Birth, Health & Wellness

Bais Chana in the Berkshires. 2012 review

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Tue, 15 May 2012 22:16:00 +0000

I spent the first part of last week in the beautiful Berkshires. Went back for more of Bais Chana, thought provoking classes, fresh, sweet smelling air, some downtime, and with a small hope of getting some studying done for a neonatal resuscitation class I’m taking.

The studying didn’t happen, although there was a brief, albeit pseudo attempt. Not as much downtime as I anticipated, because the classes were so interesting and I didn’t want to miss anything. What I did get was a nurturing, nourishing experience; physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Honestly, I forgot how awesome it was going to be.

I spent time with an eclectic group of women from all over the country and came home renewed and recharged. I learned a lot about the feminine soul, joy, existence, love, the ego, near death experiences, the inner child, myself, and most importantly, of how I would like to treat myself. I'm choosing just a few to share with you.

On Joy
Laughter, like music, dance and love, is beyond intellect. Being joyful is an inherent part of all us. When we experience joy we have an expanded state of consciousness. Laughter induces neuroplasticity in the human brain. That means we have the ability to change the structure and function of our brain, or in other words, to alter our auto response.

Human nature dictates that we give more attention to negative experiences than we do to positive experiences. We do this as a survival mechanism, to prevent danger. But when we live our lives expecting trouble, trouble finds us. A great goal would be to expect a best case scenario. It’s a matter of retraining our brains, and laughter can help us do that.

Did you know that children laugh approximately 150 times per day? Guess how many times the average adult laughs? I found the number shocking, but when I thought about it some more, it rang true. We just take ourselves too seriously. Ready? An adult laughs an average of 6 times per day. That’s right. SIX. Ouch. I’m trying to laugh just a few more times a day. Consciously. Mindfully. With purpose. I tend to have the darker side of humor. I’m making an effort to change that.

On existence
Existence is for the purpose of life, existence does not define our lives. Existence is simply taking up space. The reason we can survive unfortunate circumstances is because we are willing to sacrifice existence for living life. Death means a person existed and lived. While there is no longer existence, whatever impact was created during the lifetime, lives on. Most of us give too much attention to our existence, and not enough attention to our lives.

On how I would like to treat myself OR Everything I need to know I learned in a yoga class
I walked into yoga class and was greeted by Shelly, a fabulous yoga instructor who came all the way from Columbus, Ohio (Hello Buckeyes). Shelly was setting up a room full of chairs. Chairs? Did I walk into the right place? I looked around, somewhat confused and Shelly explained that the mats were at another location and for today we were going to have chair/standing yoga. I glanced at the door and made a mental note of how long it would take me to get back to my room and into running gear. Somewhere in the background I could hear her begin to speak. She mentioned something about that what we want isn’t always what we need, but when we walk into a situation that is unexpected, it’s usually for a good reason. I stayed for chair yoga and was pleasantly surprised to find that it really was a good workout and more so, that it really was exactly what I needed. What I'm left with is the impact of her message. This is the gist of it:
I’m hearing that I don’t need to operate at 100%. That I can push myself to the edge, become aware of that edge, and take a step back. That I don’t need to live on the edge. Can this be true? This goes against the grain of how I operate. Definitely calls for more attention and a deeper look.

On love
Isn’t everybody, and their mother, the ultimate authority on love? I don’t think anybody really is, but I heard some insights that had me thinking enough that I would like to share them with you.

Emotions exist to bridge the gap between the self and others. Love is a feeling. It’s devoid of action. We feel in our hearts and souls. Our hearts and souls are a few steps removed from behavior and actions. Which is why there is plenty of behavior that is inconsistent with love, that comes from the very people that profess their love for us.

Once you love someone, you can’t get to know them. We become aware of our creation of our loved one. Our image. Our perception. Our brains try to make sense of another. That’s not knowing another, that’s our agenda. Our brains don’t recognize truth, rather they look for logic, they seek to make sense.

I found this interesting and a little disturbing. It also helped me understand why many people who ‘fall head over heels in love’ can’t seem to get along on many simple levels, and why a relationship that is cultivated, one that is built on mutual respect and values, where love grows, has a much better rate of survival.

On Inner Child Work
“Anything that can be destroyed is worth destroying sooner than later, so that you can start over and build something indestructible.” I found this line very empowering. How many times have I found myself in a situation that was clearly not right, yet I chose to expend good energy trying to bandaid something that needed an overhaul? Many more than I would care to admit.

Every person has an aspect of masculinity, of femininity and that of a child. Our masculine self seeks to conquer. Our feminine self seeks connectedness. Our childlike self receives. In my relationship with G-d, I am always a child. I ask for that which I need in the way a child asks of its parent. In order to be that child, I need to be open and willing to absorb, to receive.

When the Jewish nation made their initial descent to Egypt, they were counted as 70 souls. Baby Yocheved, just a few days old at the time was included in this count. G-d’s message to us? Our value is not attached to productivity. By virtue of existence, we are accomplished. We need to find that place in ourselves where our value is not limited by achievement.

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I have pages and pages of notes that I'm so happy to refer back to. I remember coming home from Bais Chana last year and the inner struggle that followed; I had a fabulous time while I was there, but couldn't hold on to the experience. When I left, it seemed to fall apart in my hands. Not sure where the shift has been in my life, but I am grateful to have the palpable energy alive and flowing within.

To finding inspiration in our daily lives,

Chana

PS You can find out more about Bais Chana programs here. Should you want to join me, I'll be going again next spring...

Relating and Imperfection

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Sun, 25 Mar 2012 21:08:00 +0000

"Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." ~Howard Thurman

Ever since I went to Freida's class with my birth ball, to talk about what I do, I have been privileged to enjoy a 4 and 5 year old following. What a great opportunity to tell these future moms that home birth is the safest option and that hospitals are dangerous places for healthy people.

Do you think I actually said that? Just checking if you were really reading.

What I did say was that birth is hard work and also fun and it's really special to be a mommy even though it's really hard. I explained that I helped mommies when they were having babies and that sometimes they like to sit on the ball (all the little girls got to try) and sometimes I get them drinks and sometimes I just sit with them quietly so they feel safe. Ever since then, every time I go into the class the girls tell me about their mommies and babies and remind me that I visited with my ball. As if I could forget.

Friday morning I went into class and one of the girls said "Freida's mommy, Freida's mommy, guess how old I am." I guessed 5 and she was so pleased. Then she told me to guess how old her sister was and I guessed 3. "How did you know," she asked. I told her I was a good guesser. I also guessed that her older brother was 7 and her baby was 1. She was floored. Then she told me that when her mommy had her baby she was very sad and she was crying. I squatted down so I could look her in the eye and asked "Were you sad because your mommy wasn't home and you missed her?" She nodded her head. I just sat there, maintaining eye contact and offering compassion to the vulnerability I was privileged to witness in this little girl's eyes. She switched gears suddenly and told me "I was sad because you weren't helping my mommy."

My heart did some funky tightening. My compassion grew deeper. I suggested that I might help her mommy next time and she perked up and ran to play with her friends.

This conversation replayed itself in my mind a number of times on my walk home. First there is the feeling flattered. Little girls want to talk to me. They drop their puzzles and blocks and come to share of themselves with me. Sweet, innocent girls. Then there's the connection. The more attention I gave this child, the more she wanted to share about herself. How humbling is that? And finally, the vulnerability. I was moved to the core that this little person could tell me about her sad feelings and when I probed a little deeper - and maybe that was inappropriate - she was able to go inside of herself and sit with that feeling, with that truth, with that sadness. And finally, when those feelings became more than she was prepared to deal with, she moved over to empathy. "I was sad because you weren't helping my mommy."

Which got me thinking: why, as a people, do we think it's okay for us to feel sad for others but not ourselves? How can we truly be empathetic with others if we can't be there for ourselves?

I just finished reading a fabulous book called "The Gifts of Imperfection" by Brené Brown. The book was entertaining, insightful, poignant, moving and was written with a raw honesty to which I found myself relating. It's all about belonging, boundaries, (giving up) control, courage, compassion, faith, vulnerability, gratitude, breaking the shame cycle and living in authenticity. It's about engaging with ourselves from a place of worthiness. If you have been following my blog at all this might sound a little repetitious.

For all of our differences, we are pretty much the same. We all share the same basic needs. To feel loved, cherished, to be listened to, taken seriously, treated with respect. We all need someone safe in our lives, but first we need to be able to meet that need for ourselves. The way I treat myself is the message I give to the world of how I would like to be treated.

There are so many wonderful lines in this book, I think half of my book will end up highlighted. Will share a few.

On fear and joy: "The dark does not destroy the light; it defines it. It's our fear of the dark that casts our joy into the shadows." It's our perception that creates our reality. When we don't allow ourselves to fully experience something positive, for fear it will end, we are limiting ourselves.

On resilience: "...there is no such thing as selective emotional numbing. There is a full spectrum of human emotions and when we numb the dark, we numb the light." If we suppress our negative emotions we are by default also suppressing our positive ones. The pendulum will only swing with the amount of force we give it. Our bodies create balance. That is the nature of a human being, of homeostasis. If we don't allow ourselves to feel the power of our pain or sadness, when we limit them so that we may stay within our comfort zones, so that we don't fall apart, we are also limiting our experience of happiness.

