Broad City fans, time to replenish your cereal supply: the trailer for season two just dropped its amazing, gross, witty shit all over the internet. There is so much to look forward to in the coming months, including:

— A thrift-store homage to Julia Roberts’ triumphant “big mistake” moment in Pretty Woman

— More parkour across the hoods of taxi cabs

— A ‘challah back’ t-shirt cameo (pictured above)

— A disruptive shiva scene

— Cleavage chips

— Seth Rogen

— Susie Essman! 

— A nice little riff on the “white power suit”

The first episode debuts on Comedy Central on January 10. Let the countdown begin.

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This Is Where I Leave You, the latest offering from director Shawn Levy, is based on Jonathan Tropper’s novel of the same name. But the film never bothers to explain the significance of its title and probably would have benefited from something a little more descriptive, like This Is Where Fine Actors Waste Their Talents, This Is Where We Make Incessant Jokes About Fake Boobs, or This Is Where A Dad Dies and Nobody Really Cares.

The protagonist of this frenetic mess is Judd Altman (Jason Bateman), whose life is already in shambles when he learns that his father has succumbed to an unspecified, but evidently severe illness. Judd seems to find the death of his father mildly heartbreaking and terribly annoying; the funeral forces him to head to the ‘burbs and reunite with his abrasive family members, who don’t know that Judd is on the verge of a messy divorce. The Altman siblings soon learn that their father’s dying wish was for his children to sit shiva in his honor, which they are upset about because a) it means they will have to spend seven whole days together, and b) they will have to sit on low chairs.

As the Altmans interact in close quarters, we discover that Judd’s three siblings are also leading tattered lives. There is Wendy (Tina Fey), a snipey mom of two who spends much of the film lusting after an old flame (apparently this is OK, because Wendy’s husband is a conveniently obnoxious businessman). Paul (Corey Stall) and his wife are on a desperate, passionless mission to conceive a child, funerals be damned. And Phillip (Adam Driver) is an inept man-child, who decides to announce mid-shiva that he is engaged to his (much older) shrink.

The matriarch of the family is Hillary (Jane Fonda), a surgically-enhanced therapist who has managed to scrounge up some fame thanks to her best-selling parenting book. Hillary’s celebrity seems a bit undeserved, though, considering that her own progeny have about as much impulse control as a bunch of unruly baboons. The Altmans scream at each other, scream at other people, punch each other, and punch other people. They have multiple affairs between them, and Judd comes mighty close to committing adultery with an extended family member. Also, an Altman toddler throws poop. I won’t spoil all the details, but let’s just say that by the end of the film, things have basically devolved into a Jerry Springer sideshow.

In an essay on mic.com, Noah Gittel points out that while promotional materials for This Is Where I Leave You completely erase any reference to the characters’ Judaism, the film is one of few mainstream movies to depict an element of Jewish religious practice. We can be thankful for that, I suppose. But for the most part, This Is Where I Leave You treats religion as an inconvenience or a joke. The Altman siblings are just a little too quick to ask if they can sit shiva for three days instead of seven. In a mindlessly funny scene, Judd and his brothers get baked at synagogue during morning services, much to the dismay of the local rabbi. Rabbi Grodner himself (played, a little gratingly, by Ben Schwartz) is a running punch line; he delivers his sermons as though he’s a DJ (“Can I get a Shabbat Shalom?!”) and gets mad when the Altman brothers, for reasons that remain unclear, call him “Boner.”

All of this buffoonery would be fine if This Is Where A Leave You didn’t try to be anything more than what it is: another derivative comedy about yet another dysfunctional family. But the film insists on saddling its dumb humor with watery attempts at sincerity. By the end of the movie, we’re supposed to understand that the function of the shiva narrative is to thrust Altmans together, to force them to overcome their petty grievances and begin to understand one another. But when every genuine moment in the movie is punctured by a joke about Hillary’s mountainous implants, it’s hard to care about what happens to this band of adult-babies. If This is Where I Leave You doesn’t take its characters seriously, why should we?

(Image: Warner Bros.)

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Rachel Fraenkel, mother of murdered Israeli teen Naftali Fraenkel, has offered her condolences to the family of 16-year-old Palestinian Muhammad Abu Khdeir, reports The Times of Israel. Abu Khdeir was kidnapped and murdered by Jewish extremists in Jerusalem on July 2, in a brutal vigilante attack following the murders of Israeli teenagers Naftali Fraenkel, Eyal Yifrach, and Gilad Shaar in June.

