Bayis magazine Issue 11 by Bayis

History of... Chocolate | Eclairs: How to Guide

Recipes in the

Kitchen

Recip

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Rena

Tuch

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HAM ANTA S W CHEN

Issue 11

7 Adar 5777

AYS

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March 5, 2017

Chocolate Chocolate a Day Keeps the Doctor Away

Short Story Behind the Mask

Organize Youself For Pesach

Artist Spotlight : Yaeli Vogel

Absolutely FREE

Teaching 101

Parenting

Humor

and “Easy Delicious

Table of Contents

Eclairs:

”

26 In The Kitchen

How To

4 Inspiration

Reaccepting

6 Parenting

Purim with Kids

8 Teaching 101

MORE ON TEACHING

n the last column, I presented teaching as a two-fold process. A teacher first establishes conditions to facilitate learning of some predesignated content, then s/he assesses the extent or degree to which the student grasped the content (or the teacher’s objectives). What are some initial takeaway lessons of my discussion about teaching? 1. Teaching is not merely presenting information. If that was true, then all teachers would need to do is to “give over” that information by talking about it, writing about it, showing students a video about it, etc. There are a variety of ways of presenting information. Teaching,

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rather, involves creating certain conditions for students to deeply interact with the content in some meaningful fashion. In a future column, I will review some of those approaches teachers/lecturers can use to engage learners. For purposes of this column, a major premise is that students, to learn well, should be actively engaged with the content. In other words, the presenter (hopefully, called a teacher) must involve the participants (I avoid using the word “listeners” because they must not only listen) in the learning process. Allow me to give an example of the manner in which, for instance, Rebecca Stevens, our psychologist in vignette 2 from the last column, might have better engaged

her audience in the learning process. She could have, for instance, used a technique called pair-and-share in which one person would turn to a neighbor and try to come up with a few suggestions for improving one’s marriage. This engagement need only take two minutes and upon the presenter’s prompt attention would turn back so that she could continue. The audience could, for instance, be prompted to compare their solutions to the ones Rebecca formulates. Research indicates that when students are asked to engage in this manner their attention will be heightened and will be able to retain more information. Another way the presenter could reinforce learning of the important principles presented

By Rabbi Dr. Yoseif (Jeffrey) Glanz

would be to utilize the same pair-share technique near the end of the lecture to review two or three major take-away lessons from the talk. In the process of speaking to one other, participants reinforce ideas presented during the lecture. Although much more could be done by an experienced teacher, this suggestion, alone, will strengthen audience comprehension and retention of content conveyed. In sum, information needs to be taught, not presented. 2. Teaching does not occur unless there is a purposeful attempt to assess student learning. The important take-away idea here is that unless the presenter checks for understanding s/he has no idea the extent to which the listener learned anything meaningful. Is it possible for a student to learn without the teacher checking for understanding? Of course it is. It’s also possible that a sound is created in the forest if a tree falls without anyone being there. But if no one is there to hear the sound made by a falling tree, can one really say with certainty that a sound was made? Essential to the teaching process is the teacher's role as assessor. Without

assessment it’s impossible to gauge the extent and the quality of learning. Learning possibly occurred, but one doesn’t know for certain. Checking for understanding is only part of a teacher’s role. After having checked, the effective teacher must respond based on the results of the assessment. If students have misinterpreted a comment or critical idea in the lesson/ presentation, the teacher must provide feedback, and then once again check for understanding to ascertain that the student was able to accommodate the feedback. Teaching is as simple as that. I assert that a good teacher basically does two things: 1. creates an optimal learning environment that engages the student actively, and then 2. intentionally assesses student learning, providing appropriate feedback. Certainly, the nature of teaching is different in a school classroom than it is at a lecture at a conference. However, the essential, basic components of effective teaching remain the same. I assert that even lecture-based contexts that occur at multiple locations (web-based or

otherwise) could drastically improve participant learning if the philosophies, strategies, and techniques I will highlight in these columns are used. Why not transform these experiences that potentially inspire or convey knowledge into learning opportunities so that effective teaching, and thus learning, occurs? Follow-up Activity Now, go ahead and ask 5 other people to define "teaching." Were they able to get it? Why/why not? What did they miss? What was their response when you explained teaching to them, as described in this column? Did they disagree? How did you respond? More about checking for understanding in our next column. Rabbi Dr. Glanz earned his Ed.D. degree in education from Teachers College, Columbia University. He taught for 15 years in elementary and middle school classrooms, served as a school administrator for five years, and has taught at the college/university levels for the past thirty years. Currently, he lives in Eretz Yisroel and serves as the Program Head for Michlalah-Jerusalem College's master’s degree in educational administration. He also teaches online for Yeshiva University’s Azrieli Gradaute School of Jewish Education and Administration. He hopes to stimulate dialogue and welcomes your comments. You can contact him at Teaching@bayismagazine.com For the author's latest book that was just published, see http://www.yourlivewebdemo.com/landingpages/ ENGAGE/index.html

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ARTIST SPOTLIGHT: YAELI VOGEL

Yaeli Vogel has taken the Jewish art world by storm. Her paintings are not only beautiful, but capture raw feelings that are inspirational. Yaeli was kind enough to discuss with Bayis a little bit of her background and how she began her painting career.

rowing up, life wasn’t peachy, to say the least. I had it better off than some, worse than others, but to me, it was more than enough. I’m the oldest of three children and when I was 12, at the peak of vulnerability, my parents divorced. No matter which angle of the kaleidoscope it is viewed from, divorce is ugly. You can’t find a pretty view, there just isn’t any. Everyone is affected and spent, and so was I. To make a long story short, I had a great support system and with every fiber of my being, went into auto-pilot mode. I did my best to live just like any other girl my age to the point that some of my peers didn’t even know what I was fighting inside. So much so, that neither did I. I was completely numb. Then I got married. I knew that I had to take care of the numbness because it’s not a great combo - numbness and relationship. So I sought out mental health guidance and it was great. My therapist and I got along superbly and she kept telling me that I “got it”, that I knew the answers and that I just needed to put it into practice. So I went home. I still felt stifled. My occupation wasn’t helping me much either. I felt bored, depressed and sucked out of my own life. Trapped. That’s how I explained it to the therapist, “I’m in a bottle and I can’t open the lid.” Call it anxiety, I don’t know, that’s how I felt.

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For as long as I can remember, I loved to paint. I was the artist among my peers and was attracted to art of any kind: dance, music, film… all of it. I can even remember being really young and drawing people’s features in my head as a reflex when I first met them. So, I’d pick up the brush here and there and paint. However, I never wanted to make a career out of it, hearing the term “starving artist” thrown around, but I still loved painting, so I painted a couple paintings to make our walls pretty. I even mentioned to my therapist that I am an artist and she told me to go home and paint. Then, one Succos, I felt compelled to paint something beautiful for our Succah. So I pushed myself and did it. When guests came to our Succah, all they kept repeating was that the set should be sold. I dismissed each comment one by one, laughing off the ridiculousness of it all. Naturally, I am very business-oriented. Some of that stems from growing up with a single mom who I watched work so hard. I value hard work and the desire to be successful burns inside me like fire. I decided to post these paintings that I made for my Succah on Social Media for fun and see what happened. Then, one turned into two and I started believing that I had something. I was working in the Special Ed field at the time. When I came home, I painted. I practiced and practiced. I wanted to learn and do it all. By the end of the year, I knew clearly that this was the direction of my life. I wasn’t ready though to turn my back on the steady income I was getting from my career. It was when I was driving on my way to a mandatory meeting the following year in September that I got a call telling me

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that I didn’t need to attend the meeting since they didn’t need any more cases filled. At the time it felt like a major blow and I was upset. However, it was short-lived since I already had a foot in something else. I leaped headfirst into my art, never once looking back. I knew that if I wanted to achieve success through my art I had to work fast. So I did. I painted and painted and painted. I made mistakes, learned from my mistakes and even made some masterpieces from my mistakes. While I was painting, I was also letting myself go. With each painting, I loosened the lid until I felt free. I felt like me, the real me. The one G-d created. I wasn’t aware that I was doing this all at the time, but it needed to happen. I was being pulled to the canvas like bees to honey. It was my drug and making me better, truly healing me. While I paint, my hands dance. I am an intrinsically happy person. Due to the experience of my early years, seeing how hard people work in life; how much life is valued and how fortunate we are for what we have. I feel inspired by it and want to live, really live and my paintings depict that. We all have the choice to be happy, to wake up and truly live. I put that on canvas every day to inspire people. We all have our own challenges, but to get up and face the world dancing, now that is something and that’s art! So do I sell paintings? Yes. But what I really am selling is life. I hand it over, a product of my desire to live life to the fullest. Here, hang it on your wall, be inspired by it and go live your life. To see more of Yaeli's works email her at Yaelifineart@gmail.com @yaelifineart - Instagram. Yaeli Vogel - Facebook

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Chocolate a day keeps the doctor away? By Naomi Lerman 14

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s the simcha of Adar begins to enter our consciousness, and ideas for the perfect mishloach manos float around in our heads, the health conscious amongst us are trying to figure out how to outweigh the sweets with fruits and vegetables. Purim can be a hard holiday for those of us who are watching what we eat, especially when so many sweet treats are landing on our doorstep (literally!). Although some of the mishloach manos you will receive this Purim will contain healthful items, you will likely have to pick and choose what you and your family will eat right away and what should be put aside for shabbos treats. One treat that may not need to go straight to the shabbos basket, which might be surprising to some, is chocolate. A few years ago, when nutritionists started expounding the benefits of chocolate, people looked on wide-eyed in disbelief. All of a sudden, healthy chocolate companies were coming out of the woodwork and now there are several kosher versions with varying hechshers. Although many people are excited about the newly discovered nutritional benefits of chocolate, like all nutritional revelations, it is important to take a step back. There are a few key points to keep in mind when choosing your chocolate and, as always, it is important to look at the validity of the new information coming out about all of the benefits.