On expressing ourselves creatively: "When we value being cool and in control over granting ourselves the freedom to unleash the passionate, goofy, heartfelt and soulful expressions of who we are, we betray ourselves. When we consistently betray ourselves, we can expect to do the same to the people we love. (I would add, we can expect others to betray us as well.) When we don't give ourselves permission to be free, we rarely tolerate that freedom in others." How many times do we not allow ourselves creative expression? Singing out loud, dancing freely. We are so busy worrying about being in control and how we are perceived by others we forget about the basic needs of our souls.

It's the season of breaking through our personal boundaries. I'm hoping to allow myself this authenticity in my life. It's a practice, not a decision. A practice that requires many repetitions before becoming my default setting. I hope to embrace my vulnerability, recognize my shame and face it, embrace my full spectrum of emotions and give myself permission to dance in the rain.

To good health,

Chana

DST, Purim Pix, Busy Life, Recipe, ETC

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Sun, 11 Mar 2012 16:39:00 +0000

Questions, recipe requests, blog post demands. They’ve been coming in.

It’s been busy, this last month. What’s been going on? Off the top of my head, I
- am taking a coaching course (spontaneous decision).
- spoke to my daughter’s kindergarten class about my birth work (was really fun).
- attended a beautiful birth (incredibly rewarding).
- provided support at a miscarriage (hard).
- have stopped using agave. Too much conflicting info on fructose, etc. Junior bakers in this household were furious (don't ask me questions, I don't have the answers).
- broke the news to my father in law that his brother was no longer alive (really hard) and learned more than I wanted to know about the shiva process.
- have been doing gemstone therapy and Anat Baniel Movement with my child (fascinating).
- visited Fairway (all the fuss about nothing).
- planned and executed a fabulous purim menu (pix to follow).

My coaching lessons played an active role in all these. I’m learning great new things. Hope to share some of them soon.

While I haven’t been as actively blogging as I would have liked, I have been writing. Raw, uncensored writing. From somebody that exposes herself, when I tell you it’s stuff you don’t want to read, trust me. Grateful for my discretionary abilities, and back with lots of little things to share.

First things first, I really need to get this out of the way: I HATE DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME. I don’t want to get into the nitty gritty of how/why it was instituted, I just want to say that my internal body clock is NOT digital and does not adjust so easily. I love the spring, the summer, the sunlight. I do not love that the day never ends or that Shabbos starts so late. I propose banning DST. In the meantime, as with my winter worries, I plan to “accept what is” (read about it here). Thanks for listening.

Onto Purim. Remember last year? I prepared an Indian menu and wore myself out making it happen. (you can read about it here). This year I planned a Persian menu and hired help. Yes, I totally rock. There was still a lot of effort on my part, but I was not drained by the effort. I really enjoyed the process.

So, Purim food pictures, but first the menu.

Barbari Bread - a Persian flat bread topped with nigella seeds

Persian eggplant salad - pulp of grilled eggplant stewed with onions, garlic, tomatoes and turmeric. Seasoned with salt, pepper and lots of lemon.

Gondi - turkey balls with garbanzo flour - they look like matza balls

Savory Sanbouseh - persian kreplach

Sweet Sanbouseh - nut pastry - recipe included

Kubide - ground beef sausage

Chicken Kabob - baby chicken with persian marinade

Persian Rice I - basmati with carrots, currants and saffron

Persian Rice II - basmati, steamed Persian style

Zucchini - seasoned with dill and cumin

Shirazi salad - (the Persian name for Israeli salad)

Olive tapenade - olives, walnuts, mint, parsley, pomegranate juice, garlic

Stuffed Grape Leaves I - vegetarian - filled with rice, parsley, mint, onions, in a lemon sauce

Stuffed Grape Leaves II - filled with rice, beef, onions, parsley cooked in a tomato based sauce

Sanbouseh

filling for vegetarian grape leaves

grape leaves in the process

persian rice in assembly. Layered basmati, carrot mixture, saffron. repeated until the pot is full.

said carrot mixture. Onions, shredded carrots, zante currants cooked in olive oil and turmeric

saffron, toasted, ground in my trusty mortar and pestle. Water added so I could sprinkle it uniformly(ish)

tables in the setting process

zucchini

barbari bread

not persian, not on the menu. Pinny made sour dough bread with chunks of chocolate. Soft and delicious.

chicken kabob

Gondi

meat stuffed grape leaves

vegetarian stuffed grape leaves - recipe and instructions here

Persian rice with carrots, currants and saffron

koubide

birds eye view - or view from a chair:)

Sanbouseh - the kreplach version

I promised you a Sanbouseh recipe... adapted from the Food of Life cookbook I borrowed from the library. (if anybody wants to buy me a present) UPDATE: as of 4:00 on Tuesday afternoon, I own this book. Somebody did buy me a present! My fans are quick. Thank you.

The Dough (This is the best puff pastry style dough I've ever made. I frequently avoid recipes that call for rolling dough, but this was the most pliable, user-friendly dough, EVER.)

2 egg yolks

1/2 cup plain yogurt (I used Wildwood probiotic unsweetened soy yogurt)

1/2 cup olive oil

1 3/4 cup spelt flour

Mix, adding flour gradually until it does not stick to your hands. You may need a bit more flour.

The filling:
1 cup chopped walnuts or pecans

1/4 cup maple syrup

1 tablespoon ground cardamom

1 tablespoon rose water (i omitted because I couldn't locate with a hechsher. I've since heard that Pomegranate carries it)

Refrigerate the dough for 3 hours.

Prepare the filling. Toast chopped nuts in a small pot for a few minutes until nuts are fragrant. Add maple syrup and mix well. Remove from heat and add cardamom and rose water. Allow to cool.

Preheat the oven to 350.

Roll the dough using a rolling pin.

Create circles using a glass.

Drop 1/2 teaspoon of nut mix into the center.

Fold the circle and press into crescent shapes.

Bake until golden 16-18 minutes (depending how thick the dough is)

Remove from oven and brush with more maple syrup.

I garnished with chopped pistachios.

the nut mixture

...and there you have it folks. Hope I won't make you (or myself) wait another month for another post. A lot going on in this head of mine. Will to try to sort it out and post again soon.

Until then,

to good health,

Chana

PS. as usual, all the photos are taken with our super duper canon 60d. Go ahead and buy yourself one, you know you want to. And a special shout out to Pinny for putting up with my mishagas, taking pix, editing unmentionables, and being a great sport about it all.

PSS. Almost forgot, this could almost be another blog post, but I'm not giving it that much attention. This time of year I'm frequently asked how my "poor" kids cope with Purim, with the treats, what I 'withhold', etc. This is how it goes. People that love them buy them treats that they eat. For example: my mother bought them sushi and grape juice. Good friends send spelt pretzels, Stretch Island fruit leathers, pure juice boxes. My daughter's teacher gave her a box of strawberries - she was THRILLED! Everybody else's stuff goes into a huge box that goes home with the housekeeper. My kids get paid very well for their stuff and I have not heard a peep of disagreement in many, many years. In the early years, when we were first starting out with a healthier lifestyle, every kid chose 1 thing to keep and the rest of the stuff went on a scale. I paid them $1 per pound of junk. This money does not go to the bank. They get to spend it as they please. I still pay them, but do a rough guess. It's about $15/kid. WORTH EVERY PENNY. Hope this clarifies.

Date with my Daughter

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 17:55:00 +0000

It's 4:00 on a cold day and I'm waiting for my daughter, outside of her school, in the safety of my warm minivan. I'm responding to texts and emails when the door slides open and a breathless child propels herself onto my lap and shoves a colorful flyer into my face.
Mommy, please can we go, it's only $10?
Hi honey, I'm so happy to see you too. Did you have a good day? I missed you.
Mommy, mommy, it's a CHANALE CONCERT AND ITS ONLY $10, PLEASE CAN WE GO?
Of course we can go.
Thanks, you're the best. mother. EVER. I'm starving, is there anything to eat in the car?

Yup, it really happened, exactly like that. Moussia and I arranged a date. It would be just the two of us, no little sister invited. We posted the flyer on the fridge when we got home and had been whispering about the concert ever since. It's very exciting going to a concert with your daughter. And apparently, it's very exciting going to a concert with your mother (not that I've ever done that).

The royal countdown began. 5 days left, 4 days left, 3 days left, after Shabbos I'm going to a concert. Moussia considered cancelling her Sunday plans and I assured her that there were plenty of hours in the day available to do all her Sunday activities and still get ready for the concert. Come Sunday evening, we dressed up (makeup and all) and floated down Troy Ave. to the Razag Ballroom for the much awaited, eagerly anticipated event.

We got there a little earlier than I might have - had I gone alone - but it was totally worth spending extra time with my daughter. We experienced a mild disappointment when we came in and discovered that 'all the good seats were taken'. Moussia really wanted to sit up front, first row. We managed to get 3rd row, center stage seats (thank you Shuffi) and had a fabulous time.

Chanale sang songs from her new album, from her old albums, from other people's albums and an impromptu set of niggunim. As she introduced each song Moussia asked me, "do I know that one? do you?" Regardless of the answer she was singing along to all of them, as was I. We had a blast.

Experiencing the energy of a room filled with Jewish women and girls, singing songs of connection and hope and faith and love, through my daughter's eyes, was nothing less than incredible.

If you haven't experienced that, I encourage you to take your daughter by the hand, whether she's 7 or 17 or 47 and go to a concert. And sing - even if you don't know the words, or the tunes. And leave your judgments at home. Just go have fun and let loose.

To wonderful dates with our daughters,

Chana

PS, as I'm about to publish this, Chanale just posted a video recap. You can watch it here - and because we had such great seats, you can see a lot of me and Moussia, up front waving our arms and rocking back and forth. (Good thing you can't hear us singing.) I'm wearing purple and a long shaitel, Moussia's shirt looks grey.