Below is an excerpt from Fraenkel’s statement:

“Even in the abyss of mourning for Gilad, Eyal, and Naftali, it is difficult for me to describe how distressed we are by the outrage committed in Jerusalem–the shedding of innocent blood in defiance of all morality, of the Torah, of the foundation of the lives of our boys and of all of us in this country.

Only the murderers of our sons, along with those who sent them and those who helped them and incited them to murder–and not innocent people–will be brought to justice: by the army, the police, and the judiciary; not by vigilantes. No mother or father should ever have to go through what we are going through, and we share the pain of Mohammed’s parents.”

On Sunday, two Palestinians visited the Fraenkel family at their home in Nof Ayalon, where they are sitting shiva for Naftali. A few hours later Yishai Fraenkel, uncle of Naftali, shared his condolences with the family of Palestinian teen Muhammad Abu Khdeir. “We expressed our deep empathy with their sorrow, from one bereaved family to another bereaved family,” he told Ynet news website, according to The Times of Israel. “We expressed our absolute disgust with what had happened. He accepted our statements, it was important for him to hear it.”

Six Israelis were arrested on Sunday for the murder of Muhammad Abu Khdeir, and three have confessed their involvement in the crime. Two Palestinians were identified for the kidnapping and murder of the Israeli teens in June, but are still at large.

Read Rachel Fraenkel’s complete statement here.

(Image: Rachel Fraenkel with Jerusalem mayor Nir Barkat, via Facebook)

Related: Heartbreaking, Influential Moment: Rachel Fraenkel Says Kaddish For Son Naftali

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Rosh Hashanah is over, and it’s time to start acting on your new year’s resolutions. Although you might have decided to stop smoking under the heady influence of too much honey and/or red wine, the time has come to put down your final cigarette, throw out the pack, and start afresh. Of course, as we all know, this is easier said than done. How will you survive the next few weeks? My suggestion: Since every second you are not smoking will feel like a thousand years anyhow, why not look back through the ages for some Jewish motivation? Below are some reasons to quit smoking that draw on our Jewish heritage.

1. Feel close to the suffering of your forefathers. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are all about feeling the sting of sacrifice; as you sit in a semi-catatonic state and contemplate which of your fingers would be most painful to gnaw off (and therefore most distracting from the nicotine cravings), imagine what our forefather Isaac must have felt, about to be sacrificed like a goat. Then imagine you are the goat. See? Life could be worse!

2. Finally be able to sit through a holiday meal. At long last, you will be able to sit from gefilte fish to rugelach, without taking a suspiciously long “bathroom break” in the middle of an interminable holiday meal. However, even quitting smoking does not guarantee that you will be able to sit through another one of your Uncle Morris’ tirades on politics without feeling restless and irritable.

3. Save money. Yes, this plays into a lot of Jewish stereotypes, but our wandering people have certainly required fiscal responsibility to ensure that they would get through the tough times (and there have been a lot of tough times). Protect your wallet like a true member of the Chosen People. Plus, the money you save on cigarettes can buy a lot of kosher pizza and prayer books and things!

4. One less thing to make Yom Kippur torturous. ‘Nuff said.

5. You will no longer smell. Throughout Jewish history, anti-Semites have claimed that Jews smell; one Medieval writer even cautioned that you can “identify the Jew by his reek of garlic,” according to the Wikipedia page on anti-Semitism. While stopping smoking will have no effect on your garlic consumption (and in fact might increase it due to the compensatory munchies), you will no longer make strangers’ noses wrinkle up on the subway, or announce your entrance with an overwhelming stench of smoke.

6. Things will become slightly less awkward with your relatives. At family shivas, for example, your aunts and uncles will no longer glare at you and mutter, “You’ll be next if you keep smoking!” Your mother will stop worrying about your habit, although she will probably find other things to worry about (have you considered announcing your intent to stop smoking at your wedding? Oh, you’re not getting married this year? Why not?)

7. You will suddenly have new reasons to pray. Informal, meditative prayers are a great way to get through the ordeal of quitting smoking; plus, your interior monologue will already sound pretty close to the Book of Job at this point anyhow (“Dear God, help me get through this day without murdering anyone in cold blood.”) (“Dear God, was nicotine another one of your cruel jokes, like this pounding headache?”). When your prayers become indistinguishable from kvetching, rest assured that this is also a Jewish art, one that it definitely serves your interests to perfect. If you are considering joining a minyan to help break up your suddenly smoke-free days, remember to brush up on your pronunciation; it is “shema,” not “shemarlboro,” Yisrael; likewise, “camelluyah” is not the opening to any of the psukei d’zimra.