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There are several caveats to the â&#x20AC;&#x153;chocolate is healthy" debate, but the most important fact to remember is that nutritionists and healthy chocolate advocates alike arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t talking about what your child would call chocolate (the yummy, sweet milky or white versions). Before I delve into the three secrets of success for healthful chocolate

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consumption, here are some of the potential health benefits: The ABCâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s of Dark Chocolate: Dark chocolate contains a higher percentage of cocoa (the seed of the cacao tree) than its milk and white relatives. The earliest use of the cocoa bean was in a beverage made in the regions of Mexico and Guatemala. This drink was

seen as a prestigious luxury and, for the Aztec people, it was believed to give those who drank it wisdom. Although we are far removed from the Aztec, one recent study proved that cocoa has higher levels of antioxidants than blueberries and acai berries. Although not directly wisdom-inducing, antioxidants are naturally occurring chemicals found in food that have beneficial health effects. In addition to high levels of antioxidants, with approximately 11 grams of fiber in an 100 gram bar and high levels of iron, magnesium, copper, manganese, potassium, phosphorus, zinc and selenium, dark chocolate contains more nutrients and much less sugar than the milk and white varieties. Studies Show There have been several studies done on the benefits of chocolate, specifically looking at dark chocolate with higher percentages of cocoa bean. Although the studies are great news for chocolate-lovers,

further research is required to confirm these results. Some of the results can be taken with a grain of salt (or a sliver of chocolate), but it is certainly worth looking at the current findings. Studies have shown that dark chocolate can: • • • •

• •

•

improve blood flow to the brain helping to combat cognitive decline. aid in helping to maintain higher bone density in older women. cut a woman’s risk for heart failure by as much as a third. reduce the blood pressure-raising effects of exercise on overweight individuals. lessens cravings for sweet, salty, and fatty foods. help mothers-to-be better handle stress, which results in happier babies that smile more. help those who suffer from

•

anxiety by reducing stress hormone levels. quiet coughs almost as well as codeine, due to the naturally occurring theobromine.

Before you head out to the store and buy a shelves worth of dark chocolate, there are 2 keys to picking the best chocolate for your health and 1 recommendation that will add to your new found healthy chocolate habit. 1. Chocolate can be marked as dark but contain varying levels of cocoa. In order to get the highest level of benefit from chocolate, the cocoa content must be above 70%. The higher the cocoa content the more bitter the chocolate will be, so try a square of 70% before you reach for the 90%+ . 2. In addition to the quality of chocolate you consume, it’s important to consider the quantity. You might be

tempted to exchange the amount of milk and white chocolate you once ate for the same quantity of 70%+ dark chocolate, but it wouldn’t be recommended by even the biggest healthy chocolate enthusiast. Although it’s questionable if you could stomach so much 70%+ dark chocolate, you will gain the most health benefit from a square or two of chocolate a day or about 7 oz a week. Just like all things in life, too much of a good thing is no longer a good thing. 3. Once you find a brand of dark chocolate you like and you are eating a square or so a day, a major recommendation is to eat your chocolate mindfully. Enjoy each nibble! Although 70%+ dark chocolate is not sweet and sugary like the chocolate of your youth, if eaten mindfully, there is something truly satisfying and luxurious about your daily dose of health inducing chocolate. Bayis |

The Kosher Sofer

Israeli Prices Brought to America Special Deal for Bar Mitzvah Pair of Tefillin Tefillin AA Megillahs Mezuzahs 18

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Email for deals and pricing: TheKosherSofer@gmail.com Phone: 054-846-6036

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Organize Yourself

Let’s talk about getting ready for Pesach - Part I: What does getting ready for Pesach mean to you? Does it mean you arrive at the seder barely able to keep your eyes open? Does Pesach cleaning mean the same thing as spring cleaning? Does Pesach create a massive amount of anxiety? If so, it is time to change your priorities and reimagine preparing for Pesach. I have been married for almost 15 years, but this is only my 3rd time making Pesach on my own. When we made aliyah I started having to do all the chagim on my own. It is true, since we live in Israel, I have one less day of Yom Tov, usually, but in an ironic twist of calendar fate, most of the chagim we have had since we made aliyah have been two days. Yet, Yom Tov doesn’t make me feel flustered, in fact I enjoy Yom Tov in a way I never did before. I enjoy Yom Tov? Yup, you read right I enjoy Yom Tov!

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This happened when I reali zed I don’t have to do what my mom does— I don’t have to clean my house from head to toe — I just need to remove the chametz. Then I can arrive at the seder calm and relaxed and enjoy that family time. If you want to have a more relaxing time getting ready for Pesach and not feel like you were the slave that was freed, read below for a few things that have helped me achieve an organized stress free Pesach while creating less waste. I want to say as an aside, though I am organized, I hate cleaning, and they are different, so please don’t say to yourself, “it must be easy for her to clean, she is so good at it.” Organization and cleaning are not the same thing.

Cleaning: The point of cleaning for Pesach is removing chametz, and if you start right after Purim, and put yourself on a 4 week plan, you can do this without stress. The truth is, I do some spring cleaning as I am going along, but I pace myself, and I label cleaning in my mind as spring cleaning, so that I have the mental separation, like washing the windows or washing pillows. The simple delineation of what is for Pesach and what is for spring will allow you to not feel upset about the goals you set but did not reach

By Rebekah Saltzman

before Pesach. Remind yourself, that you can do those things after Pesach. After you separate what is necessary and what is a bonus set a schedule for yourself. Usually I do less trafficked areas, and areas where we don’t normally eat first, like the bedrooms. Cleaning in these rooms is mostly just to check and is more spring cleaning because in my room, where I never eat, what is the likelihood of finding chametz under my bed? I am ok with the bedrooms as spring cleaning though. I don’t wash the windows, I just vacuum behind the furniture and wash the floors. If I really need to then I dust. But in

the kid’s rooms, you need to sort their toys to check food isn’t mixed in. This might take a while if you haven’t been consistent in keeping your children’s toys organized. But if you are like me, both committed to less things and minimalism in general, and go through and organize their toys every few weeks you might be ahead of the game. Your living room and dining room should not take too long, or need more than a good vacuum, floor wash and some light dusting. Regular cleaning of these rooms makes Pesach cleaning faster. Kitchen: The kitchen takes the longest. Try to only clean the areas you will need, and the ones you seal up, are a bonus if you get to them. Clear out as much food as you can before Pesach. Try to use up what you have and plan menus around the food you have. This serves two purposes, one is that you can free up cabinet space. I have two cabinets in my kitchen for food, so I finish what I can and move the remaining food into the second cabinet that I do not open on Pesach. This empty cabinet is more than enough space for a week of food.

The fridge also gets done the week of, since you have been witling down your food all month, there isn’t usually too much left. If you have bought kosher for Pesach perishables early, leave them in a bag in your fridge so they don’t get mixed with chametz. The stove and oven should also get cleaned the week of and try the week before to eat foods that you have already made so you don’t have to use the oven. Stay tuned for Part II in the next issue of Bayis. For additional help getting ready for Pesach, head to my website, w w w.balaganbegone.com and download my pesach spreadsheet located in the “Give Aways” tab. Rebekah Chaifetz Saltzman holds a degree in fashion design from Parsons School of Design, and for many years worked as a graphic designer.Rebekah’s passion for the environment and helping people improve their lives drover her to change careers and create Balagan Be Gone. Rebekah’s straightforward approach to managing “stuff” and her no-nonsense ability to get to the heart of what is important to help people get control of their lives through organization. By helping her clients streamline everything from clothing to papers to books and household goods, they have found that they get the most out of their possessions and stress less about managing it all. Her experience in moving her own household several times, in combination with her organization planning and doing has led her to specialize in working with clients who are facing a move, whether upsizing or downsizing. She has found that her skills extend to helping others with time management, as well. Get in touch with Rebekah at rebekah@ balaganbegone.com in USA at 917.549.0910 or in Israel at 058.649.2346, to help select the perfect package for your needs.

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History of...

Chocolate Chocolate is made from the exotic cocoa bean native to the South American rain forest. The early natives of South America used to ferment, roast and grind the cocoa beans. They were then mixed with water and spices to form a chocolate drink. Chocolate would stay only a drink until the 1800’s when a chocolate company, J.S Fry’s and Sons, made the first chocolate bar.

The Aztecs were obsessed with their chocolate drink. Not only was it purported to have health benefits and taste delicious, it was also their currency. A turkey hen cost 100 cocoa beans! (It takes 40 cocoa beans to make a chocolate bar, so two and a half chocolate bars would buy you a turkey.)

The Spanish conquistadors were responsible for bringing chocolate to Europe. (Some of the other products brought from the new world were maize (corn), white potatoes, sweet potatoes, peanuts, tomatoes, and pineapples.) From the 1500’s until the 1800’s chocolate was the drink of European royalty. Only in the 1800’s when chemist Coenraad Johannes van Houten in 1828 invented the cocoa press did chocolate become affordable to the masses.

Worldwide, $75 billion is spent on chocolate with the average American eating 12 pounds a year.

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Although the South American rain forests were its origins it is no longer the main exporter of cocoa beans. With two thirds of the world production of cocoa beans coming from West Africa it takes that prize.

The most popular candy bars in decreasing order of popularity are Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups at the number one slot, then M&M’s, Snickers, Hershey’s Milk Chocolate Bar, and Kit Kats. If you only eat cholov yisrael there are similar varieties to most of these chocolate bars, but we are still waiting for a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. (Take note cholov yisrael chocolate companies!)

When cocoa beans are ground up and heated they become a liquid. This liquid is then processed and produces two products; cocoa solids and cocoa butter. Baking chocolate contains both without sugar. Sweet chocolate has both cocoa solids and cocoa butter with the addition of oils and sugar. Milk chocolate is sweet chocolate with the addition of milk. And white chocolate is cocoa butter, sugar and milk without cocoa solids.

