Making Cheese

Making non-cultured cheese, like cottage or cream cheese, is a separation process. Upon learning that, I decided to experiment with my chef friend.

Cottage/Farmer's cheese
2 liters milk (~half gallon)
1/4 cup white vinegar
salt to taste
Put milk in pan and heat to about 190 F. Dump in the vinegar and immediately separate the curdled milk fat off the top. Strain the remaining chunks from the liquid. The liquid is whey, great to make protein shakes from or add to cereal etc. The chunks are the farmer's cheese. Add salt to taste before eating.

Cream Cheese
8 cups full-fat yogurt
1 tsp salt
Pull sock over a large jar and put in the yogurt. Add in the salt and stir. Let the water drain overnight into the jar. The cream cheese will be in the sock, the whey in the jar.

Finding My Father

בס"ד

Sipping a cup of lightly sweetened, heavily milked coffee, I put together the final plans for my father's trip. Bus scheduals, Shabbat candle lighting times, googlemaps directions, and much more, my packet is finally complete leaving me only five minutes to grab my bag and go. The sun shine is just the icing on the cake as I lock up and head out. My bag was filled last night with things to do on the bus and food to greet my father with. Also, knowing that it is a mitzvah to escort and feed one's parents, I feel extra good about the day. Only a short bus ride to Akko, and then direct train to the airport. Seems simple enough. The train staion is totally new to me, as I wasn't aware of this fast way to travel from the airport to Tzfat. I walk in, order my ticket, and am immediatley turned down. "There is no train today from Akko to Ben Gurion Airport" All that planning and I didn't even check the schedual today! The advice is to take a bus from Haifa. After arriving in the city of Israel which to my best guess was having a mass exodus, I stood in the line for the bus which numbered about three bus-fulls of people. The riot began when another bus-full group of people cut the entire line by circumventing to the outside, on the left. Of course, the national mentality kicked in, and as the bus arrived so did the screaming, "No one let those on the left come in - push them out of the way and get on the bus! No one on the left will get into the bus!" and similar banter was screamed and we were all packed like sardines from the pushing. Once on the bus, I felt like I could relax and enjoy the view. It was getting late, but at least I was on my way to the airport. The view turned out to be quite amazing, as we traveled to just about every city I have ever heard of in the south of Israel, outside of Eilat. This joy ride sparked my panic, as I realized we were still so far from the airport and the sun was going down. Still an hour away, I was already two hours late. Finally reaching the terminal, I search for my father to no avail. Who would wait for 3 hours without communication? I mean, I gave him my cell number, he isnt answering his, so maybe he just tried to email me. After frantically calling my local friend, Shoshana, we worked through having the wrong number, missing each other in Haifa on the way up, and taking individual taxis to Tzfat, a 2 hour drive from there. But in the end, I found my father.

Shabbos - Simply Tzfat

בס"ד . Scientist by degree and social scientist by hobby, I find myself scrutinizing things most people don't ever think about. (For example, does the lid on the pam spray pop when you put in on as air goes in or out?) Despite this keen attention to detail, or rather because of it, I usually lose the big picture.... . Late again for Shabbos on the other end of town, I put on my fast pace as I walk with Yenti to Me'or Chayim, the Breslover's neighborhood in the south of Tzfat. Almost out of breath, we walk in together to our host family's house, at least ten minutes before candle lighting time (the official beginning of Shabbos when all forbidden forms of labor cease). Like anytime in a new place, things flash into my awareness: a parrot. Double layer tichel (haircovering). Walls blank of a picture of the Rebbe. . Not paying attention, I light candles and head to a nap - my favorite way to usher in the Jewish day of rest. In the back end of the house comes more flashes: silk kapota (long black jacket) with a floral print. Man with long payos (side locks, typically curled a hair style worn by many Hasidic Jews). Ok, now things are getting weird. . The beginning of my social science "habit" was ignited in a sociology class. Forced into seeing in society what always had lay hidden, I feel like I learnt more about myself my my black, poor, inter-city professor. Who knew there could be negative effects on someone's psyche from walking into the drug store and finding only "flesh" colored bandaids, none of which looked anywhere near his chocolate skin. But moreso, as I would learn later on in a comparative literature class, who knew the effects on an individual all those things we don't notice. . Being in a world of Lubavitch for about four years now, I feel pretty comfortable in the community. But it is all those little things that crept in which make me blind to what the community really is. Blind, that is, until I see what the community is not. Every flash of dissonance I experienced brought me one step closer to discovering that I wasn't at the house of a Lubavitcher. But it also brought me one step closer to seeing my blind spots. . (I was, interestingly enough, at the house of a talented musician, the frontman of a band Simply Tzfat.)