8. Food will taste and smell better. The Jewish culinary tradition is as vast and wide-ranging as our peripatetic history. Blast your newly sensitive taste buds with some Teimani jachnun or kibbeh, or stick close to Eastern European comfort food like cholent, and the ubiquitous chicken soup. Bonuses of cholent: if you eat enough of it, you will still be emitting clouds of gas like you did when you smoked!

9. Increase your lung capacity. While this is a general health benefit, it will also increase your ability to do all kinds of Jewish things, like blowing shofar (it’s well known that heavy smokers can produce only like three seconds of a tekiah gedola, which hardly counts) and, later on in the year, saying the names of all the sons of Haman in one breath.

10. Better your odds of living to 120. 120 is the age Moses lived to according to the Bible, and “may you live to 120” has been a traditional Jewish blessing ever since. While it’s a long shot for any of us, stopping smoking will certainly increase your chances of arriving at this august milestone; plus, you will live longer in general, and don’t you want to live long enough to spoil/guilt/annoy/smother/dandle/embarrass/tell stories to your many bouncing Jewish grandchildren?

(Image via Shutterstock)

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Every conversation I ever had with Ben Zion Wacholder, my Zayde (grandfather), turned to that same question. When I was in Yeshiva high school, I would start telling Zayde about a Talmud passage I’d learned recently and he would recite the next five lines by heart. In college, I’d mention Homer and he would nod in approval. After I graduated and took a part-time personal assistant job, answering Zayde’s well-intentioned interrogations became a painful part of returning home, a reminder that my brain was melting away answering phones and booking travel arrangements. Stuttering through an answer, visiting Zayde became a constant reminder that I was learning … nothing.

A little background. Famously, while living in hiding as a non-Jew on a Polish farm during World War II, my Zayde used to teach Talmud to the cows. Even alone in the fields, talking about Judaism put his life in danger, but life without learning was impossible for him. Decades later, when he was a Professor of Talmud and Rabbinics at Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati, my Zayde and his student Marty Abegg published the first partial translation of the Dead Sea Scrolls, which previously had been kept secret by a small group of scholars, earning himself more than a few enemies in the world of early Christian and Rabbinic scholarship. Again, he believed that knowledge is meant to be used, and he couldn’t stand to see it hidden away.

In March of 2011, Zayde passed away and I traveled to Israel with my mother and her siblings for his funeral. We were in Israel for five days, and the whole trip is a blur of emotions, jet lag, confusing ritual dancing at the cemetery, and small talk with strangers at shiva. But what I do remember is the stories my Zayde’s former students, colleagues, and friends told me about him, and the letters they started sending my family.

The stories were so rich and varied that I decided I wanted to compile them and piece together a complete picture of my Zayde. While I was struggling to decide whether I was capable of putting together anything that somebody would publish, my mother—who was using Google while the rest of us were still Asking Jeeves—put my 21st-century self to shame by pointing out that the best way to share information with lots of people is online. So I went back to school, and signed myself up for courses in Web programming and design.

It turned out that after drowning in the liberal arts for years, my brain was starving for a little quantitative reason and binary logic. After four years of college and then two years working in the art world, I was bored to death with spurious interpretations and pretentious nonsense masquerading as theory. Growing up in a family of academics, I felt like a failure when I realized that academia frustrated me, that my brain is too concrete and results-oriented for the ambiguities and abstractions of studying the humanities. But Web programming was empowering. Work with a clear purpose and a defined end point! Actual right and wrong answers! Visible results! I finally found a field that feels relevant and current, and a place I could contribute more than yet another paper or article.

It also turns out that programming was kind of hard. For a year and a half, instead of building an online archive about my Zayde, I’ve been busy building HTML tables and struggling through PHP control structures. But, as I slogged through the busywork, I was relieved that I finally had an answer to Zayde’s eternal question, “So, what are you learning?”

And so, a year and six programming languages later, I finally created BenZionWacholder.org. It is a tribute to my Zayde not just because it contains his writing and writing about him, but because through preparing this project I rediscovered my love of learning. The site is a work in progress—I’m still gathering knowledge about my Zayde and the programming skills I need. And that’s exactly as it should be. As long as I’m still learning, I know that I’m remembering him the right way.

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