If you’re the type of person who likes to compare all your friend-filled sitcoms to Friends, you might want to dismiss Max Blum (Adam Pally) as a classic Joey. The writers of Happy Endings are on to you and have already made that joke, calling him fat Joey. But he’s also gay Joey, funny Joey, and most importantly, Jewish Joey—he’s also just plain better than Joey. Yes the Happy Endings pilot was about as bad as a Jennifer Aniston rom-com (it even starts with a runaway bride—yep, just like Friends), but, if you stuck around, you’d know that the show is truly amahzing.

Happy Endings is a six character ensemble comedy (yep, just like Friends) with four great characters (in addition to Pally, Eliza Coupe and Damon Wayans Jr. play a hilariously eccentric couple and Casey Wilson—who was dismissed from SNL after one season—plays an aggressively single abbreviator) and two not-as-good characters (the runaway bride Elisha Cuthbert and her former fiancé Zachary Knighton haven’t completely found their groove just yet). In a show like this there’s always the schlubby, less successful, but ultimately more entertaining character: that’s Max. He’s done everything from buying a limo and driving around Chicago as an unlicensed tour guide to competing with Coupe’s character Jane to see who would survive longer in the event of a zombie apocalypse. In a recent episode we also learned that Max hibernates for the winter, just like a bear: he won’t shave, he won’t shower, he won’t even speak. You know, normal things.

Since we started with the Friends comparison, we might as well continue with a New Girl one: The mostly jobless, chubby Max is the anti-Schmidt. Instead of wearing trendy running shorts, Max will stage an intervention to get you to stop wearing your deep v-neck. Instead of worrying about his physique, Max will get a tattoo of a taco to ensure free tacos for life. As much as I love Schmidt for his insanity, I’d love making fun of him even more with a friend like Max. Despite that, or perhaps because of that, Emily Nussbaum (who is basically Jewcy’s TV spirit guide) said she would want to be him if she could be any character on TV. (Well, after Leslie Knope from Parks and Recreation, but who doesn’t want to be Amy Poehler?).

No profile of a good Jewish boy would be complete without mentioning his mother, and we do get to meet Max’s parents on their annual visit to Chicago in the first season. The episode, called Mein Coming Out, focuses on Max’s hesitation to come out to his parents. His sexuality is a running joke on the show: the other characters often mock his total lack of “gayness,” asking him if he’s sure he’s gay after a particularly bro-y comment or action (there are many). This conveniently lets the show’s writers remind the audience that not only do they have a black character (and an interracial couple!), but they have a gay Jewish one too. While I’m often tempted to be slightly offended by their not-so-subtle reference to popular stereotypes, somehow, it seems to work. Their poking fun at Max’s sexuality just demonstrates how it is a footnote in his personality, hardly the most obvious (or interesting) thing about him.

Back to the episode—it is, of course, full of all the Yiddishisms a person could want: You got punim, shiksa, even pish. Wilson’s character, Penny, who in the past had posed as Max’s girlfriend, can’t help him out because she has a date. (Completely unrelated to Max, save an excellent end-of-the-episode punch line, Penny date is named Douglas Hitler.) In a state of desperation, Max asks Jane to help him out, later explaining, “My mom is Jewish, if I don’t find someone soon, she’s going to start setting me up with one of her friend’s single daughters … Try going on a six-hour architectural tour with Miriam Schechter’s niece, Chuchel.” (For the record, we’ve never met anyone named “Chuchel,” though we’re rather fond of the name Miriam.) After a series of events, he does ultimately come out to his parents, and on cue his mother tries to set him up with the son of one of her friends.

Sadly the excellent Krav Maga episode (in which Penny develops an alter ego, “Shira Abromovitz”) does not feature any martial arts moves by Max, but does feature a classic Happy Endings-style explanation of Yoni that I feel like sharing: Hebrew for god’s gift, in Sanskrit, means genitals. The show is very invested in this name-dropping brand of Judaism, and Max is an excellent vehicle for sharing them. It’s difficult not to notice the three-letter Hebrew tattoo on Pally’s chest spelling out “Asher,” (something he’s chalked up to as a childhood mistake) and the show runs with it. In response to the earlier-mentioned taco tattoo, Jane, demonstrating her Jewish wisdom, proclaims “Wow, you really don’t want to be buried in a Jewish cemetery” (Urban legend!). At the end of the episode in which he buys the limo, Max presents his rent money with a story about selling his beanie babies and driving Dr. and Mrs. Rosenberg back and forth to shul in time for havdala (“by the way, Jews are actually excellent tippers”).

If that’s not enough to convince you of Max’s glory, I’ll just leave you with this Season 2-ending performance by Mandonna:

Previously on Network Jews:

Seth Cohen, The O.C.’s loveable dork

Hesh Rabkin, Jewish Loan Shark on The Sopranos

Eli Gold, The Good Wife’s Political Operator

The post Network Jews: Max Blum from Happy Endings appeared first on Jewcy.

