In isolation, the dream blunt rotation meme went viral: A fantasy league selection of people we’d smoke a blunt with. Often absurd, surreal combinations: The cast of Scooby Doo, Food Network stars, the animatronics of Chuck E. Cheese. 

I thought about mine.

What do people on this list have in common? Atypical, sometimes controversial ties to Jewishness and media. They often make people uncomfortable. I assume they’re excellent conversationalists.  

I like problematic people. I like when people say the wrong thing. I like when people brush against ideological orthodoxy – even when I disagree. It makes for good gossip. 

I just think that if somebody tells me I shouldn’t like something, or if I shouldn’t read something, I’m going to want to try it. I love drama, I love controversy, and I love interesting conversation. There is nothing worse than being in a group of people signalling their shared values to each other for hours – I’m not a university student, I don’t need to filter for sensibilities at my dinner table. 

I want to get litty and I want to gather. I present my dream blunt rotation: Shabbat dinner edition.

Azealia Banks

The year 212 came out was the most pivotal era of my life, when I felt like the main character all the time. She lifted me into consciousness like Pharoah’s daughter lifting the baby Moshe Rabenu from the Nile. The synthy beat and aggressive lyrics have the ability to transport me to freshman pub crawls, dance floors, and house parties in crusty living rooms. 

Azealia takes hold of the media in moments of controversy – in the most ephemeral, clickbaity sense. Journalists don’t seem to know what to make of her, and her apologists rarely manifest outside stan Twitter. 

When, in February of 2021, the artist declared, “I’m Jewish now,” in the caption of a now-deleted Instagram post, Jewish thought leaders and the crusty Twitterati alike decried her as “problematic,” opining that it was antisemitic of her to declare herself Jewish without deferring to the proper channels. What followed was a moment of “backlash” that Insider helpfully qualified as not “the first time Banks has caused a stir with her social-media presence.”

But did anybody think to invite her to Friday night dinner? 

If there’s anything Banks has demonstrated during her career, is that’s being labelled problematic means basically nothing if you use it too many times. Do we start with the homophobia, or ask about the chicken blood in her closet? The cat bones? Her feud with Grimes? 

And for that, I’m extending an invitation. 

Ivanka Trump

If I knew Ivanka personally I would text her and say, “Hey Vanky, Friday night chez moi?” And she’d reply something like, “Yes bitch!” and I’d seat her husband next to my boyfriend so they can distract each other. 

Ivanka’s Judaism is fascinating to me. I wish she talked about it more, but it’s understandable that she doesn’t. If I were her, I’d be mum on the details too. Still, I wonder: What does she think when she leafs through the pages of her siddur? Does she pray sincerely? 

Is it lonely? 

Politics are verboten at my Shabbos table unless I feel like talking about them. But as a Canadian held hostage by American media for my entire life, I don’t ever want to hear what people think about the last president of the United States ever again. I want to hear Ivanka talk about Karlie Kloss and true crime. I want to ask her about who she follows on Instagram – what does she think of Leandra Medine Cohen, David Portnoy, and Billie Eilish? How plugged into the pop culture zeitgeist is she?

In a searing Vanity Fair essay, her ex-best friend writes, “[it] is nearly impossible to ignore when the person who used to pluck ingrown hairs from your bikini line suddenly appoints herself to the role of unelected public official and begins to torch democracy.” She makes a good point: It’s hard to be neutral when talking about a Trump – especially when you have such high expectations. 

But I can also attest that I come from no such vantage point, and the extension of my invitation to dinner would be on entirely neutral political lines. And for the record, I bet she and Karlie text all day long. 

Leah McSweeney

I’ve never actually watched the Real Housewives of New York, but I’ve followed Leah McSweeney on Instagram for years. I didn’t even realize she was a Housewife – she seems so chill. She has good taste. She cavorts with the likes of Azealia Banks, Hari Nef and Cat Marnell on Instagram, swims nude in a grey lake, and poses in camo pants and heels against brick walls. In another photo, she’s tuning in virtually to a Shabbat dinner that was aired on the show. 

McSweeney chose to document parts of her conversion to Orthodox Judaism on the series. Her sincerity is moving: She could approach this glibly, but she doesn’t. She genuinely wants to learn. 

