~

Three Months Later

2013-05-20T14:38:00.001+03:00

Well, it's been three months since I hitched my wagon to that of the most wonderfully charming and loving man I've ever met.

Three months ago (on ye olde Gregorian calendar) we gathered with 24 of our closest friends and family for a small ceremony and delicious Moroccan food.

We haven't quite had a honeymoon yet (no, England wasn't a honeymoon), but we've decided to head to the U.S. at the end of August before the High Holidays so that Mr. T can meet my family, I can get a bit of my American convenience fix (hello Target!), and we can do a bit of honeymooning. I know, the U.S. isn't an exotic honeymoon location, but with my love of Colorado and Mr. T's having never been there, I plan on dragging him into the mountains for a day or two. Wish me luck!

How can I describe three months with such a gift? Well, first of all it's funny because we haven't even known each other six months yet. On the other hand, we've known each other long enough to know our biggest hangups, frustrations, quirks, likes, dislikes, and everything else you try to spend forever getting to know and understand. When it's your second go 'round, it's brass tacks in the beginning and then on to the rest of our lives.

If I'd have to guess, I'd say that Mr. T is going to be making me laugh until the end of my days, may they be long and as happy as they are now with him. Here's to dozens and dozens of years of happy moments, Mr. T!

Book Reviews: Of Intermarriage and Yiddish

2013-05-13T15:11:00.000+03:00

This past Shabbat, I managed to finish one book and start (then finish) a completely different book of two very different genres and two very different reactions from me.

The first book I finished was Doublelife: One Family, Two Faiths and a Journey of Hope, which is the story of a born and bred Christian woman from Illinois and a born and bred Jewish man from the East Coast. Gayle and Harold fell in love over a mutual love of music deep in Bible country, and the book tracks their adventures from Texas to Boston to Russia to Israel and beyond as they begin to question their outlooks on life, whether they want children, what religion means to them, and the role of Judaism in both of their lives as well as that of their children. The book is written through a series of letters back and forth between Gayle and Harold from when they meet up through the present, with Harold's letters written in regular font and Gayle's in italics (which made it hard to read at points).

I'll admit that the clever way the book is presented as letters was appealing to me, as it didn't feel like you were reading a book so much as a correspondence. The struggle that Harold and Gayle face is interesting because Harold begins his religious adventure before Gayle considers her possible foray into Judaism, and even when she does, it struck me as hesitant. Harold is the driving force as the family becomes more religious and Gayle struggles with adapting to the potential where her music is no longer something that she can practice or experience because of kol ishah and other manners of living an Orthodox Jewish life. I found myself uncomfortable at times, however, such as with knowing that they were sending their child to a certain Jewish school without disclosing that one of the parents wasn't Jewish. I don't want to sound judgmental, but I was always sure -- when I was in-process for conversion -- to not overstep my bounds as a not-yet-Jew.

I think that this book has something to offer couples who are intermarried and curious what the mindset and process might look like when it comes to starting a family and deciding how to raise children, how to choose a community, and whether the non-Jewish spouse should or is able to convert. I do, however, wish that Gayle had gone into more detail about her experiences converting, waiting forever on the RCA, and how that impacted her and the family -- these are the useful things that people like to hear about. As the book comes to a close, it's like a quick sweep through everything that happens after a conversion in a Jewish household. Did life not change that much? How different did Gayle feel? How did being Orthodox impact the family through kashrut and the holidays and language?

The second book I picked up and finished in one Shabbat was a borrowed book from my friend Elisha, Outwitting History: The Amazing Adventures of a Man Who Rescued a Million Yiddish Books. Although this book was published several years ago, the storytelling aspect of the author, Aaron Lansky is without comparison. The harrowing tales of rain-drenched dumpster dives, endless meals of gefilte fish and tea with aging Yiddish speakers, and his quest to find, save, distribute, and house the world's dying Yiddish book collection will leave you speechless, teary eyed, and wishing you knew Yiddish. I really have to commend Lansky. This is a guy who really put his entire life (and in some cases this is for real as he traveled through some shady places overseas in 1989) on the line to fulfill a mission that he viewed as unbelievably important and culminated in the creation of the Yiddish Book Center. I'm now regretting not visiting it while I was living out in Connecticut during graduate school. If you haven't read this book, stop what you're doing and download it, find it, read it. It'll take you maybe a day, probably less. It's that good.

The Gush in a Moment

2013-05-11T21:22:00.000+03:00

Tonight after Shabbat, Mr. T asked me to take the car to the gas station at Tzomet ha'Gush (the sort of central point where there's a grocery store, some restaurants, electronics shop and more) while he and iBoy ran the compost down the street. Not feeling a 100 percent but needing some fresh air after spending most of the day in bed, I zipped down the 60 to the well-lit gas station and pulled into the full-service lane.

Israeli gas stations still make me very nervous, I don't know why, but they're different than in the U.S. while living in New Jersey, I had to get used to the mandatory full-service fill-ups because it was state law that you simply couldn't get out of your car and fill yourself up on your own. But there, it was a simple process. You handed them your card or money, they filled it up, that was that.

Here, they ask you if you want them to check your oil (and even if you don't, they will), and tonight the attendant, Ishmael, asked if I wanted something to drink or maybe purchase something to eat. It was a slow night at the gas station -- the only people floating around were IDF soldiers, both those dressed down with guns slung about their backs and those dressed in full military garb, including a medical vehicle with an Ethiopian troupe in it.

I thanked the man, signed my receipt, and as I started to turn the car on, he shocked me.

Shavua tov!

I responded, stuttering, with the same greeting. It was surprising and completely unsuspected. I smiled and pulled away.

This, folks, is what I love about the Gush. This man, Ishmael, clearly not Jewish, offering up the classic Jewish Saturday night greeting. It makes me want to learn something worthwhile for my Muslim and Arab neighbors, something to say in response to show a "thanks" for caring enough to notice who I am, how I live, and the state in which we live.

That is the Gush, in a moment.

It's a Modest, Modest World

2013-05-07T12:51:00.000+03:00

For this installment, we have two great questions about issues that fall under modesty or tzniut in Judaism. (Note: tzanua or anav is the adjective form, meaning modest.) We'll start out at the head and end up at the toe!

Hair covering - do you cover all the time? At home alone? What about at home with just the family? What if you were hanging out with just a bunch of women, with no chance of a man interrupting you?

