acceptable" to wear. (I am still waiting on my Rex Grossman jersey to be cool again.)

Below is a list of what I thought were the top 10 Jewish jerseys to wear in 2016.

Jordan Farmar -- Los Angeles Lakers (Yellow)
It seems that Jordan Farmar's NBA days are behind him. He is back to playing in Israel for Maccabi Tel Aviv. His MTA days will be limited and he will probably retire within a year or two (maybe with one last effort to play in the NBA, but Farmar's two stints with the Lakers make his jersey retro and his playing for MTA makes it a legit Jewish jersey.

Jason Zucker -- Minnesota Wild(Red and Green)
I live in Minnesota. Zucker jerseys are popping up everywhere. Hockey jerseys aren't cheap, so Wild fans must really love this MOT. Zucker is hip because he isn't the best player on the team, but he is young and a fan favorite.

Jay Fielder -- Miami Dolphins
I'm color blind on the Jay Fiedler jersey. Both Dolphins home and away are sweet jerseys. Fiedler is a classic retro jersey for Dolphins fans but Jewish fans as well. There are usually a few being sold on eBay at a time.

Josh Rosen -- UCLA Bruins
We don't care if your UCLA jersey is white, gold or blue. We just want you to support Josh Rosen. He is truly the next big thing in Jewish sports. The true freshman quarterback showed incredible poise in his opening campaign. We cannot wait to see what he does next … in a UCLA or NFL jersey.

Joc Pederson -- Los Angeles Dodgers (White)
Pederson jerseys are flying off the shelves. Of course, it's a nod to his phenomenal start in 2015 and his sweet rookie stroke. Collectors and fans love the newest sensation, but a Joc Pederson Israel WBC jersey would also be acceptable (actually preferred).

Nancy Lieberman (Cline) -- Phoenix Mercury or Team USA
Now she goes by Nancy Lieberman, but in her playing days there was a Cline at the end. There is only one jersey of hers available on eBay or Amazon and it is autographed. But if you can find one, grab it. Great jersey for your collection and rare in the sense that WNBA merchandise isn't as common as NBA. Her newfound success with the Sacramento Kings and her Hall of Fame playing career make her jersey awesome.

Kevin Youkilis -- Boston Red Sox (White)
There is something iconic about white Red Sox jerseys. And there is something iconic about Kevin Youkilis. Not only was he a fan favorite, Youkilis is now retired so his jersey is back to being cool. You know when it wasn't cool? When he was playing for the Yankees.

Julian Edelman -- New England Patriots (Old School Red)
You can find Julian Edelman jerseys everywhere. He is a part of the Tom Brady/New England Patriots offensive machine. His jersey is cool because, frankly, he is cool. But what you should really check out is his clothing site. I recently bought his JE11 hat. I do not regret it.

Omri Casspi -- Kings (Purple) or Maccabi Tel Aviv (Yellow)
Casspi is still the king of the Jewish sports world and his jersey should be no different. The only question is do you want to rep him in Kings purple or Maccabi yellow? You cannot go wrong either way. His Kings jersey is easy to find online; his Maccabi jersey is more difficult. Both will forever be great Jewish jerseys.

Sandy Koufax -- Los Angeles Dodgers (White)
There probably will never be a jersey that can top the Koufax white Dodgers jersey. It is legendary to baseball, to the Dodgers and to Jews. Buy it. Rep it. Respect it.

Honorable mentions: Ryan Braun striped Milwaukee Brewers; Mike Cammalleri red New Jersey Devils; Geoff Schwartz blue New York Giants; and Hank Greenberg Detroit Tigers.

Have you ever gone to a restaurant and thought, "Hmmm why can't I make stuff like this at home?"

That was precisely my thought process when I tasted this salad at one of my favorite swanky Italian restaurants in Chicago. It was pure joyful bliss in my mouth. Healthy, citrusy, nutty and all sorts of savory.

When I ordered it from the menu for the table (I do all the ordering when we go out because I am a food snob and I know what everyone needs to eat. That's just how I roll …) everyone stared at me and said, "Ehhh kale …yuck, Mila, it's soooo played out."