Of course, what’s shown on screen and what she actually experiences are totally different. She is currently undergoing a profound transition, and her audience is reconciling that with a public image that doesn’t fit squarely into a box. 

“It’s so nerve-wracking. You know, Dave Chapelle likes to say that he never talks about being Muslim in public, because he thinks his religion is so beautiful he doesn’t want to be a stain on it because of whatever he does. Filming The Real Housewives of New York and talking about it made me feel so anxious. I didn’t want to look exploitative. And I was worried, because I have such an immense respect for all religion but obviously especially for Judaism. And I wanted to get words of encouragement and welcome, but I was also very worried about being judged.”

The critiques from viewers come in – why is she using her phone on Yom Kippur? Why is she live streaming a Shabbat dinner if she’s trying to be Orthodox? 

Nellie Bowles, who writes Chosen By Choice, describes the embarrassment that comes with wading into Judaism, writing, “there are times you’re going to mess it up or feel like there are too many rules to ever learn in one life, and that’s (I hope? I think?) normal. ” Imagine how McSweeney feels, having her observance picked apart. My hope for her is that she ignores the naysayers and settles into observance when she’s ready. 

I’d seat her beside Azealia because they absolutely know each other. 

Trisha Paytas

Where McSweeney’s approach to Judaism can be described as “thoughtful”, Trisha’s has long been tinged with the P-word (pr*blematic). Their OOTD for last year’s Rosh Hashanah was an IDF t-shirt and a beret. They slathered an apple with honey and resolved for a “sweet, sweet lovin’ and a sweet, sweet ass” for 5781. The Jews were not pleased. 

Scaachi Koul wrote in her profile on Trisha, “I’ve been watching Paytas since I was 16, and even when they faltered, I believed in their redemption.” But by the time the piece was published, Trisha had turned on Koul, saying, “You disgusting little rat. You should not get to talk to another human being as long as you live. You are the bottom of the barrel scum pig of the universe.”

I, too, want to believe in their redemption. Without extending too much judgement, I’m both horrified and fascinated by her relationship to Judaism. On one hand, she’s very publicly wrong about everything she says and does – on the other, it’s surreal to see her embrace Judaism before such a captive audience. Are they genuinely invested, is it because of their husband, or do they do it because they revel in the negative reactions? Ever the elusive influencer, it’s hard to say, and probably not helpful to speculate. 

Ironically, by the time the piece was published, Trisha had turned on Koul, telling her, “You disgusting little rat. You should not get to talk to another human being as long as you live. You are the bottom of the barrel scum pig of the universe.”

Harsh, babes! I think they’d add a lot of dimension to the crowd, although I’d probably sit a little far away.

Gwyneth Paltrow 

I feel the same way about Gwyneth Paltrow that a lot of my friends feel about the Lubavitcher Rebbe: Publicly polite reverence, privately fanatical. Her critics say she’s out of touch. At worst, she’s dangerous – we have yet to study the long-term effects of our jade eggs, although mine hasn’t fallen out yet. 

I don’t know if I want to be her or be near her. When she admitted in her cookbook It’s All Easy to “[settling] for pasta with butter and cheese,” I allowed myself to also settle for pasta with butter and cheese for years. Every time I put on a thoughtful cashmere sweater and white sneakers, I ask my boyfriend if I’m giving off Goop vibes. Gwyneth is probably the only famous person I would actually be stunned to meet.

As a patrilineal Jew and possible covert convert (the jury’s still out on what happened there), Gwyneth has undoubtedly been present for some sick Shabbat dinners. Perhaps she’s hosted a few. I make her slow cooker brisket recipe every year for Yom Tov. I’d probably serve that and say, “GP, do you recognize this?!” and then cry.

In 2017, journalist Mattie Kahn wrote about trendy, Instagrammable initiatives that tied Jewish traditions like Shabbat dinners to meditation and wellness:

“Revived in an era of wellness retreats and digital detoxes, ancient Jewish rituals like Shabbat and Rosh Chodesh celebrations have found a sudden resonance unattached from the strictures of the tradition that invented them. Whether the rabbis like it or not, they’ve been Goop-ed.”

