Total Pageviews

Saturday 20 December 2014

Does it sound like I’m boycotting Christmas? Getting Over Holiday Envy

The following two essays are reflections by two Jewish women

Top 10 Reasons Why It's Easier to be Jewish at Christmas

Getting Over Holiday Envy

 by: Judy Carter 

There was never an official diagnosis, but I knew my seasonal, winter depression was a case of serious HOLIDAY caused by being Jewish at Christmas.  Oh sure, we had Chanukah. It’s billed as “the festival of light” but it’s really Christmas-light. “Dreidel” isn’t even in MS spellcheck. You won’t find a latkeh with Judah Maccabee’s face on E-bay.

Growing up, my family tried to put on a festive face. We’d stick a tarnished menorah in the window, our way of saying “us too” in the neighborhood’s winter wonderland of sleighs, reindeers and elves, each house giving off more light than a shuttle launch. We had those blue and white streamers attached to banisters and we spun plastic Dreidels, but what I was lusting for was Santa, the first unavailable man in my life. I yearned to sit in his oversized lap and whisper what I wanted. Unlike my mother, he wouldn’t have scoffed, “You don’t need a training bra!” He would have, I knew, found me adorable and “ho ho ho’ed” at my jokes, making sure I got not only the training bra, but a cocker spaniel puppy as a bonus.

If I was caught moping, I’d be reminded, “We have our own holiday.” Uncle Norman never tired of telling us about the victory of the Jews over the Hellenistic Syrians in the battle of the Maccabees – hardly your warm-hearted, Hallmark moment. Christmas and Chanukah are apples and oranges. The story of Jesus born in a manger to a virgin is a guaranteed ratings win over a forgotten tribe, even with the long-lasting oil miracle thrown in as a B-story. If there’s a miracle, it’s that anyone converts to Judaism when it means giving up chocolate Easter bunnies and eating bitter herbs! Christian holidays have been “Disneyfied,” escalating in proportion and visibility. Christmas has the longest shelf life of any holiday, which is why my holiday depression extended to spring, when the last of the Christmas decorations would finally wilt from the heat


You’d think eight days of gift giving might make up for something, but not when your family is “practical”. They didn’t want to “spoil” us. On the first day of Chanukah, I’d get one glove. On the second day, I’d get the other one. And we lived in LA, where nobody wore gloves. By day three we were out of brisket and the fun of trying to shove candles into slots filled with last year’s wax had worn off. I wanted to be part of the ritual of holiday shopping, but the only presents I needed were for were the newspaper delivery guy and my hairdresser, people whose last names I didn’t know. Everyone would be saying, “Merry Christmas” and I, who thought of myself as quick-witted, would be stumped for a response. This was no piece of honey cake.

Never mind how many scientific theories or vaccines our people have come up with, in December, we’re not a main event. Try looking for Chanukah wrapping paper in the Rite-Aid in North Dakota. Even in Manhattan, where Hispanics speak fluent Yiddish, a supermarket had put out matzo for Chanukah. And don’t think I was the only Christmas wannabe; Jewish superstar Barbra Streisand made a Christmas album. That’s right, our Yentl! You don’t get Taylor Swift singing “Chillin’ in the Gefillen.”
I’m not sure when things were recast for me, maybe when I heard “Put on your yalmuka. Here comes Chanukah”. As unlikely a guru as Adam Sandler got me out of my funk, getting me to see there is, in fact, a bright side to celebrating the holiday of lights. I had time off and didn’t have to go to church. Christmas Eve I’d gotten into a first-run movie without dialing Fandango. Their holidays get more press, but that’s all they get; we get theirs and ours. And if we want to take a day off, we can make up a holiday. “I can’t come in tomorrow because it’s the first day of “Cha…anything”. I started counting the perks.