Hesh (Jerry Adler), the elder Jewish statesman of North Jersey, is—what else?—a loan shark and an informal advisor to Tony, as he was to Tony’s father before him. A man of business acumen, Hesh made his money in the recording industry, garnering writing credits (and royalties) for songs recorded by young black musicians in the 1950s and 1960s.

His business savvy and fiscal shrewdness aren’t lost on Tony. Late in the series, Hesh lends the boss $200,000 to cover gambling losses, a debt that the former follows up on with a persistence that irks the latter; in one scene, when Hesh comes to collect his payment, Tony, rubbing two coins together, says, “I got some spare change here, too,” tacitly invoking the trope of the money-hungry Jew. But Tony isn’t above using Hesh when it serves him; during a period in which he stops seeing his psychiatrist, he enlists the older man as his not-entirely-willing sounding board. (Fitting, as Tony’s mother describes psychiatry as “a racket for the Jews.”)

Because Hesh is not Italian, he can never be a made man; relegated to the status of eternal outsider, orbiting the periphery of the mob world without ever being entirely of it, he serves as Tony’s sometimes-confidante without enjoying the full benefits of the Mafia brotherhood.

The moment that defines the crux of Hesh’s insider-outsider status comes early on, in the third episode of the first season. Silvio Dante, Tony’s consigliere, comes to Tony with a business proposition: Shlomo Teittleman, the Hasidic owner of the Flyaway Motel is having a dispute with his son-in-law, Ariel. See, Shlomo’s daughter wants to divorce Ariel, but Ariel will only grant the divorce if he’s given 50 percent ownership of the motel. Tony, Teittleman hears, has—how shall we say?—a history of getting people to do what he wants; maybe he can work his magic on Ariel in exchange for 25 percent of the business?

Tony approaches Hesh asking for his advice. Stay away, Hesh warns. Does Tony listen? Please. There’s business here.

Tony tracks down Ariel and first strongly suggests that he grant the divorce without a fight. He refuses. A second, violent encounter still yields no results; Ariel proves to be a not-incompetent fighter and, what’s more, isn’t afraid of death. Finally, out of options, Tony again solicits Hesh’s advice.

“I’m here with my non-shellfish-eating friend,” he tells him over the phone. “I gotta tell you something. I’m tapped out. This guy won’t listen to reason.”

“Didn’t I tell you, huh?” says Hesh. “Didn’t I warn you to keep away from those fanatics?”

“This guy’s willing to go down with the ship like no man I’ve ever seen,” Tony tells him.

Maybe, says Hesh, but there’s one thing no man would want to go without—“Make like a mohel, huh?” he prods, “Finish the bris.” Indeed, the threat of bolt cutters sets Ariel straight.

The Sopranos trades in tribalism; the fierceness of the Mafia bond is the only true law in a world of chaos. Loyalty is the defining credo. So much so, in fact, that Tony believes it must also be true for Hesh, manipulating the loan shark’s perceived closeness to other Jews to solve the Ariel problem.

But it isn’t true for Hesh. If the reigning order-establishing principle of the world of The Sopranos is fraternity—the notion that you are a member of an entity larger than yourself, and that there is a deep and innate connection among members of a tribe (an idea which, applied differently, often rings true for Jews)—then here Hesh not only betrays his capacity for sadism and indifference, but commits an act of self-excision. Willing to offer up another Jew for torture, Hesh reveals that there are more important things to him than his bond to his own community; specifically the tenuous bonds to a group of which he will never fully be a member. He proves himself to be that most pathetic of creatures: a striver, a man of naked yearning. Groucho Marx put it best: “I don’t want to belong to any club that would have me as a member.”

No, what Hesh wants is that which is always beyond his reach—membership in some other, better club.

What separates Jews and Italians in Tony Soprano’s universe is more than the difference between bagels and manicotti. Jewishness is code for difference, an unbridgeable gap. Hesh, to his Italian counterparts and, seemingly, to his own chagrin, is just the wrong kind of chosen.

Previously on Network Jews:

Eli Gold, The Good Wife’s Political Operator

Howard Wolowitz, the nerdy, sex-obsessed engineer on The Big Bang Theory

Paris Geller, Rory Gilmore’s high-intensity, over-achieving friend and foil on Gilmore Girls

Sala Levin writes for Moment Magazine.

The post Network Jews: Hesh Rabkin, Jewish Loan Shark on HBO’s The Sopranos appeared first on Jewcy.

Danielle Wiener-Bronner is a graduate of Barnard College, where she studied economics. She now works as an editor in New York City.

The post Before Leaving for Israel, One Last Stop at the Electronics Store appeared first on Jewcy.

From its beginnings more than a century ago (the Oxford English Dictionary traces the term’s first use to 1909), camp has formed an important part of gay culture and, from the 1960s onwards, has helped to make gay culture more accepted by mainstream society. It is both a celebration of the frivolous, and, in its fashion, a subversive attack on the seriousness of the high modernism that it originally grew out of.