I can count on one hand the number of times I've gone around my house alone without my head covered, and there are zero times countable that I've been at home with the family or in a group of women and not covered my hair. A good example of this is earlier this week at the Pre-Shavuot Sushi Night here in Neve Daniel -- not a dude in sight, and plenty of women were taking off their tichels to try on new scarves to buy, but not me. I'm the kind of gal who will try a tichel on on top of other scarves. It's just my way.

This is the tichel I purchased at sushi night!

Consistency allows me to feel completely comfortable when I am covering all the time, and the truth is I really do love covering. For me, the sentiment from Micah 6:8 to walk humbly with HaShem is something that I try to enact at all times, and it shows that it really isn't about the involvement of a man in my hair-covering experience.

Hi Chaviva. (Great blog btw.) I live in a charedi community in Eretz Yisrael where the custom is for us to wear stockings outside (in the 36 degree Celsius heat) all year round, and most of us also in the house also. I have seen that some communities do differ in this opinion - what is the stance of your community? How do you find tznius and Eretz Yisrael in your time here so far?

This writer (thanks!) also included a link to an interesting piece from the Rav Kook perspective on stockings, which says the following,

... in regards to the part of the leg below the knee, the halacha depends on the custom of the place: if it is the custom to cover it, it must be covered. If not, it need not be covered. In practice, since the majority of ‘poskim’ are stringent, it is preferable to act in this way. A woman who chooses to be lenient is permitted, for she has reputable sources to rely on.

To be completely honest, the entire concept of stockings isn't something I've thought much on in the past, mostly because where I grew up (non-Jewishly), stockings were meant for two things: winter and dressy occasions. For some reason, my mental place for stockings and tights is still in that place. Where I lived in Teaneck, Denver, and now in Neve Daniel, the standard of the community seems to be stocking-less in the summer and various observances in the winter. Some people wear leggings and others wear tights. Until very recently, I couldn't find a comfortable pair of tights so would often wear leggings under a long skirt or leggings with heavy socks over it.

So far, there is definitely a much more clear community dividing line than places I've lived in the U.S. as far as what people wear. Looking around the room at the Sushi Night earlier this week, I realized how very similar everyone in Neve Daniel dresses. It's very flowy, simple casual but put together, and the hair-covering style is up my alley (tichels, tichels, tichels). Although there is a certain set of women who wear pants and short sleeve shirts, it doesn't seem to be the norm here.

What do you think about stockings in the dead of summer and covering all the time? Have a related question or something off the wall? Just ask!

After the Long Hiatus

2013-05-06T23:46:00.000+03:00

It's been a long time since I sat down and did any learning. I feel horrible about it, especially with the abundance of time that being mostly (and now completely) unemployed has granted me. I have spent the past several months crawling the internet for any and every job possible, lamenting my comfortable beginnings in Israel. I was spoiled, I was unprepared, and if I weren't married and having at least one income coming in, I don't know where I'd be right now. But I can't help but feel like I've been doing myself and HaShem a disservice.

Here I am, living the dream, and probably not being nearly as grateful as I should be for the entire situation. We get what we give, and I'm not giving much of anything, which might explain my current predicament.

And even if it doesn't, the parshah -- BaMidbar -- is clutch. I just wish I had more to say.

The best approach in my opinion? Rabbi Jonathan Sacks speaks about the power of the relationship between HaShem and the Israelites when he connects the parshah to the haftarah. Despite many false starts and failures, HaShem never turns his back. There's always the promise, the commitment, the fact that HaShem just can't let go. It's the ultimate trying relationship.

I suppose no matter what I do -- or don't do -- HaShem will be there waiting for me.

I also appreciate this commentary on the first verse of this week's parshah: "And G-d spoke to Moses in the desert of Sinai" (BaMidbar 1:1).

The Torah was given to the people of Israel in the ownerless desert. For if it were given in the Land of Israel, the residents of the Land of Israel would say, "It is ours;" and if it were given in some other place, the residents of that place would say, "It is ours." Therefore it was given in the wilderness, so that anyone who wishes to acquire it may acquire it. (Mechilta D'Rashbi)

There's a nod to converts in there, I think.

What does HaShem have in store for me? I don't know. Some days I feel like I'm swimming in the sand (bada ching!) and some days I feel like everything is in proper working order and right where it's supposed to be. I suppose this is the aliyah experience, isn't it?

Neve Daniel: Sushi Style

2013-05-05T23:00:00.000+03:00

The final (veggie) sushi! Produced by me and the illustrious Ruti!

There are a lot of people who still don't "get" why I am living in Neve Daniel, or rather how I can be living in Neve Daniel ("It's not your land!" they say), but while I can't please everyone and can only defend my right and responsibility to be here to so many people so many times, I can say that living here is one of the greatest gifts in life right now.

Tonight was a women's pre-Shavuot event, complete with sushi-making demonstrations, the selling of beautiful scarves and mitpachot, and lots of delicious noshing on the samplings of Shavuot menus. I was hesitant about signing up because of my gluten-free issues, but I was assured by a few of the organizers who even went out of their way to label the gluten-free goodies for me.

As the evening approached, I wasn't feeling super hot, but I decided to power through it and go anyway, as I've been scolded for not being social enough here in the community. I mustered up the strength after a lengthy nap, put together a gluten-free, potato-crusted broccoli-and-cheese quiche, and schlepped off. (The quiche went CRAZY fast -- I was elated!)

I'll admit, it was a pleasant surprise to be there and catch up with friends and meet some new folks. And making sushi for the first time? Most excellent. It's not nearly as hard as I thought. Then again, I didn't have to make my own sushi rice.

Okay okay, so I need to be more social. More involved. Get out and get recognized by my community members. Heck, maybe I'll even organize something.

Ask Chaviva Anything: The Grab-Bag Edition

2013-05-01T13:24:00.000+03:00

As I prepare for yet another bowl of Gluten-Free Fruity Pebbles ...

This is going to be quite the grab bag, because there hasn't been a theme as of late. Question Number One asks,

How does hair care when you cover your hair work? Do you get your hair trimmed or cut, or do you just let it do whatever? And if you do get it cut, how does that work?

Since moving to Israel, I've had my hair cut twice -- once up in Ra'anana (near Tel Aviv) in December and one by a local friend before the wedding. Since getting married, I've been sort of letting my hair do whatever it wants, occasionally trimming my own bangs (or, if you're from the U.K., "fringe") against my own intuition. It's long enough now that I can put it in two little pigtails in the lower back, or one sort of loose small ponytail in the back with pins. The interesting thing that I've experienced is that my hair is reacting a lot better to being covered this time around than last. When I was married the first time, my hair started thinning out and became really frail, but this time around it's getting thicker and longer much faster. It can be hard to maintain hair while covering, but it just takes some attention to shampooing and conditioning to really make it work.