I want to be the patron saint of blonde women in cashmere sweater sets, a dream I’ve realized thanks to GP. In her honour, I’d microdose psilocybin by sprinkling it into the hors d’oeuvres. I’m sure it would liven the evening.

Here’s what I hope would happen: Gwyneth might confess to watching Trisha’s mukbangs. Leah and Ivanka would play Jewish geography – do they both know Rabbi Lookstein? Ivanka would admit that she listens to 212 every morning on the elliptical. Does she also read Tablet for Liel? Would Azealia light up the room with her opinions or her outfit? 

As life returns to normal, with or without c*vid, and people are getting together again, I want to be challenged and to think about this world differently. I want to know what people are really thinking. There’s no better place than the dinner table, between healthy pours of wine and candlelight, where conversation can flow freely, and we can laugh and gather again. 

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Shabbat is the day of rest, and according to traditional Jewish law, you shouldn’t listen to music then. But what about the intensity of preparing for Shabbat? Start a one-person mosh pit in your kitchen while making challah!

Here’s a Shabbat punk playlist featuring punk rock versions of liturgical songs, originals about Shabbat, and a cover of the “King of Jewish Music.” The songs might be loud and fast, but they’re still holy—for the most part.

Di Nigunim: L’Cha Dodi

A cornerstone of the Kabbalat Shabbat service, “L’Cha Dodi” welcomes the Sabbath bride. The 13-member band Di Nigunim put their wild “anarcho-klezmer punk” stamp on the beautiful melody. Front man Ben Nigunim explained that he “filled it up with all the pent-up angst of the week, like ‘Fuck yeah! Let’s let loose now!’” He removed references to God, which, he said, “the religious cats probably wouldn’t dig too much.”

Moshiach Oi!: Shabbos

Moshiach Oi! singer/guitarist Yishai Romanoff celebrates that Shabbos is “Hashem’s holy day.” It’s a day when he doesn’t drive, go far, worry, or rush. That’s all there is lyrically, but with screaming and repetition, it’s all emphasized so that you can appreciate how holy the Sabbath is. An early demo of “Shabbos” included guest back-up vocals that sounded “like a demon from hell,” the band’s other guitarist fondly recalled.

The Groggers: Friday Night Lights

Plenty of pop-punk songs are about craving sex. In the Groggers’ version, the narrator yearns to have sex with his wife on “mitzvah night.” Despite having Shabbat guests at the table, he was “playing footsies during ‘Mizmor Shir’” and “waiting for this since HaMotzi.” Spoiler alert: His wife falls asleep before the couple can “feel the Shabbos spirit” together.

Yidcore: Just One Shabbos

Yidcore covered this song by Mordechai Ben David on their debut album in 2000. The lyrics are quite moving, albeit difficult to understand at times. They tell the story of a Jew who didn’t observe Shabbat and connects with Judaism upon visiting the Western Wall on a Friday night. Transformed, the man continues observing Shabbat and spreads the joy to others.

White Shabbos: Shabbos Holy Shabbos

The band name and the song/album title are takeoffs on the legendary metal band Black Sabbath and their song/album “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath.” The folk-punk band White Shabbos is decidedly more pious. “Shabbos Bloody Shabbos” praises the holiness of the Sabbath in both Hebrew and English. The lyrics describe Shabbos as “a taste of the world to come.” They encourage listeners to keep the Sabbath in order to help bring the Messiah.

The Schleps: Adon Olam

One of the most fun prayers to learn as a kid is “Adon Olam” because it can be sung to almost any melody. The Schleps chose one of the most common “Adon Olam” tunes for a brutal metalcore rendition. It isn’t like any of the options you heard in Hebrew school. (If you’re looking for a pop-punk alternative, you can sing “Adon Olam” to Green Day’s “Minority” instead.)

Learn more about all of these Jewish punk bands in Michael Croland’s book, Oy Oy Oy Gevalt! Jews and Punk.

Photo album cover for White Shabbos.

