Guest Post: BossGiraffe Weighs In
With all of the recent hullabaloo concerning modesty, BossGiraffe delivered the following message this past Shabbos:
I wonder if you are familiar with the Hebrew word tz’niut. It means modesty. Every culture has a concept of modesty. Imagine receiving an invitation to a CBT beach party to be held on the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend. We’re all to gather at noon, location–Huntington Beach, near Lifeguard Station 11. What would you wear? I imagine you’d put on your bathing suit.
But what if you decided to wear your bathing suit to shul tonight? It’s also a congregational event, yet here…and now…we’d all consider such attire inappropriate—indeed, immodest.
Yesterday, I was at the Hebrew Union College in Los Angeles. I had been invited to participate in a panel discussion in a class entitled Ordination Seminar. These students will be ordained as rabbis by the President of the College, Rabbi David Ellenson, two days after he speaks here at shul this coming May.
After class, I attended the Thursday morning service at which Torah was read. I especially loved the music, which was led by Julie Silver—a fabulous contemporary songwriter whom we have hosted at our shul. When I saw the Second Year Education student approach the Bima to read Torah, I turned to the professor sitting next to me—Dr. Leah Hochman, last year’s CBT Scholar-in-Residence, and exclaimed, “I sure am glad she’s wearing a talis”! The prayer shawl fortunately doubled as a cover up. You see, the top she was wearing didn’t quite do that job!
Though tz’niut is discussed widely in Orthodox circles, modesty is a Jewish issue — not the purview of solely one group within the Jewish world. I decided to discuss this tonight because there have been several disturbing news stories coming out of Israel in the past few weeks relating to this very topic. In the town of Bet Shemesh, a group of Orthodox men spat at an eight year old girl whom they felt was dressed immodestly. Their behavior is horrible…period. However, if you were to see a photo of the little girl, you would be even more astounded. The girl is Orthodox, too, and her dress was very modest…but not modest enough for these men.
We tend to use the word Orthodox to describe many different kinds of Jews. Just as Jews in general do not all agree on…anything (you know—ten Jews…eleven opinions) the same can be said about Orthodox Jews. Indeed, there is a very wide divergence in views between Modern Orthodox Jews (sometimes called Centrist Orthodox) and Charedim (Ultra-Orthodox Jews-“Black hats”).
Here are some other disturbing stories recently in the news from Israel: More and more public busses are making women sit in the back of the bus on routes that go through Ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods. The Puah Institute, specializing in medical research on women’s health—and especially fertility—issues, recently held a conference, but wouldn’t allow female doctors to present papers or sit on panels. A woman won an award for excellence in her scientific research, but she was not permitted on the stage to accept the award. Instead, it had to be given to a man representing her!
This is not Judaism! Certainly it isn’t Reform Judaism. It isn’t Orthodox Judaism, either! In a brilliant piece in today’s New York Times, Rabbi Dov Linzer, Dean of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah—a leading Modern Orthodox Rabbinical Seminary in New York—writes that the Talmud, which is the basis of Jewish Law, places the responsibility for controlling men’s licentious thought about women squarely on the men. He argues that the Charedim are the ones who are hyper-sexualizing women. In the Ultra-Orthodox world, in order to protect men from their sexual thoughts, women must remove their femininity from their public presence, ridding themselves of the smallest evidence of their own sexuality.
Rabbi Linzer concludes: “Jewish tradition teaches men and women alike that they should be modest in their dress. But modesty is not defined by, or even primarily about, how much of one’s body is covered. It is about comportment and behavior.”
Lest you think that Rabbi Linzer’s is a voice in the wilderness, let me mention what was taught this week by Rabbi Marc D. Angel, Rabbi Emeritus of Congregation Shearith Israel/the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in New York, and past president of the Modern Orthodox Rabbinical Council of America: “Without discounting the reality of sexual attraction and the need for modesty, it is imperative that we recognize the legitimacy and necessity of proper interaction between males and females. If men have a problem listening to a scientific paper presented by a female doctor, let those men leave the room—but the female doctor should not be prevented from sharing her knowledge with her colleagues. If men feel they can’t control themselves if they sit next to a woman on a bus, let such men move to the back of the bus—not penalize the women passengers.
Tz’niut is certainly a matter of worthy of our attention. So is the right of women and men to live in the 21st century without the imposition of restrictions some might want to bring back from the middle ages!
As Reform Jews who have suffered from mischaracterization, let us be careful not to paint all Orthodox Jews with too broad a brush. There surely are voices of reason among the Orthodox rabbinate who teach their people how to live observant Jewish lives in a fair and modern manner.
Shabbat Shalom!
Feel free to leave your comments here. BossGiraffe will get to them as soon, b’li neder.
Merry Christmas!
Yes, you read that correctly. Merry Christmas.
At least it’s Christmas according to Peach.