How long did your Orthodox conversion process take?

I started attending an Orthodox synagogue before Pesach in 2008, moved to Connecticut in August 2008 and started attending an Orthodox synagogue in West Hartford around November 2008. My official "training" began in January 2009, I applied with the RCA to officially convert in October 2009, and had my conversion dip on January 1, 2010. So it was roughly, officially, a year.

I'm turning green with envy at your head covers you're posting on Instagram. I live in the U.S. Do you know where I can find some like that?

I wish I knew where you could find some of these coverings. The thing that I've noticed about head coverings here in Israel is that the fabric is more breathable, flexible, and forgiving than those I've seen in the U.S. Here, the designs are functional and easy to wear, and in the U.S. they're just ... fabric. Maybe I should start an import-export business? If you can, find a way to get someone to bring you the scarves they sell at Hoodies -- they are a lightweight stretchy cotton that is so comfortable and flexible and gives an amazing body. Also, look out for the "fake poof" -- yes, I use a fake poof to give my scarves body. Until my hair is long enough to build it up, I'm faking it. (Fake it 'til you make it!)

Hi Chaviva, I'm learning hebrew and I'm interested in knowing about you experience with this language? it's hard? what books do you use (or did you use)?

I wish I had an answer to this question. The truth is that my best and most valuable Hebrew learning experiences were by sitting in a classroom or at an ulpan desk. When you're immersed, things stick. When you're learning in a book and then going back to the "real world" where English is the norm, it's hard to really feel entrenched in the language. That being said, there are all sorts of learners out there, and some really do benefit from Rosetta Stone or similar programs. I, unfortunately, did not. The best textbook out there is the one put out by the Brandeis University Modern Hebrew program, but I'm not sure if you can find the answer book.

Does anyone have tips on hair care while covering, Hebrew language learning, or any other topics discussed here? Please share!

Have a question? Just ask at Ask Chaviva Anything!

Of Crickets and Stars

2013-04-25T12:28:00.002+03:00

Chloe, some girl, and my little brother Joseph -- not watching the game.

Last night, I fell asleep to the sound of a single cricket noising outside my window.

It was heaven.

I tried to explain to Mr. T how welcoming and comfortable the sound of a cricket chirping noisily was to me, and I'm not sure he understood entirely. But for a girl grown up in Southern Missouri and Nebraska, crickets are like white noise. As summer approaches, even more so do I feel like a cricket outside my window is a huge blessing.

When I was a kid in Joplin, Missouri, my father played softball on the company league and my older brother played baseball. My memory likes to tell me that we were out on the softball or baseball diamond almost every night every summer when I was a kid, but I'm guessing that it was more like every weekend or once a week. The baseball diamond on the outskirts of town, the tall lights illuminating the field and dust plumes flying upward when a ball smacked the infield or someone slid into base. The games always started when it was still light outside and by game's end it was pitch black and the crickets were a symphony of summer.

I'd like to say I spent a lot of time watching my brother and dad play, but the truth is that me and my band of merry picker-uppers would wander the grounds nabbing trash for the reward of something free from the concession stand -- I'd always grab a Chic-o-Stick or giant dill pickle while friends grabbed ring pops, soda, or a hot dog.

When my little brother was born, I spent time watching him and then enlisted his help when he was old enough to walk and pick things up in garbage grabbing.

Late in the evening, we were always among the last to leave, watching the fields being closed up and the dust settle from people racing out of the gravel parking lot toward home.

One year it was particularly hot, and I neglected to drink enough water to keep me fully hydrated. So near the end of the night when the sun was already gone I chugged a ton of water. So much water, in fact, that I ended up throwing up all over the dry gravel and dirt near our car in the parking lot -- water poisoning! I've never been a regurgitator, but boy did I really do myself in that time.

So crickets. Usually, we talk about how powerful smell is. How it can transport us to a different time and place and make our shoulders relax, our eyes close, and a deep sigh to emanate from someplace deep within. I have those moments, but they are few and far between (the smell of stale soda cans is one, because as a kid we used to spend a lot of time at the aluminum can recycling facility in Joplin). Sounds are even fewer for me, but crickets is one that transports me to a time when I know we were all happy.

(Another sound? Wind chimes, but that's another story from a less happy time.)

It's funny that my little brother never took up baseball and that my older brother basically quit when we moved to Nebraska. The culture was different -- football, not baseball, reigned supreme. I no longer spent spring and summer on the baseball field but rather spent my fall and bitter winters on stone slabs in a large high school football stadium, which transitioned to college where I was a proud season-ticket holder for three years (something happened senior year -- I couldn't afford season tickets, even at the deeply discounted student price).

And I can guarantee you one thing: You don't hear crickets late at night amid the crunch of helmets and shoulder pads at a football game.

After I attempted to explain this cricket fixation to Mr. T, he said, as if out of nowhere,

"I wish there were no street lights in Neve Daniel."

I responded, "Why exactly?" His response reminded me why I so love him.

"I'd like to be able to see all the stars."

Invitation to a Bris

2013-04-24T13:52:00.000+03:00

Recently, Mr. T was sent a Facebook "invite" to a brit milah (ritual circumcision of an 8-day-old baby boy also called a bris), which set of an interesting discussion and a bit of research about something that I hadn't heard of before and that Mr. T didn't completely have aligned in his head.

There's a common belief in Judaism that you shouldn't formally invite someone to a bris because it obligates them to perform a mitzvah, and -- if they can't come -- you're basically setting them up to fail at performing a mitzvah.

After a bit of crazy Googling and asking around, I ended up arriving at the source of the minhag, which is the Rema, also known as Rabbi Moses Isserles who lived in the 16th century and who is known for his inline commentary on the Shulchan Aruch. I listened to a very informative podcast by YU on the topic, and it seems that our minhag derives from a misunderstanding of the text.

The Rema writes (Yoreh De’ah 265:12) that anyone who does not participate in the festive meal that accompanies a bris is viewed as if he is “excommunicated from Heaven," adding that if offensive people are participating in such a meal, one is not obligated to join them.

A basic reading of this suggests that if you go to a bris and decide to scoot out before the festive meal or attend the festive meal and don't eat anything, that you're a pretty rotten person. There are thus two aspects to the bris that play into this minhag -- the attendance of the mitzvah of bris and the festive meal that accompanies it. It's the latter that seems to be the point of contention for the Rema, not the bris itself, and not the invitation itself.