Here are 10 REASONS why we Jewish people should be happy at Christmas:
1. We’ll never end up in an emergency room because we fell off a roof putting up reindeer.
2. We’re not traveling during black-out periods to see family. Because of the quirky timing of Chanukah, we can actually use frequent flyer miles.
3. There’s none of that lying to our kids about Santa Claus or pretending the toys are made by elves, not by children in China.
4. We’re not pressured to be happy, which is why it’s not such a Jewish thing to commit suicide during Christmas.
5. Nobody will ever knit us a red wool sweater with reindeer on it.
6. We don’t have to climb a ladder and hang tinsel on a tree with most of it ending up clinging to our clothes.
7. We’re not spending most of January standing on long lines, without receipts yet, to return a fondue set.
8. We can send cards, such as a New Years or Passover card won’t get lost in a huge stack of Christmas cards.
9. Less cholesterol in Potato Latkes than ham.
10. And if this were the only perk, it would be enough. We get jelly doughnuts for dessert, not a Christmas fruitcake with dried maraschino cherries on top.



The following is a post a friend posted on her blog. And I thought I'd like to share it with my readers.


By: Erris Langer Klapper 


Years ago a new neighbor asked me where we would be purchasing our tree

“We’re Jewish.” I said, assuming that no further explanation was necessary.


"So?" She pressed


“So we don’t celebrate Christmas,” I said.
“Why?” She insisted.
Why? Because we’re Jewish. But I didn’t say that. I was stumped and instead I stammered, “We celebrate Hanukkah.”
“But won’t you put up a Christmas tree?” She insisted.
“Will you be celebrating Passover this year?” I tried a different tack.
“No! We’re not Jewish.” She was taken aback.
“It’s the same thing,” I continued. “We celebrate Hanukkah instead.” And just like that I perpetuated the common misconception that I so desperately seek to avoid. Hanukkah is not instead of Christmas, should not be compared with Christmas and is not the Jewish answer to Christmas. Hanukkah is Hanukkah.
The following year the same neighbor took a different approach: “Are you boycotting Christmas again this year?” Boycotting?! There was nothing left to do but laugh and change the subject.
I am not offended by the concept of a “Christmas break,” nor am I comforted that it’s called “Winter Break.” I am fully aware that if Christmas didn’t fall on December 25, our winter break may very well have occurred in mid January, when it’s especially cold and dreary, and an urgent trip to the Caribbean is in order. I will also continue wishing a “Merry Christmas” and not just “happy holidays,” because I respect the tradition and joy of those who celebrate. And I get a huge kick out of receiving L’Shana Tova cards from my Christian friends. I don’t see what the fuss is about – as long as mutual respect continues to guide us.
Christmas is Christmas and Hanukkah is Hanukkah. The High Holidays are far holier than Hanukkah, but logistically speaking, they lack the strategic proximity to Christmas. Therefore, in the diaspora, Hanukkah enjoys an elevated status. The Festival of Lights has become the Festival of Gifts, and I am just as guilty for literally buying in to that shtick. I rationalize that I’m doing my part to stimulate the economy, but the truth is, I’m competing with Christmas and I need a miracle.
Let’s face it, Christmas is a tough contender. The music, the lights, the trees, the colors, Santa, the reindeer… Gelt and dreidels, and latkes on a blue and white platter just can’t compete. And they’re not meant to. But they occur closely together and the comparisons become inevitable, sending parents into a tailspin designed to prove to their kids that missing out on Christmas is no big deal. We have Hanukkah…
Last week I attended a “holiday party.” As I stood around the spectacular room, impeccably decked out in Christmas cheer with the band playing Christmas favorites in the background, I rhetorically wondered why the invite didn’t just call it what it is? A Christmas party. I was happy to participate, but there was nothing Hanukkah or Kwanzaa about it. My musing was interrupted by a question from an acquaintance: “Do you ever miss it?”
“Miss what?” I answered, distracted by a passing hors d’oeuvre tray covered in bacon wrapped scallops.
“Miss decorating your house, putting up lights, the tree… It’s all so pretty and festive. Don’t you want to do it?”
I conceded that while lights would complement the architecture of my house and landscaping, it’s not something we do. That seemed to quell this line of questioning, but refueled my exasperation: How can you miss participating in a tradition that was never yours?
I wanted to ask if she missed fasting this past Yom Kippur.
Maybe we need a miracle. Oh, wait. We had one! So let’s celebrate and embrace it. Even if it’s easier said than done.