Self Medicating

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 15:42:00 +0000

This past week was of the longest and most challenging in my recent memory. I say recent memory because having been overdue with 6 out of my 7 children, I think there were some long and challenging weeks there too.

I spent the previous shabbos staffing at “Call of the Shofar” in Baltimore. It’s an incredibly humbling process to witness. Jewish women, bound by their common desire to move past a hurdle. To do better. The time and commitment required is the least of it. It’s the getting deep into the “self”, reaching into the core, vulnerable part that generally stays tucked away, hidden deep down, almost untouchable.

Very rewarding, very gratifying, but it brought up so much stuff for me, I think I need another 100 years of therapy.

So it’s Friday and I’m still a mess. I self medicate in my kitchen, cooking and baking and crying. (I’m thinking my challa may have been a little salty.) Professionals in the field like to call it “self-soothe”. Me, I like the way self medicate sounds. I cook, I bake, I take pictures, I share them - with you... Your welcome.

I always do challa first thing in the morning, for a number of reasons.

#1 There's enough surface space early in the A.M. As the day progresses I'm piling things, using awkward surfaces and there's a teeter-tottering going on that wouldn't work for a giant bowl of challa dough.

#2 I want to bake the pareve stuff before the chicken goes in.

#3 I like making challa dough and the later in the day it gets, the more pressure I feel and the more of a chore it feels like.

#4 When I prep the dough bright and early I end up shaping it just after I take my kids to school and then I don't have to tap into the patience required to let them 'help' me.

But I made an executive decision to keep my 7 year old home from school (I hope her teacher isn't reading this) and my 4 year old is getting over something so reason #4 is out the door for this time.

I love the way the dough feels in my hands. The rolling, the shaping, the creating. Instead of rushing though the process I make tiny little six braided challas. I call this culinary therapy.

As I said, reason #4 out the door. I did have some challa baking help. Moussia, age 7, made this one. Isn't it beautiful? I'm very proud of my big girl.

Freida, my 4 year old made a number of challas from the same piece of dough. After each completion, she gingerly placed it on the tray and within seconds was falling apart about a do-over. (hence, reason #4).

Challa #1: a rosh hashana challa

Challa #2: Yes, all by herself.

Challa #3. Final attempt. "Look Mommy, I made a helicopter." Hmmmm.

My standard little knots. Notice the empty space? That's where Freida's challa kept going.

Making challa in our house is a multi faceted operation. I make traditional(ish) challa and Pinny makes sourdough bread. He doesn't like it that I call it bread, and not challa. He also thinks that sourdough is far more traditional than the egg 'n yeast stuff I bake. I don't have a strong opinion either way (shocking, I know), but a. this is how my kids differentiate and b. I want to give you a little glimpse of my life.

Pinny starts the night before by placing some sourdough starter in a bowl with a little flour and water. Come Friday morning he adds oats, flour, water and salt and leaves it to rise for hours. Pinny uses the biggest bowl and smallest fork he can find. My day is filled with things that make you go hmmmmm.

In between the shaped challas rising and baking, I start a cookie dough. I'm feeling sorry for myself so I make my neiman marcusesque cookies.

I measure out oats and grind some raw cacao beans in my mortar and pestle.

Huge lapse of judgement there. I end up eating way too much cookie dough.

While the cookies were baking I cooked up some chick peas with cilantro, garlic, olive oil and paprika.

I cooked them until they smelled good and were somewhat browned.

We sample the cookies after they have cooled. Freida doesn't like them and asks me "to make another treat". More cookies. Why not? We just have to get the fish and chicken happening.

I prep the chicken with lemon, rosemary, garlic, homemade olives and cumin.

My fish order arrives just in time. I ordered ground whitefish and filleted red snapper. I add chopped garlic, cilantro, a bit of turmeric, salt, pepper and couple of eggs to the ground fish.

I heat up the olive oil and dredge balls of fish in flour. This is a step that I frequently skip, (the flour, not the oil) but today is one of those days where I want to go all the way. I feel like covering all the little details.

When it's closer to Shabbos I will put these into a frying pan. Add olive oil, paprika, water and a jalapeno pepper and cook. I serve them hot Friday night and cold Shabbos afternoon.

The fish takes a while. In between batches we get the next set of cookies going. Freida wants 'plain white' and 'some with jelly'. My basic cookie recipe is just right for this. Freida sits on the counter and helps me. I measure and she pours.

I drain the fish, set the next batch frying and get back to the cookies.

I put some jam into a sandwich sized ziploc bag and snip the corner off. I am squeezing with my left hand, taking pix with my right hand. It's one heavy camera, that Canon 60D, I am so capable. Freida approves of these cookies. Whew.

When the fish patties are done I prepare the snapper. I dredge it lightly in flour and fry until golden. I sprinkle it with sea salt and freshly ground pepper. This is a delicious dish if you can get it really fresh. Don't buy previously frozen snapper. It stinks.

I'm sure I've mentioned this before - Pinny is a fabulous cook. He's creative, experimental, persistent and messy. He gets back to his sourdough as I'm finishing up with the fish. Pinny takes up a lot of kitchen when he cooks, and I take up the whole kitchen so we try and pace ourselves. He is learning to come do his thing before the housekeeper cleans up after me. This is a learning process. He used to wait for a clean kitchen...

Pinny takes his dough very seriously. He shapes some into loaves, rounds and then the awesome sesame braids. He rolls each strand into sesame seeds before braiding. Then he coats the whole braid with sesame seeds again. Yum.

I'm having a hard time here choosing pictures. There are 105 pictures of the bread process and I don't know what to do. Don't judge me, I told you I was having a hard day.

--can I just say that this was harder than choosing pictures for my wedding album--

The breads rise, their tops are scored and they make their way into the oven.

During the first 15 minutes of the baking process, the oven door is opened frequently and water is sprayed. This creates a steam, and I'm not totally sure what the purpose is, but the bread is delicious. Don't try this with pyrex or other glassware. We did and it took hours to clean up the mess.

I took 581 pictures, but somehow, lots of other food didn't get photographed. Roasted eggplant salad with garlic, tahini, baba-tahini, fennel salad with granny smith apples and citrus marinade, roasted golden and chiogga beets, roasted cauliflower, red quinoa salad with zucchini and red onions, green goddess dressing, miso dressing, and chicken soup. I think that's all. I took a picture of my fridge. It's rather messy though. Wanna see it?

Hey, thanks for listening. I'm feeling better already. Why did I eat all that cookie dough?

And my emotional state, well that takes a little more effort. Applied mindfulness. Tapping into the feelings that I'm afraid of. Acknowledging them. Validating them. Giving them space to grow and ultimately, to be released. When I find it challenging to provide self care, I find comfort in being creative, by playing with food, with dough, with the camera. I recognize that therapeutic activity is a substitute, a temporary fill in, one that I am grateful for. It's a tool that helps create a space in which I can ultimately address that which is plaguing my soul.

To good health,

Chana

D.I.Y. Olives - Part 3

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 23:49:00 +0000

So I go away for three little days and I come home to discover the olives have been seasoned. Flavored. Spiced. After waiting all this time, done without me. Without pictures. Without capturing the image, without documenting the process. I'm breathing through this. I'll get through this moment. I will survive.

I took some pictures today so you can see what's ~~happening~~ happened (without me).

After much arm-twisting, I was able to drag the recipe out of Pinny: olive oil, salt, lime and dried chili peppers. Lime because we're out of lemons.

This jar has dry red wine, olive oil, salt, dried chili peppers and some Italian seasoning.

I'm wondering why I don't see any garlic in either of these. Or fresh herbs. Cumin seed. Oh, right, because I wasn't part of the process.

Just in case somebody thought that wrapping up these olives without me was not offensive, my housekeeper told me that my children were very well behaved while I was gone. "When you husband go away, they fight. When you go away they very nice."

Maybe I should leave more often...

Off to plan my next getaway,

Chana

PS If you missed the beginning of the journey: Olives Part 1 and Olives Part 2.
Part 4 to follow when they are fit for consumption.

On Codependence

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 01:13:00 +0000

G-d, grant me the serenity

To accept the people I cannot change,

Courage to change the person I can

And the wisdom to know it’s me.

________

It’s difficult to remember the particular instance when I discovered that I am codependent. It was shocking, that’s for sure, but there was a comfort, a validation of sorts, in finding a label, in knowing that I was not alone. Codependency is part of the addictive spectrum. As with other addictions, codependency is essentially a coping mechanism used to lessen emotional pain.

A codependent may display some of these characteristics:

-Easily absorbs the pain and problems of others.

-Value of self comes from the approval of others.

-Uncomfortable expressing true feelings.

-Wants to be in control.

-Overwhelming desire to feel needed by other people.

-Feels guilty for the behavior of others.

-Difficulty trusting other people.

-Keeps quiet in order to avoid confrontation.

-Uncomfortable accepting compliments from others.

-Feels terrible about making mistakes.

-Difficulty refusing someones request.

-Remains loyal, even if the other person or situation is harmful.

When I initially heard the character descriptions of a codependent it was difficult for me to comprehend that this was a problem. I thought I was SUPPOSED to take responsibility for other people’s behavior. I thought it was good that I accepted the weight of the world on my shoulders. I was meant to fix other people’s problems, wasn’t I? To help them change and have better lives? I thought I was being a good Jewish wife and mother.

