A Large Splash of Cognac

Top 5 reasons I know I’m not in America anymore:

1.      I have no polish on my nails and haven’t had a manicure in over 3 weeks.

2.      I have only worn heels twice in the past 3 weeks.

3.      The past 2 Shabbats, I was not only the only person in shul wearing heels (the only 2 times I did wear them), but I was also the only one NOT wearing Uggs or Crocs.

4.      I am the only person who actually uses the treadmills to run; everyone else uses them to stand (literally stand, not even a slow walk) and talk (I’m sure I’ll be joining the masses shortly on this one.).

5.      I haven’t had crystal light, brown sugar splenda, or a sugar free vanilla latte in 3 weeks (aspartame detox anyone?).

Vanity is overrated (hah…sure)

      I’m sure this list will grow. 

Sunday night, we went to a Poetry Slam in town (is that what those are called?).  Anyway, I thought it was a universal sign of appreciation to snap instead of applaud for poetry.  People looked at me like I was insane, but I proceeded to snap away. I snapped particularly hard for Lipa Batchi, who did a great job!!

Ira’s second cousin, my new BFF, Naomi (my cute little Nomilah), and I are working up a true masterpiece. 

                                                      Lizzy and Nomilah

I know you all can tell how impressive my poetry writing skills are based on my previous piece, “Ode to the Shabbos Rush.”  I try not to veer away from the A B A B pattern or, when I’m feeling extra chutzpadik [full of nerve], A B A A B ala Robert Frost:

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 

And sorry I could not travel both 

And be one traveler, long I stood 

And looked down one as far as I could 

                To where it bent in the undergrowth.”

(Thank you Dr. and Mrs. Carlson, to whom I owe my poetry memorization skills.)

 …I’m advanced like that.  (BTW, did I just compare myself to Robert Frost? I did, didn’t I?) K, so anyway, between my A B A B and A B A A B rhyming skills and Nomilah’s vast vocabulary and wit, we are working up a poem that will no doubt be the most spectacular collaboration since Simon and Garfunkel.  We plan to entitle our work, “Schlepping Ginger Ale and Unicorns” or something of that nature.

I am told I need to caption this next picture, “And you say I’m not fun.” by my seriously serious 4^th year med student hubby.  (Truthfully, BH one of us actually is serious…or knows how to be when necessary. XO Ira Bear.)

                                              "And you say I'm not fun."

Ira drank a giant beer.  I had 12 handfuls of popcorn. Now that is serious fun, seriously.

Valentine’s Day in the Holy Land is not really acknowledged, which actually works well for us because as Ira says: “We don’t celebrate Valentine’s, we celebrate February 15^th.”  Confusing I know, but it will make sense in a second.

In an attempt to throw me off (and I also think to secretly boycott V-day so he never has to buy me anything for it) Ira proposed to me on February 15^th 2009 at the Statue of Liberty (sounds cheesy, but we had our first date there…okay that justification is even cheesier, but it's true).  Pics from our first date and the proposal are below…cuuuuuuuuuuuuuteeeeeee.

FIRST DATE

                                                              ENGAGED!

Anway, I love Valentine’s Day.  So even though we didn’t exactly “celebrate” as a couple, I decided to wear the most festive thing I brought with me, which turned out to be  my “I <3 Hashem” shirt [Hashem=“the name”=how Jews often refer to G-d…i.e. BH=Baruch Hashem= “Blessed is the Name.”] given to me by one of the world’s most holy tzadekises, Marissa Nuckels.  This prompted Ira to ask me, “Is Hashem your Valentine?” This one threw me for a loop, as I’m not sure how to answer that question considering Valentine’s Day has its origins in Roman Catholicism (correct me if I’m wrong, please).  That being the case, it sounds a little oxymoronic, to say “Hashem is my valentine,” and it doesn’t work to say “Hashem is my valentine, but strictly in that secular, Hallmark and chocolates kind of way” considering I can’t exactly buy a non-physical being a “Be Mine” card, SOOOO for the official record let’s just call it a “coincidence” that I wore my “I <3 Hashem” shirt on February 14^th.  That being said, I <3 Hashem 24/7/365 J

In the end, we did decide to do something very special to commemorate the day.  We went to the mall and ate at Burger’s Bar in the food court.  Now, you tell me that’s not romantic!