At the same time, there's an opinion that if there is already 10 adult Jewish men at the meal, the guest is not obligated to take part because the commandment will be fulfilled without him (Otzar Ha-Bris, p. 163).

So I can understand why people think that outright inviting someone to a bris would automatically obligate them to come and attend the festive meal, but ultimately it's about the decision someone makes once they're at the bris/festive meal, not before hand.

Do you hold to this minhag?

The UK: The Sights, The Cold

2013-04-23T14:20:00.001+03:00

I thought about detailing every last and little thing I saw and experienced during the first days of my time in England -- the bus tour and visiting the beautiful Hatfield House (think Downton Abbey, but with whole bunches of amazing art and unique paintings of the illustrious Elizabeth I) -- but I've decided that the pictures will speak for themselves.

If you have questions, please ask. I'd love to share more, but I'm removed enough now from the experience that the pictures can say more than I can on the fly.

London: The Bus Tour

Hatfield House

Ask Chaviva Anything: The Children Edition

2013-04-18T16:59:00.001+03:00

In this edition of Ask Chaviva Anything, I've got some children-related queries from blog readers.

What is iBoy like?

I'd like to say that iBoy is like any other nearly 10 year old out there, but this is a kid who loves tofu and broccoli ("little trees!"). He loves listening to his dad read Shakespeare (in a kid-friendly text, of course), and doesn't demand to watch cartoons and movies as much as he demands games like Taki. He's a very emotional kid who is aware of hurting other people's feelings -- almost to a fault -- but he also knows how to push boundaries like any other kid his age. He's just starting to get really good at reading English and helps me out with Hebrew while I help him out with Hebrew, too! He hates getting up in the morning, has to be reminded to brush his teeth, and is always eager to help when anything is going on in the kitchen. He's a prince who snores like a trucker but will cuddle up with his dad like he is the only thing that belongs in that space.

On a down day, he's the kind of kid who would go out of his way to make you smile with a hug or joke. He's really something special (just like his dad, who he is soooooooooo much like). Does he sound like every other 10 year old you know? Oh, and he loves to draw, which makes him a kid after my own heart. While in the UK I purchased him this amazing book full of things to draw, to fill in, and to get creative with. He kept asking, "Can I draw it like this?" to which I responded, "Kid, it's your book! You can draw and explore anything you want!"

You have mentioned every now and then about wanting lots of kids. I know that is kind of the norm among Orthodox families but wonder if it's also just something you've always wanted (lots of kids). I always wanted four kids but after two I may have met my match!

It's funny how up and down I've been about wanting children. Most of my life, I wanted children (a few) because I was lucky enough to have a little brother who is nine years younger than me that I got to help raise. But then, while I was married and divorced, I had no desire to have children. I became really disenfranchised (so lame and stereotypical, I know) while I was incredibly depressed and decided not to have any children. The fear of passing on the depression and anxiety that I was dealing with, not to mention my fears of how I'll be with my children because of how I grew up (that fear we all have) drove me to vow to never have kids.

And then? I met Mr. T. We met, got engaged 10 days later, and if I had had my way, I would have been married instantly and with child at this point, folks! There's something about being with the right person at the right time that just punches you in the face and says "Be a mom, darn't!"

I know what you're thinking -- I'm already in the role of offering female support and guidance for a kid in my life, so that should be something, right? True, I'm getting a certain sense of satisfaction making delicious nosh for this amazing child in my life, helping put his healthy lunches together, watching him play soccer with friends, reading him Hasidic stories and him asking for more ...

But having your own child is something uniquely special. I know I'll feel it more when I do get pregnant and have my own child with Mr. T, but at this moment, I'm starting to feel where that thin line exists. There's a lot to be said about being a woman marrying a man with a child versus a man marrying a woman with a child. I'm debating on whether to write it up for Kveller.com and seeing if they'll start publishing me. I think I'm going to end up with a lot to say about parenting.

As you settle into married life and seek to start a family of your own, I wonder; as an Orthodox Jewish woman, how would you respond if your son or daughter told you that they were gay/lesbian?

This is a great question with a short answer. I was raised in a household where -- by and large -- I was allowed to explore the life that I thought was good for me. Mind you, I had a very vanilla childhood and never broke the rules, drank, smoked, or anything until I was in college and the depths of the newspaper world sucked me in and turned me into a temporary alcoholic (seriously, I'm kidding). Mr. T also was given a lot of freedom to be a wild and unique individual (and believe me, he was). As a result, if there's one thing that Judaism teaches that has been so potent for me over the past few years is that when someone lives a life that we do not necessarily agree with, we're meant to pull that person closer, not push them away (like most people do). Your children will always be your children, nothing changes that. Nothing. Life is short, you only have one family, and I'm going to be as strong as possible to do everything to make sure my children know how much they're loved, no matter who they are or what they do.

Okay. That was a lengthy post. So much more to say about parenting and children! Have questions? Just ask!

What's for Dinner?

2013-04-17T21:18:00.001+03:00

When it comes to food, I'm a sucker for fresh, colorful, and healthy. For dinner tonight, I wanted to use up some of the greens from the CSA, plus a sweet potato I had laying around that looked like it was about to go south.

Tonight, I toasted some bread (gluten free for me, regular brown bread for Mr. T), topped it with diced roasted sweet potatoes (olive oil, pepper, paprika), some sautéed greens (any will do with olive oil salt and pepper), and a poached egg (Mr. T did these) with crumbled feta cheese.

Assuming this wouldn't be entirely satisfying, I also used up some of the cabbage and one of the zucchinis from the CSA to make a Dijon-Maple Slaw. The recipe was fairly quick and easy. I shredded the cabbage with a peeler and then with a knife for some chunkier pieces, used a peeler to thinly peel the zucchini, and then tossed in pumpkin seeds. I tossed in the Dijon-Maple Dressing (garlic, dijon mustard, maple syrup, salt and pepper, olive oil), and voila!

I love my CSA. iBoy loves the CSA. Mr. T loves the CSA. Life is good (and delicious).

The Six Month Aliyahversary

2013-04-15T13:47:00.000+03:00

The view from the garden. My neighbor's flag

waves in the breeze against the clear, blue sky.

On the Gregorian calendar, exactly six months ago, I hopped a plane to Israel, landing and officially making aliyah on October 16, 2012. That makes today's Yom ha'Zikaron (Day of Remembrance) and tomorrow's Yom ha'Atzmaut (Israeli Independence Day), two very significant days in my calendar. I didn't realize it when I made aliyah, but the lining up of my aliyahversary and the anniversary of Israel's independence speaks volumes to me. I can't believe it's been six months -- the past three or four just flew by, like a rug from under my feet, and I'm flying.