Well, I was obviously doing something wrong so I tried harder to make things work. To make things better. I pushed myself a little further and inevitably, I would feel overwhelmed and become resentful. This in turn would lead to guilt over my feelings. How hard is it to make someone else happy? Am I so selfish that I can’t give a little more to resolve this issue for another person? Isn’t it easier to take responsibility for an error that belongs to somebody else than to deal with the aftermath, with their feelings of inadequacy? Oh yes. It was the most efficient way to exist. Take care of everything myself. After all, if I wanted it done right, I needed to do it myself.

As my awareness grew about codependence and its patterns, the more I recognized myself. I began to realize that I was being dishonest. I didn't always want to be that accommodating yet I felt that I had to. That it was expected of me. I wasn't really accepting - I wanted people to change. I noticed that my resentment would follow an instance where I pushed myself too far. Where I gave more than I wanted to. Where I ignored my boundaries.

Codependents see things in black and white. Or always and never. (You never take out the garbage when I ask you to. You always leave your socks in the living room.) This faulty thinking pattern prefaced an over-reaction in my life, about a million times. Maybe more. It also led to my feeling defensive and antagonistic.

Another faulty thinking pattern I had perfected was “expecting the worst”. Constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop and the emotional chain reaction that ensues is exhausting. I wish I could take back the many hours I willingly gave to planning for the worst case scenario.

Our experiences during childhood forge our adulthood. When a child is raised in a negative environment (be it addiction, neglect or abuse, etc.) they devise survival mechanisms that develop into social/emotional habits such as compulsive caretaking, martyrdom, controlling, people-pleasing, and approval-seeking. As adults, codependents frequently surround themselves with unhealthy people. Something reminiscent to that which they are accustomed to from childhood.

How is caretaking different from parenthood? How are people-pleasing and martyrdom different from friendship? How is controlling different from marriage? These questions leave me most challenged, yet they are also the ones that give me the most clarity.

As parents, we give to our children in a selfless way so that they learn to give to themselves and ultimately to others. We care for them completely, allow them to grow, learn and gain independence.

Friendship is an interpersonal relationship that is mutually beneficial. Two distinct people share a respect for one another, a deep bond, enjoy each other's company and bring out each other's potential.

Marriage is a relationship where two parts of a soul merge and find completion. It is where two people become one, yet remain individual, with their own needs and desires.

Giving from a place of kindness and love is not enough for me. I need to give from a place of well-being, a place where I remain within my boundaries. As long as I hold on to that value I can give the world. As soon as I give outside of my boundaries, it becomes a destructive behavior.

My therapist initially mentioned codependence to me and helped me recognize my telltale signs. The exhaustion, the guilt, the resentment, the emotion. Now these are my cues, my reminders, that I've gone too far. I am developing the ability to track these symptoms before they become full-blown.

I have gained tremendously from the work of Rabbi Shais Taub. Shais's book, God of Our Understanding discusses the Jewish perspective of the 12-step program. Many people I have spoken to about the 12-step program expressed concern about its source. Shais allays those concerns in his book and describes the spiritual principles and their compatibility with Torah. The work of Melody Beattie, a codependent herself, include many books such as Codependent No More, The New Codependency and The Language of Letting Go. I recommend reading any or all of her writing and also the work of Pia Mellody.

Most beneficial has been my participation in a CoDA (Codependents Anonymous) meeting. As with all 12-step programs people facing similar challenges meet and share and provide support for one another. I am particularly grateful to my fellow codependents, as we face ourselves and each other with honesty, dignity, acceptance and compassion.

My name is Chana and I am codependent.

_________
PS

Some affirmations that I value from my CoDA meetings

Just for today I will respect my own and others’ boundaries. Just for today I will be vulnerable with someone I trust Just for today I will take one compliment and hold it in my heart for more than just a fleeing moment. I will let it nurture me. I am beautiful inside and outside. I love myself unconditionally. I can allow myself ample leisure time without feeling guilty. I deserve to be loved by myself and others. I deserve love, peace, prosperity & serenity. I forgive myself for hurting myself and others. I forgive myself for letting other people hurt me. I am not alone. I am whole and good. I am capable of changing. The pain that I might feel by remembering cannot be any worse than the pain I feel by knowing and not remembering.

Chanukah Day in Pictures

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 14:28:00 +0000

Happy Chanukah all from our cozy den up north.

Having a minyan in my home imbues its walls with holiness

It's hard to disconnect, even when talking to G-d

Doughnut dough. I got a recipe! Look for it on the bottom of this post.

frying in olive oil & coconut oil

cooling

spice jars need replenishing

glazed and hardening

drizzled with agave and sprinkled with cinnamon

decadent

yup, it's chanukah. our fried food of choice is falafel

I needed a little downtime. Pinny hooked me up well.

what's a chanukah post without a menorah...

...or colored candles?

doughnuts waiting patiently for consumption

all at once...

master chef

frites

cumin carrots

falafel - recipe here

Israeli salad, cut beautifully by Zalman, 11

s'chug

remnants of last year's olives. follow this year's process here

the beginnings of a creative plate

Freida's dinner. nutritionally sound....

stuffed into her pita.

Zalman's well packed falafel

So that's a day in our (Chanukah vacation) life.

To good health and abundant light,

Chana

PS. The doughnut recipe. You didn't think I'd forget the doughnut recipe, did you?
This is not the original recipe of the picture I posted a few weeks ago. I did manage to get that recipe, but unfortunately we found ourselves in an egg shortage, on the single day of the year that all stores are closed. The gas station convenience store was open, but they don't carry organic eggs.
I went online to find a recipe for vegan doughnuts. Master chef Levik thought doughnuts without eggs wouldn't work, but offered to experiment. I found a recipe and turned out we had no yeast either...
Levik adapted and came up with this. These doughnuts were D.E.L.I.C.I.O.U.S. to say the least.

7-8 cups spelt flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons baking powder
1/2 cup agave
1 cup water
1 cup coconut milk
1/4 cup grapeseed oil
1 teaspoon vanilla

Combine ingredients. Add flour as needed to get a working dough.
Deep fry according to your favorite method.

The glaze was a combination of cocoa powder, cocoa butter, coconut oil and agave.

D.I.Y. Olives - Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 13:46:00 +0000

Brief Olive Update:

It's been a while since I posted about the olives and I haven't shared any updates. Oops. There wasn't any intentional withholding of information, I promise. It's not been all that exciting. The tedious work of rinsing and filling the jars. Pinny's been taking care of that. He left for a weekend retreat and asked me if I would take care of the olives while he was gone. I said yes and immediately forgot about it. Oops again. The olives are forgiving though, and so is Pinny. I am truly blessed.

So here we are, 5 1/2 weeks later our olives look like this.

All that's been done is rinse, fill, repeat - on an almost-daily basis. Pinny tastes them every now and then, grimaces and spits them out. It takes time, patience and fresh water for the oleuropein, the naturally-present chemical in raw, uncured olives to leach out. But those grimaces seem less intense, there may be some more chewing going on before the spit, so I have a hunch that one of these days we'll be seasoning the olives.

I was a little tempted to photograph the taste, grimace, spit, but that's not so aesthetically pleasing...

in case you forgot what they looked like 5 weeks ago.

and what they look like now
taken with our super duper canon 60D - but you knew that

Look out for the olives being seasoned post.

To good health,

Chana

P.S. How appropriate for me to share this update when we celebrate the miracle of olive oil...

From Victim to Victor. Somehow.

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 14:59:00 +0000

I was witness to my in-laws as they married off their 15th child, their baby boy.
Through great effort, they saw to it that every single one of their children and spouses, grandchildren and spouses and great grandchildren were present and able to participate in the celebration.

Of all the incredible experiences life has offered me, that’s got to have been of the top ten.
The energy was palpable, emotions ran high. What a momentous occasion. It’s hard to imagine what that means. I think it’s always huge for parents when their children get married.
Especially so when it’s their youngest. But the 15th? Mind boggling.

The kids had a great time spending time with their cousins, doing cartwheels down the long hotel corridors and made great use of the swimming pool and water slides.

We arrived the night before the wedding and my brother and sister-in-law prepared a feast for us. We had succulent organic rib roasts (the last ones!) roasted cauliflower, moroccan chicken, green bean salad, Israeli salad, red cabbage salad, beautiful gigantic potato knishes and for dessert organic cherries and grapes. Thank you Z&M, I'm still stuffed.

Why didn't I take pictures?

It wasn’t all fun and games though. The last few days before our trip had us in a mental health crisis with one of our children and I wasn’t sure that we would all make it there. I reached out to a particular family member for support and received a lot of self righteous indignation in response. I felt judged, misunderstood and invalidated. It was with great sacrifice that my entire family ended up attending. A sacrifice that I didn’t feel was justifiable. I hardly slept the night before our travels. I didn't get anything done either, I just stayed in bed and worried and cried and made an absolute mess of myself. When morning came, I was completely dysfunctional. I had my kids prepare the clothing they needed for the trip. My four year old emptied her drawers on my bed and I flipped out. My 13 year old helped her choose just the clothing she needed for the 2 days. All I did was prepare my own things, and my husband packed it all up. If you know me AT ALL....

I had coordinated the hair stylists and make up artists for a number of family members. Most of whom were very grateful for the time and effort it took, but what stood out most was the following email, received the day before the wedding: “...I feel very let down. I am always late and....” Hmmmm.