Sontag defined “the ultimate Camp statement” as “it’s good because it’s awful”—camp takes pride in failure, particularly in the garish or melodramatic. It’s a deeply visual sensibility, one that privileges extravagance and strives for the extraordinary.

Camp is sentimental, open, and “generous.” As a way of life, it represents “the theatricalization of experience.”

Since this is Camp Week at Jewcy, I thought I’d take a look at the campiness of camp. The two words aren’t just homonyms. In fact, there’s a great deal about Jewish summer camp that is camp. (To distinguish between the two, I’ll use the acronym JSC to refer to Jewish summer camp.)

One might even argue that camp is the defining aesthetic of JSC, at least at the liberal, reform Southern California JSC where I spent a few formative summers.

Life at my JSC was defined by skits, chants, cheesy songs, drama, pageantry, homoerotic humor, cabin cheers filled with elaborate innuendo—all things that are indelibly camp. Moreover, as your goyische friends may jealously testify to, JSC is a place of sexual curiosity, self-questioning, experimentation, even cross-dressing (often for the purposes of a skit or theatrical production).

During this period, it can seem like one’s sexual and gender attitudes are in a continual flux, and indeed, many campers are themselves androgynous, unformed; in Sontag’s view, “the androgyne is certainly one of the great images of Camp sensibility.”

JSC is suffused with an air of constant performance that is unmistakably camp. We cheer loudly for the smallest successes, we over-gel our hair and strut demonstratively for our camp crushes, we write and perform in knowingly silly skits and belt out parodies of the season’s hit pop songs. We invoke film quotes to show our pop culture savvy (The Big Lebowski was the sacred text during my stint at JSC), and we code sexual references and flirtations into our everyday speech.

We are always on, always performing. Sontag wrote that camp “is the farthest extension, in sensibility, of the metaphor of life as theater.” JSC, then, may be seen as one vast proscenium, where the inherent drama of adolescence is amplified to the nth degree, making dandies of us all.

In “Notes on Camp,” Sontag claimed that “Jews and homosexuals are the outstanding creative minorities in contemporary urban culture. Creative, that is, in the truest sense: they are creators of sensibilities. The two pioneering forces of modern sensibility are Jewish moral seriousness and homosexual aestheticism and irony.” These two forces collide at JSC, where we pray daily and learn how to be custodians of Jewish history while also cajoling a friend to steal and try on a girl’s bra, because it seems strange and daring.

JSC is both Wet Hot American Summer (itself an example and document of camp) and “The Conversion of the Jews.” At Camp Hess Kramer, which I attended, this collision is emblematized by the camp’s six-foot tall Menorah—an object at once intrinsically holy and, because of its exaggerated size, unintentionally absurd. (Sontag would label it an example of “naive camp.”)

Sontag was never wholly in favor of camp. In her original essay, as well as later in her career, she worried that camp’s lack of aesthetic seriousness could also be accompanied by a lack of moral seriousness. Yet that is what makes this sensibility so well suited to JSC. For campers, it is a time to be unserious, free, to loose the shackling anxieties of adolescence, even—or especially—if that means risking embarrassment or failure.

“Camp discloses innocence,” Sontag tells us, “but also, when it can, corrupts it.” This can be interpreted as a comment on camp’s ethics, but I think it’s something less pointed—a description of a tendency, a habit of being. At Jewish summer camp, whether our parents know it or not, we come to shed our innocence, to be complicit in our own corruption and adolescent awakening. And we do it—whether we know it or not—by way of camp, the camp of camp.

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Paris Geller, the frenemy of reader-waif Rory Gilmore (Alexis Bledel), may not have been the picture of a rich Jewess that Little Chandler had in mind. But Paris, played by Liza Weil, certainly is one, and almost definitely read Dubliners by the time she was 9. Paris would have scoffed while reading and blurted out some clever PG-rated insult about the Irish, or men, or half-brains. And as she did so, her dark eyes would have swelled with passion—windows to Paris’s fervent, often angry intensity—and Joyce would have been proven right.

The passion of Paris is not sexualized, of course, but channeled toward academic excellence. She is ambitious, competitive, hard-working—in essence, the picture of a college admissions slave—with the achiever’s impulse characteristic of suburbs where parents aspire to put certain college stickers on their car windows. Paris has a lot to live up to if she is not to let everyone down, including herself. Hence her dark eyes cower over textbooks, never allowing the slip of a tear, because there isn’t time enough to whimper when the PSATs approach.

Rory may be the effortlessly charming and bright girl we want to identify with, while Paris is an unpleasant reflection of who some of us may actually have been (or dared not become). Rory and her mother Lorelai—fast-talkers, coffee drinkers, fluent in pop-culture references high and low—navigate a pleasanter, quirkier world than Paris does. In turn, Paris finds herself alternatively at odds with Rory’s steadfast optimism, and placated by it. Ultimately, Paris becomes like a sister to Rory—a demanding, sometimes exasperating sister. For instance, after Paris loses her virginity, she arrives at Rory’s house under the pretense of debate club prep, and then unleashes her mixed emotions—“In the moments just before the act, we were actually discussing modern Marxism in America”— with vulnerable expectance.