On, a completely different note, I’d like to discuss my history in the kitchen.  Remember that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie says her oven is used as storage space for her shoes?  That was me up until two years ago.  I lived in NYC and had a beautiful, brand new kitchen, but the closet space was seriously limited, so oven = additional storage space. What’s a girl to do?  Literally for my 6 years in New York, I never turned on an oven or a stove…not once (I did however, use my microwave almost every day….for popcorn and leftovers.)  If you opened my fridge, all you would’ve seen is the following (Sari, Jenn, Jenna, Lauren Last, Lindsay, and Ira can all attest to this):

1.      8 cans of diet coke (delivered with the Chinese I ordered…always “Can I have the chicken with cashew nuts with extra string beans, no oil, and 4 cans of diet coke?” I should have to leave my apartment to buy soda? I think not.)

2.      A bag of dark chocolate Hershey’s kisses (they taste so good when refrigerated).

3.      A bottle of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter spray (I know you are seriously all judging me for my affinity for artificial flavoring and sweetener…lay off!)

Oh yah, and in the freezer there was vodka.

Who can blame me?  New York has amazing food and everywhere has free delivery!

And then there was the day that changed it all…the turning point in my culinary life…and arguably the beginning of my “Mrs.” training (sorry to my feminist friends).  It was the day Lauren Friedman and I decided to actually cook Shabbat dinner (no, not the whole dinner..I think kugels and dessert were purchased).  Neither one of us had ever come into contact with raw chicken.  We were both terrified.  I remember it took ALL day to make baked chicken and string beans…literally something around 8 hours.  We were exhausted, sweaty, and the food was below average.  BUT I’m telling you…it was on this very day that I had my life-changing revelation…chicken is chicken and if you can cook it one way, you can cook it any number of ways.  I call this “getting over the chicken hump.” 

Now, you may be asking, “That’s nice, Lizzy, but what does any of this have to do with Israel?”  If you would relax for a second, I would tell you!

So, being that our first actual cooking experience was together, it was only appropriate that Lauren and I have our first gourmet cooking experience together.  There was a groopbuy for a cooking class at the Jerusalem Culinary Institute, so Laur informed me I would be purchasing it (This is very much the dynamic of our friendship.  She says “Jump,” I say “How high?”).  For sentimental reasons, to honor our “getting over the chicken hump,” we decided to take the “French Chicken Workshop.”

We walked in pretty late because who can get a cab during rush hour?! And we don’t exactly make quiet entrances when we go places.  You pretty much know we’ve arrived and people love us or hate us when we’re together (primarily the latter…we’ve been known to get no shortage of dirty looks and send yeshiva boys and rabbis running from our boisterous irreverence…specifically on airplanes.).  The chef didn’t know what had hit him and I think he secretly wanted to teach us a lesson.  When it came time to flambé the brandy [set it on fire], he asked Lauren and I to do the demonstration.  He said, “Just pour in the brandy and then light it, you’ll be fine.” There was no, “Stand back.” Or “Lean away.”  Just simply, “Pour and light.”  Well, Lauren poured (generously), and she lit. And WOOOOSHHHHH…Lauren’s face was immersed in a flame the size of Rhode Island!!!!!!!!!! The chef then calmly said in his elegant British accent, “Lauren, I think you may have burnt off your eyebrows,” and then returned to business as usual. Sure enough they were scorched, but BH, not too badly.  Not to worry Lauren, you have a beautiful punim [face] that I will always adore…with our without eyebrows.

Minus the fire incident (which the chef was completely unphased by), the class was so much fun! We cooked chicken “Coq Au Vin” with “Pomme Puree”.  Has anyone ever made a “Pomme Puree?”  Well, I thought that was a fancy way of saying “mashed potatoes.”  Apparently, to make a potato “puree” you need the following contraption, called a “muoli.” 