During the wedding I took my daughter up to my hotel room for a little down time. As we made our way back to the wedding hall I noticed some younger nephews, completely unsupervised, playing in the elevators, visiting random hotel floors. I sent them back to the wedding area and upon returning to the hall, I told one of the moms what her boys had been up to. She screamed in response “WELL WHERE IS THEIR FATHER”. I took a giant step back, shocked and disturbed. Please don’t shoot the messenger.

Now that a few days have passed and I’m safely on the road to recovery, I look back and see an underlying common denominator. I saw myself as a victim in these situations. I felt victimized by a situation, by the lack of support, understanding and compassion directed at me. By the harsh words I perceived in that email. By the scathing tone of the mom with whom I shared that her children were unsafe.

But I am only victim to myself. I am victim to my thoughts. When I provide the compassion and validation that I need, it doesn’t matter whether or not it comes from external sources. Of course it’s nice to receive it when I reach out for help. But when I do reach out, I need to expect that people will respond with their own agendas, and that does not necessarily include my well being.

I have the choice to focus on the 10 emails that said “thanks for organizing”, “awesome” “you’re the best” rather than join the pity party of the one that felt “let down”.

And I realize that when someone lashes out at me, that same someone is feeling inadequate and it has nothing to do with me.

When I am grounded, when I provide validation to myself, when I am not affected by the words and behaviors of others, I am victor. Yet when I am unsteady, reaching out, feeling vulnerable, the tiniest wind seems to knock me down. These don’t need to be mutually exclusive. My goal for myself is to find a way to validate myself within a vulnerability, regardless of how grounded I feel.

So I leave myself with this: If I had to do it all over again, how would I do it differently?

To begin with, I would get enough sleep. Everything seems to function, everything is more manageable when I sleep my 8 hours.

In a place of well-being I wouldn't reach out to passive aggressive people for support. This same person has previously tread upon my wounded feelings and provided invalidation. Why would I do that to myself, AGAIN? I would acknowledge the difficulty and the magnitude of the decision I needed to make without the judgement and anxiety.

In a place of well-being I would receive my emails without emotion.

In a place of well-being I may find the compassion to say to screaming mom “I remember when my boys were little. It’s so hard to keep them in your line of vision all the time”... or something else that doesn't include me being shocked and taken aback.

I hope I remember to apply all this because next time can't be too far away...

To good health,

Chana

Mushroom Induced Mania

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 00:00:00 +0000

I’m fortunate to be one of the 16,000 exclusive members of the Park Slope Food Coop. I feel a little less fortunate when my monthly work shift coincides with a religious holiday and I have to scramble to find a replacement, but for the most part I really love the Coop. Like everything else in life it has its pros and cons. I’ll name just a few. Pro: lots of like minded people. Con: lots of self righteous people. Does that mean I’m self righteous? Hope not. Con: some communist inspired red tape. Pro: the most delectable selection of affordable organic produce. Which brings me to my Thursday shop at the coop among a vunderbar variety of mushrooms.

I can’t just take a few. I’ll have to try them all. So here we have some portobella, shitake, maitake, king trumpet, oyster, chanterelle, bunashimeji and bunapi. (I did leave some mushrooms at the coop. There were cute little enoki mushrooms, but those came from Korea. I’m not buying food that comes from Korea. Sorry.)

Left: King Trumpets (top and bottom) Right: maitake - top, shitake - bottom

I’m a little bit embarrassed to say that I came home with approximately $42 worth of fungus.
I may be exaggerating. It might just have been closer to the $50 mark, but $42 could be interpreted as $40 and that just seems a little less daunting.

Chanterelles Oysters

So what do we do with this many shrooms? Considering that winter is upon us, with a vengeance at that, this is really a no brainer. Soup. To be quite frank, I’d probably choose soup in any season. But with today having been the turning point from the autumn that would never end (yes I remember the freak snow storm in October) and a few delightful days of spring, soup seems justified. Mushroom soup it is.

bunashimeji bunapi

As with most of my soups, I start with chopping some onions. Sauté them in olive oil.

just a friendly reminder that all these pix were taken with our super duper delightful canon 60D

chopped shitakes

I chop my many mushrooms and add them to the pot. The beefier mushrooms go in first, like portobella and chanterelle. I add the shitake, maitake, trumpets and oyster and let them cook down. The smell of mushrooms cooking really can induce a state of mania. When the mushrooms have released lots of liquid and have started to color I add the more gentle beech mushrooms. (Bunashimeji are beech mushrooms and bunapi are the white beech mushrooms.)

When all the mushrooms are somewhat softened, I add water to cover the mushrooms and couple of inches more.

steaming, oh yeah

After a half hour of a gentle, rolling boil I add the seasoning. It's a very simple seasoning, because the broth is rich with wonderful flavors of the mushroom varieties.
I add sea salt, freshly cracked pepper, a little paprika and some fresh dill.

chopped dill

Give it a quick stir so that the flavors blend and spoon it out.

So, I clearly have a hard time choosing. Mushrooms, Pictures, Shoes, Lipstick. GULP

The bright side. Always look at the bright side. I'm consistent. Woohoo.

... and that's my mushroom soup. I really like the rich earthy broth. Best of all, it's a little different every time.

- Sometimes I cook up some unhulled barley and add that too.

- I don't measure the mushrooms.

- The available varieties differ. Lobster mushrooms make a great addition. They weren't available this time around. Good thing there were enough other distractions...

mushroom fest

To good health, good soup and keeping warm,

Chana

Stating the Obvious

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 23:34:00 +0000

Just want to point out the obvious. Your comments are valuable. When someone relates to something I've shared and makes the effort to comment, I am grateful.

In the particular case of my previous post - food as victory - this experience would not have been possible without a comment on a previous post.

I know that many of you read my blog. Some of you mention it in an email. Some of you hit "Like". Some of you feel a rush of familiarity and relief that you're not the only one. Some of you will say something when you pass me in the street. Some of you are thinking how weird it is that you know this much about me, but all in blog form. And then there are the exclusive few that comment.

Thank you to those that do. Your feedback is much appreciated. And to the rest of you. Drop a line. Get out of your comfort zone. Relate. Tell me what you're really thinking.

To good health,

Chana

Food as Victory. OUCH.

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Sun, 04 Dec 2011 15:56:00 +0000

Thanks to Chanale's comment on a previous post, I borrowed the book “Women, Food and God” by Geneen Roth from the library. The writing in this book found its rapid way into my soul. It’s funny and moving, extraordinary in its simplicity. This author is a real person who acknowledges real life issues in a very appealing way. In short, it spoke to me. Loud and clear.

My post on Eating Mindfully was an early part in my journey of awareness and my eating habits. Not a totally committed journey, unfortunately. I need lots of reminders, and while I had this brief thought of hanging up posters all over my kitchen and dining room that said “think, taste, eat”, ...I don’t live in a food camp and I am a little vain... Poster idea scratched.

Back to the book. I borrowed the book from the library and it arrived just in time for me to leave on a mini getaway. I took it with me to a lovely spa hotel in North Jersey and read the first 20 pages soon after I got there. There’s a reason for everything, but let me say, it was a really good time for me to be re-inspired to eat mindfully. I had way too much food with me and was grateful for the reminder to eat in a way that was respectful to my body.

I voiced a minor complaint at the front desk and the manager I spoke to sounded rather patronizing. I walked off in a huff and decided it wasn’t worth my effort. I heard her calling after me and chose to keep going. I made it into the elevator, pressed the button and the door closed. She was fast enough, sigh, and the door reopened.

Ms. Manager apologized for my unhappiness and I used the opportunity to explain myself. She offered me a discount on the room rate and I accepted. She also offered an upgrade for a return visit. I thanked her.

The elevator opened on my floor and I exited feeling victorious. I walked into my room and reached for food. My hand dropped, instantly. I had just finished a big breakfast. I recognized that I was not hungry. I was feeling victorious. I removed myself from that food situation and pulled out a pen and paper. The untold truths had to be just a few pen scratches away.

Why do I associate food with victory?

Back to the front desk. I wasn’t actually asking for something. I just wanted to be validated. Why then am I feeling victorious? I didn’t even get what I wanted. I allowed myself to be consoled by a thing, money in this case, when what I wanted was validation. My emotional need was not met, I was just handed a distraction. Could that be the reason I reached for food? Ouch.

Either way, I am glad that I didn’t eat. Glad I got some money back. Glad that I’m capable of validating myself.

Very grateful to Chanale for recommending the book, Geneen for writing it, the library for making it available just in time and to myself for maintaining the awareness needed to not eat unconsciously.

I am hereby resolving to read something every day about mindful eating. It’s not the knowledge that I’m lacking, but the constant reminder and inspiration. Nothing too long, even just a page or a quote or something. To start, I ordered a copy of this book on Amazon. I have taken note of a number of websites devoted to mindful eating. And I can read my own writing. I realize that I have everything I need, I just have to tap into it.

To good health,

Chana

Letting Go Takes Love

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 12:40:00 +0000

I lean over to kiss my son and he pulls away. My eyes well and my heart constricts. He’s a day shy of his thirteenth birthday. He’s been avoiding physical affection for a year now, but it doesn’t get easier for this momma, who just wants to hug and kiss her little boy. Little boy. Wouldn’t he like to hear me say this, my boy-man...

It’s hard for me to believe he’s turning thirteen. Wasn’t it yesterday that I was tripping over lego and matchbox cars and now four of my sons wear black hats. My husband and sons make half a minyan. I get a little emotional about these milestones. Just a little? I become a weepy mess.