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The first poem here emerged from a practice I’ve adopted over the past few years of combining close study of Jewish texts with creative-writing prompts. I was introduced to this sort of work through classes offered by Amy Gottlieb at the Drisha Institute in New York; after those courses ended, a few of us decided to continue meeting on our own. “Birthright” stems from study of Parashat Toldot—which is to be read in 2017/5778 on November 18.

Birthright

Eyesight dimmed, aged Isaac

could nonetheless discern

the sound of one twin’s voice

from the other’s

and detect the scent

of each from his garments;

alas, how the story

might have shifted

could he have distinguished

Esau’s skin from a goat’s.

For this next poem: I struggle somewhat with my level of Shabbat observance. And I also struggle with my addiction to my iPhone and various social-media platforms. About a year ago, following the rush of online reactions in the aftermath of the presidential election, I began trying to disengage for one day each week: Shabbat. And that’s the impetus for “Sabbath Rest 2.0.” 

Sabbath Rest 2.0

About that Fourth Commandment:

I’ve always remembered the Sabbath day;

I just haven’t kept it holy.

But these days, I do keep it

free from Facebook and Twitter.

And when the sun sinks and sets

and the three stars appear,

I’m renewed and refreshed

and ready, once again,

to face all that awaits.

Erika Dreifus writes poetry and prose in New York. She can be found online at http://www.ErikaDreifus.com and on Twitter @ErikaDreifus, where she tweets “on matters bookish and/or Jewish.”

Photo by slgckgc, via Flickr.

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When my friend Max called me up to suggest we host a dinner for a dozen or so close friends, it sounded like a great idea. I’d been wanting to gather everyone together for a while, at least since Donald Trump was elected and our faith in democracy was upended. Because, even in the darkest moments of history, you don’t postpone joy.

And since Max and I are both Jewish, and I had the next Friday night free, I thought: Why not a Shabbat dinner?

It’s almost a commandment, I said.

It’s the fourth commandment, Max said.

“What should we have, Max?” I said and grabbed a scrap of paper— which turned out to be the envelope of my last electric bill from the Department of Water and Power.

Max spouted off a list of vegetables but he didn’t get past pan-roasted Jerusalem artichoke with fava bean before I realized, I don’t have “a pan.” I didn’t even have a disposable baking sheet.

I was a predictably ill-equipped millennial.  I’d only bought what was absolutely necessary for my apartment, which meant I’d spent most of my discretionary income on a big rustic looking lounge chair and an accompanying throw. No more than 1.5 people could really sit there comfortably.

As it seemed, hosting a dinner revealed a major failing of my twenties: I have very few domestic skills. I never cultivated them because I always thought homemaking was a burden of the past. After all, there are a lot of women who refused to shave their armpits so that I could enjoy a life outside of the kitchen. Say, in the living room. With take-out from King Thai.

My mother had a Betty Crocker cookbook, which I used to thumb through as if it were a historic document, marveling at the scientific wonder of a Baked Alaska. “You know,” my mom would say, “Women used to spend all day preparing dinner for their husbands.”

“In the 60’s,” I’d say, shaking my head with sympathy for women who had to figure out how to keep ice cream frozen inside a baked meringue shell.

It would have been easy to toss aside our plans like it was brunch at the new vegan place with an out-of-town friend. But something about Shabbat felt like it shouldn’t be blown off at the last minute. It’s a tradition thousands of years old, it signifies a recognition of the holiness that exists on earth, and it involves at least 5 hours of prep time.

What’s more, it is kind of my birthright. When I was 13, I stood in front of God and all my parents’ friends at Congregation Beth El and promised that I’d strive to live my life in the tradition of great Jewish women like Sarah, Rebecca, and Natalie Portman.

In the intervening years, I’d largely lost sight of this responsibility to my foremothers.  I’d taken my confessional identity for granted. It hadn’t seemed to matter very much whether I had my bat mitzvah at the synagogue or in the downstairs ballroom at the Park Hyatt, whether they had served kishka or shrimp cocktail.

But America was starting to feel less like the home for the wandering Jew than it once was.  I felt a new urgency to proclaim my heritage, as if by asserting my own Ellis Island immigrant roots, it might make America seem more welcoming and familiar, less ruled by a bigoted despot and more by love.