What they did not understand was that this was Tuscan kale -- the best kind of kale. The green, meatier and more delicious cousin of classic kale. Did you know that just one cup of kale has over two times the amount of Vitamin A you need in a single day? Yup, it is awesomely good for you and delicious.

"Trust me on this one … this stuff is fabulous and if you do not like it, I will happily eat all of it." They seemed to be satisfied with that answer and allowed me to finish ordering the 15 other items from the menu.

The salad arrived delicately sliced, slightly warm and adorned with garlic chips and orange segments. It was delicious -- tangy, crunchy and just plain good. They all ate their words and ended up ordering another one. Never doubt the food snob -- I know how to order.

The following week I decided to make this salad for my lunches to take to work. Finding Tuscan kale, it turns out, is not as easy as you might think. You could certainly use regular kale for this, but I just love the deep green color in contrast with the bright oranges. It's just gorgeous on a plate. So of course I continued searching and after stopping by at the third grocery store, Whole Foods, I ended up with a gorgeous bouquet of Tuscan kale.

Generally, Tuscan kale is just a bit more fibrous than classic kale, so it is imperative to slice it into thin ribbons after washing and massaging it. Yes, massage it just a bit while washing -- it helps it become a bit less fibrous.

My personal favorite of this recipe is the garlic chips. They are absurdly easy to make, healthy and change the entire flavor profile of the dish.

Little slivers of golden deliciousness are upon us friends, and they are fantastic.

Turns out those fancy restaurant salads aren't nearly as complicated as everyone thinks they are. Trust me, give this salad a try; it is great served fresh as well as the next day. What an awesome way to freshen up those boring salads we are all sick of.

If you need that extra protein bump, add some grilled shrimp or some poached eggs on top.

Warm Tuscan Kale Salad with Garlic Chips, Oranges and Pecans
from Girl and the Kitchen

Ingredients

1 large bunch of Tuscan kale (feel free to sub out regular Kale if you cannot find Tuscan.)
1 large orange
½ cup of pecans, toasted*
5 cloves of garlic sliced super thinly
3-4 tablespoons of freshly shredded Parmesan (the good stuff)
3 tablespoons of olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

1. Slice the kale into thin ribbons, only until the stems, and place them into a colander and rinse well. While rinsing them, massage them a bit to get some of the fibrous texture out.

2. Zest half the orange and set zest aside. Cut one of the halves of the orange into segments.*

3. Squeeze out the juice of the other orange and set aside.

4. Add olive oil to a large pan and bring to medium heat.

5. Add garlic slivers into the oil. Cook for about 2-3 minutes or until lightly browned and crispy. Set aside on a plate covered in a paper towel to drain the access oil.

6. Add kale to the same oil that the garlic cooked in. Toss with the oil ensuring it is well covered with the oil and slightly wilted.

7. Add in orange zest, orange juice, salt and pepper. Toss everything together for 1 minute.

8. Place everything into a large bowl toss with pecans.

9. Sprinkle shredded Parmesan on top and extra zest if desired.

Notes

- Here is a great step-by-step tutorial on how to segment an orange. It is ridiculously simple and super impressive.

- I toasted my pecans over low heat in a regular pan on the stove. You have to toss them around pretty frequently and only toast them for 4-5 minutes until they develop a nice nutty, toasted aroma. Be careful, they burn fast!

I'm getting a little nostalgic. This is my 15th year of being a certified fitness trainer. I never imagined I would be in the fitness world this long. Training has moved from hobby and part-time job, to full-time passion. When I received my updated training card I couldn't help but reflect back on all the people and places that have influenced me and my training style.

I remember my first success story was in college. A guy from my dorm, Nick, wanted to lose 60 pounds. He had no idea where to start on the fitness end and he knew I went to the gym every day. I couldn't wait to give him a muscle-burning, heart-pounding and sweat-soaked workout.