My oldest son turned eighteen this past spring. I spent his entire birthday crying. My friend was hosting a bar mitzva party that night and it took an hour of laying in bed with cucumbers on my eyes for the swelling to come down enough for me to apply some eye makeup. What’s so hard about eighteen? Some people celebrate their children’s eighteenth birthday.

I can’t believe they’re all grown up. It’s what we pray for, that our children grow up happy and healthy. We wait for these milestones and somehow they come and I feel like they hit me, really hard, out of left field. Whack. It feels so final, this growing up. I want a retake. I didn’t do it all the way I wanted to. I wanted to do better. They deserved better. I haven’t always exercised all the patience I possess. I haven’t always listened completely. But wait. Look at these kids. They’re great. They turned out fine. More than fine. They are finding their way in their journey of life. Discovering their true selves. Without me.

I’ve been entrusted with these precious souls and they are wholly dependent on me for the first part of their lives and as they grow up and move away from me, slowly, so slowly, I don’t realize it’s happening, but then suddenly, a milestone, and I reflect on their lives and realize that they don’t belong to me. That they never did. A part of me lives in them but they belong to themselves. They have no idea what a stronghold they have on my heart.

So a makeup artist will come and I’ll ask her to waterproof my face. My friends and relatives will join us to celebrate, and sure, I’ll be happy and proud, but that won’t stop me from crying, my heart from breaking, or from feeling like an essential part of me is slowly slipping away, out of my grasp.

In the meantime, I’ll be grateful for a four year old that climbs all over me, plants hundreds of kisses all over my body and says “I love you” with such intensity. I will allow myself this sweet denial and refuse to believe that one day she too will be a teenager. I am still tripping over things, but now I'm tripping over dolls and shoes and ipod wires and other electronic accessories. And I know that my bar mitzva boy will come around. It may take a few months, or a little longer, but I'm pretty confident that within the next year he'll find that it's not so bad to give your mother a hug and kiss or at least tolerate her affection.

I will continuously thank G-d for entrusting me with this gift, with these cherished souls. I will persevere as I embrace this exquisite pain of motherhood, in which I do my best to hand my beautiful children the keys to my heart and the tools they need to leave me.

Chana

PS This poem brings me great comfort. Me friend Elana shared it with me. I would love to find the author and share my personal gratitude.

Letting Go Takes Love

To let go does not mean to stop caring,
it means I can't ...do it for someone else.
To let go is not to cut myself off,
it's the realization I can't control another.
To let go is not to enable,
but allow learning from natural consequences.
To let go is to admit powerlessness, which means
the outcome is not in my hands.
To let go is not to try to change or blame another,
it's to make the most of myself.
To let go is not to care for,
but to care about.
To let go is not to fix,
but to be supportive.
To let go is not to judge,
but to allow another to be a human being.
To let go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their destinies.
To let go is not to be protective,
it's to permit another to face reality.
To let go is not to deny,
but to accept.
To let go is not to nag, scold or argue,
but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.
To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.
To let go is not to criticize or regulate anybody,
but to try to become what I dream I can be.
To let go is not to regret the past,
but to grow and live for the future.

To let go is to fear less and love more
Remember: The time to love is short

~ Author Unknown

Chanuka Teaser

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 11:24:00 +0000

My kids made these a few years ago. Developed the recipe and all. Back in the day before our super duper canon 60d. Maybe if I'm good they'll make them again. These are dangerous donuts. Maybe if I'm really good they'll share their recipe too.

Accepting What Is

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 17:40:00 +0000

A number of fair weather friends that find themselves transplanted to the Northeast have been lamenting the inevitable winter. I relate. While I’ve been raised in this climate, I am inherently summer. I crave the sun, the sand, the water - you’ve heard me carry on about this. When I hear the story of Avrohom’s search I understand why he thought of the sun.

The winter brings me down. I feel crippled by the frost. The cold, dry air burns my lungs and I feel as though there is not enough oxygen in the world. I layer and bundle up but there is a core part of me that can’t get warm enough. I come in from the outside and stand in a hot shower and cry. The water is so hot, it’s burning my skin, but deep inside I’m still cold. It’s long and miserable, this winter. It feels like it never ends. I cannot get comfortable in this cold. I am handicapped by this season.

I have spent the last year working on accepting what is. It’s been a trip, this journey of life, recognizing that I am not in control. Accepting people, situations, myself. Why is it so hard to accept the weather?

ac·cept·ance/akˈseptəns/
Noun. The action of consenting to receive or undertake something offered.

In his book The Happiness Trap, Dr Russ Harris writes:
“Acceptance does not mean ‘putting up with’ or resigning yourself to anything. Acceptance is about embracing life, not merely tolerating it. Acceptance literally means ‘taking what is offered’. It doesn’t mean giving up or admitting defeat; it doesn’t mean just gritting your teeth and bearing it. It means fully opening yourself to your present reality – acknowledging how it is, right here and now and letting go of the struggle with life as it is in this moment”

This paragraph really speaks to me. Acceptance, for me, has become breathing into a moment. Acceptance is recognizing that life happens, that G-d has a plan for us all, that we are mere puppets in the master plan. Accepting is acknowledging that what’s meant to be happens, every time. Even when I cannot fathom. Even when I am uncomfortable, sad, angry, or frustrated.

I make a decision to accept or resist. When I am being honest, I can accept and acknowledge the truth. Even if I dislike it. I accept what is because it’s my reality. When I struggle or deny the truth, I shut myself out. This denial, this struggle, this resistance, it’s me preventing myself from moving forward.

FYI, It’s not just the obviously difficult things that I resist, like winter and traffic and arrogance and stench. I resist good things too. It’s hard for me to accept help, compliments, my talents and abilities. But they are also reality. I have forgone many a good thing in this spirit of resistance. It does not serve me well.

I am trying to feel and process. To learn from these experiences, from these realities. I accept that I have not treated myself as best as I could. I resolve to do better. I am learning to recognize feelings of resentment and resistance. I notice that when I feel resentful or resistant, I tighten up inside, my head hurts and I want to avoid everything. I am crippling myself.

I liberate myself when I accept myself, another or a situation that I don’t like.

This winter I am determined to accept the reality. The cold will come and I will not fight it. I will not handicap myself. I may not yet embrace it, and I don’t have to, but I will choose to accept it, because that is what is real.

To keeping warm and accepting what is,

Chana

PS. Some exercises that help me get past resistance and into acceptance:

1. Sitting back in a chair with my feet firmly on the ground, I put my hand onto my chest and breathe. I inhale kindness and compassion and I exhale denial, resistance and anything I don’t need. It’s hard to maintain resentment while inhaling compassion.

When I practice this regularly I am able to envision this being grounded, even if I’m running or engaged in another activity. Doing the physical activity is always more beneficial but the imagery works - provided that I’m in practice.

2. Utilizing the Serenity Prayer - G-d, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

3. When all else fails, or I can’t seem to get it together, I reach out for help. That’s a big step for me and one that I’m especially proud of.

4. Byron Katie - TheWork.com. Many inspirations available there.

Sweet Potatoes. Sweet.

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 13:00:00 +0000

japanese sweet potatoes - photo compliments of google images

If I had to name my favorite root vegetable, it would have to be the sweet potato. They're, well, sweet. Dense. Satisfying. Then there's the Japanese sweet potato. A little less sweet. More dense. More satisfying. Plus a chestnut-like flavor. This oriental variety has a reddish skin and a creamy white color on the inside.

There are many creative things people do with sweet potatoes. I'm frequently inspired by beautiful sweet potato recipes, but mostly I prefer them simply roasted. A sweet potato, in its jacket, straight out of the oven on a cold winter day... comfort.

I usually peel & chop a variety of sweet potatoes (japanese & garnet are my favorite), and ask them how they'd like to be seasoned.

Just checking if you're still reading. I might be weird, but I don't talk to my sweet potatoes.
Sometimes I add chopped garlic and rosemary.

my super duper canon 60d hard at work

Drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt, and lay them flat on a baking sheet.

Roast them at 400 until I see some brown edges - usually about 1/2 hour.

Try not to eat them all by myself.

Do you ever find yourself talking to your vegetables?
Would you like to see some other sweet potato recipes?
What are your favorite things to do with sweet potatoes?

To good health,

Chana

Roasted with olive oil, salt and just a smidgen of paprika

DIY Olives - Part 1 of a series

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 15:36:00 +0000

Virgin America had this great sale over the summer that came right at the same time as a few dollars in our bank account. We jumped on that and booked tickets to spend Sukkos in Rancho Mirage, California with family out there. There were many benefits to spending time in Cali at the end of October. Extending the summer, for one. Spending time with relatives on their turf. If I may add, relatives who have olive trees in their backyard.

I envisioned a blog post with videos and pictures of my sun-kissed kids filling buckets of olives. I planned a blog mini-series of the olive curing process. Nice planning. We arrived in California to find bare trees. Lots of sun, no clouds and no olives. Plan A, out the window.

Comes Plan B, I googled olive picking in the surrounding area and found an Olive and Wine Fair in Cherry Valley - on the very last day of our trip. It sounded great. They offered olive picking, olive oil products, a farmers market (you know how obsessed I am with farmers markets....) live music, and other options that didn't include us like wine and food. We looked at a map, found it to be on the way to the airport, and planned to leave early enough to take olives home with us.

Whew, olives out of the way. We had a lovely sukkos, enjoyed the very hot weather, good company and food, a resort quality pool at a friend's house, and overall a great getaway.