****

Much to my mother’s chagrin, I’m not a planner.  But I make a mental checklist of what we need to do before our Shabbat. We’ve asked everyone to come at 8 because traffic on Friday is terrible and I think we’ll photograph better in twilight.

I put Max’s brother, Luke, in charge of food. Which is a good choice because in addition to being related to Max, Luke is a fabulous chef. He once spent two days on whole duck cassoulet for a birthday party, and the birthday boy didn’t even thank him or as it turns out, eat duck.

The Thursday before our dinner, Luke and I make a challah. I don’t have an electric mixer so Luke literally churns butter by hand. I’m worried I got carpal tunnel at work so I work on a playlist instead and periodically interject with observations culled from my Instagram feed.

The next morning we go to Whole Foods with intentions to buy food that not only tastes good, but also tastes moral.  Unfortunately, we forget our bags, which nearly undoes the Mitzvah of shopping at Whole Foods.

With the shopping done, it’s time to sanctify our dinner table.  I decide we should walk to the Chabad house in the neighborhood because they are always giving out free candlesticks and prayer books and I’ve spent all of my money on organic pears that Luke promises are a good substitute for the organic plums that the New York Times Chicken Marbella recipe calls for.

The rabbi at Chabad is so overcome with joy to welcome in three intrepid young neighborhood Jews, that he’s almost blind to the fact that I’m wearing a celebrity-brand yoga outfit and my companions are two gay brothers who love Christmas. He gives us the candlesticks we sought and wraps tefillin with Max and Luke. He tells us that if we don’t light the candlesticks before 4:45 (sundown) he’ll know. He’s teasing. It’s not like he has a direct line to God, he says, and looks at me as if to say: I have a direct line to God.

As Luke puts the finishes on the farm fresh vegetable mélange and the artisanal apple pie and Max sets the table, I put on the wrap dress I got from Off Saks and add Leonard Cohen to our playlist.

We play Fiddler on the Roof loudly as the house starts to smell like I imagine a house greeting the Sabbath should smell. Max sings “If I Were a Rich Man” accessing the same bravado with which he carried the tune as a 4th grader, and as a 7th grader, and in his high school repertory theater performance, for which he won a regional award.

Our friends start to arrive, and it doesn’t seem to matter that some people are on chairs, and others on stools, and still others will probably just have to squat.

I just see my friends, vibrant and weird and at least for tonight— joyous. I see them gather around the table, laughing, ogling the meal that Luke’s prepared, and I feel like I want the whole neighborhood to come break challah with us.

On the stereo, a villager asks the Rabbi for a blessing for the tsar. The tsar, he says? And pauses. A blessing for the tsar. May God bless and keep the tsar… far away from us.

Tonight, it feels like he is.

Image via Shutterstock

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I was recently invited to a friend’s for a potluck Shabbat dinner, and decided to bring homemade challah. As I was shaping my loaf, I was thinking about how beautiful it would be to have a rainbow challah. Growing up, my mother would occasionally dye the braids different colors to celebrate different holidays (Halloween was orange and black; Memorial Day and July 4 were red, white, and blue; Valentine’s Day was red, pink, and white in a heart shape) or big sport weekends (maize and blue for Thanksgiving Shabbos, orange and blue for Tigers opening day, red and white when the Wings made the playoffs, etcetera). But I thought of the color scheme too late to dye the sections.

I then thought I could dye sesame seeds and put them in a stripe pattern, inspired by the seeded challahs at Breads Bakery and My Most Favorite Food. But I didn’t have enough food coloring, so I had to do something else. Fortunately, I was struck with a great idea: make a stenciled message! So lo and behold, I made a Hebrew stencil.

You can use most any challah recipe you’d like for the dough (though check out the award-winning one from my family below), and then follow the instructions below to step up your challah game.

Some inspiration for messages include Shabbat Shalom (this one says so, in Hebrew) or Good Shabbos in Yiddish/English, heart shapes or peace signs, the name of the weekly parsha, an edible wedding proposal, or simple stripes of seeds. Do whatever you feel comfortable with, and it will be great.

1. Prepare a stencil (cut the letters out of wax paper with a utility knife).
2. Brush braided and risen challah with egg wash. Then lay the stencil on the challah.
   