Read more: Does it sound like I'm boycotting Christmas?! | Erris Langer Klapper | The Blogs | The Times of Israel http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/does-it-sound-like-im-boycotting-christmas/#ixzz3MTpN5QnS
Follow us: @timesofisrael on Twitter | timesofisrael on Facebook

Monday 15 December 2014

Another Hidden story about an Armenian Woman.

Hidden Kitchens by: The Kitchen Sisters
Producers
The Kitchen Sisters (Davia Nelson & Nikki Silva) are producers of the duPont-Columbia Award-winning, NPR series, Hidden Kitchens, and two Peabody Award-winning NPR series, Lost & Found Sound and The Sonic Memorial Project

Hidden Kitchens, explores the world of secret, unexpected, below-the-radar cooking across America—how communities come together through food. The series inspired Hidden Kitchens: Stories, Recipes, and More from NPR's The Kitchen Sisters, a New York Times Notable Book of the Year that was also nominated for a James Beard Award for Best Writing on Food. The Hidden Kitchens audio book, narrated by Academy Award winner, Frances McDormand, received a 2006 Audie Award.

The Kitchen sisters on July 31, 2008 posted an entry about the birth of Rice-A-Roni which is known as "The San Francisco treat." But there is another story behind it which links it to an Armenian woman

Rice-A-Roni advertised as the "The San Francisco Treat” on the city’s iconic cable car.
The story begins when the Kitchen Sisters followed Lois, a philanthropist and widow of Tom DeDomenico, one of the founders of Golden Grain Macaroni Co., to her home in Oakland, Calif., to chronicle this hidden kitchen.
Lois had long ago lost touch with Pailadzo Captanian, the woman who in the 1940s had taught her to make Armenian rice pilaf — the recipe that would inspire her husband's family to create a side dish that gave Kraft Macaroni & Cheese a run for its money in the 1950s, when rice was rarely found on the American dinner table.
Enjoy the story: click on the link
http://www.npr.org/2008/07/31/93067862/birth-of-rice-a-roni-the-armenian-italian-treat

Sunday 7 December 2014

The Epidemic of Police Brutality. What should we do?




Watching the Eric Garner Video Tape and listening to the police justify the killing of a man who at most should have been ticketed for selling cigarettes was much more than a travesty of justice:

The Brown/Garner Killings are about a Larger State of Official Terror




"These un-prosecuted killings of African-American men go way beyond racial prejudice. They are the calling card of an Orwellian state.


First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out--
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me--and there was no one left to speak for me

Pastor Martin Niemoller, speaking about Nazi Germany

First, they've come for the people of color.


America's police forces increasingly serve as a private corporate army, beyond the reach of the law.


But our nation is distracted by race. And millions of white Americans are under the illusion that what was done to Michael Brown and Eric Garner can't happen to them.

These un-prosecuted killings of African-American men go way beyond racial prejudice.Unless we rise up to secure social justice and our basic legal rights, we're all just a single cop away from being as dead as the very latest victim of official violence... at any time, for no reason, with no recourse. 

Harvey Wasserman edits  www.nukefree.org . His SOLARTOPIA! OUR GREEN-POWERED EARTH is at  www.solartopia.org . The Solartopia Green Power & Wellness Show airs at  www.progressiveradionetwork.com .

Petitioning UNITED STATES ATTORNEY GENERAL - ERIC HOLDER
This petition will be delivered to:
UNITED STATES ATTORNEY GENERAL - ERIC HOLDER

NATIONAL ACTION AGAINST POLICE BRUTALITY!