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As told to Rochie Shapiro

Choosing Chocolate

v e r y t h i n g waited on this date. A f ter this date we’d decide if we were ready to “drop the shadchan.” Before this, everything went through the shadchan. I didn’t have his number, he didn’t have mine. And if there was something he needed to know I’d call her to tell him. Some of my friends “dropped the shadchan” much earlier and some never had a shadchan to begin with, but this is how my shadchan worked and I didn’t know much more than this routine. It was my first experience dating, he was the first guy. We decided to keep the date causal and have a picnic in a local park. I brought bagels, different spreads, some snacks, and my famous double chocolate chunk cookies. The date started off really well. We had great conversation while munching on our bagels. I then took out the snacks and my famous cookies. Why are they famous? Well for one, they are loaded with chocolate and two, they are horribly and deliciously addicting. Everyone who has them raves about them. I am not only known as quite a baker, but also a chocoholic. Almost all my desserts include that amazingly delicious ingredient. Of course,

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what else! As we talked and played card games, he snacked on the potato chips, but didn’t touch the cookies. I kept watching, waiting for him to have one, but he didn’t even look at them! I didn’t want to corner him and stuff one into his face, so I just took a few myself thinking he’d follow suit. Nope, nothing. How rude! I stayed up late the night before baking those especially for this date, excited he would get to try my famous cookies and taste my talent, but instead he doesn’t even comment on them. Could it be he doesn’t like cookies? But no, that can’t be. I don’t think my other half could possibly be someone who doesn’t like those yummy goodies. Or maybe it’s the chocolate? Maybe he hates chocolate! What a nightmare! Well, I left that date even more confused than I went into it. The shadchan called me soon after asking if I was ready to take his number and I froze. Even if he didn’t like cookies or chocolate, why couldn’t he just have taken one anyway? That would have been the nice, proper thing to do. Are these the kind of middos I wanted in a spouse? I told the shadchan I wasn’t sure and she went nuts. What did I mean I wasn’t sure? The dates have been going great! I seemed so optimistic last time we spoke. What changed? I didn’t know exactly how to answer her. Was I supposed to tell her it was because of the cookies? How ludicrous would that sound? I told her I needed time to think

it through and hung up. The next two days she called me every few hours. Eventually I picked up and gave in. Okay, I’ll go on another date and see if things can be smoothed out. She said she wouldn’t pressure me about taking his number or booking a wedding hall, “just go out and enjoy,” she said. And so this time it was his date to plan. He must have realized something was going on because he really pulled out all the stops for this date. I was told we were going to a fancy, upscale restaurant which really excited the foodie in me. We met there and ordered soups and a main dish. The conversation again went great. We just clicked, it was so nice. But in the back of my mind all I could think about was how he hurt my feelings. On top of that I couldn’t possibly imagine marrying someone who didn’t like chocolate. That made no sense to me at all. I never thought to put that specific criterion on my resume. We finished our meals and the waiter came by to take our plates. He returned with the dessert menu, my favorite part of the meal obviously. We looked through the menu and I asked the waiter what the best thing was to order. His response was, “The chocolate lava cake, it is divine.” My eyes lit up. Good answer! Just as I was about to order, my date chimed in, “Oh no chocolate for us, I am highly allergic, can’t touch it with a ten foot pole!”

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in the

Recipes and Photos By Rena Tuchinsky

Kitchen

HAMANTASCHEN

WAYS

Purim. I’m not sure what I love most. The kids in adorable costumes, creating and giving fun mishloach manos, receiving misloach manos, hearing the megillah and stomping when it gets to Haman, or enjoying a meal surrounded by family and friends while being amused by our silly husbands. I just love it all. One thing I especially enjoy are hamantaschen. No, not the bakery kind. This foodie likes it because I get to experiment with all different flavors. I love playing around in the kitchen and hamantaschen is the perfect medium. That’s why I’m sharing three tasty hamantaschen recipes you are sure to love. I hope you enjoy them as much as we do. Have a happy Purim! Rena Recipes@bayismagazine.com

TRIPLE CHOCOLATE HAMANTASCHEN

Yields: 20 large hamantaschen Chocolate on chocolate on chocolate, what’s not to like? This dough is a cross between a chocolate cookie and a brownie. The chopped chocolate added to the dough adds even more chocolaty goodness. And of course, this is super simple to mix together, no creaming margarine here! ⅔ cup oil 1 cup sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 2 eggs 6 tablespoons cocoa powder ¼ teaspoon baking soda ¼ teaspoon salt 2 ½ cups flour, plus more if needed ½ cup finely chopped chocolate

1 cup of your favorite chocolate spread 1. Preheat oven to 350˚F. Line a baking sheet with baking paper. 2. Whisk the oil, sugar and vanilla. Add in the eggs and whisk till combined. 3. Whisk in the cocoa powder, being sure to remove any lumps. 4. Add in the flour, salt and baking soda. Mix together using a spoon. The dough should easily come together into a ball. It may require more flour, but be sure you do not add too much. You want it slightly sticky to ensure the edges stay closed. 5. Lightly flour the surface you

will be rolling the dough out on. Roll out the dough to ¼-½ an inch thickness. Sprinkle the finely chopped chocolate all over the dough. Roll the rolling pin over the dough once to push the chocolate into the dough. 6. Use the rim of a glass cup or round cookie cutter to cut rounds of the dough. Place onto the baking sheet then place two teaspoons ofchocolate spread in the center of the circle. Pinch together the top and then bottom two corners creating a triangular shape. 7. Bake for about 15 minutes.

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LEMON BAR HAMANTASCHEN

You either love them or you hate them. Lemon bar fans will go nuts over these hamantaschen. They are everything you love in lemon bars, but in its own Purim costume! For those who arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t lemon fans, this dough is perfect with any filling. Crispy on the outside, soft on the inside and delicious all around.

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BBQ SHREDDED BEEF AND SWEET POTATO HAMANTASCHEN

This is the ultimate Purim seuda starter. Festive, flavorful and bound to impress your guests. They donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t need to know how simple it was to put together, it can be our little secret. Though you may find them asking for the recipe soon after tasting them. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not even sure you can call this a recipe, you just throw together tasty ingredients and get awesome results.

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CinnaYums

LEMON BAR HAMANTASCHEN Yields: 20 large hamantaschen ⅔ cup oil ⅔ cup sugar 2 eggs 2 ¼-½ cups flour, a bit more may be needed 1 teaspoon baking powder Lemon Curd Filling, see recipe below Powdered sugar, for dusting

curd comes together so quickly and is bound to become your go-to lemon curd recipe. I’m sure you can make it over the stove top as well, but I wanted something quick and simple.

over so you can serve as a sauce on the side. 2. Cover and cook on medium heat. Check the meat every so often and add water if needed to just cover the meat. Depending on the type of meat you used, it could take 2-3 hours till the meat is soft. Once it is soft enough shred and return to the pot to cook another 30-60 minutes. By this time it should be a thick, saucy meat mixture. Set aside. 3. Mash the boiled sweet potatoes well and season with salt and pepper. 4. Slightly defrost the malawach dough and roll out just a bit. Flour the surface underneath so it does not stick. 5. Cut out rounds of dough. In the center of each round place a spoonful of meat followed by the mashed sweet potato. 6. Pinch the ends together to create a triangle. You can egg the dough here if you’d like. 7. Bake at 350˚F for about 20 minutes or until the pasty is crispy and golden. 8. Serve with extra bbq sauce on the side.

CinnaYums 1 egg 2 egg yolks ¾ cup sugar ¼ cup lemon juice 2 tablespoons flour

CINNA•YUM

1. Preheat oven to 350F. Line a baking sheet with baking paper. 2. Whisk together the oil and sugar. Add in the eggs and whisk till combined. 3. Mix in the flour and baking powder using a spoon. The dough should easily come together into a ball. It may require more flour, but be sure you do not add too much. You want it slightly sticky to ensure the edges stay closed. 4. Lightly flour the surface you will be rolling the dough out on. Roll out the dough to ¼-½ an inch thickness. 5. Use the rim of a glass cup or round cookie cutter to cut rounds of the dough. Place onto the baking sheet then place two teaspoons of lemon curd in the center of the circle. Pinch together the top and then bottom two corners creating a triangular shape. 7. Bake for 15 minutes or until the tops become slightly golden. 8. Dust with powdered sugar and enjoy!

1. In a microwave safe bowl whisk together all the ingredients. 2. Heat in the microwave for one minute. Remove and whisk. 3. Continue microwaving for another 2 ½ minutes removing every 30 seconds to whisk. Each microwave is different, but it will begin to thicken. Once it is thick enough to only slowly drip off the spoon, it is ready. It will also thicken more as it cools.

CinnaYums

BBQ SHREDDED BEEF AND SWEET POTATO HAMANTASCHEN

CinnaYums 1-2 lbs of flanken or cholent meat Your favorite jar of bbq sauce or our quick homemade bbq sauce, see recipe Water, to cover 2-3 sweet potatoes, peeled and boiled till soft. Salt and pepper, to taste Malawach dough

Quick Homemade BBQ Sauce ½ cup ketchup ½ cup honey ⅓ cup soy sauce 1 tablespoon mustard

CinnaYums CinnaYums

Easy Microwave Lemon Curd Filling No need to patchke over the stove top, this microwave lemon

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1. Place the meat in a pot on the stove. Pour over most of the bbq sauce, leaving some left

1. Whisk together all the ingredients. Feel free to double or triple this recipe, it’s that good!

Cinn Yum Best Baked Goods

Located in Ramat Beit Shemesh Gimmel

Cinnay�mbaker�@g�ail.com

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Recipes and Photos By Rena Tuchinsky

Rifky's Creations

Eclairs

Simple How-To Guide

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Rifky Nachmani is originally from New York and currently living in Israel. She has always had a passion for baking from a young age which now developed into a profession that she loves. She believes that a creation should taste as good as it looks. Here she shares her recipe and technique on how to produce an éclair in your own home with professional results. While eclairs can appear to be complicated and time consuming, you will be amazed how simple it could be using the following method. Remember it’s not just baking its creating.

ÉCLAIR (PATE A CHOUX)

1 cup water 1 tablespoon sugar ½ cup oil ¾ teaspoon salt 1 cup flour 4 large eggs 1. Preheat oven to 400˚F (200˚C) 2. Place water, oil, sugar and salt in a medium saucepan and heat 3. When mixture reaches a boil, add all the flour at once and mix with a wooden spoon 4. Stir constantly until mixture pulls away from the sides of pan and forms a ball. 5. Remove pan from stovetop and transfer mixture to a mixing bowl. Using the paddle attachment, mix until no steam is rising. Add eggs one at a time making sure each is completely incorporated before adding the next. 6. Mixture is ready when it is shiny and ribbony and it doesn’t break when pulled between two fingers. 7. Prepare a pastry bag with a large star or round tip and fill it with the Pate a Choux. 8. Line a baking pan with parchment paper (Helpful tip): pipe a drop of batter on the four corners of the pan and place parchment paper on top, this will keep it in place for piping. 9. Pipe the Pate a Choux as straight as possible into 10 cm strips, (with practice this becomes simple) 10, Bake for 25 minutes. The oven should NOT be open before that time. When ready, they should be golden, puffed, hollow and light.

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PASTRY CRÈME

2 cups + 1 tablespoon milk (soy milk, coffee rich, coconut milk) 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 6 large egg yolks ½ cup sugar 5 tablespoons cornstarch 3 tablespoons butter (for pareve omit) 1. In a medium bowl whisk together egg yolks, sugar, cornstarch and 1 tablespoon milk. 2. Heat the 2 cups of milk with the vanilla until it simmers. 3. Slowly pour half of it into the egg mixture while whisking, do this slowly so the eggs don’t curdle. Once completely mixed pour the egg mixture into the remaining milk and mix. 4. Return to heat and constantly whisk so lumps don’t form, Crème is ready when mixture thickens and bubbles start to pop. If it becomes lumpy, mix very well and add a drop of milk. Remove from heat and whisk in the butter. 5. Cover with plastic wrap making sure it touches the crème so it won’t form a skin. Let crème cool completely. 6. When ready to fill the eclairs, mix the crème with an immersion blender, this makes the crème very smooth.