Ever since I arrived in Israel, life has felt right. The food tastes right, the air smells right, the quiet feels right, the relationships I've discovered and built feel so right. This rightness and light that I feel wouldn't be possible if there was no Israel, if 65 years ago a great struggle had not occurred, a struggle that is perpetuated every single day for Israelis and Israel.

At the same time, on these days, with the sirens blaring (which scared me because I thought we were under attack) to mark moments of silence, I'm struggling to process what it means to live in Israel. Having gone to the UK and returned recently, I was reminded of how different life is here. It's a more expensive life, a more complicated and frustrating life (bureaucratically and emotionally), a more uncertain life. I'm thankful for all that Israel has provided me, but what does it mean? What does it really mean? Israel isn't just another state, another country. It's unique because it's so young, so fresh, so torn between the past and present, between war and peace, between hunger and satiation.

On Yom ha'Zikaron, I personally honor Chaviva Reich and the 23,085 Israeli soldiers who have fallen so that I can become Jewish, live Jewishly, and be an Israeli. On Yom ha'Atzmaut, I honor the great struggle of those who have fallen and those who stood tall to make a state of Israel a possibility. Without Medinat Yisrael, becoming Jewish and living openly as a Jew would not have been as easy. Without Medinat Yisrael, I would not have obtained the support I did in making aliyah happen. Without Medinat Yisrael, I would not have met the love of my life and started building the kind of life for which I have so longed.

I have so much to say, but for some reason, in this moment, words are all clogged up in my head and heart and can't be painted in the colorful way I wish they could. I'm happy, speechless, full of love and appreciation, and eager for what tomorrow brings.

For the first time in my life, I think I'm unafraid of what the future holds, because I know I'm where I'm meant to be, where HaShem needs me to be. This is life.

The UK: Feast!

2013-04-15T08:00:00.000+03:00

Hello market!

Despite the title, this isn't a blog post about the food I experienced in the UK. The truth is that the food I experienced in the kosher world was rather limited (we went out for kosher Indian and ordered in kosher Chinese), but being there over Pesach definitely limited the options. No, this blog post is about a market in West Norwood called FEAST!

I know what you're thinking. I've posted about a coffee roasting experience and now am posting about a local hipster market, what about Big Ben and castles and changing of the guard!? Being married to a gent from the UK hopefully means I'll have several trips to England in my future, so I was excited to experience the local flavor where my brother- and sister-in-law live. So after a schlep down from Edgware to South London, we popped out to the market, which spans several blocks and features food, local crafts, antiques, and oodles of other awesome things.

Vintage is cool! There were so many beautiful antiques.

This was the first place I was exposed to Volcano Coffee Works, not to mention a bounty of unkosher and delicious smelling/looking food that was out of reach. The local flavor here is intense!

This was the kind of place (much like Camden Market) where I could probably easily drop hundreds of dollars on local goodies. I ended up walking away with a cup o' Joe and a beautiful pair of purple coconut shell earrings from a vendor who is incredibly green in all of her jewelry design, focusing on vegetarian ivory, old magazines, coffee beans, and coconut shells. I also stumbled upon African Inyoni artwork by Marika du Plessis, and I seriously struggled to not buy one of the paintings. The colors were so vivid and bright, but how do you schlep a painting back to Israel when you're limited on luggage? Argh!

This pic is funny because the sign says it's an alcohol-free area,
while fresh alcoholic cider is being served in the tent next to it. D'oh!

After walking around the market we walked through an incredibly old cemetery, saw the beautiful Greek structures that were adorned oddly enough with stars of David, and then partook in a picnic lunch at home followed by a trip to a local pub so I could get the true taste of the English pub. The most shocking thing about the pub experience? Babies, children, and pregnant ladies everywhere! Aside from the prevalence of children the smells of the pub reminded me of college days long gone by. Unfortunately the quintessential aspect of pub life (the food) was something we couldn't partake in.

Maybe that's what Israel needs -- a kosher, British pub! Find more photos from my day on Flickr!

The UK: Taste the Coffee

2013-04-14T12:27:00.000+03:00

The brother-in-law's yummy coffee from Volcano.

Hello there blog, it's been a while, hasn't it? I haven't even had my coffee yet today, but I feel a sense of obligation to get going on getting back into the swing of things after my Pesach adventures in the lovely United Kingdom. After nearly three weeks in the old country visiting Mr. T's family and touring around and about visiting all the sites there are to see, I'm back in Israel and attempting to get back to "real life." We visited Hatfield House, Camden Market, took a double-decker bus tour around London on the most freezing of cold days, took a ride up in the London Eye, and so very much more.

I'm going to work my way backwards, starting with a visit to a local coffee roaster on Monday, April 8 -- Volcano Coffee Works. It's a funny thing that my in-laws are all big coffee drinkers, considering the classic English hot beverage of choice is tea. Somehow my dear husband ended up with the tea bug -- he won't even touch coffee. Luckily, my brother-in-law is a big coffee lover and was more than happy to pop into a local roaster because I've never seen the process of coffee roasting before (and neither had he).

We arrived at the industrial area in West Norwood to the startup-style location colored brightly with oranges and some amazing light fixtures. We started with coffee while we waited, admiring the wacky circus-style art on the wall and the old-timey espresso machines and coffee grinders. Then our coffee roasting expert met us and took us through a very small door (which, let's be honest was just the right side for Mr. T, the brother-in-law, and me) into another very industrial area into the coffee roasting and training area. Giant bags of colorful coffee bags were stacked up a against a wall and the hum of the roasting machine made me feel like I'd entered Santa's workshop.

You can see the green beans in the roaster,
while the last batch cools in the giant tray below.

The odd thing? At first sniff, the entire operation reminded me of the scents of shop class. I'm guessing it was the mixture of the gas-powered roaster and the buckets of roasted beans sitting and scenting the room. The more time we spent in the facility, however, the less I picked up this scent and the more the space smelled of delicious, freshly roasted Volcano coffee.

The roasting expert took us through nearly two nearly complete roasting cycles, and we watched the beans go from a pale green to a dark, aromatic brown. I was blown away that the process only takes about 12-15 minutes; it's bizarre to watch the coffee beans change color, weight, and scent so quickly. While we were waiting for the beans to finish roasting, a fella on the other side of the room offered to make us fresh coffee, so I opted for yet another Americano (poor Mr. T, he didn't drink a thing!).