Purim - Just be Happy

It is a cold night, and the Jews in a small villiage in Eastern Europe are gathered around a festive table. The glass and earthenware on the table are something special, not worn from daily use. As the rich Jewish nobleman is about to address his guests, the doors open with a bang. The queen's messengers have just come to warn of a terrible decree: a neighboring country is preparing for war. Requesting for something to be done, she desperately turns to those who may have some sort of spiritual power. In response this man orders the servers to bring all the alchohol to the table. They drink until it is finished, singing and dancing in great joy. Anyone who has ever heard a Jewish folk story before already knows the ending, the day was saved, yadda yadda. I don't mean to downplay the success, as I find it no less than miraculous for such a thing to happen. But really, drinking and dancing did that? My gut reaction is yes, yes it did. I have noticed nothing short of miracles in my life as soon as I was able to open my eyes to the good that was around me. But I guess for me being happy has always meant snuggling with a good book or getting dirty in the forest. This purim there was definently not any books or forests in my forecast, so I made due with what was available. I walked along pave streets, site-seeing the little kiddos in costumes. Fairly disillusioned about this aspect, I kind of have to keep from snarling. I dislike when Jewish holidays are downgraded to American popular culture in the same way I used to dislike American popular culture. But it is still fun to see an entire country celebrate together a holiday not even on the calendar in America. Visiting my chesed family while giving out Shalach Manos (Gifts of Food to friends, one of the special mitzvos of the day), I realized that this day had less to do with finding my happiness than sprouting it in others.

Movie Shoot

בס"ד

Sometimes I wonder about my priorities. When we have the chance to spend an amazing Shabbos all together, I opt out. But when a religious video is being produced, and they need about 35 seminary girls to be background characters in a scene, I don't think twice.

Waiting in line for costume, hair and makeup, about 35 girls sit, thinking only about how cool it is to be in a movie. On my buket list as well, I am just one of the statistics. Of course, my typical want-for-everything attitude leads me to, when chosing my own costume, the most outrageous thing I could find. It was a little overboard, I admit. Rethinking my choice when we are standing around, after 12 am (arrive there 10 hours earlier), waiting to be seated in our scene, the director mumbles something to me. "What did she say? I can't sit here... why?" It was announced that, because of my costume, I will sit at the head, only one seat away, and directly across, from the speaking characters. Based on this outcome, I think I may never learn...

Hamentaschen

בס"ד

Preparing for a Jewish holiday always seems to involve food. With Purim coming up, I just couldn't let the holiday slip by without some homemade hamentaschen, filled triangle cookies unique to the early spring holiday. They turned out pretty good, and very healthy. Maybe even too healthy.

Hamentaschen

Ingrediants

1 kilo (spelt) flour

4 eggs

2 tsp baking powder

(demura) sugar to taste, less than 2/3 cup

(olive) oil to taste, less than 1/2 cup

orange juice

filling

5 apples

sugar to taste, less than 1/4 cup (optional)

cinnamon

nutmeg

Mix all batter ingrediants. Use whateve type or flour/sugar/oil you want, but my choices are in parenthesis above. Add orange juice to desired wetness. Normally this cookie dough is flaky, but with such little sugar and oil it will most likely be sticky. Mine was a little stickier than bread dough. Because of this I had to roll it out with a lot of whole wheat flour, as I used my entire kilo of flour for the dough.

In a pot, put peeled, cored, and dices apples in a pan with water and other ingrediants. Bring to a boil and then simmer until apple peices are soft and mushy. Time depends on the size of apples put in.

Once the filling is cooled down to room temp and the dough has chilled in refrigerator, roll dough to 1/6"-1/4" sheet. Cut out circles with the top of a large cup, at least 3" in diameter. Put a dollop of filling in each circle and pinch the edges to make a traingle. Bake until golden brown. Makes enough cookies to send for Shalach Manos, the gifts of food to friends, a mitzvah special to the day of Purim, to enjoy for breakfast, and to have some guests over and serve them :)

Variation: Put jam or chocolate chips in center. Make sure to spread chocolate when hot in center, so it doesn't re-harden in the same shape!