3. Carefully pour/place seeds over stencil.
4. Blow or shake off extra seeds. Careful— they may go onto uncovered sections of your challah.
   
5. Remove stencil (gently!). Disclaimer about using a lot of small seeds: you will need to sweep.
6. If desired, carefully fill the void around stenciled design. This is unnecessary and purely aesthetic, but the black-on-white looks good.
7. Sweep up or vacuum the floor, which may by now be covered in seeds.

You can use any recipe, but I have been using my mother’s for as long as I could make a braid, and you’re welcome to it, too.

It has never lost a challah competition (but it has tied for first in a handful)!

Davida Robinson’s Challah recipe

• 2 packages of dry yeast (4.5 tsp)
• 3/4 cup + 1 teaspoon sugar
• 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 2 cups hot water + ¼ cup
• 3 eggs
• 7 – 8 cups flour (can split it whole wheat and white, but all white works too)
• 1 tablespoon honey

1. Dissolve yeast with one teaspoon of sugar in warm water.  Let stand 10 minutes to “proof.” (It will bubble up.)
2. Mix sugar, and oil in hot water.  Beat in 2 eggs, and then add proofed yeast mixture.
3. Gradually add flour and knead until smooth (not sticky).
4. Place dough in greased bowl, cover, and let rise for about one hour.
5. Divide dough in half to make two challot. At this point you can braid, wrap or knot your dough into whatever shape you wish and let rise on cookie sheet with parchment paper for another hour.
6. Brush with egg yolk and honey mixture and bake in oven at 350F for 30 minutes.  If you push in the top and it springs back it is done.

Feel free to share pictures of your decorated Challah! Tweet @JewcyMag, or tell us about it in the comments below.

Avery Robinson is a culinary historian from Detroit. He limits his baking during the summer to special occasions and when his roommate is not home.

Images courtesy of Avery Robinson

The post Not Your Bubbe’s Challah: Poppy Seed Writing appeared first on Jewcy.

This Saturday, June 18th, marks the first meeting of the Brooklyn Women’s Chavurah. In the United States, it’s certainly not unusual to see women included in religious ritual, and there are lots of compromises along a spectrum of observances. But a service where only women lead, and the men sit behind a mechitza, a divider: This may be a first.

This marks the end of an intense week in Israel in the struggle for egalitarian prayer spaces; liberal Jewish movements organized a mixed-gender service at the Western Wall in protest of the stalling in accommodating them, including the recent collapse of a plan to recognize Robinson’s Arch as an egalitarian part of the Wall.  While New York has a wealth of religious Jewish congregations, all obviously independent of government interference, Nechama Levy saw a gap in her options.

Levy, who was raised chasiddish, is currently traditionally observant, but also committed to women’s official involvement in services, and nothing she had found fully satisfied both at once.

“It’s impossible for me to daven [pray] with kavana in a space where I don’t count and where my tefila [prayer] has no communal meaning,” she tells Jewcy. However, “I’m most comfortable davening in a space that has the same standards for shabbos and kashrus as I do at home.” Levy also noted liturgical differences between even more traditional liberal Jewish movements and Orthodoxy, such as leftist groups taking out many references to messianic faith or temple sacrifices. She also sees the value in dividing services by gender, since many women who have been raised Orthodox may not be comfortable in mixed company. There are local Orthodox “partnership minyanim,” (some even require ten men and ten women to hold full services, as opposed to the traditional ten men or liberal ten Jews regardless of gender,) though they don’t let women lead all parts of the ritual.

So this new Chavurah is a chance for women-led Orthodoxy, and only by women. Men are welcome to attend, but they cannot lead or count towards the minyan. Women are at the figuratively and literally at the forefront, they can be loud, and expressive, and dictate the energy of too-often male-dominated services.

“There is a great difference,” says Levy of men’s relegation to a more passive role, “Both morally and socially, between a marginalized group being exclusionary and a dominant group being exclusionary.”

If all goes well (“Im Yirtzeh Hashem,” says Levy), the Chavurah will henceforth meet the third Saturday of each month (the second one will be July 16th).