This is the sampling wand -- you pull the beans throughout the
process to make sure that they get the right roasted color and scent.

It was heaven -- drinking coffee from freshly roasted beans while watching more beans roast.

After watching a few batches roast, asking tons of questions (How do you make decaf? How does flavored coffee get made? Can I roast my own beans at home?), we jaunted off to Camden Market, which was an experience. Imagine where goths and punks and hipsters and fetishists and tourists and foodies all meet in one giant mashup. That, folks, was Camden Market. I picked up a few beautiful scarves there that I'll be blogging about at some point in the future, so stay tuned for that. If you are ever in London, be sure to hit up the Market. You can really find just about anything to meet your wildest dreams here (including a dirge!).

Have you ever visited a roaster? There is a local roaster in Efrat (the next town over) called Sipsters. I wonder if they'd let me pop in for a roasting experience?

Ask Chaviva Anything: The Hater Edition

2013-04-02T22:50:00.000+03:00

We all have them. We all try to ignore them. But sometimes, I like to drag the haters out into the public eye and maybe let them see how ridiculous their questions and proddings are. Why? Because what we see and detest in others is that which we see and detest in ourselves. It's about coping with those things, not deflecting them onto others.

Question Number One:

I'm rather confused by the contradictory nature of your adherence to tznius. You dress very modestly and yet you talk quite freely about matters which are rather intimate and inappropriate for the public sphere. Just today you posted about vibrators on your facebook page - isn't it a bit contradictory to be modest in dress and yet not in behavior?

Okay, what you're confused about is what tzanua is. Above all, I frequently remind people about the many layers of tzanua, because as I discovered when I did The Tzniut Project a few years back, many people see tzanua as a very shallow thing -- cover the elbows, cover the knees -- when it's about so much more. It's speech, actions, how you carry yourself, the company you keep, the way you eat, the way you sit, everything.

So I'd like to know what -- other than my Facebook post at my utter shock at the ease in which people can purchase vibrators in the UK and why they're located in something as benign as the Bandaid asile -- is "intimate and inappropriate" that I post about here on my blog or even on Facebook. I'd really love to know. Give me some examples. Oh pretty please!

For those of you curious about the utter scandal to which this questioner refers, this was the Facebook post:

Now for Question Number Two, which is actually more of a statement.

"I feel so antisocial. On my computer. While the family observes #chag. D'oh." Are you FOR REAL??? I give your marriage about six months ...

Oh haters. Oh haters! The quote the person refers to is from Twitter. You see, this year, because we were in the UK for Pesach, things were kind of messy. Me, a new olah to Israel, and Mr. T, holding to the traditions and rulings of the Chacham Tzvi (when in Rome, do as the Romans do), had to figure out our situation delicately. Traditionally, those who do not live in Israel celebrate two holiday days at the beginning and end of Passover -- those are days that are very Shabbat-like in restrictions, but you can cook and there are other leniencies. Those inside Israel only have one day at either end of Passover.

After speaking with a rabbi, it was decided that I only had to hold to one day, while Mr. T had to hold to two days. The result was that I was sitting in the bedroom doing work (because, well, work called, and I was observing one day) while the family was sitting in the living room reading or conversing about odds and ends. I felt bad about it, and Mr. T and I discussed how strange it was to be on two different time tables. Hopefully, next year, we'll be on the same schedule and all will be right in the world.

As for your bets on my marriage, I hope someone actually took that bet. And bet you a lot of money, because this marriage is pretty amazing. But I have nothing to prove to you. We'll talk again in six months, mmk?

Peace to the haters!

Advice: Contacting a Blogger? Read it first!

2013-04-02T18:38:00.001+03:00

Here's a huge shocker: When you want to contact a blogger about promotional material, maybe read their blog first. Consider the topic or theme of the blog, the audience, the focus!

Sex products? Come on now folks. This blogger, even for $100, would not even consider posting something like this.

Get wise, folks!

Blog Love!

2013-03-24T12:58:00.001+02:00

Every now and again, I get an email, a message, something on Twitter from someone who happens to read my blog and has something kind, appreciative things to say. I don't always get to share those things, but luckily this is something I can share because it's already live and available on the internet.

This picture was sketched, colored, and posted by the lovely Skeptical Pony. She wrote some very sweet things about me, and I have to say I love this sketch. B'ezrat HaShem, I'll look this good until I'm good and old!

Ask Chaviva Anything: Of Postal Boxes and Addresses

2013-03-23T22:24:00.001+02:00

A few questions popped up on Ask Chaviva Anything, and I wanted to answer them quickly (because they have quick answers, believe it or not). There are lots sitting in the queue that I promise to get to over Chol ha'Moed (those are the intermediate days of the holiday Passover, which starts Monday night).

Question Numero Uno:

I saw you have a proper mail box now. Would you like to receive mail? (Feel free to say no ... You've got other priorities and are always busy, but I know that a card in the post now and then can be cheering, so I wanted to make the offer.)

Great question, and I'm happy to oblige because for the first time in my life I have a box number! So I'm happy to dish out my address on the interwebs without worry of someone hunting me down and destroying me. After all, y'all already know I live in Neve Daniel. You just don't know where! Bwahaha. Anyway, here's the address:

Chaviva Gordon-Bennett
Box 323
Neve Daniel 90909
ISRAEL

Or, if you prefer Hebrew:

חביבה גורדון-בניט
Box 323
נווה דניאל 90909
ישראל

And on to Question Numero Dos:

Your decision to live in a settlement could be interpreted by some as being quite a controversial move and indicating a clear political statement in regards to the West Bank / Yehuda VeShomron region. Has your decision to move to Neve Daniel, particularly as a convert who seems to have enjoyed a very good quality of life when living in the United States, drawn criticism from others? I would imagine that your family and friends back home would have worried for your safety, given such incidents of violence against Jews as the Fogel massacre. However, I would be interested to know if you have ever felt the need to justify your decision to those who disagreed with settlements?
Perhaps as a European I'm coming at this from a different angle, as I've seen firsthand how contentious the whole issue can be. Americans, from my own experiences, seem much more likely to see the settlements in a positive light. I hope my tone isn't accusatory and haven't included my own view on settlements because I don't feel that they're relevant to the question. As a fellow convert I've really enjoyed your blogs and insights into Judaism and while our views differ on some issues, I really admire your courage in documenting your life in such a public and honest way.