Last night, as I was tucking him into bed, he told me that it was Christmas for all the people who celebrate. I reminded him that Christmas had been celebrated a few weeks ago.
But it snowed today. Remember? When it snows, it’s Christmas.
It’s hard to argue with his logic. In order to make Christmas more appealing to a wider audience, the religiosity of “Christ’s Mass” has been downplayed while the winter elements now receive the most attention. Christmas has been rebranded as a “seasonal” holiday. For a California native, like Peach, it makes a certain sense that he associates Christmas with snow.
Wonder how long til he realizes that Christmas isn’t a meteorologic event?
Being the Third
We missed you yesterday.
So said Peach’s teacher at drop-off this morning.
Whoops.
Peach had school yesterday? On Martin Luther King, Jr. Day??
Poor Peach. As the third child, he has spent his lifetime being schlepped along simply because The Bigs (Beernut and Poppyseed) and their schedules take priority. Even as an infant, his sweet disposition and willingness to go from place to place or activity to activity was a Godsend. [Especially in comparison to my beloved firstborn who still doesn’t do well with transitions.] The Bigs were off and it just did not occur to me that the pre-school would be in session.
The benefit, and there must be one in order to assuage my “mommy-guilt,” was the opportunity for Peach to be part of the conversations that The Bigs and I had about racism, diversity, tolerance, etc. No, I am not one of those super-moms who created a meaningful experience for her family. I want to be one of those moms, but I’m not quite there. Yet.

What we did have were several spontaneous chats throughout the day, based on things we saw on the television and on the internet. We talked about skin colour and our country’s changing perceptions (and policies) throughout the years. And how pretending that everyone is the same invalidates those historical facts and experiences.
And so, added to the ever-growing list for Peach’s future therapist, is the day that he missed school because Mommy didn’t think to look at the schedule. But at least the time wasn’t completely wasted.
[Ed note: Crayola does offer crayons and markers in an “ethnic-sensitive palette” as part of their multi-cultural line. They are not, however, all named ‘flesh.’]
Not Made Up
Hi. Is this Mrs. Frummie?
Yes. Yes it is.
Well, hi, Mrs. Frummie. I’m calling about your propane tank. We’d like to schedule someone to come out and refill it.
Um…I don’t think that we have a propane tank.
Yes, yes you do. It’s somewhere on your property.
Is it rather large? I mean, wouldn’t I have noticed it? I don’t think that we have one.
{{sigh on the other end}}
How do you cook, dear?
Oh fine. Much better than when we first got here.
{{another sigh}}
No, I mean what kind of stove.
Ohhh. Gas.
Then you have propane, dear.
I wish that I was making this up. I really do. But this was a conversation that I had just yesterday. All day, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the woman on the phone was trying to scam me. I mean, I would have noticed a propane tank if it was in the yard, right?
Once PC stopped laughing, he told me where it was located. I had been wondering what that was…
The Things We Do For Love
Is it Friday today? asked Peach, wandering into the kitchen.
Nope. It’s Wednesday. Why do you ask?
Because it smells like Friday.
So why did my house smell like a Friday when it was only Wednesday?? Because Beernut had the following {outstanding} idea: why don’t I bring challah into his school for my presentations on Friday. Which equals enough challah for nearly one hundred students.
I mentioned it to PC. Now PC is the one who is always, and usually unsuccessfully, trying to teach me to set limits. So I figured that when I mentioned Beernut’s idea, PC would be the voice of reason.
Oh, how I was wrong.
Beernut is right. It is a great idea.
And so, with my sous chef by my side, we began to bake.
With nearly one hundred sixth graders, we figured that we’d need six challot. And since I would be teaching all morning on Friday, we’d need to bring the total to eight so that Beit Frummie wasn’t left wanting.
I also figured that it would be a two day process. Two batches, each yielding two loaves apiece, on Wednesday and another two batches, each yielding two loaves apiece, on Thursday. [If that sentence seems to contain redundancy, it is because I must be channeling the section of my Bat Mitzvah portion, Parashat Terumah, that describes the menorah in a similar fashion.]
I did not realize how much more work it is to make two batches at one time.
And then get up the next day to make two more.
It wasn’t until I started measuring like The Count that it occurred to me that I am not cut out to be a baker…
One…one cup of flour, ah, ah, ah, ah — Two…two cups of flour, ah, ah, ah, ah — Three…three cups of flour, ah, ah, ah, ah, etc.
By The Book?
More than a quarter century has passed since I sat in Mr. Armstrong’s World History class and still I remember what it felt like to see the red marks all over the chapter test.
D-plus
Though I was never the student that DadGiraffe was throughout his academic career, I had my subjects of strength and my subjects of weakness. History? A strength.
Oh, and did I mention that the subject matter of this particular chapter was “Judaism?”