WE HAVE WITNESSED THE CONFESSIONS OF POLICE THEMSELVES WHO HAVE TESTIFIED THAT THEY WERE "MADE TO ISSUE SUMMONSES" AND "MAKE ARRESTS" WITHOUT CAUSE - AND THE SUBSEQUENT "HARASSMENT" WHICH FOLLOWED "IMMEDIATELY AFTER" THEIR REFUSAL. WE HAVE HEARD TESTIMONY IN COURT HOW THEY INDEED "PLANTED NARCOTICS" ON "INNOCENT VICTIMS" - SIMPLY TO MEET THE "QUOTA REQUIRED" CONCERNING AN ARREST. YET, THOSE INDIVIDUALS REMAIN INCARCERATED FOR THE CRIME ACCUSED.
AS THE ATTORNEY GENERAL OF THE UNITED STATES, THE OCCUPIER OF OFFICE IS THE "CHIEF LAW ENFORCER" HAVING JURISDICTION OVER BOTH "STATE" AND "GOVERNMENT" IN ISSUES CONCERNING "LAW". AND WHEN VIOLATIONS OF LAW ARE "RAMPANT" "UN-CHECKED" AND "UNABATED" - HE HAS A "SWORN DUTY" TO RESPOND THOSE VIOLATIONS.
LAW ENFORCEMENT ACROSS THE UNITED STATES HAS "ABUSED THE AUTHORITY" VESTED IN THEM, AND HAVE VIOLATED ON A "CONTINUAL BASIS" THE LAW ITSELF. BUT NO ACTION HAS BEEN TAKEN, EITHER BY THEIR DEPARTMENT OR ATTORNEY GENERALS WITHIN THEIR STATE.
THEREFORE, PETITION IS MADE BEFORE THE ATTORNEY GENERAL OF THE UNITED STATES TO NOT ONLY "ACT" ON BEHALF OF THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES, BUT TO FULFILL THE OBLIGATIONS OF THE OFFICE - FOR WHICH HE HAS "SWORN AN OATH" TO FULFILL UPON HIS OCCUPANCY!
LET IT BE UNDERSTOOD: THAT A "FAILURE" OR REFUSAL TO "ACT" IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE OBLIGATIONS CONCERNING THOSE DUTIES, SIGNIFIES AN "INABILITY" TO HOLD THE OFFICE - WHICH IS "NOW" BEING HELD.
You may petition: https://www.change.org/p/national-action-against-police-brutality

Saturday 29 November 2014

My shopping experience on Black Friday.

My microwave in the box
Although I had heard that people were urging shoppers to boycott Malls on Black Friday as a protest over the decision of the Grand Jury to not indict officer Darren Wilson in the shooting of 18-year-old Michael Brown in the Ferguson shooting, I decided to head to Target store at Eagle Rock Plaza for a microwave oven I urgently needed. Mine had stopped working couple of months ago.  

I easily found a parking spot close to Target store entrance. I was in luck there was a 0.9 cu. ft. Microwave oven for sale for only $40. Hurriedly I purchased one.  As I was standing at the cashier, I noticed other great bargains.  Poinsettia plants were on sale for $4.99. I chose a few pots and then I noticed dollar deals for kids activity and coloring books and crayons.  I bought those too.  I also purchase a DVD player for  $19.99.  I didn't have any idea that DVD players could be so cheap.  I hope it will work.  And now I can use Netflix to watch movies.  

After having all of those super bargains I headed to my aunt's home.  I wanted to take her some leftover food from Thanksgiving dinner.  She was happy for the food, but she said that her microwave stopped working.  So I gave her my newly purchased microwave and went to buy another one for me.  This time instead of going back to Eagle Rock plaza I went to Glendale Galleria. That was a big mistake.  

I got stuck as I entered the parking structure. There was no way out.  It took me half an hour to snake around and find a parking spot.  I walked to target and found out that they were out of the special deal of microwaves.  It took me another half an hour to exit the parking structure.  I learned my lesson, never shop at Glendale Galleria during Holiday season.  I went back to Eagle Rock and it was a snap.  I was in and out with a new microwave.  

Wednesday 26 November 2014

A Ride from Tbilisi to Yerevan

The following story by Kristi Rendahl was published in the Armenian Weekly on line magazine.  She has worked many years in Armenia and Georgia and has developed a fondness for those two cultures.   In this heartfelt article, I think, she very well portrays Armenian people.  Enjoy reading it. 
About Kristi Rendahl 
Originally from a family farm in North Dakota, Kristi Rendahl lived and worked in Armenia from 1997-2002 and visits the country regularly. She works with the Center for Victims of Torture as the organizational development advisor to 10 torture treatment centers around the world, and is pursuing a doctorate in public administration. Rendahl writes a monthly column for The Armenian Weekly. She resides in St. Paul, Minn.