I'd like to say this is an original question, but I've been asked it before and I wrote about it fairly recently. I hope it's not dismissive, and if there's anything I don't address in the blog post or comments, feel free to shoot me an email or comment on the blog post. But you can find my response to these kinds of queries in A Life Illegal.

I like Question Numero ... um ... Three (wait, is it Tres). Bravo for inquiring.

So now that you're a stepmom, are you now going to start writing for Kveller?

This is a great question. I honestly hadn't even thought of it, but I suppose I should look into it, eh? Any one have any experience with Kveller or the process? Any bits of advice?

Okay, that's all for now. There is packing in my future ... packing for England, where it's in the 30s and 40s (that's Fahrenheit, because -- let's be honest -- I'm never going to get on the Celsius bandwagon). I'm stoked to get back a little bit of the winter that I missed.

Stay tuned for UK adventures!

Oh a Tremping We Will Go!

2013-03-21T15:03:00.000+02:00

If there's one thing in Israel that I still haven't latched on to like a mosquito on fresh, pale skin, it's the entire concept of "tremping."

For the uninformed, tremping is when you stand by the side of the road, stick out your finger or hand or hold up a sign saying where you need to go, and hitch a ride with a perfect stranger to your destination. It's basically hitch-hiking, but much safer. Sort of.

My dad used to tell me about how he'd pick up hitchhikers in the 1970s, but nowadays in the U.S. it's highly illegal and incredibly dangerous to do so. In Israel, however, it's normal. In fact, some people get around solely by tremping, never needing a bus ticket or to buy gas for the car.

When I first moved to Neve Daniel, tremping became a necessary reality. Yes, Mr. T and his business partner have two vehicles, but most of the time they're needed on the job site (and one of them is manual, which I just don't do). Every now and again, I wander up to the entrance of Neve Daniel and stand, somewhere between the tremping bench and the bus stop, hoping and praying that the bus comes soon so I don't have to tremp. Why?

I'm a scaredy cat, that's why.

I've tremped roughly a half-dozen times, and during all of them I've been perplexed. Do I tell them where I'm going? Where I need to get off? Do I just sit here? Do I say something? Do I offer a tip? WHAT DO I DO!?

Today, for example, I was at home and realized that the construction going on in my building was going to push me off the ledge for the umpteenth day in a row. The floor was vibrating, my head was banging, and I needed to get out. I packed my things and headed to the trempiada (the fun word for where people stand to catch a tremp). A few other women joined me there, and eventually a car came along heading to Tzomet HaGush, the central spot in the Gush where there's a grocery store, some restaurants, an electronics store, and so on. It's also a place where all of the buses in and out of the Gush always stop, and it's home to a gigantic trempiada. So I tremped to Tzomet HaGush and then walked over to the trempiada and hitched a ride into Jerusalem. Backwards way of doing things? Probably, but guess who was fresh out of cash for the bus? This chick!

Now here's the thing. The guy said he was going into Mercaz ha'Ir (center of the city), which can mean a lot of different things. So what did I do? I just stayed in the car. We kept passing places where I could have gotten off, but me not being sure how to say "Dude, let me out here, please," decided to just ride along. This guy could have driven to Taiwan and I would have sat there quietly like a nice, Midwesterner.

Luckily, he was traveling to a place where I could hitch a bus back to where I needed to be that we drove past. My carbon footprint was big on this one, and I feel bad, but seriously, I don't know how to get out of a tremp unless the other trempers say "I need out here." So that was the impetus for me to get out of the car -- someone else needing out.

I haven't learned all of the hand signs yet, but I've learned that they're largely irrelevant these days. People pull over, roll down a window, announce where they're going, and people either get in the car or they don't. It's a fairly efficient system, if you ask me.

The question is: When I'm driving, do I pull over and pick up trempers? When I'm alone, it feels really weird and unsafe to me. You can tell the girl out of Nebraska, but you can't take Nebraska out of the girl. The one time I did stop, no one needed a ride, and the only time anyone has ever gotten into the car was when I pulled in to Neve Daniel and gave a guy a ride up the gigantically ginormous hill.

Either way, tremping is something that I feel like I'll never be good at. I don't have the chutzpah or patience or ... whatever it takes ... to be a skilled tremper.

Is it just me (and the U.S. at that), or is hitchhiking a thing of the past? Is it common in Europe? Asia? South America?

Chaviva Live on the Intertubes?

2013-03-21T11:30:00.000+02:00

Is anyone interested in me hosting a LIVE Google+ Hangout (oh I'm not a big fan of G+, but it's the easiest way to do these things) to ask questions, watch me tie a tichel, and other fun things? It would be embedded here, available live on YouTube, or in G+.

If you're not sure what a G+ Hangout is, watch this short, cute video.

Adventures in Pizza

2013-03-20T21:16:00.002+02:00

I was really excited after a pretty craptastic day to make pizza for Mr. T, because we'd been lamenting for days (if not weeks) about how there's no place in the Gush where I can purchase pizza that's gluten free (there is a pizza place, but, come on, it's kosher pizza, which means it's extra greasy and chock full o' gluten!). Then I came to find out he went out for lunch in Beitar at one of these said greasy pizza joints. Major planning fail! Luckily, with my mad cooking skills in tow, I managed to blow that pizza out of the water, redeeming the pizza cravings that have plagued us for so long.

I have to say that I'm incredibly blessed to have a husband who is down with gluten-free eating, and with our CSA (community-supported agriculture) has been rocking our socks as of late, we've been eating fresh, healthy, and seasonal. Oh it feels so good!

So, I give you, the instructions to make this easy, quick Gluten-Free Roasted Beet and Beet Green Pizza with Feta. Let me know if you try it. Truth be told, the crust could be eaten as a flat bread, or even spread thinner and cooked longer to be an Italian cracker. You'll also notice I use parchment for everything. I like a clean cooking space and not having to scratch food off of my favorite baking sheets. If you have a pizza stone, use it. If you don't, don't. I'm pro-parchment, you should be, too!

The Beets
Yes, this is a popular band known on the hit Nickelodeon cartoon "Doug," but they're also an incredibly messy root vegetable. So put on your rubber gloves, and prepare to wipe down your counter every five seconds so that you don't dye anything red.

With roughly a pound of beets (for me this was three medium sized and two very small), peel them and chop them into 1/2-inch pieces. Place in a bowl and toss with a bit of olive oil, salt, and pepper. Throw them onto a parchment-lined baking sheet and bake in a 400-degree oven for about 45 minutes until they're fork tender and aromatic.

While the beets are baking, feel free to move on to ...