GANACHE

4oz chocolate 4oz heavy cream (or non-dairy cream) 1. Heat cream and pour onto chocolate, mix well until shiny.

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FILLING

1. To fill eclairs, make a hole with a small star piping tip or any sharp object on the bottom of the éclair. When making longer eclairs make a hole on both sides to ensure the crème will reach the entire éclair. 2. Fill pastry bag with the pastry crème and cut off the tip. Fill eclairs and be sure its full, an empty éclair could be very disappointing.

GLAZING

1. You want the ganache to be the perfect consistency to glaze, it should not be too runny because then it’ll drip down and won’t be pretty. If it’s too thick it won’t be smooth. So u want it to be in-between runny and thick. 2. Dip the top of the éclair inside the ganache and take out, wipe off any drips. 3. To give the eclairs some style I like to decorate them with chocolate pieces, crushed meringues, nuts or a drizzle…but they’ll taste just as good without it.

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Tips for

Healthy Living

Portion Control Need help sticking to sensible food portions, but donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to constantly measure your food? Here are some easy steps to follow without a measuring cup or scale:

1 TRICK YOURSELF Use a small plate and fill it up with your food. Doing this will make you feel as if you have lots, but really it is less than what you usually have on your plate.

2 DIVIDE THE PLATE Using a regular size plate follow this method. Fill up half of your plate with vegetables. On the other side fill half of that space with your carb and the other half with a protein.

3 If you are still hungry after eating smaller portions than you are used to, donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t worry eventually it will pass and your stomach will begin to shrink and get used to it. In the meantime, drink lots of water and fill up on fruits and veggies.

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USE YOUR HANDS Vegetables- The size of two fists, though there is really no need to measure here. No one got fat eating too many vegetables. Carbohydrates- The size of one fist. Protein- The size of your palm.

Eye on Health

Eat Real Food!

hen you’re starting on a new health journey, knowing what to eat can seem confusing. For starters, there is a ton of conflicting advice out there, with proponents of each diet insisting their diet is the healthiest. The truth is, the best diet depends on which one works best for you. Factors that determine this include your individual food sensitivities, digestive health, blood sugar handling, and stress handling. With customization tips in mind, one basic rule still applies across the board: Eat whole foods. When you eliminate foods that have been through processing (like breakfast cereal or chips), foods with artificial colorings, additives, and preservatives, and foods laden with industrialized fats and too much sugar, you are already on solid ground nutritionally. This means sticking largely to the produce, meat, and nut sections in the grocery store. Use healthy, natural fats such as coconut oil and olive oil. Avoid vegetable oils, which are

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unstable and become inflammatory free radicals in your body. Avoid hydrogenated oil as it has been shown to damage brain cells and raise heart disease risk. You have to develop new habits to shop for and prep vegetables, cook healthy meats, and wean yourself off sodas, pizza pockets, chips, and other quick-grab items. But you’ll start feeling so much better you won’t mind. In fact, you’ll likely feel enthusiastic about it. When eating real food is difficult Some people favor processed food because they have trouble digesting real foods. This is a red flag digestion is seriously compromised. For instance, if your stomach feels heavy after eating meat, as if it just sits there and does not digest, your stomach may be low in hydrochloric acid (HCl). HCl is necessary to digest meats and it’s a common deficiency. A diet that consists primarily of produce is very beneficial. However, the dramatic increase in fiber from eating more fresh fruits and vegetables causes digestive problems in some people. Factors that make eating

produce difficult include an overgrowth of the wrong bacteria, low HCl, insufficient output of pancreatic enzymes, inflammation of the gut lining, and other digestive issues. These people need to work on restoring gut health and slowly ease into eating more vegetables. Blood sugar and stress handling Most Americans eat too many carbohydrates and sugars, which contributes significantly to inflammation and chronic disease. At the same time, not everyone fares well on a very low-carb diet. People with chronically low blood sugar and adrenal fatigue need to eat smaller meals more frequently to protect their brain health, whereas others find eating three meals per day optimal. Some people feel great on a very low-carb, or ketogenic, diet, while others develop anxiet y and insomnia. Finding the right amount of carbohydrates to eat so that you keep blood sugar stable and lower inflammation, yet function optimally, can take some tweaking. Then, as blood sugar and stress handling improve, you may be able to readjust.

Chapter 11 Chave joins Evie on her trip to Rome even though her parents disapprove. Chava looks forward to this trip to forget about her problems at home. ome was as new and modernized as it was ancient and quiet. Their hotel was a collection of quirky apartments decked from floor to ceiling in Baroque-inspired paintings and busts, and it was nestled in the center of town, off Via di Torre Argentina, a few minutes by foot, they were promised, from Piazza Venezia, the Roman Forum, and the Colosseum. After unpacking their things, showering, and changing from their plane clothes, Chava and Evie took the stairs two at a time and exited the gate of their building onto the cobblestone street. “Cats!” Evie yanked Chava by the hand and pulled her across the street, hardly checking for cars, towards what appeared to be a dent in the earth. They reached the glass railing and looked down. Below them was a grassy area strewn with ancient Roman ruins, eroded stone steps with half-standing pillars. Between stones, buds of grass and trees burst forth. And, nestled amongst the pillars, sunning on top of the steps, inexplicably, was an impressive collection of cats. “Real Roman cats,” Evie said. “Evie—” Chava laughed. “Real Roman ruins!” “They’re just sitting here in this little oasis from the street,”

finding chava By: Shira Katz

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Evie said. “Cute little kitties.” Evie began making cooing noises and gesturing to one of the tabbies who was eyeing her, rubbing its face on a stone and turning up its tail. Chava shook her head, surprised but knowing she shouldn’t be, that Evie’s first fascination with Rome was with a bunch of cats. Chava took a turn around. They were in the middle of a busy traffic circle, modern European

“I never thought any place could look like this." cars cruising around them, busses stopping, beautiful white stone and brick buildings rising up around them. And in the middle, this small depression filled with the remnants of another time, the pillars still straining towards the sky, with no one left to walk up their stairs, no one left to stand in the plaza and marvel at the marble edifices. The city revolved around it, but seemed to pass on without considering it. “Come here, kitty.” Evie had bent down and was sticking her hand through the bottom of the glass to pet the top of the head of a cat who had stretched up towards her. Chava snorted. “Come on,

Rabbi Dr. Yoseif Rabbi (Jeffrey) Daniel Glanz Glanz Evie. Do you want to see the city or pet more cats?” “Hard question,” Evie said. She stood up and brushed her hands off on the bottom of her shirt. “Why are all these cats sitting on these ruins anyway?” “Oh, so you noticed the ruins, did you?” Evie elbowed her. “It’s a cat sanctuary,” Chava said. “There was a sign. They’re adoptable.” They crossed the street. “That sounds nice,” Evie said. She linked her arm through Chava’s. “I want to adopt a Roman cat.” “Good luck with customs,” Chava said. They walked down a large thoroughfare towards the Piazza Venezia, where the Altare della Patria rose up before them in brilliant white, statues of horses and winged men standing on the roof, the tomb of the unknown soldier surrounded in gold and wreaths. They stood admiring it for a while, before Evie asked someone to take a picture of them. Chava leaned into Evie and smiled, trying to remind herself that she was in Rome, a trip of a lifetime, and that she was supposed to be having fun. As the photographer asked them to pose in different ways and turned Evie’s phone sideways, Chava felt like she was floating somewhere above this scene, experiencing it in body but not in soul. They explored the city on cobblestone streets, fighting crowds from the Trevi Fountain to Piazza Navona,

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where they sat down at a beautiful street-side café towards sunset. As the waiter brought them their drinks, Chava shook her head. “I never thought any place could look like this,” she said. Every building was so delicate, so beautiful, so artistic and striking, that she could hardly believe what she had seen only in this one day. They hadn’t even scraped the bottom of the ancient ruins, and she was already entranced by the modern city. “Here’s to us,” Evie said. Chava looked up, and they clinked their glass together. Chava took a sip, looking out across the square towards a sparkling fountain. “I feel like they have squares and fountains every five feet,” Chava said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” The sun was setting behind a domed building, and the pleasant heat of the day was fading into a cool, star-speckled night. They walked along a large road down towards the Tiber River, and then across a bridge into the Trastevere neighborhood, where their hotel concierge had told them they could find the Roman nightlife. A string of lights hung from the rafts of a pop-up art and crafts sale. They breezed through the stalls, trying on scarves and hats, snapping

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pictures, draping themselves in necklaces and striking ridiculous poses. Halfway down the path, Chava found a black mesh fedora with a polka dot sash tied around it, and bought it on impulse. She let down her hair and put on the hat as they reached the end of the shops and turned down a quiet path near the river. Eventually they sat down beside a lamp-lit tree. “We haven’t sat by our lake in a while,” Evie said. “No, we haven’t.” That time after art class where Evie had dragged her to their spot by the lake seemed not only thousands of miles away, but a full lifetime away. “Art class got boring after that, didn’t it?” Chava said. “Well nothing can be quite as exciting as you finding a picture like that of your parents, can it?” Chava nodded. She watched a lone duck float along the river’s currents. Being so many miles away, in the end, didn’t make her problems seem any less important. Sitting here on the banks of another river, thinking about the same problems, made her wonder why she thought it would. “Is anything going to solve this?” Chava asked. Evie placed her hand over Chava’s. “I’m not sure,” she said. Chava leaned her head back on

the grass and looked up at the stars. Evie laid next to her after a second. “It was so weird being at Shoshana’s house for Shabbos,” Chava said. “I know,” Evie said. “You told me.” “But—” Chava paused. She swirled her hands around in the cool grass. “I still remember some of it like it was out of a dream. You know? Not like, things people said. But, how the kitchen smelled when they brought out the soup. The tunes of the songs they sang.” “Nothing is wrong with how they live their lives. They’re just not like us.” “Right,” Chava said. She knitted her brow. “Not like us.” ••• The next day, Chava and Evie started off their day early with a coupon to the group tours of Palatine Hill. They bought a whimsical bright yellow lacy umbrella from a street vendor to shade them from the sun, and then walked along the grassy hill past ancient stadiums and palaces. Chava yearned to run her fingers along the intricate carvings in the stones. After about an hour and a half they rounded a corner and came upon a fenced pathway built into the side of the cliff, with their first view of the Colosseum

