Almost Wordless Wednesday on Thursday

Thanks for your patience concerning Almost Wordless Wednesday.

My final pictorial reminder of nature's wonders seen this year comes straight from our backyard deck. This summer we were stunned and blessed by the presence of a mama mallard nesting in one of our flower boxes mere inches from the backdoor. The five week odyssey saw the eventual birth of eight ducklings and a webcam setup that was viewed with excitement by hundreds of friends and followers. The Husband was able to capture the actual hatching with grace and beauty. This photo was snapped within an hour of hatching. This particular shot is The Husband's favourite of the hundreds he took that day as he thinks the little guy in front looks like a character right out of Angry Birds. It was a miracle right at our doorstep.

The Great Hillel/Shammai Chanukah Candle Debate

**Due to the arrival of Chanukah this evening, my regular feature Almost Wordless Wednesday will be presented as an Almost Wordless Thursday tomorrow. 

Last year on Chanukah we tried an experiment in our home. We lit two Chanukiot on each of the eight nights of Chanukah. Now that exercise isn't terribly unusual in and of itself. Many families will light several special Chanukah menorahs each night that may have sentimental value or familial or historical significance. The result is a substantial illumination that is befitting the holiday. But as a kibbitz last year, The Husband and I decided to light one chanukiah in the tradition of the Beyt Hillel and one in the tradition of the Beyt Shammai. It wasn't long before we began to really talk about the ritual and about the meaning behind it. And within the confines of those eight days, our little joke took on some significant meaning. But first, some Judaic perspective.

Two of the Talmud's most learned sages were Rabbis Hillel and Shammai. Their disputes are detailed and legendary. The schools of disciples which they headed often debated on matters of ritual and theology, always with honour and reverence, and in most cases the ideas of Hillel won out. Those arguments are meticulously recorded in the Talmud. Yet, the school of Shammai didn't just disappear into the ether and his students continued to follow his teachings. The Talmud tells us Elu V'Elu Divrei Elohim Chayim; that both sides are "for the sake of heaven" and therefore are the words of the living God and should be respected.

One of Hillel and Shammai's most famous debates concerned the lighting of Chanukah candles. It was the determination of Shammai that one begins lighting with the days remaining, while Hillel taught that one begins with the days completed. Thus it was that Shammai would light eight candles on the first day and decrease the number by one on each successive day. Hillel followed the opposite path of lighting one candle on the first day and increasing the number by one on each successive day. Thereby Shammai celebrated the days to come and Hillel the days that had already passed.

Of course there was Halachic rationale for both philosophies. Shammai's comes from the holiday of Sukkot where it was tradition to bring bulls for the sacrifice. On each of the days of the holiday, that number would be steadily decreased by one. Thus the candles of Chanukah should follow the same counting. (There is some thought that the first Chanukah was actually a delayed celebration of our fall festival of Sukkot. The postponement was brought on by the Maccabees battle and subsequent victory over the Hellenists, thus making a rededication of the temple necessary.) 

Hillel's reasoning was that when it comes to matters of holiness we should always attempt to increase our commitment. The Chanukah candles remind us of our continual striving for a greater level of holiness in our lives. 

As was usually the case, Hillel's arguments won the day and thus it is our practice to light the candles in increasing rather than decreasing order. As The Husband and I began our little experiment last year, it occurred to me that even though Hillel's practice is followed today, Shammai's point of view is neither deleted nor dismissed. This is an inclusive brand of Judaism that I find very appealing. While law has become codified, it is neither static nor without counter-arguments. Majority and minority opinions both carry weight within our tradition. We continue to discuss, to change, to include, and to move progressively forward so that Judaism can remain relevant today. 

So tonight on this first night of Chanukah I will again light two Chanukiot. One to honour the mitzvah of the holiness of the lights in the tradition of the accepted practice of Hillel, and one to honour the inclusiveness of the minority in the tradition of Shammai.

I wish all who celebrate a Chag Urim Sameach. To my American Jewish friends who are observing a once in a cosmos converging of Chanukah and Thanksgiving, I wish you double blessings. To everybody else Happy Thanksgiving or Happy Wednesday/Thursday. 

It's That Time of Year

It is Michigan week.

That strange and extraordinarily barbaric time of year when decent, hard-working, God-fearing people residing in the usually bucolic midwestern utopia of Ohio, transmute into maize and blue flesh eating zombies ready to attack at the mere mention of that state to the north. Last year I remarked on my conversion to all things Ohio State football which came about as a direct result of Younger Son's insistence on dating a Buckeye.

Since Younger Son and His B'shert (a much better handle, don't you think?) have finally put a ring on it, there is an even more heightened sense of involvement this year. I have come to the realization that no matter how hard I try to fight it, the annual Ohio State/Michigan gridiron apocalypse is now a deeply ingrained part of my family's psyche.