I have officially had my arm workout for the week.  Doesn’t it kind of look like a weapon? I wonder what else we can “puree.”  Cashew chicken? Chocolate cake?  If I ever become too lazy to chew, I’m going to invest in one of these. The possibilities are truly endless and you too can have one of these devices for the low price of 90 shekels. 

Not only did we eat our gourmet dish, but we also snacked and snacked and snacked some more on baked potato skins the whole time.  I think I liked the potato skins more than the “Coq Au Vin.”  How about you, Laur?

Please enjoy the Coq Au Vin recipe:

Ingredients:

2 tablespoons margarine (which Lauren and I vehemently refused to use, that’s right, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter is okay, but margarine is not…the rules I live by)

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 cleaned chicken breasts

1 splash of cognac brandy

2 glasses of red wine (and an extra for yourself while you cook if you’d like)

3 shallots, peeled and diced (I used 6 because I <3 shallots, and my cooking neighbor       didn’t)

6 mushrooms, cut into slices about a 3^rd of an inch thick

1 glass of chicken stock

1 Tbsp. of tomato paste

2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped

A pinch each of thyme and oregano

1 bay leaf

Directions:

1.      Melt margarine in the oil (or be like Lauren and me and just use the oil) and when it starts to smoke, place chicken breast in the frying pan and season well with salt and pepper.

2.      Lower the flame and turn the chicken while continuing to cook for 5 minutes.

3.      Uncover and splash the cognac. Light it. (STAND BACK AND LEAN AWAY AND HOLD ONTO YOUR EYEBROWS FOR DEAR LIFE!) Carefully shake the pan until the flames have gone and set the chicken aside.

4.      In a frying pan, sauté the shallots until soft.

5.      Add the mushrooms and sauté for another minute.

6.      Deglaze with red wine,

reduce,

and add the tomato paste

and then add the stock.  Simmer and season to taste. (I learned that if it reduces too much, just keep adding stock…I know this is obvious, but I often get caught up in the directions of the recipe and fear doing anything NOT in it.  So, I am telling everyone out there like me, it’s okay to add more liquid if it’s reducing too quickly.)

7.      Place the chicken breast in the sauce and cover with the sauce and simmer for five minutes.

8.      Enjoy!!

Additional Pics from our culinary adventure:

                                            "When do we get to eat?"

                                                     "Come on baby, light my fire"

            with the Rav, ooops, I mean the chef...too much yidishkeit in this country...starting to lose it

Umbrellas, Spebrew, the Shuk, and some Riskin Wisdom (sounds almost like a Gallatin major)

Reader’s Note: This is a particularly long post.  I will not be offended if you read it in sections, but you have to read it ALL.  There will be a test next week. 

Ahlo.  This is how the Israelis say “hello.”  So, this week has been great, but tiring.  I feel like we are settled in and comfortable with the day-by-day routine.  It mamish [really] feels like home.  Maybe this is why they call it the “Homeland.”   

Ira on the roof of the gorgeous new Aish building—what a view!

Unfortunately, we have not had one sunny day so far.  I have the worst guilt complex when it rains here.  You see, I melt in the rain.  I really, really do not enjoy rain.  BUT Israel is DESPERATE for rain.  Every day when we pray for rain it is so hard for me to do it with a completely genuine heart (ahhh…did I just admit that!? I’m working on it…I promise…bli neder [without promising]).  Of course, I’m all for the greater good, but it’s hard to keep the greater good at the forefront of your mind when you are carrying 18 grocery bags, wearing nice leather boots, enjoying freshly blow-dried and straightened hair, and forgot your umbrella.  Actually, yesterday I didn’t even forget my umbrella, but it was so crowded in the shuk [market…see below for more info] that I couldn’t even use it.  Seriously, nobody in Israel owns an umbrella.  We pray for rain from Shemini Atzeres until Pesach (basically October-April) and nobody even owns an umbrella.  I guess Israelis really abide by that old superstition that if you have an umbrella with you it won’t rain.  Maybe it’s a national unwritten rule or something.  Regardless, everyone gives me the strangest looks when I open my umbrella in the pouring rain, like I’M THE CRAZY ONE!