On leaving day we packed up, left early enough to fill up on olives and headed out. We arrived at a festival that was high spirited and lively. We walked around from booth to booth and searched, in vain, for olive picking. There were some lovely olive trees, but alas, they were bare. At the olive press booth, they were selling olive presses for $998, but no fresh, raw olives. Plan B, out the window.

We ordered olives online.
They arrived on Friday. The bell rang and USPS unceremoniously dropped the box at the door and disappeared before I got there. A little anti climactic, wouldn't you think?

- Opening the door and finding one lone box of olives, sitting there. But olives we have. And the process has begun. And I am sharing it with you.

The olives have arrived, the olives have arrived
(think "the Russians are coming, the Russians are coming).

Arrived indeed. It's Friday afternoon and there are now 10 pounds of olives in a box that need to be processed. With Shabbos starting at 4:24, dare I put these away till after Shabbos? I don't think the choice is actually mine.

Note the great cutting knife we use.

now if I could only get my hands on some olives.....

The olive process is long and tedious. It involves months of patience, something that is hard to come by in this day and age. Raw olives are very bitter. Olives are soaked in water and the bitterness leaches out. The water needs to be changed very frequently. It takes months until the olives are no longer bitter and ready for seasoning.

Step 1: Get your olives into a bowl.

I actually have 42 pictures of this process. My super duper canon 60d allows me to do that and oh so much more.
Aren't you glad I chose 6?

Step 2:
Pick through and rinse.

Step 3: Fill jars/containers that you can spare for the next many months.

It's an hour left to Shabbos, "the day is young...."
Can I go off on a little tangent here?
Pinny (of the Über-Talented, of Pinny's Perfect Pickles, of Falafel experiments, of sourdough bread, of father to my children, of husband extraordinaire who keeps me on my toes) has this great habit of doing things on Friday afternoons that have nothing to do with Shabbos.

For example: Back in the day when we used to have a fish tank, Friday was the day he chose for cleaning the fish tank.

A few years later he was growing a veggie garden, and yes, Friday was the day he spent the most time in the garden. If I may add, Friday afternoon, after the floor was mopped and the bathroom cleaned, he would come in muddy and sweaty and happy.

It's the first Friday back on Standard Time, which I love.
I would not have chosen this day/time as olive processing, but who asked me?

Step 4: Leave jars on the counter, near the sink, in the way of everything, for the next 6 months.

What comes after this is rinse, soak and repeat, many times over.

I'm thinking to have a monthly olive post until they're ready, but if anything exciting happens in between, I'll be sure to update you first.

Would like to give a shout out to Chanale Fellig Harrel, of 'Chanale' for sharing some blog photo tips, and for inspiring me to get this post out of my head and into a blog. I'm hoping your drive is contagious.

To good health and an abundance of patience,

Chana

PS. Part 2 of D.I.Y. Olives here.

Forgiveness

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 15:35:00 +0000

It's hard to forgive, because to forgive is to let go. Letting go of my resentment, bitterness, outrage, fury, indignation. I tell myself that I have the right to be upset. My boundaries have been violated. I need to stick up for myself. It’s a good thing that I’m expressing rather than suppressing my feelings. How dare anyone treat me like that? These sentiments stew and evolve and I experience grief and torment.

The situation that hurt me is no longer current, yet I offer a generous space in my head and my heart to these negative thoughts and feelings. By harboring feelings of resentment and despair, I am hurting myself. When I am in this place, I shut out positive opportunities and interactions. I am less likely to reach out to another, less likely to accept help or feel gratitude. This negativity grows like mold and creeps into cracks and crevices deep inside me. It takes over my entire being, my mind, my spirit, my soul.

I recognize and validate my hurt. I have been wronged by another. This experience is a stumbling block that can bring me to my knees. This experience is a stepping stone from which I can learn and grow. Choosing to retain my stronghold on this pain is me inflicting pain upon myself. Choosing to forgive gives me the ability to rise above the situation. To experience it without emotion and judgment. To recognize the many lessons I still need to learn.

Forgiveness does not deny, excuse or tolerate the wrongs. Forgiveness is my gift to myself. I remove the shackles that bind me. I allow myself to let go and create space for the joy in my life. I no longer hold on to something that does not serve me.

It’s the season of forgiving. Asking for forgiveness. Praying for forgiveness. Offering forgiveness. Accepting forgiveness.

To tapping into the strength and courage necessary to forgive,

Chana

Moving Day

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 19:36:00 +0000

J-WHO, my neglected child, has just moved to a new Facebook page. Would you do me a personal favor and like it? If you asked me to like your page, you know I would.

What is J-WHO? You read my blog and you don't know what J-WHO is?

J-WHO is an organization that Shayna and I started. Its primary purpose is to educate women in our community about different health options that are available to us. It provides an opportunity for all of us to think and make decisions, rather than blindly follow.

We do this by hosting events that incorporate different practitioners and professionals. They share valuable information and we get to hang out with some pretty cool women.

The information shared is generally interesting, frequently interactive, sometimes controversial and always fun.
So go ahead and like us. You'll be glad you did.

Looking forward to greeting you at a J-WHO event soon.

Chana

so long summer

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Tue, 06 Sep 2011 22:54:00 +0000

so long froggel

It's that bittersweet time of the year. I'm sad that the summer is over.
I love the summer, the pool, the farmers market, the sun. I love the ocean, the sand and drinking margaritas. I haven't been to the beach or had a mixed drink in a long time (a girl can dream), but I like the way that sounds - and it's the association that I love. I'm not a fan of the cold. At all. Although I do appreciate that apples need 100 days of frost to bear fruit.

So the bittersweet... I'm hopeful about the new year, new opportunities, a fresh clean slate.

This summer we made a tough decision about taking our boys out the school they've been attending since kindergarten. Pinny and I have come to a place where we want something more for our children. We want them in a kind and gentle environment. We want them in an environment that promotes respect - respect of others and respect of self.

While we realized, years ago, that their old yeshiva wasn't the ideal place, we were kind of complacent about the whole thing. After all, there are another 1500 kids "in the system" that are going through the same thing and surviving.

so long sweet summer plums

~~Surviving~~. Not good enough. No more complacency at the Lews. The comfort of complacency is actually a form of denial. There is no authenticity in complacency - more of a numbing of the feelings. We have come out of our anesthesia. We are in the process of recovery. We will not settle. We are real people, with real kids, that have real feelings and deserve to be recognized as the incredible individuals they are.

So for now, while we sadly say goodbye to our ducks, summer sisters, swimming pool, bonfires and all the other wonderful things that make up our summer experience, we are hopeful about the new year, a new school, new opportunities and new affirmations.

To recovering from complacency,

Chana

PS My boys came home from their first day of school and said "Our first day of school and nobody screamed at us, could you believe it"? Thank you G-d for making this happen for us.

Kabbalah of Pickles

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 00:54:00 +0000

ready for storage. taken with our super duper canon 60d

Pickle making has been an essential part of our summer experience for the last 7 years. I remember back in the early days, returning from the farmer's market with just a few bags of fruit and vegetables (nothing like our current habits) and Pinny taking all the cucumbers and pickling them. It was a tug of war, I wanted cucumbers for salads, he wanted to experiment. So I started buying more cucumbers and he thought he had more to experiment with. It's been a struggle, but we have reached a happy medium, where he now asks me "have I left enough for you?" We are so grown up, Pinny and I. Also helpful is that I now purchase many, many cucumbers.

persians

In a similar fashion to our falafel journey, pickle making didn't come easy. The (failed) attempts resulted in pickles that had too much salt, not enough salt, wouldn't sour, were way too spicy or tasted just plain weird. What has evolved (if I may) is the perfect pickle. Crunchy, salty, sour.

How to make a 1/2 gallon of Pinny's Perfect Pickles:
10-15 cucumbers - depending on the size. Kirby or Persian cucumbers work best
2 tablespoons coarse sea salt
2-3 garlic cloves, sliced
1/2 teaspoon whole peppercorns
1 sprig fresh dill
1/4 teaspoon coriander seed
1-2 fresh bay leaves
1 jalapeno pepper
water

garlic

Pinny of Pinny's Perfect Pickles

Directions: Place salt, garlic, dill and spices in a jar. Add cucumbers. Fill with water. Seal well.

Variations: Add carrots, turnips, whole green tomatoes, peeled and sliced lemon (not too much)

Teeny tiny tips and other points from Pinny:
* Buy the freshest cucumbers you can find. If there's a little sticker on them that says Product of Mexico, that won't do (unless of course, you live in Mexico). Farmers Markets are a great source (for markets in the US click here), but if you go into a supermarket during cucumber season, ask the produce manager for locally grown cucumbers.

* 1/2 gallon Ball jars are great for pickling.
* Pickles don't need cooking. Many recipes call for cooking, but Pinny's Perfect Pickles don't.
* Pickles don't need vinegar. The sour flavor is naturally developed.
* Refrigerate pickles after opening. (don't refrigerate earlier)
* When pickling a cucumber in salt, you are essentially encouraging the pickle to ferment. The salt preserves the pickles.
* Fill the jar with water till it's overflowing and seal well - this is as close to airtight as you get.
* Don't use pickling spices! Pickling spices have a very distinct flavor that don't belong in our pickles.
* Don't think of eating them until they've pickled for 3-4 weeks, but a few months is all the better.

a summer worth of pickles. (we've already enjoyed some)

Happy Pickling!

-Chana

PS. This post made possible by the efforts of many. Thanks first to Pinny Lew, Pickle Maker Extraordinaire (among his many talents), who tries and tries and never gives up. Also, for being such a great sport and letting me post a wacky picture of you. Thanks to Cheved for taking some of the pix for this post, and to Zevi for the title. I'm surrounded by talent!