Yes, Gilmore Girls is a show about mothers and daughters. But it’s also a show about sisterhood: the bond between Rory and Lorelai disrupts the typical intergenerational relationship setup, and so too, all the women (Sookie, Lane, Emily Gilmore) forge connections of a Ya-Ya variety. Paris isn’t just the rival smart girl in school; she’s Rory’s true foil and friend.

Jewish by birth, raised by her Portuguese nanny, Paris is not deeply observant but participates in perfunctory religious rituals. In the first season, we learn that she had a bat mitzvah, for which her dress was not particularly fashionable. “I’m not trendy girl OK? I don’t haunt the boutiques hoping to find that one fabulous little top. I study and then I think about studying and then I study some more,” Paris explains to Rory when seeking wardrobe advice on her first (and only) date with Tristin Dugray (Chad Michael Murray, the WB’s resident heartbreaker). Paris brings to Stars Hollow the entire contents of her closet, “just in case there was some sort of hidden potential in something that I just didn’t see”—everything, that is, “but my Chilton uniform and my bat mitzvah dress which has menorahs on the collar.”

Paris celebrates Hanukkah, although after she breaks from tradition to visit her boyfriend Jamie’s house for Christmas in Season 3, she comes to a realization: “I’m looking at this mound of gifts and I’m thinking ‘eight days of Hanukkah,’ who was the skin flint that thought up that deal?”

Rory asks, “Don’t the eight days symbolize something?”’

“Yes,” Paris replies. “They symbolize eight days of ripping off kids who can’t have a Hanukkah bush.”

We also come to know that Paris, diligent worker that she is, does not take a break on Shabbat. In preparation for a special issue of Chilton’s school newspaper, Paris not only comes in to work on a Saturday, but also demands that her peers do the same. She makes her case: “There is only going to be one 75th anniversary issue ever, and it’s on our watch. We screw this up and we basically mooned a piece of history. Is that what you want?” Yes, it seems that is what they want. “We’re working Saturday!” Paris shouts, and then walks away, muttering to Rory.

When Paris finally goes to college (rejected from her dream school Harvard, she arrives at Yale) she is forced to recalibrate—with the help of a life coach and a craft table—before she is back to her old self. She takes on the religion beat at the Yale Daily News, and then works herself into a frenzy as the paper’s chief editor before being driven out of office. Rory replaces her, and talks her down, “This job, Paris, being editor, you don’t need this, this hassle. You’re gonna be a doctor.”

“Surgeon,” Paris corrects.

“And a lawyer,” adds Rory.

“Judge.”

Indeed, journalism does not prove to be Paris’s true calling. By the end of the series she applies to top law schools and medical degree programs—and gets into all of them. Good Jewish girl that she is, Paris decides to become a doctor, at Harvard.

Previously on Network Jews:

Kyle Broflovski, South Park’s Resident Jew

Ziva David, the ass-kicking Mossad agent on CBS’s naval drama NCIS

Rachel Berry, the overachieving Jewish superstar-in-training on Fox’s Glee

The post Network Jews: Paris Geller from Gilmore Girl appeared first on Jewcy.

Mayonnaise is the bane of my Jewish foodie existence. I can’t think of a better way to ruin a nice, crisp salad or chicken. It’s gooey, flavorless, strangely buoyant. It comes in a jar. What is in Hellmann’s anyway? If you make it yourself, add a little garlic, and call it aoli, maybe I’ll eat it. Maybe. But let me be clear—mayonnaise is not salad dressing.

More than anything, the problem with mayonnaise is that it goes on dishes, like in the salad sampler, and just sits there, slowly eating away at the freshness that once was. Take coleslaw. Both of our dinners at the Bagel came with a little black cup crammed with white, lifeless cabbage with the occasional flash of orange from now-limp carrots. Having been doused in shelf-stable mayo, the white cabbage, which might once have had flavor of its own, is now simply a vehicle for the bland condiment that coats it. The fact that delis typically serve it at room temperature just makes me start mentally running through my food sanitation checklist.

Coleslaw apparently comes from the Dutch word kool salade, meaning cabbage salad, which later became koolsla. As one of the oldest domesticated and most easily cultivated vegetables, cabbage has often been associated as a poor man’s crop that could be prepared in a variety of simple, filling, and nutritious ways. So, to bring us back to the roots of this simple cabbage salad, I’m taking out the mayonnaise. You can serve these vegetables in their raw state as-is with no dressing for a crunchy, fresh topping (my personal favorite: on top of an open-faced taco). But in order to give you an actual recipe and not just a list of vegetables, I’m going to share my go-to slaw technique that I use almost every time I host a Shabbat dinner to provide a little extra raw-veggie goodness.