If you know a Brooklynite who’d be interested, they can come this Shabbat (Facebook event here) to Repair the World, 808 Nostrand Avenue in Crown Heights, starting at 9:30 a.m. Communal kiddush to follow (of course).

You can also email the minyan (they consistently need volunteers of all kinds: organizers, those who can lead services, and anyone who can contribute funds) at info@womendaven.org.

Image courtesy of the Brooklyn Women’s Chavura Facebook page

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The game is perfect for big groups (you need a minimum of 4 to play, but the more people, the better; aim for about ten), and great for Shabbat, because it takes no equipment at all.  Try it to defuse the next big dinner when talk turns to the election.

The Rules:

1. Assemble your players. Send two people up to the front of the room: One is first names, and the other is surnames.

2. Ask the first player to secretly pick a common Jewish first name, and the second to secretly pick a common Jewish last name.

3. When they’re ready, have the room count to three. On three, First and then last name both reveal their picks together, so that a full name is formed (E.g., “Deborah! Gordon!”)

(Don’t be afraid to stray from Ashkenazi names; let’s get a Sassoon or Cordova in there!)

4. Ask for a show of hands from the group for anyone who actually knows a person by that name. Whoever does (honors system, folks), gets one point (the namers are also eligible).

5. Rotate out the namers for two other people in the game, and repeat.

6. The first person in the room to get to five points is the winner!  They either know a whole lot of Jews, or need to break out of their bubble and start meeting other people!

If anyone knows the origin of this game, feel free to hit us up on Twitter.

Image Source: Wet Hot American Summer

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My friend Kati hosted a special Disney-themed Shabbat dinner, and now everyone else should, too. What makes a Disney dinner especially perfect for Shabbat?  First, have you ever seen a Challah?

Boom, right off the bat you have a food that’s both Jewish and a shout-out to Tangled.  Throw on some flowers, and it’ll look just like Rapunzel during “I See the Light.” What else did Kati serve?

Can you name all the references? In no particular order, there is:

1. Spaghetti and meatballs a la Lady and the Tramp.
2. Kronk’s famous spinach puffs from The Emperor’s New Groove.
3. Ratatouille from, well, Ratatouille (Pixar counted too).
4. Hot dog “squids” to celebrate Finding Nemo.

Not pictured from the evening is zaatar for some Aladdin-style Middle Eastern cuisine, and a veggie selection of carrots (to shout out Rabbit in Winnie-the-Pooh) and broccoli (dreaded in Inside-Out), to dip in hummus, which Kati insists looks like the porridge from Beauty and the Beast.  A guest also brought salad with fruit forming the shape of Minnie Mouse.

Other ideas include kugel made in this overpriced Mickey-shaped casserole dish, a homemade gefilte fish with lots of Flounder to freak out fans of The Little Mermaid, and for dessert, don’t those leaf cookies from your old synagogue kiddush remind you of Pocahontas’s colorful, language-barrier-breaking, swirling nature-force?

Clearly, the only limits are your imagination, just like Walt Disney would have wanted had he known you were throwing a Shabbat dinner based on his company’s films.

Just kidding, he was a raging anti-Semite.  But throw the dinner anyway.  And contact @Jewcymag or comment below to share what you made!

Photo credits: Wikipedia, and Kati Breitbart via Facebook

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This is episode 26.3 of OMGWTFBIBLE, featuring David Tuchman and Michael Schreiber—the last OMGWTFBIBLE in the U.S. for 2014. This time around, God responds to the Israelites’ “whining” by throwing food at them. As gods do. And we learned that Marx totally plagiarized the whole “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need” schtick from the Torah.

Also, in this final piece of episode 26, David finally responds to all those religious guests who refuse to say God’s name. And Michael lets David know what he really thinks about the show. Listen to it all here!

David Tuchman translated the Tanakh as a comedy and called it OMGWTFBIBLE. Each month on his podcast, he calls up a different guest to read as many chapters of OMGWTFBIBLE as they can while they both make fun of it.

Jewcy is the proud (internet) co-host of OMGWTFBIBLE. Read more about the project here, and listen to previous episodes here.