Last week when the young couple were here visiting, the OSU/Indiana massacre was on. (42-14, but the score was much closer than the actual game.) Now, I am no neophyte when it comes to football. I am intimately familiar with formations, nickel defences, draw plays, and the like and I have made it my business to better acquaint myself with some of the minutiae of Urban Meyer's program. Family harmony, don't ya know. Well....in the interest of carrying on a cogent football conversation, I made some crucial errors according to Younger Son's B'shert.

When I remarked that both teams used red in their school colours and that the stadium was awash in hues of gladiator blood, I was told in no uncertain terms that Indiana wears a much more feminine crimson while The Buckeyes are proudly adorned in warrior scarlet. Check out the difference.

Scarlet

Crimson

Who knew?

But my real trouble began when I did the unthinkable. I questioned Saint Braxton Miller's throwing motion. The football fan in me couldn't help myself. (My mind was shouting SHUT UP DAWN even as my mouth was spewing the words.) During a series when OSU was moving the ball at will against the porous Hoosier D, I noted that the speedy quarterback (and this guy is really really really fast!!) flung the ball sidearm on a number of occasions. And then...I did something even more stupid. I actually had the audacity to suggest that perhaps,  just perhaps, this hitch in his arm could be compared to another Meyer protege....Tim Tebow (Oh the horror!) and that his future in the NFL might be in question. Audible gasps!! 

Well. You'd have thought that the entire state was mobilizing with pitchforks at my door. I was accused of not being a true fan and that I knew nothing about the game because Meyer is a genius. After all, how many national championship rings am I wearing?

Because I adore my future daughter-in-law and her parents, and because no football game is worth the price of familial peace, here is my mea culpa. 

You were right and I was wrong. There is no football program in all the land that can compare with The Ohio State University. There are no flaws, no gaffes, no hitches, and no coach who can even compare with the brilliant Urban Meyer. Braxton is a god who defies description and, really who even cares about his pro future as long as he leads us to victory this weekend against those weasels to the north. I promise to proudly adorn myself in scarlet and grey on Saturday and to scream so loudly that my neighbours might have to report me to the cops.

Are we good?

And by the way...it's Tuesday and Michigan still sucks. 

Meatless Monday The Finale

Good Morning,

We are in the final week of this blogging extravaganza and as such this is my final Meatless Monday recipe for the month. We had snow up here this past weekend, so I thought that I would offer a warm and hearty dish that is perfect for the long, cold, miserable winter that is now upon us.

The Husband loves Mexican food, but I need to modify many recipes in order to accommodate our vegetarian lifestyle as well as my lactose issues. This black bean enchilada dish is easy and satisfying. Enjoy.

Black Bean Enchiladas

Ingredients

1 red pepper, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
1 jalapeño pepper, seeded and chopped (optional depending on your heat preference)
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 (15 ounce) can black beans, rinsed and drained
1 (14.5 ounce) can diced tomatoes
1/4 cup picante sauce (Schirracha or Frank's Red Hot)
1 tablespoon chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
2 cups cooked brown rice
8-10 (6 inch) flour tortillas, warmed
1 cup salsa
1 cup reduced fat shredded Cheddar cheese (I use lactose free)

3 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro leaves

Directions

1. In a large nonstick skillet, saute the green pepper, onion and garlic in oil until tender. Add the beans, tomatoes, picante sauce, chili powder, cumin and red pepper flakes; bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, until heated through and mixture thickens. Add rice; cook 5 minutes longer or until heated through.


2. Spoon a rounded 1/2 cup down the center of each tortilla. Fold sides over filling and roll up. Place in a 13-in. x 9-in. x 2-in. baking dish coated with nonstick cooking spray. Spoon salsa over each tortilla. Cover and bake at 350 degrees F for 25 minutes. Uncover; sprinkle with cheese and cilantro. Bake 2-3 minutes longer or until cheese is melted.

A quick bonus recipe for the season:

It is the earliest ever Chanukah arriving this Wednesday evening. Here is my favourite and ridiculously simple Baked Sweet Potato Latke recipe to help celebrate the occasion. (I am not much for overly greasy fried foods, so baking the latkes gives me the taste without too much oil.)

Baked Sweet Potato Latkes

Ingredients

1 pound sweet potatoes , grated
1 medium onion, grated
1/4 cup green onions thinly sliced
3/4 cup panko bread crumbs
3 eggs
1/4 cup fresh parsley, minced
salt

pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Prepare baking pan by spraying with cooking spray or oil.
2. Grate onion using the large holes of a box grater. Do the same with the sweet potatoes. Squeeze excess liquid by wrapping grated potatoes and onion in clean towel to drain.
3. Combine eggs, bread crumbs, green onions salt and pepper and parsley. Add to drained potato mixture.
4. Scoop rounded tablespoon sized mounds and place on baking sheet, flattening slightly into 1/2" thick pancakes.
5. Drizzle with olive oil
6. Bake for 15 minutes before flipping and baking an additional 15 minutes.