Lackluster 2

True life happens between incident and response, I once heard. Decidedly not wanting to have a bad day, I just think that I can have true life here.

Yes, the day was filled with screaming. Yes, at almost every given opportunity people were standing on chairs. Yes, they dressed me up in a scientist outfit and made me go on stage explaining a math equation I made up. And yes, I smiled.

Lackluster

My stomach turns. Like little flies all buzzing around the screen, a room mostly empty is top heavy with girls. All staring dumbly at a screen, we squeeze together to fit in a tiny space. Elbows to elbows, I am violated the second I walk into the door, late as usually to all things student-inspired.

In fact, attending this breaks my resolution to never come to events which I am sure will include standing on tables and screaming. But as I walk up to class from my house I find the place silent, as expected. That caravan plaza is dead empty, despite being 5 minutes late for class. So I too am sucked into that room, the large video room to the side of the plaza.

On the screen our teacher is turning colors. A special effect once saved for films from my childhood now comes built in to every camera on the market. We are then revealed the point of the film- color war. A signature at camp, color war is basically the definition of those things I find appalling at seminary - standing on tables and screaming, as listed above in the "thing I avoid" section. My already dissillusioned face turns to lackluster.

My stomach sinks when the video turns to an annoucement of the "heads" of each class. When Chul Aleph (my class) comes up, I can almost hear out loud my constant whisper, "don't be me. don't be me..." It's me. Almost sweating from my sense of panic, I kindly ask the girl behind me to just leave the door open. Fresh air? Maybe. But easy escape is more like it.

Decidedly against this position, I am wording how I will break the news to my class. Appoint another girl? Just not come? . . . As I am thinking to myself the cleanest escape, wandering not-so-slowly back to my caravan, I am constantly bombarded with congratulations. A little peice of my resistence taken away with each simle from another girl, I begin to realize that yes, I will be the head and yes, I can't run away. But my face is still lackluster.

(Note: Color war is today, so I will post about the turnout.)

Rectifying our Animal Nature

בס"ד

Freeze frame: A slender, tall man stands before my class. He is simply dressed and squeezed into the smallest space possible, not from any outside factors but from just being a man of small stature. A white beard and silver-frame glasses adorn his otherwise simple face. As the camera starts rolling we see him in action. A quiet voice barely projects as we begin one of the most interesting courses of our week - how to rectify our animal nature, "interior decorating" as he calls it.

"Horror Story," he once exclaims in class, a now common introduction to an illustration of the bad character trait, "three girls leave for America and need to take my test early. I come to give the exam and when they finish, only one girl says 'thank you'." With a glance of the eye, he notices that we are all waiting for more, "That's it. End of story."

This comes as a surprise to us all, from the abrupt ending as much as the punch of a message. When I think about it, that I am actually in a class to refine myself, I sigh. This isn't an inspirational talk on the beauty of being Jewish, and neither is it the catchy works of the Kabalah. This is just a simple story of daily life. And how that can be so wrong.

my first yiddish compositions

בס"ד

My Brother * מיין ברודער * Mein Bruder
.

איך האב א ברודער

ער איז קליין

ווען איך לערן ער לערנט און דען מיר לערנען

ווען איך גיי צו דער שטוב גייט ער אויך צו דער שטוב מיר גייען צוזאמען צו דער שטוב

ווען איך שלאף ער שלאפט אבער מיר שלאפן ניט צוזאמען ער שלאף אין אן אנדערע צימער

ווען מאמי ווילט אז מיין ברודער זאל זיין שלאפן גייט ער און דאן קען איך העלפן שפערטער קען איך אויכעט גיין שלאפען

.

Ich hab a bruder.

Er iz klein.

Ven ich lern, er lernt. un der mir lernen.

Ven ich gai tzu der shtoob, gait er oych tzu der shtoob. Mir gai'en tzuzamen tzu der shtoob

Ven ich slof, er shloft. Aber mir slofn nit tzuzamen, er shloft in an anderer tzimer.

