Jewish Boy Problems

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Dec 2

Dormify Eight Nights Giveaway

Don’t miss your chance to win these prizes! Winners will be selected and announced this week:

  • You’ll be the tawk of Castle Court with the beSDT dormify pillowcase out there. Enter to win: bit.ly/1922yQ3
  • This dormify gelt-covered popcorn is perfect after a night at @Skeeps_AA or @TheBootNOLA. Enter to win: bit.ly/17KmHgk
  • Have you ever wondered “How can I look my JAPpiest?” This dormify @AEPhi croptop shows your LML pride. Enter to win: bit.ly/1i7bixQ
  • When your anti-anxiety meds haven’t kicked in, clutch this dormify peace pillow for calm thoughts. Enter to win: bit.ly/17TcyAr
  • These awesome #Hanukkah dormify drink coasters are perfect for your common room in Liggett/Koenig. Enter to win: bit.ly/Ibp962
  • This dormify 3D menorah won’t set off the fire alarm in Thurston Hall. Enter to win: bit.ly/1816WyO
  • This dormify hamsa pillow says, “I pretended to ‘branch out’ on Birthright and it was sababa!” Enter to win: bit.ly/1civ6HB
  • Relive your candy-themed Bat Mitzvah several years later with this dormify gummy bear night light. Enter to win: bit.ly/IbuKcu
These Israeli-American valley girls can get it.

These Israeli-American valley girls can get it.

Sep 5
badtvblog:

Buster sets himself up for fat-shaming.

badtvblog:

Buster sets himself up for fat-shaming.

(Source: epistemologicalfallacy)

piratejb:


Conversation of the week

piratejb:

Conversation of the week

humansofnewyork:

"We met 55 years ago on a teen tour, and have been best friends ever since."  “What’s her best quality?”  “She’s loyal.”  “What’s the toughest thing she’s ever helped you through?”  “I don’t know if I should say this, but I’m going to. Fourteen years ago, I got lung cancer. Then seven or eight years ago, I got breast cancer. And now the lung cancer’s back. I must have set a record or something, because it was fourteen years ago, but now it’s back, and it’s metastasized, and the prognosis is not good.”  “She’s doing good. The chemo is working.”  “She’s right, I’m doing ok, and I’ll make it longer than expected, but the prognosis is not good. And I’m gonna cry now, but I’ve got to say— and I know it’s a cliche— but she’s been there every step of the way. Every appointment, every surgery, every time I’ve done chemo, she’s been there. And I couldn’t have come this far without her.”

humansofnewyork:

"We met 55 years ago on a teen tour, and have been best friends ever since."
“What’s her best quality?”
“She’s loyal.”
“What’s the toughest thing she’s ever helped you through?”
“I don’t know if I should say this, but I’m going to. Fourteen years ago, I got lung cancer. Then seven or eight years ago, I got breast cancer. And now the lung cancer’s back. I must have set a record or something, because it was fourteen years ago, but now it’s back, and it’s metastasized, and the prognosis is not good.”
“She’s doing good. The chemo is working.”
“She’s right, I’m doing ok, and I’ll make it longer than expected, but the prognosis is not good. And I’m gonna cry now, but I’ve got to say— and I know it’s a cliche— but she’s been there every step of the way. Every appointment, every surgery, every time I’ve done chemo, she’s been there. And I couldn’t have come this far without her.”

Why I’m Not Going to Synagogue This Year

I was born into a relatively religious family. I had a Jewish education from the time I was born through the time I became a Bar Mitzvah at age 13. To this day, my parents keep Kosher in the home, celebrate most of the holidays, and honor our deceased relatives by attending yarzheit services at our synagogue. My parents pray occasionally, but usually only during illness.

Culturally speaking, I attended day and sleepaway camps from the time I was a toddler through middle school. I spent every weekend in 7th grade at lavish Bar or Bat Mitzvah receptions across New Jersey and Manhattan. I always had school days off during the Jewish High Holidays. Growing up, my best friends were Jewish, and we frequently shared family dinners together. In high school, I was a chapter president in the Jewish leadership organization, BBYO. During a winter break in college, I went on a Birthright trip to Israel. I had an amazing time, met incredible people, and began to feel again after an emotional slump. Overall, everything in my life was interconnected and meaningful.

But eventually, my in-born skepticism took root when I started to examine my life. How could I remain traditionally religious when I didn’t believe in an all-knowing God? Why should I believe a mythical, powerful man in the sky allows tragedies and distress? Most importantly, why are so-called “Messengers of God” preaching hate and inequality in an otherwise enlightened age?

Going back another generation, my maternal grandparents were essentially conservadox—a compromise for acculturated immigrants. In the early 20th century, science couldn’t explain many questions. Religion provided answers to questions that didn’t make sense. Religion and belief in a higher authority helped bring solace to those struggling through the Holocaust. Who can blame them, though?

I haven’t been to a formal temple ceremony in years. I attended occasional Hillel High Holiday services at my college’s interfaith chapel, but it was mostly to placate my parents. Popping into the chapel for an hour between classes didn’t do much. Flipping through pages and humming verses felt familiar but didn’t do anything. In the grand scheme of things, how could humming a few Hebrew words impress God? Why should we even be impressing someone that might not be listening? Hillel was more about showing face and feigning interest. The truly pious students went to the local Chabad house—a much more religious organization that isn’t limited to college campuses. I was “enjoying” the diet or light version of my religion. I felt like I was cheating, despite not really caring about living up to higher expectations.