Having been underweight for the first 20 years of my life, I had no idea how hard it was for someone overweight to workout. Watching him struggle with each exercise forced me to change things up. Instead of a blistering fast-weight workout, we slowed things down. I also swapped our post-workout jog for basketball, and Nick actually started to enjoy himself. As the weight gradually dropped off, he started going to the gym without me. I was a little sad, even though he paid me with compliments and free hugs. The good news was way before the year was over, he dropped the weight and kept it off for the next four years.

Another important lesson I learned from Nick was that calorie restriction works. I was walking into the cafeteria one time and saw Nick eating chicken fingers and fries. I was pissed. "How are you going to work your butt off in the gym and then eat that?" I asked.

He responded with numbers. "500 calories. I'm still well under my goal for the day."

Before cellphone apps, Nick tracked his calories, estimated how much he burned and it worked. Granted, eating fried chicken is not the best way to lose weight, but it illustrates you can still eat some crap as long as you burn more calories than you take in.

Although I had a few more clients before 2001, Fit with Krit officially started that year because the consulting company I was working for closed shop. Since my lucrative career as a consultant didn't pan out, I started working part time as a trainer at Bally's on Webster and Clybourn.

The gym manager at the time was a character primed for WrestleMania. Steve was about the size of a linebacker, and loved working out. I used to make these oatmeal and apple sauce cookies that my family refused to eat, so I brought them to the gym. Steve tried one and flashed his larger-than-life smile, then asked me to bring him one batch a week and handed me some cash. He loved them because they were high in protein, so I started baking, and my experimentation with cooking took off.

Bally's was packed, but most of the members were recent college grads with little disposable income for personal training sessions. I did pick up a few clients, however, including a couple I'm still friends with today.

I started training Melissa as she prepared for her wedding to Bob. At the time, Bob was more into working out then Melissa, so I started training him. Bob really pushed me to be creative -- he loved to play. If I could make something a game, he was way more into it. Soon I started training Bob's sister, Holly. At the time, kickboxing was all the rage, and Holly asked if we could try it. Suddenly I was wearing a chest guard and pads while Holly literally hit me so hard it gave me indigestion. I had to schedule her sessions before meals so I wouldn't burp up chicken for an hour.

This family also brought me my first assistant. Their sister, Christy, wanted to become a personal trainer, so she started shadowing me. After a few months she got certified and helped me lead bootcamps.

I was only at Bally's a few years before moving on to Hifi Fitness, but I had somehow outlasted all but one person who started before me.

Hifi Fitness was a great move for me; I could charge clients less money and still make more than I did at Bally's. Additionally, the owners of the gym were welcoming and open to my crazy equipment requests. I still remember when I brought in a 30-foot rope and one of the owners immediately fell in love: "Kritter, I'll buy this off you for the gym." I even have a few videos of clients using the ropes.

One of the stars of these videos was Rodney. I started training him about a decade ago, and his athleticism forced me to learn more about training athletes. Rodney was a college football player, but could've easily played baseball too. He's run marathons, climbed mountains and dealt with a handful of injuries. Although I'm probably too cautious for him at times, it's been fun coming up with programs that build power, endurance and balance. Out of all the programs we did, my favorite was an exercise for the back, legs and chest followed with an agility exercise, like whipping a medicine ball at me so hard I almost fell over.

Another benefit to Hifi was the vast array of amazing trainers. I was able to take courses on functional movement, improving shoulder and hip movement, and core stability. Between the classes and talking to other trainers, my philosophy adapted once again. I was now being more conscious of joint structure, gait patterns (how people walk), and building up the core.

My nights and weekends at Hifi started diminishing once my wife and I had Henry. I loved my gym family and my clients, but spending time away from Henry was hard. I felt bad missing almost a whole day of the weekend with my guy. And when my wife was pregnant with baby number two, I told my clients I wasn't sure if I could still come downtown. I couldn't make the sacrifice -- it was too hard to miss that much family time.

I now train people at my home and started to work with high school athletes. I'm excited to see how this phase of Fit with Krit develops and to watch my two sons play (safely) with all the equipment.