So, I am halfway done with my intense two weeks of Ulpan! I honestly can’t believe how much I have learned.  I am starting to dream in Hebrew, but only the words I know.  So a typical dream will be like “Ani ohevet chummus v’ falafel b’ pita [cheating I know].  Hanasi shel America lo Ole Chadash b’Yisorel.”  Translation: “I like hummus and falafel in a pita.  The president of America is not a new immigrant in Israel.”  I also had this nightmare that my teacher was going to make me give a speech in Hebrew to all of the students and teachers at Ulpan.  I swear I must be psychic or something because the next morning she informed me that I had to give a speech to all of the students and teachers at Ulpan (seriously?!).  MMMMKKK. She told me I wasn’t allowed to look up any words and that I had to write it solely from the words I knew.  Well, at first I was pretty impressed with myself.  I was like wow, I remember so much! And then when I read over what I had written and translated it into English it sounded like this:

“Hi, my name is Liz.  I live in Philadelphia in America.  In Jerusalem, I live near Emek Refayim Street on Dor V’dorshav street.  My mother’s name is Laurie and my father’s name is Marvin.  My dad is a lawyer (she let me look that word up…). I am the sister of Adam and the daughter of Marvin and Laurie.  My mother is from Memphis, TN (said with a completely American accent) and my father is from Fort Worth, TX (again, the American accent).  The mother of my father, my grandmother, is from Montgomery, AL (again…).  She speaks English and Yiddish.  She works in the kitchen of the synagogue in Fort Worth.  She has lots of friends in Fort Worth.  My grandmother is very pretty. 

My father and mother live in Fort Worth now.  My brother lives in Austin.  He knows a lot of history and mathematics.  He is very smart.  My mother is nice and she understands everything.  I speak English and a little Hebrew and I am a student at Ulpan Or.”

If you blindly read this, how old would you guess the author was? 

Meanwhile, I am glowing with the same pride and sense of accomplishment I had when presenting my matser’s thesis at Penn as I chatter it off (maybe even more).  The best part was the only feedback I got from this award-winning speech was that nobody could believe how southern my family is.  That was really all they wanted to talk about.  I’m like a novelty.  In TX when I tell people I’m Jewish they’re like “Oh, I’ve never met one of you before.”  In Israel when I tell people I’m from Texas (even the Americans) they’re like, “Texas?! REALLY!? Is your dad a cowboy? Do you have a horse?”  (“No, my dad is an accountant and a lawyer.  I JUST TOLD YOU THAT IN MY SPEECH.” Everyone please take this moment to picture Marvin riding a bull and roping cows.)

At Ulpan, they have a global map where each student sticks a pin in his or her hometown.  There were a few pins in California, some scattered throughout Europe and South Africa, about 40 in the northeast part of the U.S. excluding NY, and a pin in NYC with a “586” written underneath.  Are there seriously any Americans NOT from New York in Israel?

I’d like to devote the next segment of this post to a section I will unaffectionately deem “SPEBREW.”  Ok, so basically it’s like this: I believe that there is a teeny, tiny, minute, almost infinitesimal part of my brain that is designated “Liz’s Brain’s Foreign Language Department” which, just for fun, we can abbreviate as LBFLD. This LBFLD is so incredibly small that it can only hold one foreign language at a time (not even the whole language--just enough words and phrases to function).  If you try to squeeze more than one language into the LBFLD we have a Y2K-esque scare on our hands—I’m talking, complete and utter crash and system failure.  Well, we better stock up on our canned beans and bottled water, ladies and gentlemen, because the collision has occurred and we are left with nothing but Spebrew.  LBFLD is officially in overload. 