The Crust
I decided to go with a mashup of several recipes I found online based on what I had on hand. This crust is shockingly stable, super delicious, and incredibly flavorful.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. In a KitchenAid (or with a spoon, to be honest), mix together the following:

2 cups almond meal/flour
1/4 cup flax meal
1/2 tsp dried oregano
1/2 tsp dried basil
1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs, beaten
2 tsp olive oil

When the ingredients are full combined, throw the dough onto a piece of parchment and flatten out with the palm of your hand (wet your hand to keep it from sticking) to about a 1/2-inch thick or however thick you want it. Place the parchment with the perfectly pizza-shaped (yeah, right!) dough onto a baking sheet (or, if you have a pizza stone, do it all on there) and place in the oven for about 15 minutes until the edges are brown.

Thank you to Mr. T, the hand model. We were both blown

away by how stable the crust was. No bending, no flopping,

no soggy gluten-free crust over here!

The Other Toppings

I'm a big fan of using every last bit of produce in my CSA before it rots (so hard sometimes, honestly), so I was happy to make this pizza using every last inch of usable beet goodness.

Grab a large saucepan, throw some olive oil in it, and prepare the following.

1 small or 1/2 a medium/large red onion, diced
1-2 cloves garlic minced
The greens from the beets with the stems removed, chopped roughly, rinsed and dried

In the saucepan, heat the oil over medium-high heat, and saute the red onion until it starts to brown. Throw in the garlic and cook for another minute. Throw in the beet greens, mix around, and then place a lid on the pan for about 3-5 minutes until the beet greens are slightly wilted but still incredibly colorful.

Assemble the Pizza!

Once the crust is brown around the edges, take it out of the oven and throw on the beet greens/red onion mixture first, then the roasted beet cubes, then top generously with delicious feta cheese. Yes, I took a bunch of Lactaid to be able to consume this pizza, but I guarantee you the beet/feta combo is unforgettable.

Place the pizza back in the oven long enough for the feta to get soft and start to brown. Feel free to turn on the broiler to hasten the process.

Then? Enjoy! Eat the heck out of this pizza. The great thing about it is that it's incredibly filling, doesn't have the greasy grossness of a lot of regular pizza (2 teaspoons of oil, people), and the nut crust and hearty topppings will leave you feeling satiated but not weighed down.

This is healthy, kosher, gluten-free living. (It's kosher for Passover, too!) Now to find a vegan feta ...

Gluten-Free Honey-Oat Challah

2013-03-19T09:00:00.000+02:00

I've had a lot of requests for my recipe for gluten-free challah, so it's about time I got down to it. Now, I have to start this off by saying that if you are full-blown celiac, there's a chance that you can't handle oats -- even those of the gluten-free variety. I'm blessed in that gluten-free oats and I get along just dandy, so for Passover and on Shabbat and holidays, I partake of the gluten-free oat variety of bread products. If you can't, then my suggestion is to just buy something packaged in the store because gluten-free baking can be expensive. I like being able to make motzei, so for Shabbat I put together this Gluten-Free Honey-Oat Challah.

Wait, something else I need to mention: My challah isn't braided. Most gluten-free challah isn't braided. Why? Because the dough just isn't the right consistency for braiding, unfortunately.

That being said, does challah have to be braided to be challah?

I can't seem to find anything that says that the braiding is a necessity of challah. The reason we have two loaves of challah for Shabbat are clutch in commemorating the double portion of manna that HaShem provided the Israelites in the desert (Exodus 16:4-30). The various shapes and stylings of challot have a varied history.

Evidently, according to author Gil Marks, most Ashkenazim used their weekday round or rectangular loaves for Shabbat, but German Jews began to create ova, braided loaves modeled on a "popular Teutonic bread." (Whatever that means.) This shape became the norm, although many Middle Eastern and Sephardic Jews still use a round, flat bread or plain rectangular loaves for their Shabbat challot.

So we'll say that my delicious little Honey-Oat Loaves fall in line with the Sephardic custom, and yours can, too! Just pop over to Barefeet in the Kitchen for the recipe. I'd like to think I came up with it on my own, but credit goes where credit is due. The only thing I did different was bake the loaf in three small loaf pans, but I can tell you this loaf is good enough for even the most discerning gluten-loving foodie (Mr. T was quite fond of it!).

The Apartment

2013-03-18T17:00:00.000+02:00

You asked. I answered. Check it out!

Wake Up! It's Sunshine Polenta Time

2013-03-18T14:12:00.000+02:00

First of all, I have to apologize for the ch-ch-changes going on here on the blog. I wanted something new and fresh to go with my new and fresh existence in Neve Daniel with Mr. T and iBoy, but I'm working out some major kinks. You'll notice that at the bottom of this post from the homepage you won't see any comment link. Nope! You have to click on the title to get into the post and then comment. Argh! Sorry for the frustrating changes, but hopefully I'll get them worked out super stat. You will be happy to note that you can now easily email me through the little GMail envelope link over there on the right.

Now on to that delicious dish up there. The amazing bowl was a wedding gift set from the amazing Schleids, and I can't express how much I love them. We use them for everything -- prep, eating, serving, you name it. We now need to find more of them because of our intense love of said bowls.

I call this Sunshine Polenta because it'll smack you in the face with freshness and wake you up. There are a lot of ways to make it versatile, but it's gluten free, dairy free, and vegan. feel free to throw on some Greek yogurt or something else to make it your own, but this is how I do it.

On the stove, bring 2 cups of any combination of orange juice, almond/rice/coconut milk, and water to a boil. I used a 1 cup almond milk, 2/3 cup OJ, and 1/3 cup water ratio for mine. Once it's boiling, pour in 1/2 cup polenta and stir as the mixture comes back to a boil. Once it's boiling and bubbly in orange deliciousness, let it cook at medium heat for 3-5 minutes. Whisk it good, then take it off the heat, cover, and let it sit for at least 5 minutes.

Using an orange or a tangerine, zest the heck out of the polenta until you're heart's content. Slice up pieces of the orange or tangerine and top the polenta (it took about half a tangerine for me).

I topped mine with walnuts, flax meal, coriander, cinnamon, and a drizzle of Agave, but feel free to embellish yours with other fresh, healthy toppings.

And then? Devour! Devour it like you haven't eaten in days! Oh, and be sure to make yourself a cup of delicious Vanilla-Nut Coffee to go with it. If you don't have Vanilla Nut, any old cuppa Joe will do.

Betayavon! (That's Hebrew for Bon Appetit.)