"Haters gonna hate …shake it off! I shake it off!

Thanks for the reminder Tay.

Everyone makes fun of each other for New Year's resolutions. Why? I say root for each other. Those that set resolutions, their hearts are in the right place. And if a new year is what it takes to light a fire, to motivate people to make (or attempt) serious changes in their lives, I call that dedication, discipline, and effort.

That's more than I can say for myself.

For me, Jan. 1 is not a magical day. Unfortunately, the date itself is not enough to motivate me or flip a metaphorical switch to make some life moves. It does not change my goals directly. It is a reminder. It taps me on the shoulder and says "hey, just letting you know, lights come on at midnight."

Well kind of. It's the reminder that another year bids farewell. And I'm all like "psst, intuition, suit up!" And then I unleash some awakening Qs:

- Am I surrounded by people I love, both literally (NYE parties can be amazing), and figuratively?
- Am I happy?
- What is working for me? What is not?
- What is my vision?
- What is my next step?

And a million other questions.

So as the clock struck 12 … just kidding, more like the following afternoon, I had a heart-to-heart with myself. If you know me, you know that it's normal for our conversation to feel like a game of 20 Questions. Asking a lot of questions is kind of my thing. All sorts of 'em. It comes from a place of genuine curiosity. But now I know how exhausting that can be (sorry friends). Because boy did I interrogate myself.

It was exhausting, terrifying, exhilarating, and eye-opening. It's tough, you know? Asking the hard questions, hearing your own disappointing responses (don't act like you don't talk to yourself). It's not fun to hit your head against the wall over and over again, but it does force you to think. And that's what I did. I started problem-solving. My first decision/plan/step felt like the first raindrop of a brewing storm, and then it poured.

One idea after the next, small thoughts turned into big ones. I got excited just thinking about the possibilities, my end goal, my abilities, and about all of you reading my posts. When you get an influx of pure energy like that, you hold on to it for as long as you can.

THANK YOU for everything, but mostly for continuing to remind me to question. I'm excited for the future of my writing and my personal blog, 20swealth. Feel free to connect and comment anytime; all feedback is welcome!

P.S. I also made a bold decision and made a video, something I would never have done before this point. Baby steps, right?

I have a confession to make. It's practically treasonous, so prepare yourself: I do not want a billion dollars.

Please don't have me carted away. I know that's the most un-American thing that you've read today, and that I sound like a brat. It's the truth, though. I don't want that much money.

Well, maybe that's not entirely true. Like everyone else, I desperately want to win the Powerball Jackpot. The $950 million or whatever $1.5 billion eventually whittles down to after taxes sounds incredible, but I cannot be trusted with that much money.

Think about it. One billion is a completely ridiculous number. I can't even comprehend what one billion actually is. It makes no sense. Google tells me that if I need help wrapping my little head around the number, I should use the term "one thousand million." I guess that helps a bit, I can almost visualize what that means, but I still find it difficult and now my eye is twitching.

One billion is a lot. It might be too much. Did you know that it's estimated that it takes approximately 95 years to count from one to one billion in a single sitting? One billion seconds is nearly 32 years. One billion minutes ago the Roman Empire was alive and well. There are 15,783 miles in one billion inches, that's a little more than half way around the Earth. This game could go on forever, since Google apparently knows everything. Let's be honest, nobody cares what one billion of anything means unless you're talking about money.

What would you do with one billion dollars? Like you, I've spent a lot of time fantasizing about what I would do with all of that money. I suppose one of the first things I would have to do is pay off my student loans. If I had anything left I'd go to Hawaii until June, or maybe forever. I also want a house with a backyard, a new car, my own masseuse and a chef. All of those things are doable and mostly responsible. The trouble is that I know myself and it wouldn't take long for me to get out of control.

I am not someone who would be responsible and coy about the money after I got those first necessary items out of the way. I'd probably end up with a Girl Scout Cookie factory in my back yard, the cast of Hamilton performing on my front porch every morning, and an apartment made entirely of cheese. Guys, I really like cheese. Like, a lot.