Let me explain to all of you what exactly Spebrew is and how it came to be.  From the tender age of 5, as a TVS Kindergartner, I was forced to take Spanish with Professor German Moreno (Are you out there Herman Brown? Hey hey hey!).  For the next several years, learning Spanish meant competition--and I am one of the most competitive people alive.  I’ve never met a contest I did not enter.  You see, for each Spanish word we knew correctly (and later--by second grade--for that one special student who could say the Spanish alphabet or count backwards from 30 the fastest) we were stamped with a star on our hands.  The goal was to look like an American flag by the end of the class.  What I’m trying to tell you people is that I learned Spanish because I wanted to get a bunch of stars on my hands to wear as my badge of honor.

Many Spanish teachers came and went after Professor Moreno (Senor Summers, Senorita Bowie, Senor Booth, Senora Gray, Senora Johnston [what up Lisa y Lola…if you’re reading this, you know who you are… “it looks like a power bar,” “Pepe Milllllller”, falling off the stage, etc], and FINALLY Senora Kramer [what up Club de Nineras!? Miss you all!])…each of whom I could write a novel about.  For some reason, I have more specific memories from my Spanish classes (and the teachers--each of whom had his or her own special quirks) than any of my other subjects.  The funny thing is, I really thought I didn’t remember any of the actual Spanish—just misbehaving in the classes.

Okay…fast-forward to now.  It’s been 8 years since I have used my Spanish speaking skills in any situation besides speaking to hotel housekeeping employees and on the rare occasion, grocery store workers [Donde estan las manzanas?].  Sometimes, in a more tipsy state of mind, when I try to break out the dusty old espanol skills to practicar, Ira gets annoyed and I am forced to shove it back into the LBFLD.  I really thought I remembered very little from my 13 yrs of Spanish (sorry Mom and Dad).

…………..…UNTIL I started to try to learn Hebrew! If you want to see how much of a language you remember, try learning a completely new one, and you will be pleasantly shocked.  Growing up in Texas, I had this complex that “every foreign language is Spanish.”  Anytime something was unrecognizable to the ears… “ohhh must be Spanish”—result of my unbelievably small LBFLD, I’m sure.  From the first time I came to Israel, on Birthright as an 18-year-old, I repeatedly slipped into Spanish when Hebrew was spoken to me.  In Ulpan, when I am asked to translate a sentence from English to Hebrew, my first thought is always: “Oh, I can say that in Spanish,” but then I concentrate and say it in Hebrew.  The problem is, when I actually try to put my Hebrew into use in high-pressure, high-anxiety, real life situations (such as ordering coffee), more often than not, it comes out in Spebrew. 

So I end up saying things like, “Ani quiero café im leche bli shuman.” It’s like a math problem:

[Ani rotza cafe im chalav bli shuman (thanks Stef, Jenny, and Dalia for that)] + [Yo queiro cafe con leche sin grasa]= A GIANT SPEBREW MESS.  The only saving grace there is, is that BH, “cafe” is “coffee” in both languages.  That’s one word I won’t mess up.  However, words like “toda” don’t help at all.  You see, in Spanish “toda” means “all.”  In Hebrew, “toda” means “thanks.”  I end up saying “toda yom” instead of “cal hayom” when trying to say “all day.” “Thanks day…,” that makes a lot of sense.  This is HARD.  I’m sure this is not the end of “Spebrew,” but that’s all I’ll say about it for now.

Last night we went to dinner at Sushi Rechavia.  The last time I was in Israel and ordered a spicy tuna roll, I promise you I am not lying when I tell you the tuna was from a can…vooooooommmittttt.  Obviously, I was scarred for life as any self-respecting person should have been.  I detest canned tuna.  I think it is the worst thing in the world.  When people eat it I have to wear a surgical mask and stay at least 50 feet away.  My father (hi dad) and Ira love tuna more than anything in the world.  If they could build a castle out of tuna and live in it for 120 years doing nothing but inhale that fishy fragrance, they would.  A castle of tuna is literally what they picture when they think of Olam Haba (the world to come aka what Jews refer to as heaven).  They love to torture me with their canned tuna obsession and remind me all day every day that as an Ashkenazi Jew, I am basically committing a Chillul Hashem (desecration of G-d’s name) by refusing to eat tuna.  So anyway, I don’t have to explain to any of you why I decided to abstain from fish all together and order a vegetable roll at dinner last night.  I did reluctantly sit at the same table as Ira while he ate his fish-containing rolls.  He said it was delicious, but I am nauseously skeptical. 