Rabbi Daniel Glanz

in the near distance. Giddy, they hurried through the rest of Palatine Hill, leaving their tour group behind. But the path that they thought would take them to the Colosseum dumped them in the middle of the Roman Forum, which was no less grand. Chava’s mouth dropped open as they turned in circles around the forum. It stretched further than she could ever have imagined, as detailed and intricate as it must have been the last day it had been used as a marketplace. Some of the statues were preserved immaculately, and some showed signs of wear from rain, and wind, from neglect and age, with an eerie, serene look to their broken limbs and weathered stone dresses. They walked along in awe, back towards the Colosseum, taking in the tall columns, the halves of archways and ruins of buildings. Chava tried to imagine what this all might have looked like, so long ago. She tried to add roofs to the buildings, heads to the statues, vendors to the streets crowded with tourists. Evie was reading haphazardly from her guide book about the buildings and temples they passed, and Chava was only half-listening, too entranced by her daydream of what this all would have been in its time. As the Colosseum grew larger in

the distance, Chava pretended that she was a Roman vendor herself, maybe the wife of a senator, coming to the forum for the day, maybe ending her day with a reenactment of a famous battle at the Colosseum. She felt the wind in her hair, imagined that it was the same wind that touched the faces of a thousand Roman citizens. She increased her pace and drew Evie after her, her eyes on the Colosseum which she now viewed through the narrow opening of the towering arch they were passing through, excited to see what lay behind its old arched walls, excited to imagine what it must have been like. Chava stopped. Evie bumped into her and then stumbled backwards. She looked up and followed Chava’s gaze, which was fixed, dumbfounded, on a magnificent relief on the inside of the arch. “This is the Arch of Titus,” Evie said. She was thumbing through her guidebook. “It was constructed by the Emperor Domitian in honor of his brother, Titus, and his victories in battle. It was built in 82 of the common era.” Evie paused. “It’s old.” Chava took another step forward, her brow knitted, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, other than what was looming before her. “It’s a menorah,”

she said. “A what?” “That.” Chava lifted an arm towards the relief, an eroding scene of men hauling away spoils on their shoulders. Carved out of the stone, standing out towards her with its seven even branches, was a menorah being carried away. “That is a menorah.” Evie nodded after a moment, pointing to a paragraph in her guidebook. “‘One of Titus’ most famous battles is depicted on the arch,’” Evie read from her guidebook, “‘the Siege of Jerusalem.’” Chava shook off Evie’s arm, frustrated that she didn’t seem to understand. “It’s a menorah,” she said again. “Yeah, the guidebook says—” “I don’t care what the guidebook says,” Chava said. “Then—why do you care?” “It’s a menorah, Evie,” Chava said. If there was any symbol she had seen more repeated in any of her Jewish books, one symbol she had seen on all of her internet searches, it was the menorah. And here it was, etched into a stone from thousands of years ago, men carrying away the menorah from Jerusalem. It was like she was feeling a millennia-old slap. She remembered, vaguely, reading about Jerusalem, reading

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Table of Contents

about the Roman war and the destruction of the Temple. It had been in one of her books that discussed the basis for the Jewish holidays. The book had said the Jews were in exile. Chava hadn’t understood what the book meant. She didn’t live in exile. She lived in America like everyone else. What was Jerusalem to her, other than another name in another book? She remembered looking at the English translations of some of the songs and prayers Shoshana’s family had sang on Friday night, and seeing that many of them referenced Jerusalem. At the time, she had shrugged. How many other weird things had they done? But now, staring at this arch, this ancient arch in the middle of Rome, with the menorah standing out, almost like it was pushing to break free, Chava didn’t feel so disconnected anymore. That was a symbol of her Judaism. That was her menorah. And it was being stolen from her. “Chava?” “Let’s go.” Chava marched away from the arch, feeling uneasy and jittery. She and Evie finally entered the Colosseum, but Chava’s attention was shot, and they left after Evie had taken all the pictures she wanted. Chava spent most of her time leaning on a stone railing, looking down into the pit of the Colosseum, thinking about that menorah. The sun was only beginning to set as they left the main tourist

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areas of ancient Rome and made their way back towards the city center. They took a narrow street down towards the river, thinking to find a place for dinner. They passed through tiny squares with little fountains, enclosed by cobblestones and brick. Chava’s mind was churning. After everything she had experienced, she didn’t know why she should be bothered or should care about seeing a menorah. She had decided to leave all of that stuff behind, especially after being at Shoshana’s house. They emerged onto a street, and for the second time, Chava stopped mid-pace, wondering if she had simply conjured this out of her fevered thoughts. But Evie spoke first. “It’s a Jewish star,” she said. Chava stared at it and then shook her head. She didn’t believe in coincidences like this. She began walking again, and Evie caught up with her. “We’re in the Jewish quarter,” she said. “I didn’t realize how close it was to our hotel.” Before Chava’s eyes, three men with bears and yarmulkes emerged from a restaurant. She could hardly believe that she had traveled this many miles away only to find the exact same thing. The same dress, the same Hebrew words written on the glass windows. “The synagogue is over there,” Evie said. “It’s famous.” “I want to go,” Chava said. to be continued...

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Behind the Mask By Lily Rosenberg

hree hours after Pessy quietly unlocked the back door to her house, removed her shoes, and slid on the wooden floors towards the staircase, two consecutive phone calls awoke her mother. Three hours after Pessy climbed each step individually, skipping over the step that creeped, and walked the seven steps to her bedroom door with creeping, painful silence, her mother woke her father. Three hours after Pessy had opened the door to the room she shared with her sister, Dini, changed into pajamas, slipped under the covers, and closed her eyes, her parents knocked and barged through the door. “Pesya. Dina. Wake up.” The lights turned on. Pessy hadn’t really been asleep; she had heard her parents’ footsteps and the twisting of her door handle. Dini was still snoring lightly. Someone was shaking her shoulder. “Pesya. Up.” Pessy opened her eyes to see her mother standing over Dini’s bed, trying to wake her as well. She glanced at her alarm clock, which was glowing red and bright in the darkened room, until her mother thrust open the curtains and weak sunlight washed out the numbers. 7:00am. Pessy’s father was standing immobile in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, staring at the floor. Pessy sat straight up. “Tatty? What’s wrong?” Her father lifted his eyes to meet hers, but her mother immediately stepped in front of him.

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“Up. Out of bed. Now.” Pessy stood, and shrugged on a robe that had been thrown over her chair. “What’s going on?” “Dina, right now.” Dini sat up and pushed her blanket aside, swinging her feet towards the carpet. “It’s so early Mommy—” “Where were you last night, Pesya?” Pessy blinked several times. She met eyes with her sister, who was staring at her. Her heart began to gallop. “Last night? I wasn’t anywhere last night—” “Pesya, this is not a game. You were seen.” Her mother’s hands were shaking. Pessy swallowed. She couldn’t look at either of her parents. She felt herself begin to sweat, and a burning sensation crawled up her throat, into her cheeks. She could hardly think over the pounding in her chest. “Nothing—I didn’t do anything—” “After all the time we have spent in shidduchim,” her mother said. “After everything we’ve done, planning so carefully, making everything perfect—” Her father took a step towards them. “Mommy got a phone call this morning, Pessy,” he said. “From Mrs. Fromm.” “Mrs. Fromm from school?” Dini asked. “Quiet, Dina,” her mother said. Her face was bright red. “Mrs. Fromm from school,” her father said. “And it seems as though—” “And you were seen!” Pessy’s mother gripped the side of her desk chair. “You were seen, last night, by Mrs. Moskovitz. Three hours ago, Pessy!” Pessy opened her mouth but her mother continued. “Mrs. Moskovitz saw you getting out of a car at four in the morning, and sneaking in through the back door of this house.” Her mother stared at her, and Pessy said nothing. Her mother finally sank into the chair. “How could you do this?” “I’m sorry—” Pessy began. “She’s sorry,” her mother said. She shook her head, resting her forehead on her palm. “How could you have done this?” Pessy began to feel blood draining as rapidly

from her face as it had come. She placed a hand against the wall to keep herself from swaying. She looked towards her father, who was watching her, his face unreadable. “Mrs. Fromm,” he said, “called about an incident that happened last night.” “What’s going on? I thought Pessy was here last night. I saw her go to sleep before I fell asleep.” Dini said. She sat up straighter, looking between Pessy and her parents. “She shouldn’t know of such things,” Pessy’s mother said. “It’s shameful, what happened.” Pessy dropped her father’s gaze and closed her eyes as tightly as possible. She tried to remember the best of last night, of what had been worth it, of how she had felt just a few hours before this. “She said that—” “Not in front of Dini,” Pessy’s mother said. Her father paused. “Pessy knows where she was,” he said. “A place like that,” her mother said. “A place you know we’d never set foot in. A place we would never allow. A place not meant for bnos melech.” “There was alcohol,” her father said. Dini’s mouth dropped open. Tears began to leak from Pessy’s eyes. Pessy’s mother stood suddenly. “How could you do this, Pessy? Do you not care about your future?” A sound from the hallway made them all turn, and gave Pessy a quick moment to breathe. Her brother Yaakov was standing at the threshold. “What’s happening?” Her mother shook her head. “Not for your ears.” All of her children looked at her. “Not for any of your ears,” she said. “Did I ever think this would happen in my own house? Is this how I raised you, Pessy? Sneaking out at night? Is this what you’ve learned from me?” Yaakov’s eyes slid away from his mother and met Pessy’s. She looked away quickly. The phone began to ring, and her mother threw up her hands. “That might be the shadchan. We won’t see another match from a good family, I’ll tell you that. I hope you’re happy, Pesya.” Pessy’s mother swept from the room, leaving silence in her wake. Her father approached her, laid a hand on her cheek. She looked up at him, tears blurring her vision. Bayis |

“Please tell me what happened,” he said. Pessy shook her head, her throat too heavy for words. He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have to know what happened,” he said. “Please, shefele.” Pessy took a deep breath, and tried to blink tears away. “What’s going to happen to me?” Dini asked. “Will I get in trouble at school?” Yaakov stepped into the room. “Why would Dini get in trouble?” “Tatty—” Pessy began, her chest heaving. “Mommy said she snuck out!” Dini whispered. Yaakov whipped his head towards her. “I’m sorry, Tatty!” Pessy’s voice erupted into violent sobs. She fell into her father’s arms, and he held her tight. Over his shoulder, she met Yaakov’s insistent gaze. After the phone call, which was not from a shadchan, but from another concerned neighbor who said they had seen Pessy getting into a car late at night last week, her mother charged upstairs and took her cell phone. She flipped open the phone, scrolled through messages, and then slammed it shut. “You had time to delete any bad messages, I see. I should have taken your phone this morning.” Pessy said nothing. She sat on her bed with her hands folded on her skirt and looked at the floor. “I’m so disappointed,” her mother said. She closed the door behind her, and Pessy fell sideways onto the bed, her tears dried up, her eyes stinging. Dini’s bed was made, as she had gone to school shortly after this morning’s episode. Pessy’s mother was right—she had deleted any suspicious messages. She deleted them every night before she went to sleep, just in case. Pessy sighed and closed her eyes. Just in case. Was this the in case? She had no way of contacting anyone now. She didn’t even know their numbers by heart. Would they still come for her in the car tonight? Would her parents catch them? Pessy could hear her mother moving around