I left Tbilisi by car after work on a Friday last month. I’d been traveling in cramped airplanes for weeks, so I opted for a private car and driver to Yerevan instead of taking the sensible and responsible minivan. Besides, I thought, it’s been two years since I was last in Armenia, it will be good to have a few solid hours of speaking Armenian with someone, assuming the driver will want to talk to me.
Gohar's table
Gohar’s table
As we left the city limits, he asked if I minded whether he stopped at a store to stock up on vegetable oil and laundry detergent. The prices are better here, he said. Never one to get between someone and their household basics, I said it was no problem. While he was in the store, I crammed a granola bar in my mouth to stave off my hunger for a few more hours. Were he to see me eat it, his hospitality gene might activate and the next thing I know we’d be eating three courses at the nearest khorovats restaurant. I put the empty wrapper in my bag as he returned to the car. It was a narrow escape.
He honked his horn and waved at a fruit vendor on the side of the road as we headed toward the border. He was a stocky man with a thick mustache and a broad smile who didn’t appear Georgian. “Vratsi e?” (Is he Georgian?), I asked. “Che, Turk e. Azerbaijantsi.” (No, he’s a Turk. Azerbaijani.) He gives him the best prices, he said. It was a screenshot of fruit diplomacy.
I had to acquire a visa on the border because my 10-year visa had expired and I failed to renew it in time. There are times when I’d like to delegate more of my life to someone else. Anyway, a friendly man behind the window gave me the paperwork to complete and asked for the visa payment in Armenian dram. I had just arrived, didn’t have any dram, and there was no exchange in sight. The driver spotted me the cash.
A few miles later, we stopped to fill the car’s propane tank, so we had to get out of the car. I asked whether there was a bathroom there. The driver hesitated and said that the toilet across the road was “Aydqan hajokh chi” (not that fortunate). “Yes shat anhajokh toiletner em tesel im gyanqum” (I’ve seen a lot of unfortunate toilets in my life), I told him. When I asked the roadside vendors to point me in the right direction, they said, “Ayntegh e,” laughing and pointing across the road at a dilapidated outhouse, “bayts menq pataskhanatu chenq” (it’s over there, but we’re not responsible for it).
When I returned to the station, I wanted to have a cup of tea while I waited. I always want to have a cup of tea. But I still didn’t have any Armenian dram and there was still no exchange in sight. I asked if they’d accept U.S. currency. The man behind the counter gifted me a token for the vending machine that dispensed sugary tea in flimsy plastic cups. I took my tea and found a flimsy plastic chair where I could sit to take in the scene. The scene was other people sitting in flimsy plastic chairs and drinking from flimsy plastic cups. People who seemed overdressed for a propane station, people who looked like regulars there, people who inquired about a bathroom.
Once the tank was full, we set down the road for Toumanian, the village where I lived from 1997-98. I hadn’t been there in nearly 10 years, but I was pretty sure my friend’s mother would be at home if I stopped by to say hello. As we drove across the river into this little mountain village, I gave the driver directions toward the building where I had lived. It had been a difficult year of adjustment, but the family on the first floor of my building welcomed me into their home every single night for dinner and conversation and terrible television shows. I think of it now and I realize just how unaware I was of how much they were sharing with me. Not just food and cellar storage for my 50 kilograms of potatoes during the winter, but time and energy and, ultimately, love. They treated me like family and I will never forget that.
As expected, my friend’s mother was home when I arrived, along with her sister. They greeted me with surprise, but not shock, and my friend’s sister immediately set about preparing a meal for us. As she did, her mom told me about changes in the village. People were leaving the village for jobs in Yerevan and out of the country. Only old people remain, she said. The mountain location made a reliable cell phone or internet connection impossible, so she walked higher into the village to use Skype at someone else’s house. “You remember that family?” she asked. I pretended that the name sounded familiar. When I lived there the phone lines were usually down so you couldn’t call anyone from the village call center, where people openly eavesdropped on each other’s conversations, hoping to hear something exciting. Expectations have changed.
She referred to herself as “just a villager” during our conversation, which made me laugh because I feel the same way about myself. Her life is different now with a daughter in St. Petersburg and another daughter in New York. The apartment has been remodeled and it was brighter and had more conveniences. Herbs were drying on a towel on the table where we ate homemade soup and freshly sautéed eggplant and bread. We reminisced about the days when she and her husband cut and hauled wood in the forest to make a living. It was illegal and the environmental degradation and deforestation will take years of recovery, but the people of that village had little choice in the matter. As a young idealistic person from the land of plenty, that had been a hard lesson for me to learn.
The driver and I eventually made our way to Yerevan that evening. But not until we’d met a friend by the bridge in Vanadzor so I could give her a laptop I’d brought from the U.S. And not until he’d told me the unabridged version of his three divorces. For once I revealed rather little about myself, utterly fascinated with the stories of this man who had over-shared since we left Tbilisi.
When I arrived at my friend Gohar’s home, I was welcomed with some of my favorite things. Diagonally sliced soujoukh, salty string cheese, a selection of dried fruit, and a bottle of wine. Her brand of hospitality is gentle and unassuming, like a warm embrace after a long day. I told her of the day’s adventures. The toilet no one would claim as their own. The surprise visit to a place in the mountains I once called home. And the stories from the driver. She listened and laughed with me as she cooked more food and asked what I would eat for breakfast.
I went to sleep easily that night, relieved to be there in the cool air of October instead of in the sweltering August heat like my last half a dozen visits. Like lying in bed after a day of skiing and still feeling the slopes in my legs, I felt the twists and turns of conversations in my mind and the fresh air of perspective on my face. Tomorrow would be a new day of opportunities, but today had been grand.