Ven Momi vilt az main bruder zal zayn slafn gait er. Un den ken ich helphn shperter ken ich oychet gain shlaphen.

.

I have a brother.

He is small.

When I learn, he learns and we learn.

When I go to the house, he goes to the house. We go together to the house.

When I sleep, he sleeps. But we dont sleep together, he sleeps in another room.

When momi wants that my brother should go to sleep, then I can help. I can go to sleep.

.

.

My Day * מיין טאג * Mein Tag

.

אין דערפרי האב איך געשלאפט מיט א חיות

קען זיין אז שפעטער וועל איך לערנען מיט א חיות

נאך שלאפען דאן האב איך געגעסן לשם מיין הונגער

קען זיין אז שפעטער וועל איך עסן לשם שמים

"דאן האב איך געגיינגען צום "מאל

קען זיין אז שפעטער וועל איך גיין צום חדר צו לערנען

דאס איז ניט גוט קען נאר זיין היינט

.

En derfree hab ich geshluph mit a chayos

ken zain az shpeter vel ich lernen mit a chayos

Nach shluphen dan hab ich gegesn l'sheim mein hunger

ken zain az shpeter vel ich esn l'sheim shamayim

dan hab ich gegeingen tzum "mall"

ken zain az shpeter vel ich gain tzum cheder tzu lernen

das iz nit gut! ken nar zain heint!

.

This morning, I slept deeply

Tomorrow, I will learn deeply

After my sleep, I ate with a desire

Tomorrow, I will learn with such a desire

After eating, I went to the mall

Tomorrow, I can go to school to learn

This is not good - I can do it today!

Written and Translated by Sara Slone

Edited by Daniella Lerner

Must make bread!

בס"ד

Home alone. Dinner party? Must make bread!

Homemade Egg Bread
Ingredients:
1 pkg Yeast (11grams)
1/4 C warm water
1/8 C sugar

1/4 C water
1/8 C sugar
1 Tbsp salt
6 C flour
3 eggs
1/4 C oil

(optional additions)
2 onions
oil for frying
salt for frying
good size block of french cheese, the stinkier the better

Directions:
Add first three ingredients, wait till foams. Put all other ingridients in, without measuring any of them, making sure not to shock the yeast mixture from cold or heat. Mix with spoon until too hard, then mix/knead with hands. Let rise enough time to go to the city, get money from the bank, and then hang out with Chana Miriam a little. Rush home to shape dough. Fry two onions slowly and cut up a block of some hard french cheese. Once risen to 1.5 times the size (should be double, but who cares), knead the cheese into half the dough, place in pan. Shape the other half into a different shape (Jewish law mandates that bread with either meat or cheese actually baked inside of it must be designated by the shape). Form the fried onions in the pan to the size of the bottom of the second loaf, put loaf on it to pick them up and then place on the cooking sheet. Heat over with metal container of water. Egg wash the loaves, slicing the top of the loaves decoratively. Once properly moist (or whenever you get impatient) quickly remove the water and replace with the loaves. Cook till golden brownish.

relationships

בס"ד

I try not to confuse my truncated ability to receive social cues with innocence. It's usually not hard, as I probably have the most "life experience" of anyone in my school. But asking an innocent question, of when is close too close, led down a path I never though it would...

The beginning of this was the class on social dynamics of the classroom. Last time we touched on the issue of when two friends, or teacher and student, or boss and employee get into a relationship of filling one another's needs in an unhealthy way. Example, teacher and student. A student texts the teacher for a question on homework. After a few back-and-forths, the student finally writes, "goodnight." But the next night she also texts goodnight. The teacher encourages this, by showing a special connection in the classroom. Example, friends. A girl goes through a rough time with her self image. She has only one person who gets it, her best friend. After many long nights for months in a row, she just cant imagine life without this support. They speak often about how much they mean to each other. How life would just end without the other... "When has it gone too far?" my teacher asks rhetorically, "when we start sharing how important it is with the other."

I fall inside of myself. Searching for a hint that this girl could be me, my mind is racing. Too close to a teacher? No, I always had too much attitude for that. Too close to a friend? No, never paid attention to anyone so well. But then a conversation I have had with a family member arises within me. The flashback plays in my head, my own words echoing between my ears, "I am so happy we are close. I couldn't think of anyone else I would call when crying. . ."