Check back here in a week for the next installment of OMGWTFBIBLE. The next live show will be recorded at the Limmud conference in England in late December, but David will be hosting an open mic in New York before he departs for the U.K.! Bring your most horrible holiday stories to Beauty Bar on December 22 at 7:30 PM and share them with the world!

(Image: The Big Lebowski.)

The post OMGWTFBIBLE: A Great Jewish Tradition Begins—Kvetching About Food appeared first on Jewcy.

Texting on the Sabbath? There’s an app for that.

The appropriately named “Shabbos App”—which is in development right now—will hit the market in 2015, allowing users to text on Shabbat within the confines of halacha (Jewish law). This is no cynical, gimmicky ploy: the developers (themselves observant Jews) have outlined all of the potential problems with texting on Shabbat, and explained how each one is circumvented by the app. For example, the app prevents the phone screen from turning off, skirting the prohibition against turning electrical items on and off.

The app has already stirred up debate over whether this would violate the spirit of the Shabbat, even if it is technically permissible. Rabbi Moshe Elefant of the Orthodox Union told Vos Is Neias that “it is very distasteful and not permissible on Shabbos.” Others were unconvinced: the concept struck Rabbi Yaakov Menken as so implausible that he described it as a “farce.”

But The Shabbos App is indeed real. One of the developers, Yossi Goldstein, sees it as the next step in what has been a long tradition of adapting technology around halachic restrictions. In a phone conversation, he compared the app to other items that have been permitted and accepted by the Orthodox community over the years, even if they were at first regarded as controversial. “Look at the Shabbat-mode ovens that are becoming popular, or Shabbat-clocks. Rav Moshe Feinstein [an influential 20th century Orthodox rabbi] prohibited Shabbat clocks. Yet many many people use them today.”

This is Goldstein’s first time developing an app and the only one that he and his team, which includes programmers, marketers and rabbis, are working on. A Kickstarter campaign to raise money and gauge interest went live before Sukkot, and will conclude on December 5. (To date they’ve raised $2,000 of their $30,000 goal.) Come February, the Shabbos App will be on the market for iPhone and Android users for a cool $49.99.

So far, reactions in the press and on social media have been mixed, varying from outrage to delight. There’s even a Facebook page called “Ban the Shabbos App.” (Ironically, the URL ends in “banshabbos”.)

Most responses seem to take issue with how this will impact the tone and feel Shabbat, which many Jews—Orthodox and otherwise—cherish as a day of rest from screen time. Goldstein recognizes that this is something that people will feel “won’t be in the spirit of Shabbos,” although that’s “the only” issue he sees as a possible problem. One commenter by the name of Yoni, wrote that “one of the things I love about Shabbos is that it forces us to disconnect from the outside world so that we can focus on Hashem and the holiness of the day.” Kate Barnes, who does not “keep Shabbat in an Orthodox fashion,” believes it is an “improbable excuse to try to technicality your way out of observing Shabbat properly.”

Writing in The Forward, Julie Sugar framed the Shabbos app as a tool that may draw people closer to Shabbat observance: “we’re making a grave mistake when we judge someone who is already struggling with Shabbos and is seeking a kosher balance.”

Goldstein, who plans to use the app, argues that not only should it be permitted by the rabbinical authorities, it should be openly embraced. He makes a strong case, pointing out the fact that many Shabbat-observant teens are already using their phones on Shabbat anyway. “People realize today most teens are already texting on Shabbat,” he said, “so how do we create something that allows them to do so in a halachic way?”

There’s room yet for consensus. Exceptions to halacha are routinely made for life-saving situations and medical emergencies. Tiffanie Yael Maoz, another commenter, wondered if this “would this allow parents of special needs kids to set up a geo-fence to notify them if their kid wanders too far?”

Goldstein believes that most of the controversy surrounding the creation of the app is a classic case of the “old guard” taking a stand against something new. He encourages people to keep an open mind about the app and see how it can enhance the Shabbat experience, instead of detract from it. “The real question is,” he said “do we embrace change or do we fight it?”

We should know by December 5.

Related: Shabbat Is a Day of Rest—But Does That Mean I Can’t Text My Friends?

(Image via Shabbos App/Facebook)

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