Tuesday 25 November 2014

Life in 1910


1910 Ford
Make sure you read all the statistics under the photo.
This has only been 104 years ago...Amazing!!!

1910 Ford Model T Image
Show this to your friends, children and/or grandchildren!
The year is 1910, over one hundred years ago. What a difference a century makes!
Here are some statistics for the Year 1910:
(applies to the USA)

***************
Try to imagine what it may be like in another 100 years

***********************************
The average life expectancy for men was 47 years.

Fuel for this car was sold in drug stores only.

Only 14 percent of the homes had a bathtub.

Only 8 percent of the homes had a telephone.

There were only 8,000 cars and only 144 miles of paved roads.

The maximum speed limit in most cities was 10 mph.

The tallest structure in the world was the Eiffel Tower !

The average US wage in 1910 was 22 cents per hour.

The average US worker made between $200 and $400 per year.

A competent accountant could expect to earn $2000 per year,

A dentist $2,500 per year, a veterinarian between $1,500 and $4,000 per year,

And a mechanical engineer about $5,000 per year.

More than 95 percent of all births took place at HOME.
Ninety percent of all Doctors had NO COLLEGE EDUCATION!

Instead, they attended so-called medical schools,
Many of which were condemned in the press AND the government as 'substandard.'

Sugar cost four cents a pound.

Eggs were fourteen cents a dozen.

Coffee was fifteen cents a pound.

Most women only washed their hair once a month, and used Borax or egg yolks for shampoo.
There was no such thing as under arm deodorant or tooth paste.
Canada passed a law that prohibited poor people from entering into their country for any reason.

The five leading causes of death were:
1. Pneumonia and influenza
2, Tuberculosis
3. Diarrhea
4. Heart disease
5. Stroke

The American flag had 45 stars.
The population of Las Vegas Nevada was only 30!

Crossword puzzles, canned beer, and iced tea hadn't been invented yet


There was no Mother's Day or Father's Day.
Two out of every 10 adults couldn't read or write and only 6 percent of all Americans had graduated from high school.

Eighteen percent of households had at least one full-time servant or domestic help.

There were about 230 reported murders in the ENTIRE U.S.A. !