After I bought all of the cheese in France I'm guessing my book and magazine addiction would get woefully out of control. What else would I do with my time? I am also not the sort of person who would humbly return to his job. The money would be my job. I'd spend it, count it, stack it, and roll around in it. When I'm tired of this, the only thing left for me to do would be to rescue all of the dogs from all of the shelters. I'd be the crazy old dog man. And listen, when I say "all" I really do mean all. I am a billionaire now, after all, so I can do things like ask for all of a thing and have it happen.

Surely you weren't expecting me to solve any problems. Oh, I guess I'd give a ton of money to causes and organizations I care about. I'm not sure what I'd do beyond that. Maybe buy some new politicians? It certainly wouldn't be the first time that has happened. I mean, that is a thing I could do, right?

See, being a billionaire is hard. I'm tired from the stress, and I'm just pretending from my couch in Rogers Park. I definitely do not want that money. I do have $20 in my pocket, though. That will buy me 10 tickets, right? I can walk to the convenience store on the corner and buy the tickets right now. They do sell cheese -- fine, I'm buying tickets. Those dogs need me.

Making cookies with Grandma

Sometimes the journey makes you appreciate the destination that much more. I know many of us have received this advice, and it applies to so many situations: Becoming a bar/bat mitzvah, graduating college, navigating your first "real job" and things like what I experienced just last month -- traveling from Washington, D.C. to central Illinois with an 18-month-old.

The car was fully loaded with the luggage, the cooler stocked with snacks, the child resting in his car seat. The clock read 8:33 a.m. Wow! Most weekdays it's a fight to get out the door before 8:00 a.m. Considering we were leaving for a week-long vacation and it was only 30 minutes after the usual departure time, this was a Nobel Prize-level accomplishment.

At our first stop, the clock read just before 11:00 a.m. We were making excellent time. I wondered aloud to my wife about the possibility of getting to her parents late that night instead of having to stop at a hotel along the way. At the time, we were on pace to arrive before midnight. As we pulled out of the truck stop in Breezewood, Pennsylvania, it sure seemed plausible, but it would only take about 30 minutes for our exciting and optimistic plans to completely unravel.

My son, Johnny, gets carsick sometimes. The doctor says it's a normal thing for infants and they usually grow out of it. Well, Johnny proved to us three times on the way to my in-laws that he refuses to grow out of it.

After each incident, I would look at the clock as we pulled away from another gas station, truck stop or highway shoulder and do the math in my head. We were laughably behind, yet neither of us wanted to stop at a hotel only to wake up and deal with this all over again the next day. By about 9 p.m., we finally got him to sleep and resigned to push through, taking turns sleeping ourselves so we could just get there.

It was shortly after that decision that the annoying rattle our car had been making for a while -- the one our mechanic assured us was nothing to really worry about -- started gaining some, umph. Before long, it was more of a roar, and then there were funny car smells. It was after midnight, somewhere in Indiana. We pulled into a truck stop in Mclean, Illinois for some snacks to keep us going, and then the car wouldn't start up again. We were just over 90 minutes from our destination, it was after 1:00 a.m. and we were stuck.

Here is actually, where the story starts to change for the better. We dragged a very confused 18-month-old into a truck stop to try and figure out what to do. The people there were really lovely. They offered us free juice and cookies for the baby. When my wife ordered a sandwich they refused to let us pay. One of the employees actually locked her keys into her car while trying to give ours a jump and refused to take any money for the kit she had to buy in order to break into her own car. They basically let our family loiter for over three hours while we got ahold of my mother-in-law, who picked us up around 4:30 a.m.

We finally made it to bed just before 7 a.m., so almost 24 hours (accounting for the time change) after we had left home. As my head hit the pillow, I took a deep breath before nodding off to sleep and took in the familiar smell of the wood-burning stove used to heat the home in the winter. The fire had burned down hours ago, but the faint, smoky smell was still in the air, surrounding the home with its tender warmth. Just before nodding off, I heard sounds from the kitchen of Johnny babbling to his grandpa, who took over childcare for a few hours so we could sleep. We left the two of them eating cereal together.