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downstairs. Of course, her mother wouldn’t be going to the store today. Pessy wasn’t allowed out of the house without a chaperone, they had decided, and her mother probably wanted to stay home to make sure she didn’t go anywhere. Pessy just wished that Dini hadn’t had to witness any of it. Her mother had spent a good fifteen minutes interrogating Dini before she went to school, and her poor bewildered younger sister stumbled through answers of “no,” and “I never heard anything” before her mother let her leave. Pessy had known Dini hadn’t heard anything. Dini was an incredibly deep sleeper. It was what let Pessy leave and come back each night without being detected. Pessy rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Bright sunlight bounced off the walls. The thought of never going back, of never seeing them again, made tears well up in her eyes. She flicked away tears with the back of her hand, and sat up. She listened a good, hard while for her mother’s footsteps downstairs before she slid both hands under her bed and drew out two large binders. She cast her gaze wildly about the room. Where to hide them? No place in this room could be safe anymore, not with the search she was sure would come tonight when her father got home. Pessy listened again, closing her eyes and trying to imagine where her mother was right now, and calculating how much time she had. Pessy leaped out of bed and with a practiced move, creaked the door open soundlessly. She placed each foot slowly and evenly, one in front of the other, the few paces to her brother’s room, which stood cleaned and empty since his departure this morning. Pessy quickly shoved the binders into his closet, behind a line of seforim, and then raced back to her room, closed the door, and flopped back onto her bed. Her mother came up the stairs moments later. She opened the door, surveyed her daughter, and then sat on Pessy’s chair. She tapped her fingers on Pessy’s desk. “I’ve gotten two calls from the shadchan. First, Meyer Bernstein’s family has cancelled. Second, she has said that she thinks it would be better if you spoke to Mrs. Steinberg.”

Pessy lifted her eyes to her mother. “Mrs. Steinberg,” her mother said. “Do you know what she said to me?” Her mother laughed. “She said, ‘I think it would be better if you spoke to Mrs. Steinberg. She has success with cases like this.’” Pessy swallowed a lump in her throat. “I don’t understand,” her mother said. “Do you not want to get married?” “I do,” Pessy said. Her voice sounded small, even to her. “Do you really want the types of boys Mrs. Steinberg has?” “No,” Pessy said. “I don’t.” “Well, that’s what we have now.” Pessy and her mother stared at each other. “Tatty has to go to work, and people will talk about him. Dini has to go to school, and girls will stare at her. Yaakov has to sit and learn and hope his rebbeim haven’t heard. And what of his shidduchim?” “I’m sorry, Mommy,” Pessy said. “You didn’t think about anyone but yourself,” her mother said. “No,” Pessy said. “I didn’t raise you like this.” “No,” Pessy said. She looked up at her mother again, who sighed and looked away. “I don’t know what to do now,” her mother said. “What can we possibly do?” Pessy thought of the binders she had stashed behind Yaakov’s seforim, thought that she should have taken a closer look at which seforim they were, in case he needed one, in case he took one off the shelf tonight, and her binders fell to the ground, open. “Did someone make you go?” Pessy was jolted from her thoughts. “What?” “Did someone make you? Did someone convince you, influence you?” Her mother’s voice cracked. Pessy had words formed on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them. “No, they didn’t.” “Then why?” Her mother’s eyes had finally, after a morning of screaming and stomping, filled with tears. Pessy wanted desperately to comfort her, but she couldn’t. Not with those binders in Yaakov’s closet. “I just wanted—” She paused, and thought of the dark room, the soft lighting, the sound of laughter. “I just wanted to—” Her words melted into her throat as she swallowed. She thought again of

her friends, seated around the table, of the words spoken to her, right before she had left last night. This is an achievement. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” she said. Pessy didn’t have her phone anymore, so she couldn’t have known that the news that she had been caught sneaking out at night with alcohol was spreading like wildfire, and that her friends were trying desperately to get in contact with her. They were all shocked. Some were horrified. Some were adamant that Pessy never could have done such a thing. No one knew what to believe, and no one could reach her. When Dini came home from school, she entered the bedroom, looked at Pessy, and then quickly looked away, dropping her bag on her desk and beginning to pull out books. Pessy watched her from her bed, where she had been lying all day. “How was it?” she said. Dini paused, and then finished taking her books out and stuffed her bag under her desk. She sat and didn’t turn to look at her sister. “Some of my friends asked me if it was true. One of the Rebbetzins told me that she would not judge me based on your actions, but that I should not let myself be influenced by you.” There was silence between them. Dini tapped a pencil against her notebook. “I don’t understand,” she said. Pessy stifled a laugh that climbed into her throat. How many times would she hear that before the day was over? Dini finally turned to look at her. “I don’t understand, Pessy. Why didn’t you say anything to me? I never heard you leave at night. Why would you do it?” Pessy shook her head. “I didn’t want to involve you,” she said. “I just can’t imagine you getting up and leaving every night.” Dini sighed. “I just—Pessy, I just always looked up to you.” They stared at each other, and then Dini picked up her books and notebook. “I’m going to do my homework downstairs.” Pessy said nothing. She watched her sister leave, just as she had watched her mother leave. The smell of baked chicken wafted in from downstairs, but the thought of food made her queasy. The thought of sitting around the table with her Bayis |

family, all of their eyes beating into her soul, made her want to run. Made her want to snatch those binders from Yaakov’s room. Pessy stood and stretched each limb, holding her arms out in front of her and flexing her fingers, reaching out towards the wall, towards her window, where she could just see the fading outline of a tree against the darkening sky. She turned, and there was a shadow in her doorway. “When can we talk?” Pessy shushed him. “Not now, obviously,” she said. She craned her neck around him to see if anyone else was within earshot. “Pessy—” Yaakov started. “Pessy, why are you doing this?” “Hush!” Pessy rushed to the doorway. “Go away,” she said, shooing him. Yaakov backed up a few steps, before leaning in slightly. “I’m not going to let you do this,” he whispered. “I’m not talking about this now,” Pessy said. “Please go away.” “You’re ruining everything—” ‘You’re ruining everything,” Pessy whispered. Tears pressed against her eyes. “Please go away, Yaakov, please go.” “When?” he asked. “I don’t know, I really don’t know. I don’t know how much Mommy and Tatty will be watching me. Just not now.” Yaakov inclined his head and turned to descend the staircase. Pessy closed her eyes, her back pressed against the wall. She pressed a hand against her forehead. The front door opened and she heard her father’s voice in slightly louder tones than usual. Yaakov began to speak over him. Pessy’s eyes flew open and she rushed down the stairs as quickly as she could. She nearly slid into a bookcase before rounding the corner into the kitchen. “You’re home, Tatty,” she said. Her father’s face pulled into a frown. Dini was gaping at her, and Yaakov closed his mouth in a tight line and leaned against the wall. “You spoke over your brother. Please apologize.” Pessy threw a look at him. “I’m sorry, Yaakov,”

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she said. She thought she heard Yaakov snort. “Well.” Pessy’s mother stood holding a steaming pyrex. “Are you girls going to help me set the table?” Dini jumped up and Pessy followed her, wondering if committing herself to an entire dinner of scrutiny was worth Yaakov’s silence. Once the table was set, Pessy helped her mother carry in the pots from the kitchen. Dini poured water into all of the glasses, and their father sat down. Pessy placed the last bowl of rice next to his plate, and then took her seat. There was silence. Nobody moved. Dini reached out a hand to grasp her cup, and then retracted it, folding both hands in her lap and looking down at her empty plate. “Well,” Pessy’s mother said again. Her father began to pass the food around the table. Pessy put very little on her plate. Her stomach was flipping. “Well there’s no point sitting in silence, is there?” Her mother asked. “We’re starting practice for production next week after school,” Dini said. “Oh, what’s the theme this year?” Pessy said. Dini looked at her and then looked away. Pessy swallowed, her mouth dry. She picked up her water and then set it down, her fingers still gripping the glass. “I’ve had multiple calls about our shalach manos this year,” her mother said. “I have to go into the store tomorrow to show our boxes. Bnos Miriam called me, they might want to use us this year.” “That’s good,” her father said. “That’s a lot of business.” “Pessy will have to come with me to the store tomorrow,” her mother said. Her father met eyes with her mother briefly before nodding. “You’ll go to the store with Mommy tomorrow,” he said. “You’ll be with her all day.” Pessy nodded. “As for tonight,” her mother began. “As for tonight,” her father said, “Dini will sleep in Chaya’s old room. Pessy, we’re going to lock you in for the night.” Pessy blinked slowly, and then began to nod her head. What else could she have expected?

She felt her shoulders sag. She had no idea how or when she would get those binders back, but if she was going to be locked in, she certainly wanted them. And there was still the lingering fear that they would try to come for her tonight. How long would they stay before they realized she wasn’t coming? “How long?” Yaakov asked. Pessy looked up. He was ignoring her, directly his attention towards their parents. “How long what?” her father asked. “How long is this going to go on for—” “I deserve it!” Pessy stood suddenly. “I deserve it.” She began to clear plates. “Thank you for dinner, Mommy, it was delicious—” “How long will you—” “Yaakov, please sit down,” her father said. Yaakov dropped into his seat, his eyebrows drawn. “We will deal with the situation as is appropriate,” her father said. Pessy nodded along with him. She paused at the threshold to the kitchen, wondering if it was safe to go upstairs now. What if Yaakov tried to speak again? She returned to the table, fingering the delicate scrollwork that laced across the top of the wooden chairs. “When should I go back to my room?” She said. Her father tilted his head slightly, his fingers absentmindedly scrunching his napkin into a ball. “Please come back after you’ve cleared the table,” he said. Pessy helped her mother and Dini load the dishwasher. After a while, Yaakov took the stairs two at a time before slamming his door. Her mother looked up briefly at the sound, and then shook her head, dried her hands off, and handed the towel to Dini. “Please put it in the laundry bin, and then go move your things to Chaya’s room.” “Yes, Mommy.” Pessy’s mother brushed past her without saying a word. Pessy took in a few deep breaths, gripping the fake granite countertop, before steadying herself and walking back into the dining room. Her father was still crumbling his napkin, his head still tilted. He didn’t look at her as she came in. She sat, latticing her fingers in her lap. “Mommy is very upset,” he said. Pessy nodded. She tried to relax her shoulders. “This is not something I ever thought you would do.” He leaned forward towards her. “I still don’t

understand why.” Looking into her father’s eyes, she wanted nothing more than to tell him the truth. How bad would it be? Just a swift explanation, a repeating of those words—an achievement—just a description, maybe, of what it felt like, of what she dreamed of— “I’m sorry,” Pessy said. Her father drew away, and so did she, pressing her back against her chair. He would never understand, and neither would her mother. Why would she even try? She snuck a glance at her father’s drawn face from underneath her eyelashes. She surveyed his thick round glasses, his slight stubble that had grown in since the morning. It was hard to imagine that he had ever been young, that he had ever been shorter and skinnier and paler, with fewer wrinkles and more hair, with a youthful smile and brighter eyes. “When you came home from seminary,” he said, “you asked us to stay at home, and we said yes.” “Tatty—” “How many times did we try to get you to apply to Rebbetzin Kaufman’s seminary for social work?” Pessy wanted to knock her head against the table. “And what did you keep saying to us? That you had a plan. How many times did I try to get you to go to work with your sister? And what did you say? That you had a plan.” Her father met her eyes. “Well, Pessy? Was this your plan?” Pessy blinked back tears. Her father sighed, placed both palms down on the table, and then stood. “Please go to your room now.” Pessy nearly scrambled from the table and up the stairs. The hallway was empty, and she considered for a brief moment retrieving her binders from Yaakov’s room. She wouldn’t be able to go after they locked her in, and the longer she left them there, the more likely it was that they would be discovered. She turned towards his room and was about to spring towards it when her mother came out of her room, wiping her hands on her skirt. Her mother raised her eyebrows. “Of course we looked,” she said. Pessy let out a breath and followed her mother’s hand gestures into her room. “I’ll wake you up at eight,” her mother said. “We need to be at the store by nine.” Bayis | 51