When I was a child, I remembered High Holiday services at our hometown temple as glorified fashion shows and gossip fests. The rabbi and cantor were speaking or singing while the congregants whispered about who looked old, who got divorced, or where so-and-so’s daughter went to college. The most religious time of the Jewish year was reduced to petty arguments, icy glares, and idle chatter. The sanctuary was filled with warm bodies, but mentally, many of the congregants were elsewhere. Spending thousands of dollars a year to sit in a room and gossip made no sense to me. Additionally, when I was too old for childrens’ services, my classmates and I would roam around the building and cause trouble in the restrooms and coat room. Was this any way to honor a culture or tradition?

This year, I want to honor my Jewish roots in a non-traditional fashion that is meaningful to me. Although I won’t be physically occupying a sanctuary, I will be reflecting on my own time and terms. I’m not quite sure what my itinerary is, but it might include time alone in a public park, my backyard, or some other location where I can reflect. I will be forsaking electronics for the day. I might check out books from a library and learn more about my culture and roots. Perhaps I’ll sketch some Judaic scenes from my trip to Israel. After all, I’ve been the most self-assured when thinking about the legacy of the greatest Jewish minds and landmarks.

I know everything I’ve ever accomplished was due to my own hard work and support from friends and family. I noticed a distinct improvement in my quality of life when I started believing in myself and not a pre-determined destiny set by a man in the sky. I also learned to stop blaming my bad thoughts or actions on others and to take responsibility for myself. Most importantly, I stopped trying to impress God. Simply put, no one made me act a certain way—it was all my own doing.

My parents have come to terms with the fact I won’t be attending temple for Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur. At age 23, my parents really can’t force me to do something I don’t believe in. I have no qualms about them honoring their commitment to Judaism in a temple. I just wish my parents would understand my perspective—as a disillusioned, post-9/11 millennial—who chooses to honor a lifestyle and identity in a unique, unorthodox way. Reflecting on my own doesn’t make me any less of a Jew than my temple-going contemporaries showing off designer labels during Mourner’s Kaddish.

humansofnewyork:

When I finished photographing the man in the previous post, he said: “Wait one second, I want to show you my father.” He went inside his store, and returned with this framed photograph."My father lost his entire family in Auschwitz when he was a young boy,” he explained. “After the war he moved to France. He went to a tie manufacturer and said ‘I will work for free, just teach me how to make ties.’ After a year of working there, he moved to America and got a job at a tie factory for 15 cents an hour. Soon he saved enough to buy his own ties, which he peddled on the streets. Then he saved up enough to open his own tie store. Then he started selling suits too. Eventually he opened five of his own stores.”"Are they all still open?" I asked."No," he replied. "This is the last one left."The store is Global International Menswear62 Orchard Street on the Lower East Side.

humansofnewyork:

When I finished photographing the man in the previous post, he said: “Wait one second, I want to show you my father.” He went inside his store, and returned with this framed photograph.

"My father lost his entire family in Auschwitz when he was a young boy,” he explained. “After the war he moved to France. He went to a tie manufacturer and said ‘I will work for free, just teach me how to make ties.’ After a year of working there, he moved to America and got a job at a tie factory for 15 cents an hour. Soon he saved enough to buy his own ties, which he peddled on the streets. Then he saved up enough to open his own tie store. Then he started selling suits too. Eventually he opened five of his own stores.”
"Are they all still open?" I asked.
"No," he replied. "This is the last one left."

The store is Global International Menswear
62 Orchard Street on the Lower East Side.

zooborns:

At Ramat Gan Safari, Mother and Grandmother Asian Elephants Raise Calf Together

When the elephant keepers at Ramat Gan Safari Park in Israel arrived on the morning of August 2, they found a newborn Asian Elephant calf. After 22 months of anticipation, it finally happened — the 7-year-old cow, La Belle, had given birth to a beautiful female. The calf has been given the Sanskrit name Tang, meaning ‘thin girl’, because she was born weighing 70-80 kg, far less than the 100 kg that is usual for an Asian Elephant calf.

Learn about the little calf and see many more photos and videos at ZooBorns!

zooborns:

At Ramat Gan Safari, Mother and Grandmother Asian Elephants Raise Calf Together

When the elephant keepers at Ramat Gan Safari Park in Israel arrived on the morning of August 2, they found a newborn Asian Elephant calf. After 22 months of anticipation, it finally happened — the 7-year-old cow, La Belle, had given birth to a beautiful female. The calf has been given the Sanskrit name Tang, meaning ‘thin girl’, because she was born weighing 70-80 kg, far less than the 100 kg that is usual for an Asian Elephant calf.

Learn about the little calf and see many more photos and videos at ZooBorns!

Aug 3
hiddurmitzvah:

queen-yetta-rosenberg:
Omer Calendar, 19th Century. Collection of Yeshiva University Museum

hiddurmitzvah:

queen-yetta-rosenberg:

Omer Calendar, 19th Century. Collection of Yeshiva University Museum

Aug 1
dailynewsstop:

YOU be the judge.
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dailynewsstop:

YOU be the judge.

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