Sprinkling the cabbage with salt before serving releases the moisture so that you don’t end up with soggy slaw. If for some reason you have leftovers, you’ll be happy you pre-salted since this salad is a delicious leftover even dressed, unlike lettuce. Letting it sit with a bit of sugar and vinegar gives it a tangy, pickled flavor that distinguishes it from the rest of the meal and especially from the soft mush served at diners.

Not Your Bubbe’s Cole Slaw
Serves 5-6

Ingredients:

¾ head of red cabbage, shredded
1 carrot, grated
2-3 tablespoons salt
1-2 tablespoons sugar
¼ cup vinegar
3 scallions, ¼ inch slices

Procedure:
1. In a bowl, mix cabbage and carrot. Sprinkle salt and sugar over the vegetables and toss with vinegar.

2. Let the slaw sit under a weight for 30 minutes to 24 hours.

3. Toss the slaw and add the scallions.

Other Not Your Bubbe’s Recipes:

Cheese and Spinach Blintzes

Chocolate and Cinnamon Babka Cupcakes

Chicken Schnitzel

(image via Shutterstock)

The post Not Your Bubbe’s Recipe: Cole Slaw That Doesn’t Suck appeared first on Jewcy.

As the name suggests, grandmothers were typically the bakers behind the babka. In the Encyclopedia of Jewish Food, Gil Marks writes that the dessert was most likely the result of extra challah dough that was cleverly turned into an additional treat by mid-19th-century Eastern European bubbes. And thank god for that! Somewhere between a bread and a cake, the sweet loaf-shaped delicacy can be eaten for breakfast, as a midday snack, or, more traditionally, as a dessert. On the off chance there are any leftovers, it’s also great for making French toast or bread pudding.

While originally stuffed with dried fruit and cinnamon, in the last half-century American Jews have immortalized chocolate babka as the premiere variety. (You may remember the Seinfeld episode when Elaine famously dubbed cinnamon the “lesser babka.”)

Even now, with babka something of a household name for Jewish and non-Jewish New Yorkers alike, if bubbe isn’t baking it, you’re probably not eating it. No longer available only in haimish bakeries, babka can be found in Zabars, Zaros, and even Bouchon Bakeries—though the recipe has, somewhat shockingly, remained the same.

Why make babka, available by the dozen at your neighborhood bakery, on your own? I could tell you to make one to be true to your roots, to honor your grandparents, or to finally use up that instant yeast packet in your cabinet. But the reason is simpler than that. There are few things in this world more delicious than fresh bread, straight out of the oven. One of those things just happens to be fresh bread straight out of the oven with melted chocolate and butter oozing out of it.

These “Trail Mix Babka Cupcakes” are a contemporary twist on the classic loaf, keeping with the latest in the cupcake-craze and portion controlled for the weight conscious among us. Simply pairing chocolate and cinnamon filling into one cupcake produces an original recipe while preserving the integrity of babka’s history. Bake a dozen and send a basket to your bubbe!

Not Your Bubbe’s Trail-Mix Babka Cupcakes
Yield: 14-16 Babka Cupcakes

Ingredients:
Dough
¾ cup milk or soy milk
¼ cup melted butter or margarine
2 teaspoons fast-acting dry yeast
1 teaspoon cinnamon
2 ½ cups all purpose flour
1 ½ cups whole wheat flour
¼ cup + one teaspoon sugar
¼ cup water
1 egg
½ teaspoon salt

Trail-mix Filling
10 oz. chocolate chips
1 ½ teaspoons cinnamon
1/3 cup sugar
1/3 cup cold butter or margarine
1/3 cup chopped nuts (walnuts, peanuts, or almonds)
1/3 cup chopped dried fruit (raisins, craisins, apricots, or dried apple work well)

Streusel Topping (Optional)
1/3 cup confectioners sugar
1/3 cup all purpose flour
¼ cup butter or margarine
1 tablespoon milk or soymilk
Egg wash (one egg beaten with one tablespoon milk/soy milk)

Special Equipment
Stand mixer (recommended but not essential)
Rolling pin
Cupcake pans

Directions:
1. Melt butter or margarine in saucepan and stir in the milk.

2. Warm milk and melted butter slightly and add the yeast and the teaspoon of sugar, let sit for five minutes until the yeast blooms.

3. While waiting, combine the all purpose four, whole wheat flour, cinnamon, and sugar into the bowl of your stand mixer. Mix to combine.

4. Add the egg, water, yeast, and milk mixture and mix well. Using the dough hook (or your hands if you are not using a stand mixer) knead the dough for 15-20 minutes, until the dough is smooth and elastic.

5. Cover the dough with a damp cloth and place in a warm place for 1 ½ hours for the dough to rise and double in size. In this time, you can make the filling and topping.

6. For the filling, mix together all ingredients except for the butter.

7. Rub, or cut, the butter into the mixture until it is relatively evenly dispersed and you have no clumps larger than the size of a cranberry.

8. For the streusel, combine all ingredients and, like the filling, cut the butter in until you get crumbs the size of pebbles.

