Lisa Keys
Matzah stuffing: Could it be tradition?
NEW YORK – Back in college, an acquaintance of mine had a one-line answer to the intermarriage debate: “If you want to have a Passover seder in your house, marry a Jew,” he said. “Period.”
Though I can’t remember the context of his declaration, it’s a phrase that’s stuck with me through the years. That’s not because I’ve spent much time worrying about intermarriage; it’s because I’ve become a little bit obsessed with Passover.
Or make that my idea of Passover.
New year for trees
JewMama: In search of a Jewish environmentalism for the family
I like to think of myself as an eco-conscious kinda gal. My husband, Julian, and I make an effort to tread lightly on this earth. We bring our own bags to the supermarket, we buy local, organic food whenever possible, and we try to choose products with the least amount of packaging.
Some of our efforts, I’ll admit, are more circumstantial than intentional. We live in New York City because we love it; the fact that the density of urban areas eases pressure on the environment is a wonderful bonus. We don’t own a car. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to have a car — it’s that we don’t need one and it’s one more expense. But hey, zero emissions.
Getting your Chanukah act together
Developing new traditions for an ancient festival
I’ll admit it: Chanukah is a holiday I’ve approached with diminishing enthusiasm over the years. I’m not into latkes; I prefer egg rolls. Dreidel’s not nearly as fun as Scrabble. And as the holiday approaches, so, too, does our loaded debate: Are we giving gifts this year or what?
It wasn’t always this way. When I was growing up in a nonobservant-but-you-have-to-go-to-Sunday-school household, Chanukah was a pretty awesome holiday that was on par with — scratch that, better than — Christmas. I remember the excitement building in the air as my mom hung a “Happy Chanukah” banner in the window next to the blue “helping hand” sign that signified crazy people do not live within. (Anyone remember those?)
What’s in a name?
Getting pregnant was the easy part. Giving birth was simple, too, compared with the onerous task of choosing a name for my yet-to-be-born son.
Like many women, I had picked out my children’s names long before I even met the man I would marry. According to my plan I would have two children: Gabriel, a name I chose because nearly every Gabe I knew was attractive, and Neshama, which means “spirit” or “soul” in Hebrew, because I thought it was beautiful.