Ouch. Are we talking about me here? I think for a while about the correct way to phrase this. Last time my question was brushed off with a joke, so I want to be exact in my language. Be precise, I tell myself, don't let this be answered with sarcasm. "Do we use the same method of testing our friendships when testing our relationship with family members?" Good, I think to myself, an innocent question without sharing any personal information.

"No. We can share the feelings with family, thats ok. It is only a problem when things get touchy." She opens her stance to the entire class, turning her attention to the group, "You all know what I mean by touchy, right?" Resting on our faces is a chill of silence, knowing silence. After speaking for a while about how an unhealthy relationship can turn to a physical one, my teacher is bombarded with questions. Silent shock has turned to curious turbulence. What has probably never been spoke about in their lives, the beautifully sheltered students of my class, has finally been mentioned, and it is an explosion.

Again, I move inwards. My reflection turns to the application of this on my schooling. Does the societal norm of teenage relationships, even within the same gender, allow for a freedom or for a disease? Are the teens of America gifted with a practice-till-perfect attitude on relationships, or cursed by it? When is close too close?

Riddles

בס"ד

After hearing many riddles last year, as one of the parents in my preschool room would come to share them, I have decided to pass them on. The girls in my school are having fun guessing and trying out them during the breaks. Here are some recent ones:

1. You have two threads of wool, unevenly spun. Each is made with enough wool to burn (as a wick) for one hour. However, it is impossible to tell at which point is halfway through the burning time on the string. With only these threads and a source of fire, can you measure exactly one and a half hours?

2. You have ten sacks - nine filled with real gold coins and one filled with false gold coins, and a scale. Making only ONE measurement (one time use only!) can you tell which bag contains the fake coins? Note: fake gold weighs .1 gram per coin less than real gold.

3. In you had only a 3cup measure and a 5cup measure can you measure out 4 cups of water evenly? You cannot use any other vessel.

An impromptu class

בס"ד

Every class has its rules. In Navi (Topics in the Prophets) class we sing the first and last five minutes, and at any time in between. In Maimer (Chassidis discourse) class we tell jokes to ease into the lesson. And in Bayis Yehudi (Jewish Homes), we all come in expecting to hear the wise advice from the head of a very special Jewish home - Mrs. Kaplan, my host mother.

Today was different. In walks our Halacha (Practical Jewish Law) teacher, a rabbi who looks anywhere between the age of 15-19. He is, however, married with 5 kids. Maybe that gives him credentials to teach this class. But whatever he had - it was much different than a typical Bayis Yehudi class.

He walks in with the question sheet Mrs. Kaplan bases her lecture on. Six or seven open-ended questions we discuss, on the customs in the Jewish dating world. We laugh and giggle at the fact that this Rabbi is holding her sheet. "Question 1: what age is appropriate to start dating?" A pause.

"99." He sets the tone for the class. We still have an hour and a half left of class, but I don't think we returned to that page. After hearing everything from, "you wouldn't date if you knew what was going on in a guy's head" to a lesson on men's fashion, we finally got to the story telling. We heard about the Rabbi's first date with his wife - that he had no questions to ask her about herself. He recalled with a smile that on the second date he just asked her all the questions she asked him on the first. :)

The story that sticks out in my head is that of a young boy who's parent tell not to marry a certain girl after meeting her a few times (maybe once). Usually parents don't make such demands, but he went along with it. He eventually got married to another woman, and she to another man. Years later, he entered into an old age home, a lonely widower. But he met that girl, now a widow herself, and then finally got married. :D

I am not sure if this class is considered one of the Adar jokes, but it was definently funny!

Women in Tzfat: Mrs. Breidstein

בס"ד

Chesed. This word is supposed to ring sweet in the ears, as it contains within it everything from the simple act of kindness to the first of the emotive faculties in which both we interact with the world and, kabbalistically, also with which H' creates the world at every moment. But in seminary this word means rolling up your sleeves and doing some hard time in the neighbor's house - an hour of free cleaning or childcare provided for families in the Mt. Canaan area of Tzfat. And of course, it is a mandatory part of being in seminary.