Additionally, I also have an aversion to gefilte fish…not nearly as severe as my aversion to canned tuna, but strong enough that I have deprived Ira of this delicacy for our entire marriage.  I agreed to let him have it this past Shabbos on the condition that he cooked it himself.   

After dinner, we went to the very “posh” Mirror Bar in the Mamilla Hotel to finally have an official toast to Israel adventure.  The Mirror Bar is supposed to be like a New York hotspot.  The second Israelis hear the word “posh” they flock…the only issue is, you can take the Israeli out of his typical Israeli habitat, but you can’t expect him to take off his crocs.  Always and forever the crocs. 

We ended up a Mike’s Place once again.  We were pleasantly greeted by this guy.

On Friday we decided to do the bravest thing we’ve done thus far in our marriage.  Some people bungee jump, some people skydive, some people go on African safaris.  We went to the shuk erev Shabbos.  To go to the shuk on a Friday, you either have to be very strong or very stupid.  I think we are both.  We both did a very intense pre-shuk workout so we would have the strength and stamina to push our way through the masses.  I was actually pleased to be able to communicate with the salespeople (mocherim) in Hebrew thanks to my Uplan skills.  On a side note, can I just say, that usually when you are in a really intense learning program and the weekend rolls around all you want to do is think about anything but what it is you are learning.  This is impossible to do when you are living in the country of the language you are learning.  There are no learning breaks…not even on the weekends.  Also, everyone in the shuk mamish thinks he is a Hebrew teacher.  If you are starting to get cocky with you Hebrew skills you will be put in your place by these experts. 

We also enjoyed a fantastic lunch at “Basta Pasta” in the shuk…SO DELISH. Please enjoy some photos that I believe truly capture the shuk Shabbos rush experience, courtesy of Ira. 

We had an A-mazing Shabbos with the new chevra.  Friday night Ira met the bachors (the Chassidic teenage boys) at the Kotel (aka the kooooooyyyysel) and then walked them back to our apartment.  We had a lovely time and were pleased that OUR friend Chanaya Lipa Yom Tov Batchi joined us once again as well (we needed him there to be our Yiddish/English translator). The only problem was that I really underestimated the amount of alcohol Lipa Batchi and the bachors can put away.  Next time boys, I promise to buy a LOT more beer.  We are seriously BFF now.  In fact, we just came from our motzei Shabbos pizza outing with the chevra where we discussed my friendship with Lady Gaga.  They informed me that her new song is #1 on iTunes.  I <3 the Chevra. 

Okay, so I hate to do this, but I have to get a little serious for a moment.  I promise after this, I will be back to Silly Lizzy, but just hold uppppppp because I think this is of severe and urgent importance and I need to get it out.  So, tonight Ira and I went to hear Rabbi Shlomo Riskin speak at the Great Synagogue. 