9. Once risen, punch the dough down and reform it into a ball. Let sit, covered, for another 10 minutes.

10. To make the process more manageable, cut the dough into two equal portions.

11. Spray cupcake tin and preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Take one half of the dough and roll it into a large rectangle about 1/8 of an inch thick. Sprinkle half of the filling evenly over the rectangle, then cut the rectangle into smaller rectangles, roughly 2 inches wide and 4 inches long. Roll up the rectangles, maintaining the width, and seal the seam by pressing down on the dough. Coil the babka ropes into the cupcake pan. Repeat the process with the other half of the dough.

12. Once inside the cupcake tin, cover and let rise for a half hour. Brush with egg wash and sprinkle with streusel. Bake for 12-14 minutes. Once cool enough to touch pop them out and enjoy! They are best while still warm.

Also try: Not Your Bubbe’s Chicken Schnitzel

Sarah Miller is a graduate of the Pastry and Baking Arts program at the Institute of Culinary Education and is currently working at ABC Kitchen.

The post Not Your Bubbe’s Recipe: Chocolate and Cinnamon Babka Cupcakes appeared first on Jewcy.

We got Grossman’s top five Shatner moments of all time:

5. Shatner Introduces George Lucas: Whoever got the idea that William Shatner should appear at a gala for that overrated hack George Lucas was a genius. Classic light ego and charm, and a fun rendition of “My Way” at the end. And if you go full out nerd, you might even see this bit as an apology for the rough treatment he gave conventions back in 1986 on Saturday Night Live. The nicest type of trolling.

4. Rollins Meets Shatner: If there’s one person I trust on matter of personal taste, it’s Henry Rollins. So I was very pleased with his recounting of how he and Bill Shatner got to be friends, and how genuinely overjoyed Shatner was to be making original music. Make sure to check out part two, where Bill and Henry get scallops. This sounds like the greatest reality TV show of all time.

3. Bernie Taupin Introduces “Rocket Man:” Too many things to love in this one to mention. The touches of 70’s style that the 1978 Science Fiction Convention shelled out for. The deadness in the eyes of Bernie Taupin as he is forced by quick paycheck to announce how happy he is to hear this, the wannabe tough guy pose. Shatner’s just cashing in at this point, but figures he can be just cool enough for these nerds.

2. Shatner and Ben Folds on Conan: Before Has Been, before anyone knew that this could be a success. Maybe it shouldn’t be surprising what a great screen presence Shatner has here, but this was post-Star Trek and pre-Boston Legal, no one knew what to expect from him, it certainly wasn’t this. You can tell from the lame attempts at jokes in the interview afterwards that he’s still not completely in his comfort zone.

1. As opposed to here, at the height of his musical prowess: Shatner and Folds had a very light tour in support of Has Been, and it’s infuriating that this is the only clip I’ve been able to find. “It Hasn’t Happened Yet” isn’t even the best song off Has Been, but Shatner and his backing band squeeze out every iota of emotional power into the spoken word piece about the trying nature of fame.

(image credit: Taylor Hill/Getty Images)

The post Move Over Drake, William Shatner Wins Emotional Canadian Jew of the Week appeared first on Jewcy.

Israel is not a nation known internationally for their filmmaking, and certainly not here in the United States.  That may all be changing very soon.

When it comes to the Best Foreign Language category at the Oscars, Italy and France are juggernauts; France having earned 36 nominations in the category thus far with 12 wins and Italy with 27 nominations and 13 wins.  Far down the totem pole there’s Israel who in the history of the Academy Awards has received 10 nominations in the Best Foreign Language category, and zero wins.  Similarly, at the Cannes Film Festival, Israel has thus far earned two awards in the festival’s lifetime both for acting, until this year when Footnote, the fourth film by Israeli director Joseph Cedar, took home the Best Screenplay Award. Now, with the tenth Israeli film to receive a nomination for the Best Foreign Language prize at the Oscars, Cedar might well be on his way to putting Israel on the map of world cinema.

Footnote is the story of Uriel Sklolnik and his father Eliezer, both renowned Talmudic scholars at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem.  Where Uriel is something like the Malcom Gladwell of Talmudic study, a rock star at translating the age-old text (in a profession appropriately devoid of rock stars) Eliezer is more like an undiscovered Proust, his work methodical and rigid, and to most people, too complex to even approach.  However, when Eliezer is finally notified that he’s been chosen to receive the annual Israel Prize for Talmudic studies, everything about him begins to change, even his bitter and impossible-to-please demeanor.  Even Uriel, whose father is seemingly the only person whose approval he is unable to obtain and who has yet to receive the prize for his own work, is pleased for his father, if not a tad jealous.  That is, until he learns that there’s been a major mistake, one that may prevent him from ever being eligible to win the prize himself.