Cousins

I can't say I learned some grand lesson from all of this. Maybe we learned it's time to start flying home or just give up long trips for a few years. In all seriousness, however, there were two moments during the whole ordeal that stuck with me, and they weren't low points -- they were times when I caught myself smiling.

At one point we were coming upon a traffic jam on the highway, and at that very moment Johnny got sick again. With no exit in sight, I just pulled over to the side of the highway. I imagined what the drivers slowly passing by were thinking as we frantically pulled our kid out of the car like there was a fire. We ripped off Johnny's clothes and as we went through the luggage for clean ones, he stood there in his diaper, smiling and waving at the cars and trucks rolling by. Everyone, including the people in those cars, was laughing.

The next moment was when our car broke down, and it became clear that we were stuck. In my weary head, I turned to gratitude. I was grateful that we were at a brightly lit, clean and familiar truck stop. I appreciated that there was a repair shop next door that confirmed they would be open the next day, Christmas Eve. We would have a way to repair our car in time for our trip home. Lastly, we had somehow made it far enough that my mother-in-law could actually retrieve us.

I think Johnny was especially glad about that last part. He smiled like an angel when his grandma finally arrived. After a long and perilous journey, over rivers and through woods, it truly was a wonderful visit to her house.

Paul with his family at Israel Solidarity Day in 2015

I love Israel Solidarity Day and the Walk with Israel, but while a participatory walkathon is important, I want a parade -- floats and bands and a grandstand, the whole schmear.

A Jewish Parade, with a capital P.

Every year in Chicago, we see the St. Patrick's Day and Gay Pride and Columbus Day parades, among others, and they are great fun. But there are 300,000 Jews in Chicago, too. So where's our parade?

Yes, we have the Jewish Festival every other June, when we head out to a forest preserve and stuff our faces and groove to live music. I love it, I have attended almost every festival, and I think I have certainly at least written about it every time.

But I want a parade. Down Michigan Avenue or State Street. Haven't we earned it?

We can tie it into a holiday, like St. Pat's or Cinco de Mayo. Now, no one wants to schlep around outside in Chicago during Chanukah; we already bought our High Holiday tickets; and we promised Bubbie we'd be home for Passover.

So I nominate Purim. The Purimshpiel was the original Mardi Gras anyway. Think about it -- a free-for-all costume parade in early spring? Shushan is a much older city than New Orleans, people.

OK, so for next Purim, I want a huge, brash, proper parade. I want to tie up traffic for miles while people throw confettti at us.

I want klezmer bands and Sephardi oud ensembles and Israeli dancers promenading down the street. There could be an All-Shofar Ensemble and the Cantor's Assembly float, which would not need microphones. There would be floats with Jewish a cappella groups, both college and pro.

I want one band made up of all the Jewish students in all Chicago's high school marching bands, all wearing their own school's uniforms, but playing the same songs. They would be led by a similar array of cheerleaders, all from different schools, but leaping and tumbling together.

I want baton-twirling, and juggling -- and the One-Hundred-Gragger Brigade, made up entirely of kids, graggering the entire way (like we could stop them).

I want guys with kibbutz hats in teeny tractors zooming around; you can call them the Geshrai-ners.

And not just performers; local celebrities -- activists, scholars, athletes, broadcasters, officials -- leaders from all fields in convertibles, simply waving and being there. Showing up because they are us, or just because they stand by us.

The Shomrim Society of Jewish police officers would march. And the Jewish War Veterans. Even great Jews from history could attend, in the guise of actors in costumes.

Synagogues would have floats, and so would organizations, and unions … and restaurants and hospitals and retailers, everyone. I want corporations and public officials sponsoring floats. Religious, political, social groups -- anyone who has benefitted from the work and wisdom of Chicago's Jews.