The Call of MY Shofar

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 14:47:00 +0000

Many have asked about my experience at Call of the Shofar (“but what did you DO there”). My experience was unlike anybody else’s - but then, everyone had their own experience.

Call of the Shofar was an opportunity for me to connect with my intimate self. Many gentle reminders came to think with my soul and not with my brain. It was a great effort for me, turning off my logical brain – inducing the state of submission that was needed to tap into the spiritual, intuitive part of myself. There was nothing shocking or earth shattering about my discoveries. Instead there was a nurturing and supportive environment where I could face myself, my hopes and dreams, my demons.

I tapped into a part of myself that’s generally under wraps. Mummified, really. This part of me, in case you’re wondering, is my integrity. My authenticity. Not that I’ve been living a lie, but I haven’t been so honest with the world, not even with myself.

Sarcasm has been a good friend of mine. Well, I used Sarcasm to mask my feelings, and Sarcasm controlled me. My sarcasm was a result of resentment and judgment. It was a way for me to feel sharp and angry, rather than sad or wounded. In my perception, I was choosing to emanate an image of strength over vulnerability. Vulnerability was weak, the lesser, the underdog, the victim – certainly not the person I was.

I’m wondering where this association of vulnerability and helplessness stems from. Maybe it’s because I’ve seen strong people abuse their power over weaker people – physically, emotionally, socially, religiously and financially.

How can authenticity exist without vulnerability? I don’t think it can. I’m learning that there is strength in vulnerability. The strength that comes with truth; with being genuine with myself. I may want to run away from the sadness I feel, but I desperately want to stay in touch with my truth. My truth is that I sometimes feel inadequate and ashamed and overwhelmed and vulnerable. I can allow myself to feel these feelings and the sensations they bring and not worry about the behaviors, words or judgments of others.

My safety, my self-worth is not dependent on nor is it affected by others, only on my own perception of my own reality.

I did a lot of writing in between sessions. Most of this post stems from writing that came to me early on in the program, along with the following letter I wrote for my daughters. It’s called “What I want for you”. The reason I’m sharing it is because it’s ultimately what I want for all of us.

To my beautiful little girl, I love you so much.

What I want for you:

I want for you to find love, but first within yourself.

I want for you to look in the mirror and see beauty, but more than that, when you reflect upon your inner self, to see how beautiful and special you are.

I want for you to feel good about decisions you make and to own those feelings. Don’t let anyone else claim ownership to your decisions or to your feelings.

I want for you to respect yourself. If a little red flag goes off in your mind, or your stomach feels queasy, pay attention. Trust your intuition; it will save your life. Your intuition talks to you through many different parts of your body and soul. Try to be open to them all.

I want for you to ask for help when you need it.

I want for you to feel safe.

I want for you to never be ashamed.

I want for you to believe in your abilities.

I want for you to always be honest, especially with yourself.

I want for you to know that the love I feel for you is bigger than words, and it hurts so much, but I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.

I want for you to always feel that there is a Higher Power watching over you.

I want for you to raise your families with these examples, not just with the words.

I want for you, someday, to be able to say, my mommy lived like this.

...............

Sharing this is a big step for me. I’m leapfrogging from acknowledging these thoughts, to putting them on paper, to publicizing them. I’m claiming ownership to my feelings. When I am true to myself I can be true to the world. I don’t need small talk or distractions. I need myself and my feelings. I accept myself the way I am, imperfections and all. I recognize my qualities, my abilities, my achievements. I am endurance. I am commitment. I am capable. I am vulnerable. I am honest. I am good. I am safe. I am free.

…So that was my Call of the Shofar,

Chana

Cabinet Peeking

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 15:47:00 +0000

taken with our super duper canon 60d

Do you ever want to peek into people's kitchen cabinets? Here's a peek into mine.

Top row left to right: turmeric, cumin seeds, himalayan rock salt, coriander seeds, zante currants, raw pumpkin seeds.

2nd row front, left to right: dried cherry hot peppers, cocoa powder, kombu, dried chili peppers, prunes, slivered almonds.

2nd row back, left to right: black salt, walnuts, black sesame seeds, dried tart cherries, raw macadamias.

3rd row front, left to right: shredded coconut, pecans, raw cacao beans, sunflower seeds, sea salt, hazelnuts.

3rd row back, left to right:
sliced almonds, brazil nuts, sesame seeds, adzuki beans, black beans, poppy seeds.

Bottom row front, left to right:
green lentils, raw almonds, garbanzo beans, raw buckwheat, yellow split peas.

Bottom row back, left to right:
quinoa, brown rice, dates, basmati rice, oats.

There you have it.
What were you hoping to find?

To satisfying our curiosities,

Chana

Falafel Journey

noreply@blogger.com (Chana) — Sun, 07 Aug 2011 16:46:00 +0000

Mediterranean spread, entirely homemade. Taken with our super duper canon 60d

This was such a loaded dinner, I don't know where to start... Starting at the beginning sounds right, but not sure where the beginning is. The beginning of time? The beginning of the process? Which process?
I guess this was about falafel, and everything else was built around that. We'll start with falafel.

We really like the occasional falafel. It's rather hard to find without wheat and other commercial additives so quite a few years ago, Pinny went on a falafel making journey. To be completely honest, it was not a journey I encouraged or even supported. Lots of messes were made. Many recipes were tried that simply didn't work. Lots of 'wasted' ingredients, gallons of organic extra virgin olive oil were tossed. The flavor was really good, but the texture was off.

When the perfect recipe was finally developed, it proved worth the hassle. This is the way falafel is supposed to taste. What made the big difference? Uncooked chick peas. You read correctly. Don't cook the beans.

soaked and sprouting

Olives, picked by Pinny & Zalman
October 2010 in Arizona

Making falafel is somewhat of a "patchke". You need to start soaking the garbanzos a day and a half in advance (at the minimum). Drain and rinse and refill a few times. After adequate soaking (24 hour minimum) the beans are drained and left to start sprouting. The beans pictured here soaked for about 28 hours. They drained for at least 6 hours. You can see the tiny tails as the sprout starts to develop.

The fixings are also mess making. Pita, hummus, tahini, Israeli salad, pickles, olives, hot sauce, fries. None of these are too time consuming, but making them all at the same time... that's a serious commitment. The pickles and olives were made a while ago. (There will be a post on homemade pickles coming soon - I promise. Olives might be a while... but will happen eventually.)

tahini

The raw tahini had been prepared earlier. I make a batch every month or so. Hmmm, does that call for its own blog post? The short of it: Using a quality food processor like cuisinart (a lesser motor will burn out), drop in a pound or two of sesame seeds. Turn your machine on and walk away. The process takes about 10-15 minutes. Scrape down the sides every few minutes. Find something else to do in between because watching your sesame seeds become sesame paste is kinda boring and not the most efficient usage of time. When the oils are released, the paste will get hot and steam will come out the top of your food processor. This is totally normal. When it's smooth and white you have raw tahini. You can easily purchase unprocessed tahini, but my friend Yaakov Citrin introduced me to the process and I've since made my own. I add some garlic, water, cumin and lemon juice. Voila, tahini.

The hummus was also made earlier in the week. I freshened it up by browning some sliced almonds in olive oil. Drizzled my hummus with olive oil, cumin and a tiny sprinkle of paprika, topped with the nuts and there's hummus.

The Israeli salad is not so messy, but chopping everything into tiny little pieces was pretty time consuming. I happen to enjoy this process and find the repetitive chopping motion to be very therapeutic. In addition to the chopping therapy, having pretty things on my counter is always helpful. The red and yellow tomatoes combined with persian cukes made for a perfect focal point as I bustled around the kitchen.

My in house bread and dessert chef made the pitas. Levik makes rugelach, pizza, muffins, beautiful cookies and breads. All this talent under my roof, I am incredibly fortunate.

The potatoes were sliced and set to soak in a bowl of salted ice water. They would be fried

after the falafel and missed the group photo. By the time they were ready we had dug into everything and it was, well, messy.

So, back to the falafel process. The recipe:

1 lb. garbanzo beans – soaked and sprouted

1/4 bunch flat leaf parsley

1/2 bunch cilantro

1 onion
1-2 garlic cloves

2 teaspoons cumin

1 tablespoon coriander

2 teaspoons sea salt
1/4 - 1/2 cup water (as needed)

Olive oil for deep frying

Heat oil. Place the onion, garlic, herbs & chick peas into the food processor. Process until well combined, occasionally

scraping down the sides of the bowl. If your mixture seems dry and crumbly add a little water. Pour the batter into a bowl and add the spices.
Wet hands to shape the balls. Drop into hot oil and fry. The balls will rise to the top of the oil and will need to be turned after 2-3 minutes or when the bottoms are browned. Cook for 2 more minutes or until uniformly browned.

Looking at my dinner table filled with beautiful foods that are all homemade gives me a great sense of satisfaction. I didn't do this all myself. My husband did a lot, my kids had their parts and thankfully, I had help for the cleanup.

...The recipe, the history, the fixings. The most frustrating part of this creation is actually getting this blog post up. I have such a hard time getting blogger to place my pictures where I want them. I have a vision of how this blog post should look, but my mode of communicating that vision to blogger feels very limited. Oh well, at least we have great falafel....

To good health,

Chana

PS If anybody has any blogger experience and can offer some tips on how to make posting with pictures less traumatic, please share the wealth.

falafel by pinny lew. photos by our super duper canon 60d