Chag Urim Sameach!!

Gratitude

I have a poet friend who has been tweeting about gratitude. She is revelling in the small stuff. While most of us ignorantly blow by these everyday occurrences, she is instead taking the time to pause and acknowledge all those details which makes her life special. I have been impressed by her buoyancy and even more by her immersion in the positive.

The world can be a pretty unforgiving place. We are continually bombarded by images that display the underbelly in our communities. Housewives getting mean with each other for the sake of entertainment. Politicians behaving badly. News stories from around the world so disturbing that they challenge and erode our very core beliefs. Natural acts so desperate that make us question our faith. And yet, amongst the darkness there is light. Amongst the decay there is new growth.

The Husband and I spent last evening with good friends. 5 couples who got together to share some wine, some good food, some laughter, and some great conversation. We chatted late into the evening about the current events of the day; our rogue mayor, the disaster in the Philippines, and more importantly about our everyday lives. It was sometime between the lasagna and the coffee that I realized just how fortunate I was to be in the company of such loving and caring people, and how each and every one of us has something happening in our lives right now for which we should be truly grateful. There is recovery from illness, a couple of upcoming weddings, a new grandchild on the way, and a new job that is the fulfilment of a life's dream. There was pride in our voices as we talked about children making their own way in the world. There was excitement expressed about upcoming trips down south and there was wonder communicated about the daily growth and escapades of a toddler. Our lives have indeed been blessed.

It won't always be so. There will be difficult times and even heartbreaking ones. But if we can hold onto the little things in our lives that remind us of life's purpose, it will make the journey so much more comfortable.

Yesterday my poet friend tweeted that she was grateful for inspiration. I jokingly asked her to send some my way so that I might be able to complete this month's blogapalooza.

She did just that with her heart, presence, and wisdom. So today I am grateful that I have such a creative and inspirational friend.

Shabbat Music Break

I remember when I first discovered Karla Bonoff. A friend had told me of this amazing songwriter who had been selling all of her greatest compositions to Linda Ronstadt. By 1976, there were three of Bonoff's songs on Linda's Hasten Down the Wind LP: "Someone to Lay Down Beside Me," "If He's Ever Near" and "Lose Again." But in 1977, Karla Bonoff had released her first solo album with all of these songs and a few others that I have been singing ever since. I saw her perform live in the early eighties when she was opening for James Taylor. A fantastic double bill of a concert. Bonoff's strength as a songwriter is tremendously apparent in her poignant lyrics and emotive melodies.

Enjoy and Shabbat Shalom

Our Memories

I am not entirely certain as to where I was 50 years ago today when President Kennedy was assassinated.

In all likelihood I was napping, because that is what eleven month old infants tend to do in the afternoons. My memories of that day are fully dependant on other's recountings and from continual viewings of the grainy black and white footage that have become an indelible part of the historical consciousness.

Collective memories like the ones that were formed on that fateful day in Dallas half a century ago, are fascinating. While there is no disputing the outcome of what occurred, (conspiracy theories notwithstanding) namely the death of a president, every single person who has the ability to recollect, remembers that day very differently. The entire world witnessed a catastrophic event together and yet no two people remember it in exactly the same way. We are forever coloured by our environment, age, sex, ethnicity, geographic location, political affiliation....the list is endless.

Our memories are at the core of who we are as people. They define us and set a course for us to follow throughout our lifetimes. Memories act as learning tools, as nostalgic indicators, and as familial touchstones. It is why diseases like Alzheimer's and other dementias are so insidious. These conditions rob patients of the fundamental part of their psyches that determines who they are.  We depend on our sepia-bathed reminiscences to see us through difficult times and to remind us that our lives are the sum total of both beautiful and arduous moments.

I have been struggling to pinpoint exactly what my earliest fully formed memory might be. I was three and half years old and that summer my grandfather decided to purchase two-wheelers for many of his grandchildren, at least for those of us who were still without. I remember him coming over to our house with my brand new bicycle and I remember me attempting to master the training wheels. Brother/Cousin, fully nine months older than me, was already busy with his and was well along the path toward becoming an expert cyclist. That memory is my one and only fully developed recollection of my grandfather who died later that summer. And yet, that one captured moment in time is something that I cling to with vigour and purpose. It provides me with a personal connection to a man who will forever be defined for me by other people and their stories.

President Kennedy's murder is one of those remarkable moments when the entire human population formed a memory of a singular event. As those of us who were there can attest, it will forever remain a defining snapshot of the collective consciousness. Today we remember and today we share.