There could be floats representing Jewish holidays; Jewish history; Jewish inventions; Jewish movies; Jewish achievements in every field.

Overhead, I want gigantic balloons of Jewish cartoon characters like Feivel Mousekewitz and Krusty the Clown.

Last, I want Mel Brooks and Natalie Portman commenting from the grandstand, spicing their remarks with Yiddishisms and Israeli slang.

Imagine it: Ten miles of floats, all poised and glittering. Tens of thousands gathered on the sidewalks, with graggers and toy shofars.

Then a drum majorette brandishes her baton -- with a Magen David at the tip. She starts to march, followed by Haman leading regally dressed Mordechai on a huge white horse. "Thus shall be done to the one the king wishes to honor!" he calls on his megaphone. At this, the first band bursts into a raucous "Hava Nagila!"

After them, hundreds of people -- Jews and others -- follow behind, winding their way through the heart of one of the most important cities in the world.

Purim in 2016 is on Thursday, March 24. We have mere months to make this happen, people.

Oh, and I get dibs on inviting Mel.

Abby Mueller playing Carole King in the Chicago engagement of Beautiful: The Carole King Musical. Photo credit: Joan Marcus

There's a moment at the opening of Beautiful: The Carole King Musical, currently playing in Chicago, when the character portraying Jewish singer Carole King remarks that even life's hardest parts can turn out to be beautiful.

Indeed, she was on to something. Most of us have lives that overflow with blessings and we should thank God for them every single day. But it's just as much the struggles that shape us into the people we are. When I think about the challenges I've been through in my life -- family illness, the loss of loved ones, and relationships that ended -- those are the times, with a little distance and hindsight, that have morphed into unexpected blessings. For it's not the just the smooth sailing, but the tough stuff that makes us stronger, kinder, fuller, more empathetic human beings.

My sister used to joke that she wanted to wrap her three young sons in "bubble wrap," to shield them from the dark parts of the world. She's given up on that motherly mission, and considering the state of the world these days, there isn't enough bubble wrap on the globe for that anyway. No, we not only can't hide our children from the pain of life, but it's often their struggles that help form them into the mensches we hope they become. 

We've all heard the old adage from Jewish folklore that "This too shall pass," indicating that current conditions in life are always fleeting. When bad things happen, I think about those words that my grandparents and parents would often tell me, and it reminds me that most people are resilient and the bad times are only temporary.

At the same time, we can't live our lives in constant joy either. The joy, too, shall pass. But in times of pain, we should try really hard to hold onto the faith in knowing that happiness will return.

As author and success coach Jen Sincero says, "Faith is having the audacity to believe in the not-yet-seen."

How lucky we are as Jews to ring in two new years -- the secular new year that we just celebrated and the Jewish new year in the fall, two chances for a clean slate, two chances to start the next chapter in our stories.

When some Jewish girlfriends and I met for dinner recently, we took turns going around the table and sharing the biggest lessons we learned over the course of the past 12 months.

We'd collectively charted all kinds of new paths in 2015 -- exploring our spiritual lives as Jews, forging new friendships and deepening older ones, starting new romantic pursuits and closing the chapter on others, raising little children, and taking on new professional challenges.

For many, our past year played out differently than we'd envisioned, filled with simcha, but also sadness.

As we watched some doors close these last 12 months, we'll see new ones open with unexpected blessings in 2016. Each of us will take a journey in the year ahead, and there's something hopeful and exciting about the unknown, the beckoning prospect of many varied paths and possibilities that will unfold for each of us this year, with new people waiting just around the corner to enter our lives.

Yet while we embrace the sweetness of our hopeful futures, we know all about the bitterness too, in our own personal lives and in the world at large, a world that seems to be shattering in chaos before our eyes. We know all too well the world confronts us with human turmoil, strife, and disaster, a world crying out for repair -- for tikkun olam (repairing the world).

Here's wishing all of us faith and resilience to triumph over our personal and collective struggles, with whatever growth and insights they may be bring in the year ahead -- and wishing to all a new year overflowing with blessings.