Pessy nodded, and her mother closed the door behind it. She heard the key turn in the lock. Pessy reached above her head and pulled on the cord to turn off the overhead lights. She lay on her bed without changing into pajamas, listening to the sounds of her family outside. After a while, she scooted towards the window and poked her head above the windowsill. It was still cold outside, and the bare branches still swayed with silent encouragement. She knew the silence of her neighborhood in the dark, knew the stiff breeze and grayed, barely twinkling lights that dotted the sky. She used to go outside well before they would pick her up in the car. She liked to sit on the curb, to run her fingers along the chilled pavement, to be still with the empty, shadowed houses. Pessy retreated from the window. If she hadn’t stayed so long that night, swayed by those words and what they could mean for her, she wouldn’t have been seen by Mrs. Moskovitz. And she would be there tonight. In the darkness of her room Pessy faded between sleep and drifting through daydreams. Her father’s face echoed through her mind. Before she had left for seminary for the year, she had told her parents that she would start at Rebbetzin Kaufman’s seminary when she got back, for a social work degree. A lot of her friends out of seminary were with Rebbetzin Kaufman, and it was the simplest path. But one night in seminary, Pessy had come home to her roommate, Rivka, reading through one of her binders. She had been nearly incoherent with betrayal and anger, but Rivka had then told her that she needed to forget about social work, because this was her calling. Many hours after she had been locked in, a faint, insistent knock came at her door. Pessy had been dozing, and she had to listen for several moments before deciding it was a real knock and not from a dream. Pessy approached the door, two faint shadows of feet blocking the dim light of the hallway from entering her room. “Hello?” A piece of paper was slipped under the door and hit her toe. She bent to pick it up, and then retrieved a flashlight to illuminate it. Meet me in the alley between Katz’s Bakery and Ruben’s Deli tomorrow at 12:30.

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Pessy shook her head, grabbed a pencil, and immediately scribbled back. No. She shoved the paper back at him, and Yaakov took a few seconds before returning it. I will tell them. Pessy suppressed a groan. She clenched and unclenched her fist several times before sending the paper back and returning to her bed. Fine. 12:30. Her mother’s store opened at nine-thirty every morning, and when she and her mother arrived a little before nine, her mother tossed her in the back and gave her ten different shalach manos designs to construct as examples. She expected the ladies from Bnos Miriam between nine forty five and ten. Pessy sat on a backless wooden stool, unspooling yards of ribbon, stuffing colorful polka dotted boxes with layers of confetti and tissue paper, and delicately wrapping candies and arranging masks in boxes. She could hear the door jingle every once in a while, hear the muted conversation between her mother and her customers. While she worked, she imagined their conversations, imaged what each customer would look like, what they would want, and what they were returning to when they left the store. Every once in a while she checked her watch, irritated that she had this deadline and trying to think up excuses for how she would get there by herself. By ten-fifteen, the women from Bnos Miriam still hadn’t arrived, but the store was filling up, and Pessy’s mother came back to demand that she start packing gift items for customers. Her mother set a stack of challah covers, bechers, and pushkas before her. It was hard, spending hours locked back there, knowing what her mother thought, knowing what everyone in that store thought. Usually when she came to work with her mother, she was on the floor, chatting with customers. She knew why she wasn’t allowed out today. Pessy sat up straight, trying to clear her mind. It was almost time to meet Yaakov, and if she focused on that meeting, on seeing someone who knew the truth, it made it easier to breathe. She listened hard to what was happening in the front of the store, and when she heard quiet,

she emerged. “Mommy,” she said. Her mother was smoothing out dollars to fit in the register. “I thought I could pick up lunch for you,” she said. Her mother barely glanced at her. “You want to go out again, risk people seeing you?” Pessy swallowed. “I just want to help you,” she said. Her mother closed the register and sat down. “If you want to subject yourself to that, go ahead.” “Anything you’d like?” She asked. “Just my usual sandwich,” her mother said. She was writing something down. “I don’t know why the Bnos Miriam ladies didn’t come,” she said. Then she paused, and finally looked up at Pessy. Her stomach turned to ice. “You don’t think—” Her words came out as a whisper, and she closed her mouth, licked her lips, and tried again. “You’re not saying it’s because of me.” Her mother shook her head. “I’ll call them. But you should have thought of our business before you made your decisions.” Pessy turned on her heel and nearly ran out of the store before she burst into sobs. She kept her eyes down as she walked, not wanting to speak to anyone or see anyone she knew. She flew into the deli and made her sandwich orders, hardly giving the workers time to recognize her, and then pushed open the glass doors, looked both ways to see if anyone noticed her, and turned directly down the alleyway beside the restaurant. She walked halfway down, feeling the chill of the dank and sunless path, before she saw Yaakov standing behind a dumpster. “This is normal,” she said. Yaakov didn’t respond. “You look like you’ve been crying.” Pessy shrugged, and dug the toe of her shoe into a pile of tiny rocks on the ground. She kicked one under the dumpster. “It’s not worth it,” Yaakov said. “Isn’t it?” Yaakov stared at her. “You have to stop this, before it goes too far.” “What do you mean?” She laughed. “You mean I won’t get a shidduch because everyone thinks—” “Yes, Pessy! Yes, you won’t get a shidduch. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” “Of course it does,” she said. “But I think the

damage is already done.” “Then you don’t care about Dini, or Mommy, or Tatty. Or me.” “You know that’s not true.” Yaakov sighed, and Pessy shook her head. “I never should have told you,” she said. She glanced at her watch. “I need to go back before Mommy comes looking for me.” “What are you scared of?” Yaakov said. Pessy stopped mid-turn. “I feel like I lost everything,” she said. “You nearly did,” Yaakov said. “But you’re not even talking about that. You jeopardized your shidduchim, you alienated the whole community, and that’s not even what you’re talking about.” “No,” Pessy said. “I’m not talking about that.” “You’re never going to lose it,” Yaakov said. “It’s something you’ll have forever.” “No.” Pessy looked at him, but couldn’t make herself say more. “You can tell me,” he said. “What happened?” “Nothing happened.” Pessy squeezed her eyes tight and then opened them. “They said I’m ready. I’m ready to be published.” “That’s incredible,” Yaakov said. A hint of a smile began on his face, but Pessy was holding back tears. “You know what Mommy and Tatty would say. You know what they’d think.” “But this is such an achievement.” Pessy snorted. Two nights ago, sitting in the small, darkened room with the professor who volunteered a few nights a week to run the nighttime writing group, Pessy had come alive at those words. They had just finished workshopping an edit of one of Pessy’s stories, and at the end, the professor had just said, this is an achievement. And before she went home, the professor said that next time they would talk about getting her ready to submit for publication. But next time never came, because that morning Pessy had been caught by her parents. “I just don’t know what to do,” Pessy said. “I can’t tell them. They won’t understand.” “But you think this is better? You think it’s better for them to think that you were—at that place?” Pessy sighed. “Pessy, there was alcohol there. Do you think Bayis |

they could think anything worse of you than they do right now?” “It’s different,” she said. “I can handle them being mad about something like that.” Yaakov kicked his foot up against the wall. “So what are we going to do?” “I don’t know,” Pessy said. “You think they’re wondering what happened to you, at the college?” “Probably. Definitely.” He kicked up some dust with his shoe. “Is this really all worth it to you?” “Of course it is,” Pessy said without pause. “For my stories—of course it is.” Yaakov nodded again. “You should go,” he said. “Mommy will definitely be looking for you.” Pessy gave him a halfhearted salute and turned towards the deli to pick up her sandwiches. The college nighttime writing circle had been a pet project of one of the professors of creative writing who wanted to connect with students outside of the classroom. Pessy originally heard about it through her seminary roommate, Rivka. Rivka had a cousin who was enrolled in the college, and through her cousin, Pessy begged the professor to let her sit in on their writing nights, even though she wasn’t a student. She was convinced after Pessy sent in one of her writing samples. She had briefly explained her situation to the professor, and she had organized for another girl who lived a few blocks away to pick Pessy up in her car on the way to the sessions. Pessy had initially been incredibly shy and quiet, surrounded by five girls and a professor who were all dressed in pants and short sleeves. She didn’t know how to interact, how to explain how to pronounce her name, how to talk. But once they had started to share their writing, it mattered less and less. Pessy knew her writing was improving. Feedback helped her see her own stories in a new light, see where she needed to grow, where she needed to work. She began producing stories at a much faster pace than she ever had before, and the professor was delighted with her progress. It had been a few months of sneaking out before Yaakov had confronted her, saying that he had heard her coming in and out of the house for several nights, and seen her

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getting into a car from his window. She explained by showing him one of her stories. Yaakov had promised to keep her secret, but had warned her that it could end badly if she didn’t tell their parents. She hadn’t, of course, ever told their parents. And it had, in fact, ended badly. Pessy was taking her time brushing her hair out in the bathroom that night, trying to stall the time before her parents locked her in again. She was wondering what Rivka would say to her now. Rivka had always encouraged her to pursue her writing, was always the first to be excited about a new story, to tell her that one day she’d be reading Pessy’s novels in hardcover over Shabbos. It didn’t seem so likely, right now. Someone knocked at the bathroom door. “It’s getting late,” her mother said. “Hurry up.” Pessy put down her brush and emerged from the bathroom. She glanced longingly into the empty hallway as her mother closed her door and locked her in, and then she sat at her desk, swiveling back and forth on her chair, missing Dini and wanting desperately to go back to the writing circle. Pessy sighed, sprang up and began to pace. She could deal with being locked in. She could even deal with being tossed over to Mrs. Steinberg’s shidduch list. She couldn’t deal with her parents disapproving of her writing. She couldn’t deal with them seeing what she had done, what she poured her soul into, and casting it away. This night did not pass as quickly as the one before, and Pessy couldn’t dream of attempting to fall asleep. She found a set of colored pencils on Dini’s shelf, and started coloring on the edge of an old novel. She drew a tall girl in a purple gown, with flowing blond hair and green eyes, and then she colored over the hair with a black scarf and a golden tiara, as if she was Esther HaMalka. Behind her, Pessy colored in a fanciful castle with turrets and high windows. She had never been a great artist, but she appreciated the silly picture nonetheless. She wondered vaguely what it had felt like for her, to be practicing the biggest deception of them all, to go before Achashverosh and pretend to want to be his queen, when really, deep down, she was just protecting her most valuable possession—her Judaism.