My chesed is quite unusual. The family needs not cleaning nor child care - just a friendly chat. It is a sweet elderly woman who would live alone if her granddaughter, in her last year of high school here in Tzfat, hadn't come for the year. Mrs. Breidstein*, the grandmother, is a holocaust survivor. She has a royal look to her, one that comes from good breeding. Even in her old age one can see that her facial bone structure is chiseled and symmetric.

It made sense, then, when she began telling me of her childhood in Europe. People were mostly poor, but her father was a doctor. He had fought in the First World War, getting captured but miraculously escaping the POW camp and returned safely to his home and family. This status of seasoned war veteran meant nothing by the time the Second World War came, as he also had the status of Jewish.

On a moments notice the family was told to pack up a suitcase each, and they were then forcefully transported to a makeshift Jewish ghetto, a (barely) cleaned out horse barn. Each family was assigned to their respective cage, and allowed to remain in the ghetto.

I heard many stories of her time in this ghetto, but the most poignant to me was the story of soap. In wartimes many things are rationed and hard to come by. In this war one such thing was soap. The processing to make soap had ground to a halt with energies being focused on creation of destructive forces. There was no time to gather and process the fats needed. But one day soap made its way back on the shelf of the market. This was a great horror for all those in Mrs. Breidstein's ghetto, as it meant spending the last remaining pennies from each of the families to buy every last bar. The soap was carefully carried to the edges of the ghetto, where a hole had been dug. The body of a person is holy, but in this soap remained the last bit of Jews that had murdered. This was the closest thing they could give to a proper Jewish burial.

After years of living at least partially removed from the terror of the war, Mrs. Breidstein and her siblings knew that something was wrong, as every time the children came close to their parents it became quite. stiff. Mrs. Breidstein and her family were ordered to depart to Aushwitz. It wasn't until years after the war that they knew the truth of their salvation - that the war ended mere days before their date of departure.

Life wasn't easy for Mrs. Breidstein after that, as she moved with her family to a new country. She has had her tests and trials over the time, but has now landed in the safety and serenity of Tzfat.

*name was changed for privacy

my morning

בס"ד


I peek my head out of the covers as I hear my phone alarm getting louder. It is morning again. The weather is usually the same this time of year, foggy with a chance of rain. There is something special here about the fog, being almost a kilometer up in the sky changes the fog into a cloud. I always imagine that when it rains and it is also foggy, the rain drop started coming down only a few inches above my head.

Ready to face the day, I try to get ready to face the weather. It is cold here, and windy. Our school is in a settlement of caravans, about six or seven scattered around a small cement patio always sprinkled with spray paint marks after some program that needed homemade center-pieces. The administrators prides themselves on the lack of physical beauty, as they think the true beauty of each place should be the spirituality within. I agree. But I still have to layer on my clothes, as those caravans have no insulation. With boots on top of socks, a skirt on top of leggings, and jacket on top of a sweater on top of a polo on top of a tee - I am finally ready to head out to that foggy road going to the caravan plaza.


I step outside with a certain smile plastered to my face. It is so nice to live in a neighborhood where I know my neighbors. It is so nice to live a short hill down from my school. My appreciation for small town, community living has only increased since my seclusion in Tzfat, population 30,000. Disliking the service in the only yarn store in town, not being able to shop on Tuesdays because it is the accepted practice that stores close by lunch, and getting stuck in a store because the owner asked me to "look over things" while he "stepped out" all included, it is a nice place to live. This is how I start my school day, every day.

Class Take Over!

בס"ד

Our class take over turned out to be better than expected. Still remembering how our teacher didn't give us a brocha (blessing) on her birthday (A birthday is considered a day when a person has a special mazel - luck - to give blessings to others), we decided to turn our hour and a half class into a (second and belated by a few months) birthday party.

It was very sweet when instead of telling us all "have a year of good health and happiness" of some other cookie-cut-out message, she went to the extent to find a special message to give every person. For example, a very quiet and polite girl she gave a brocha that her aidelkeit (loosely, refinement) should light up the place where ever she goes. Or another girl who is very full of life she gave a brochah that she should warm people up etc. For me she said she wishes that I continue to reach for the stars. She also commented later that she was happy to have accepted me, and thinks it is a big z'chus (loosely, honor or merit) to have me in the program. It was really beautiful and really sweet.

I hope that our next class take over turn out to be less gushy - it is embarassing to be so easily brought to tears in public :P