In watching Footnote, it’s immediately refreshing to see how lighthearted this expectedly serious, scholarly film, actually is.  Immediately breaking the third wall and playing with filmic convention, Footnote appears almost like a Rob Reiner film in its silly approach to dealing with very serious characters.  Viewers are likely to walk into Footnote expecting one thing and getting another, because, though Footnote is a film about academia, and in particular Talmudic studies at the Hebrew University, there’s a sense that it could really be about any profession or competitive arena.  The dominant themes in Footnote are so universal that one needn’t even know what the Talmud is to understand and enjoy the film.  Above all, it’s a film about father and son, and the jealousy that naturally comes along when one person out of a small circle becomes “chosen,” both noun and an adjective.

Looked at form the point of view of screenplay writing, for which the film received the prize at Cannes, Footnote is a very subtle and nuanced work wherein the audience is left to draw their own conclusions and connect multiple dots, but from a filmmaking standpoint, Footnote is rather illustrious, with it’s non-linear storytelling, odd angles, and an elaborate, dramatic score.  Taking place in the heart of Jerusalem, Israel is certainly something of a character in the film, however, much like Footnote seemingly could have been about any profession, there’s also a sense that it could have taken place anywhere in the world, such is the brilliance and universality of the story.

“The Talmud is a vast tremendous document that covers all areas of life.  It is maybe the most impressive document ever composed. Footnote film deals with one of the values in that text, that argument is good.  The Talmud is fueled by the notion that conflict is an ingredient for progress and in order to crystallize an idea, you have to argue over that idea,” says Director Joseph Cedar about the Talmud’s importance to the film.

When asked whether Israeli film on the world stage, Cedar told me:

“The last 10 years have been great for Israeli cinema, we’ve been in all the festivals and we’ve had 3 Oscar nominations in 3 years,” although Cedar neglects to mention that two of these nominations were for his own films.

It’s interesting to ponder whether any kind of style is developing amongst Israeli filmmakers, or whether there are any identifying characteristics endemic to Israeli film. According to Cedar it’s just the opposite:

“I have friends who are making films and we like each other but we’re not part of some cinema movement, which is part of why film in Israel is vibrant.  Look at Romanian cinema, it all looks the same, all these national cinemas that have had a good wave of films, there’s something common about them.  The films that have been successful out of Israel have nothing in common. You never know what will do well and filmmakers feel like they have to surprise the audience, and that’s a good thing. As long as we feel like we have to supersize ourselves, we wont fade away.”

While no French or Italian films are nominated in this year’s Best Foreign Language category, Footnote remains the darkhorse contender due the presence of Iranian Filmmaker Asghar Farhadi’s “A Seperation,” the only foreign film also nominated for a the Best Original Screenplay Award at this year’s Oscars, and the most critically gushed upon foreign language film of the year.

So once again, Israel gets to be the underdog.

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For so long I hoped to find where people my age prayed. I have slowly begun to find some pieces of the answer. Much of the answer depends on demographics, both of age, but more importantly, of personality, though not necessarily level of religiosity (something which, in general, eludes easy categorization.) Many people, in a discussion about this specific question of perceived lower attendance of synagogue, explain that they want to attend synagogue for reasons of communal connection, and for the most part, too many synagogues do not offer the type of communal experience they seek. Now this might seem shallow, and largely antithetical to the ambitious poetic vision of the purpose of prayer from the bard of our penitential, supplicatory hymns, Rabbi Joshua Heschel: “Prayer must never be a citadel for selfish concerns, but rather a place for deepening concern over other people’s plight.”

However, as many sociologists point out, and we as all know intuitively, prayer matters so much because it serves as a consistent social experience centered on this more poetic vision of prayer. The ultimate goal of prayer might rest in the heart of our deepest selves, but it is through engaging our social aspects that we create an environment, a community of prayer. However, in the transition from generation to generation, we need to relearn how to create communities. The methods and the goals of the past do not necessarily translate into the proper methods and goals for this generation, and in this gap, we find creativity.

Many of my generation, feeling aloof from the classical shul experience, seek to create their own services, so a DIY (do it yourself) minyan provides the next logical step. Furthermore, weaned on an era of independence, initiative, and individuality, certain components of the classic shul experience appear outdated. The idea of a leader, of a Rabbi, feels slightly offensive to our sensibilities, or simply to our taste. We would rather listen to a peer speak about the Torah portion, or some idea, than some austere, learned, member of the clergy. In our litigious times, we barely understand the concept of authority, or feel swayed by the power of charisma. For too long, we’ve been taught to doubt, to question authority, and repeatedly we’ve been let down by politicians, by their self aggrandizement that we do not even react in shock anymore at abuse, or even proper usage of power. Similarly, as we empower the next generation in every area of life, in college, in their career, in their choices, we can expect that servility to the traditions of a older community seem less appealing than the allure of a do it yourself service.

Though not a new phenomenon, the DIY minyan serves numerous purposes. This week’s shul hop, a young DIY service of over 100 people, signified less a minyan of convenience, less a service of a statement, and more a fun environment to try on the clothes of prayer, while looking fantastic with many other attractive young people in an almost party-like environment. It’s actually quite a beautiful experience, almost a prayer party, if that makes sense.