The talk was so exhilarating and I can’t even begin to accurately describe how amazing this man is.  Some of you reading this blog know me better than others.  Those who know me pretty well (hey Mom, Dad, and Sari…let me know who else is out there…) may know that for the past 10 years or so I have devoted a lot of time and energy to promoting acceptance and building bridges of understanding across human diversity.  The summer after my sophomore year of high school, I was a delegate to a weeklong conference on diversity called Camp Anytown.  I became so passionate about fighting hate and dispelling the fear of “the other” that has plagued each and every one of us at one time or another (as a Jew in the Bible Belt this was an area of particular personal interest for me).  I studied multicultural education in both college and graduate school and worked with numerous non-profit organizations to promote this mission.  When I began to become more religious and more engrossed in my Jewish learning, I saw how badly my fellow Jews needed this message.  There is so much unwarranted resentment and intolerance within the large umbrella of Judaism, not to mention from Jews to non-Jews.  It’s not always hate that is the problem, but mostly closed-mindedness along with lack of exposure—there is often an idea among Jews (and of course human beings in general) that there can be only one right way of doing things and any other way is looked down upon or disregarded.  It is often difficult for us to see eye-to-eye and have relationships with one another.  When we act this way, we are our own worst enemy.  There have been many times when I have struggled to reconcile my strong passion and history in promoting cross-cultural awareness with my more recent identity as an Orthodox Jew…and at times I am ashamed to say I have faltered and acted in closed-minded ways myself.  It has taken me a lot of time to learn (and I am mamish still learning!) that as an Orthodox Jew, as a Jew, as a human being, I have a responsibility to embrace my fellow Orthodox Jews, non-Orthodox Jews, and all people. I realize that I am very much on my soapbox right now…but just stick with me for a minute.   

Tonight Rabbi Riskin said the following regarding the importance of human relationships:

“If we can only open ourselves to human relations and find the G-d within them and learn from them we can learn from every single human being.  Every single human being at his core is G-d.”

Rabbi Riskin gave us an example, which I will do my best to summarize.  He had a flight from Miami to LA that was cancelled and he ended up on having to rush to the airport to get the last seat on the next flight so he could make it before Shabbos.  He looked next to him to find his seatmate, a man which he describes as “9 feet tall and tattooed from head to toe, wearing a tank top and red and purple shorts.”  Breakfast was served and being that Rabbi Riskin’s flight was cancelled and he rushed to make this flight, there were no kosher meals for him, so he had 4 glasses of orange juice.  He kept trying to avoid eye contact with the “giant tattoo” next to him.  When lunch was served the man said to him “order a ‘blanking’ lunch you ‘blanking’ Orthodox Jew.”  Rabbi Riskin replied that he wasn’t hungry.  The man then said “The lunch is a burger and a salad.  Order a ‘blanking’ lunch and you’ll give me your burger and I’ll give you my salad.”  Well, this piqued Rabbi Riskin’s interest.  The giant tattoo clearly knew the laws of kashrut.  It turns out, this man’s father was the Chief Baptist Minister of the entire southern region of the U.S. and this man knew the entire Bible by heart.  The man told Rabbi Riskin: “I haven’t spoken to my father in 10 years.  He had time for the whole world, but he didn’t have time for me.  He never spoke to us, he only preached to us.”  This struck a chord within Rabbi Riskin, as he had developed a huge following and was a man who constantly sought after for help.  A few days before this flight, Rabbi Riskin had been reading a bedtime story to his daughter and abruptly left in the middle to help a congregant in need.  Rabbi Riskin understood this man’s father’s difficulty in balancing his career with his family. 

At the end of the flight the man turned to Rabbi Riskin and said, “G-d put us together.  I learned from you for the first time in my life, how to understand my daddy.”  Rabbi Riskin replied, “I know G-d put us together.  I wasn’t even supposed to be on this flight.  I looked at you and thought, ‘What could I possibly have in common with this man?’  But what I learned from you is that what unites us is far greater than what divides us, that no matter the different cultural, ethnic, or religious backgrounds we may each come from, we remain united in a very strong bond, the indelible bond of our common humanity.”

We have a need to communicate with people.  The rabbi referenced the Midrash: “Would though you would forget about me, don’t forget my commandment to love each other.”  We have to look for the G-d in each other.  As Rabbi Riskin eloquently closed, “G-d speaks first and foremost through people.  If we are open to listening to what people have to say, we will find G-d.” 

This is a message not just for Jews, but for everyone.  To be open and accepting can only enhance our relationships with one another and also with G-d. 

Ira and I with Rabbi Riskin