A piece of paper was shoved under her door, and Pessy rolled her eyes. Would Yaakov never give up? Pessy knelt to the ground to retrieve the paper, which simply said, Go. Confused, Pessy leaned in close to the crack between the door and the threshold. “Yaakov?” She said. She heard nothing. She knelt to the ground again, this time laying her face on the carpet to look for a shadow of his feet on the other side, but all she saw was an empty hallway. Pessy stood, wiped her hands on her skirt, and frowned. Was this his idea of a joke? “Yaakov?” She whispered again. She heard a soft thud, and when she knelt down for a third time, she saw her binders stacked there. Her heart pounding, she instinctively reached for the door handle, and found that it opened beneath her touch. Shocked, she quickly looked both ways down the hallway, but it was empty. Pessy checked her watch, suddenly quite aware of what was happening. She sprinted to her window, saw the waiting car, whispered a quiet thank you to Yaakov and however he had managed to unlock her door, and then swept up her binders and rushed down the stairs, out the back door, and into the car. The girls in front turned around and smiled at her as they drove away. Pessy’s heart was beating a million miles an hour. “We couldn’t get in touch with you,” one of them said. “I’m glad you texted me tonight.” Pessy gave her a half-smile and sucked in a deep breath. Another thank you to Yaakov. She glanced once behind her at her quickly receding house and gulped down a breath. This was worth it, she thought. It was worth it, if she could finish her draft tonight, and the professor could help her submit it. It would be worth it. It was only about two in the morning when Pessy arrived home. When she had first started attending these workshops, she had been shocked by how late these college students seemed to stay up every night. But it quickly became part of her routine as well. Pessy quietly slid the key into the backdoor and opened it with care, knowing that sometimes it creaked. She closed it and then locked it from

the inside, and replaced the key on the hanger above the clothes dryer. She peaked her head into the darkened hallway, and then slid across the floor towards the stairs. The lights turned on. Pessy froze, unwilling to turn around, but knowing that she had to. She closed her eyes and counted to five before swiveling towards the dining room table, where both of her parents were seated, tired, blearyeyed, and furious. She didn’t see the point in saying anything. Her feet moved unwillingly until she found a chair, pulled it out, and fell into it. “How did you get out?” Her mother said. Pessy opened her mouth, but her father held out a hand to still conversation. “It’s not important. I want to know why you went out. After all of this. Why?” Pessy wanted to bang her head against the table. Here they were, thinking she had just been out somewhere drinking, and they hadn’t notice the binder she was clutching. What was there left for her to say? Another apology? Another crying fit and being locked in her room? “You could have worked with your sister,” her mother said. “I told you all last year to go to work with her at the nursery. It will make you a better mother. It will make you a better wife. Did you listen? Of course not.” Her father held up his hand again. “We’re past that. We may have been disappointed in your decisions then, but we trusted you.” Pessy looked between the two of them and sighed. Less than thirty minutes ago she had handed over her story to the professor, who was going to mail it for her, to submit for publication. It had been the most exhilarating, exciting moment of her life. Now she felt numb and drained and her eyes were starting to droop. “There’s nothing for me to say,” Pessy said after a moment’s silence. Her parents both stared at her, and she realized that she was past crying. If they wanted to lock her in her room for another week, a least she had her binder, and at least her story was out there. Pessy stood then. “You can lock me in again if you want to,” she said. She turned away and began walking up the stairs. “Pesya Esther, come back here right now.” Bayis |

Pessy closed her ears and tried to steel herself. On the threshold, she met Yaakov. “Did all the sound wake you up?” She said. He looked at her. “So they caught you?” “Yeah.” He nodded. “What happened at the college?” “She took my story. She’s going to submit it. She says I have a good chance.” “Good,” he said. “You going to your room?” “Yeah.” Pessy pressed her hand to her forehead and yawned. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to sleep for days. “Thank you for your help,” she said. “It meant a lot.” Yaakov nodded towards her binder. “I’ll keep it in my room again, if you want to hide it.” “Oh—” She glanced down the stairs. She could hear her parents’ muffled voices. “Thanks,” she said. She handed him the binder and then retreated to her room. Pessy didn’t hear the door lock but she assumed one of her parents had come up after their conversation and locked her in. She laid in her bed as the sun rose higher in the sky, and the knowledge that her story was out there, out there and free and singing like the bird on the tree outside of her windowsill, made her feel like she could tackle anything. A knock came, and when she heard no further movement after that, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Come in?” She said. It was her parents. She had half-expected this, so she stood and waited in the center of the room, suppressing another yawn, before she jolted to attention, all of her senses honing in on the fact that her father was holding her binder. “What—” Her words dried up when she saw Yaakov walk in behind them. He wouldn’t look at her, and it was just as well, because she could hardly contain her sense of utter betrayal. Her father laid her binder down on her desk and sat at her chair. Pessy looked at her mother, waiting for the screaming to begin. There was silence. Pessy looked between all family members, waiting for someone to speak. Tears began to bubble in her throat. Soundless judgement was worse than any yelling her mother had done when she

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thought her daughter had been out drinking. Pessy stepped forward, slid her binder across the table, and hugged it to her chest. “I’m not sorry,” she said. “I can’t be.” “No,” her father said. “I expect you aren’t.” Pessy glanced at him briefly, her brow confused. “When Yaakov came to speak to me,” he said, “and he told me what you had really been doing, I was angry. What narishkeit. What utter narishkeit for you to waste your life with, for you to lie and sneak and cheat.” Pessy looked towards Yaakov again, who met her gaze and shrugged. She shook her head. “But,” her father said, “v’nahafochhu.” Pessy blinked. “What?” She said. Her father stood and left. She stared after him, starting to feel dizzy. She placed her binder back on the table, ready to go after him, but her mother stopped her. “What—” Her mother kissed her once, briefly on the forehead, and then left as well. Yaakov was still standing there, but her desire to shout at him had drained. He approached her, and flipped open the binder to one of her first stories. “When you left this in my room, I had to read it. All of the secrecy, your terror, your determination—I had to know why.” Pessy looked down at the story, remembered writing it one Sunday morning when Dini was away, remembered sitting in her room, relishing the feeling of having the entire day to herself, staring out the window at the lovely snow-covered street, and imaging this story. Yaakov tapped the front page. “This is why I let you out last night. And this is why I showed them what you wrote.” Pessy shook her head and began to speak, but Yaakov cut her off. “Mommy cried,” he said. “I told them you were trying to be published. Tatty said, ‘With Hashem’s help.’” “But he said he was angry—” “He was. Until I made him read it.” “What made them change their minds? I always knew they would think it was narishkeit.” “I don’t know. All Tatty would say is ‘V’nahafochhu.’” the end

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Yaakov Grossman

The Real Craziness of Purim

love Purim. I would never in any way wish to detract from the ultimate of male holidays in any way but I feel something needs to be done already. Mishloach Manos. Things have gotten entirely out of hand. It used to be people would be happy to receive a small bottle of grape juice and those wafer rolls with some sort of filling (I’m pretty sure these companies make their year’s earnings during Adar) but we’ve become spoiled. First people started to give flamboyant mishloach manos with expensive wines and chocolates. Then people started making a “theme” for their mishloach manos. A theme? What is this the play for the end of summer camp? (I want everyone’s theme to be dentistry and everyone will

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give out carrots and mouthwash.) Some people even took it to the next level and their theme of the mishloach manos matches their costumes! Bumbles bees will give honey, fishermen will give fish and flight attendants will give me a tiny bag of pretzels (but not peanuts chas vashalom, someone on a nearby flight might be allergic). I think it’s time to make mishloach manos “takanos” like what the Chassidim did to weddings. There should be a set standard of what is acceptable to give and how much to spend. People are wasting so much money on buying stuff no one can possibly eat it all. “Wow, we beat last years record, ninety-six wafer roll things.” We can put canned goods (kosher la’pesach) on the list, condiments, oatmeal,

cereal and one taffy. I’m pretty sure all the dentists out there are gonna boycott this article. But I’ll tell you my biggest problem with mishloach manos. Mishloach manos recycling. You know what I’m talking about, you make a list of all the people you need to give to and then that random person from the neighborhood shows up at your door to give you one (“he lives in our neighborhood?”) and now you don’t know what to do. So the great Jewish minhag has become to recycle. You politely ask the random stranger at your door to wait a minute as you go running to the dining room table, rip off the note on one of the mishloach manos you received, scramble for a pen and paper to write your name, use the old tape from the other mishloach manos to stick it on and TADA you have yourself a mishloach manos. The problem though is you have to keep track if this

person could also possibly have received this very same mishloach manos from the giver. With hundreds of people coming in and out it’s very hard to keep track of who’s who and what’s what. Especially after a couple of drinks. In this situation if caught it’s better to pretend that the other person was the one that recycled and not you. This gets even more complicated if the mishloach manos is clearly connected to their theme of costumes and not yours, “No, don’t you see, I’m dressed as a doctor and we gave you fatty foods so that when you have a heart attack (chas vashalom) I’m here to help!” This is just another reason for the mishloach manos takanos because then you can recycle without fear of getting caught. Basically everyone would be able to make one mishloach manos and then just constantly recycle (sorry wafer roll company, this’ll put you out of business). Well, until the takana is enacted I take solace in the fact that hopefully everyone gets as hammered as I do and by the next morning can’t remember who they gave to or received from anyways. And that’s what Purim is really all about at the end of the day isn’t it? A FREILECHEN PURIM!!

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