The prayer itself in no way veers from a normal, Orthodox, Friday night experience, rather, it’s the ambiance and people that distinguishes this minyan. The service, a monthly one, takes place in the apartment of one kind family.

The home itself, a stunning, large apartment (the kitchen itself the size of my actual apartment,) with a modern décor that evinces a strong belief in spirituality, or perhaps feng shui: Kabbalistic paintings, a plethora of yoga mats and meditation pillows, the color scheme, a variation on a the theme of a deep rich red or maroon, books like the Secret or something written by Paulo Coelho, and an oddly ironic, but endearing sign in a home that relates that “home is where you are.” Also, a pink Hannah Montana acoustic guitar that truly ties the room together. Praying in a home, because of its complexities, creates a unique prayer experience.

I cannot gloss over the inherent tension in praying in a personal home. The house saps formality, perhaps purposefully so, invites distractions, and belies the idea of a synagogue as a house, specially designed and used for God. And yet, in actuality, despite all the aforementioned possible tensions, in many ways a person can feel a greater intimacy with the prayer because of the loving, home environment, which fosters the idea that we Jews love to claim as our own unique idea: that no distinction exists between the house of God and our homes.

Part of this DIY minyan entails a more explicit embrace of the butcher shop phenomenon. Many lament, as I have in the past, that certain shul experiences feels less like a service, and more like an undesired stage show in which you must wear the right clothing, talk and walk the right way, and generally please, in order to secure your dating prospects. Ironically, though some experience this feeling as claustrophobic, and hope to excise it from services, this minyan, it appears, amps it up, transcends it through explicit acceptance of its important role in our changing definition of community. I find it too easy to criticize the idea of shul as a meat market, especially when everyone is on sale, and everyone wants to be on the seller’s block. In fact, something felt downright electric about the lack of any pretenses otherwise, about the honesty in which this created community embraced the sexual electricity pulsating throughout the night.

For example, walking to the bathroom, which requires a walk through the narrow space in the front of the women’s section, in my beat up corduroys, wearing a 3 year old Old Navy sweatshirt, sweating just a bit, hair mussed and not gelled in any important way, felt like some odd Kafkaesque experience of a cat walk. Yet, I enjoyed it. Not because of my confidence in my looks, especially given my relative unkempt appearance, but because how often do we get looked at in that way these days; even if seen simply as a prospect for dating, it still counts as an acknowledgment of our existence.

Adding to this ambiance, the Carlebach style minyan, a service based on the songs and style of the controversial Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, one whose music evokes and elicits the range of emotions, including arousal (No one would think of his songs as sexy, but they are certainly emotionally liberating.) I can’t fully explain it, but something about the whole neo-Hasidic, musical, spiritual, mystical new agey feel of these services, even under the most orthodox of standards elicits a strange sexuality. Perhaps the encouragement of dancing, or perhaps its stems from the associations of new age practices like yoga, or meditation, with a more liberal sense of the body, but these type of “spiritual” minyans, ones that look to unlock something withering within us, unlock the spectrum of emotions, not just those of divinity or transcendence.

Let’s also not forget the few rounds of Smirnoff vodka for some pre and post service Kiddush, a flimsy, symbolic mechitzah in the shape of a low couch, and about 120 mostly single Upper West siders, so you can expect constant glances to the left or right, heightened levels of self-consciousness, those who get caught staring, those practiced enough almost to see through the prayer books to the cute guy or girl in the back left corner, “no, not that one, I mean, they’re cute too, but the other one, yea, that one, what’s his name and deal?” All questions that the hostess receives often and answers obligingly, with a twinge of excitement (though apparently, this service was created and is run by numerous people, not just one hostess.) Never underestimate the power felt in playing matchmaker.

Of course, I cannot speak for the motivations of each person there, nor, obviously, does the sexuality define the whole experience. People come to this minyan to feel freer, unfettered by the bounds of shul traditions like the rabbi’s speech, or the prudish divide of wooden boards; free from the glare and stares and questions of adults (“So, you married, going out with anyone, ready to date? What type of person you looking for, modern? OK, but how modern? Do you wear pants, yes, but would you ever wear skirts?” Or the kiss of death, “One day, with God’s help, by you…” or, “Do you know my grandson/daughter?”) and they come to feel uplifted, moved, empowered by the warmth of the sonic womb of harmonic, emotional singing, led by an attractive cantor with a soothing, flirtatious voice. None of these aspects clash with the more club style feel to the whole service; they cohere into a balanced whole.

Overall, despite my purposeful focus of the sexuality of the service, what stays with me is the strong desire on the part of such a devoted group of young adults, looking to create their own warm community, full of care, devotion, and kindness. In my search for the prayer services of my age, experiencing a service run completely by my peers, especially an uplifting minyan, softened my hardened heart. We are young, good (looking) people, still attached, still searching, and if we find a date, spirituality, and a bit of a party along the way, who can feel begrudged by our playfulness?

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