This wasn’t a graduate level course. This was one lousy chapter in a high school textbook for a basic, basic world history class. But because my framework was Jewish, and I don’t speak Christian, I bombed that test, Soundly.
Examples of questions that I answered “incorrectly:”
- What do Jews call God?
- Name the three pilgrimage festivals.
Answer #1 — I mentioned that God’s Name, the tetragrammaton, is symbolized in English by the letters YHVH, but is pronounced Adonai so that we do not attempt to pronounce (correctly or incorrectly — both being problematic) God’s Name.
[And of course you are not surprised that the soon-to-be sixteen year old Frume Sarah used the term ‘tetragrammaton’ on her exam, are you?]
{{WRONG}}
Apparently all Jews call God Yahweh. At least according to the answer key provided by the textbook publisher. I complained. I said that no Jew I knew used this term. The teacher said that I must not know many Jews. I polled every single Jew on my high school campus (roughly seventeen students). Not only did I tally one hundred percent in the non-Yahweh column, but not a single one had even heard of the term ‘Yahweh.’
That wasn’t convincing enough. Nor was my explanation of how the the term ‘Yahweh’ developed from the original Hebrew (yud-hey-vav-hey), as did the term ‘Jehovah,’ but neither were terms used by Jews.
Nope.
Answer #2 — Sukkot, Passover, Shavuot.
[That was my “American” answer since at home we called the Shlosh Regalim Sukkos, Pesach, and Shavuos.]
{{WRONG}} Again.
According to the farshtunkner answer key, the correct answer is the Feast of Booths, the Feast of Unleavened Bread, and the Feast of the Tabernacles.
I could certainly see how that could be an alternate answer…though I wasn’t really certain what a tabernacle was. What I didn’t understand was why my answers were wrong when I knew them to be right?
Distance is a powerful lens. It allows us to strip away all emotional involvement in order to distill genuine understanding. This was nothing more than a power struggle between a less-than-stellar teacher and a combative, bull-headed teenager. Not being Jewish, he had nothing more than the teacher’s edition to guide him through areas beyond his specialty. How could he not feel defensive when confronted? And I, reflecting back on entire experience, already felt rather isolated as a religious minority and resented being told that I was wrong about the one thing I really knew.
As it so happens, I was wrong. My answers, while theoretically accurate, reflected my prior knowledge rather than the material presented in the textbook. For the playing field to be level, we were being tested not on what we knew from outside sources but what we had gleaned from the coursework.
A better educator would have pulled the insolent student aside and, after explaining that the exam was meant to be on the material in the book, would have given credit for the alternate, and verifiably correct, answers. The lesson would have been learned that much sooner.
And without the humiliation.
All of this came rushing back as I began to prepare a lesson on Judaism for the sixth grade at Beernut’s school for this Friday. The worksheet provided to the class ahead of my lesson begins with the following True/False statements:

- The Torah is made up of six books.
- Christians adopted the books of the Torah as the first books of the Old Testament.
- Because of God’s promise to Abraham, Israelites considered themselves to be God’s “chosen people.”
- Unlike the laws set forth in Hammurabi’s Code, the Israelites did not try to match punishments to crimes.
- In Judaism, only a husband could seek a divorce.
- The prophets of Israel said that all people — including kings and merchants — were equal before God.
How would you do on this little quiz?? Because I didn’t do so well.
Again.
Becoming Poppyseed
I still don’t know exactly how this happened. This sports thing.
We move to a place where everyone plays sports. She chooses field hockey. She plays the fall season. And she likes loves it.
And she’s awful.
Really awful.
Yet, she still loves it.
Winter season started on Saturday night. Yes, night. Indoor, of course.
The other team obliterated her team.
16-0.
Really.
Yet, she still loves it.
I mentioned that I’d heard the moms talking about spring season.
“Sign. me. up,” she says.
It isn’t a passion. Poppyseed isn’t consumed with all things field hockey. In this way, she is so different from how I was with music and theatre.
Maybe this is better.
Maybe she will continue to love it because it isn’t her obsession passion.
A Necessary Break
There is an exhaustion that comes on rather suddenly during pregnancy. It feels as though it is coming from deep inside. Most likely because it is.
There is a mind-numbing exhaustion that comes during infancy. It no longer takes much imagination to understand why sleep deprivation is an effective torture technique.
And there is an ongoing exhaustion that lasts, it seems, throughout motherhood.
But none of that comes close to the fiercely-gripping nearly-paralyzing exhaustion of parenting a child with special needs.
There is no break.
The responsibilities are never-ending.
Doctor appointments. Therapist appointments.
Picking up prescriptions.
Filling prescriptions.
Picking up medications.
Fighting with the insurance company.
Making certain meds are given on time.
And more. So. Much. More.
For the parent of a child with special needs, it is first thing on the mind upon waking. And the last thing before falling into a desperately-needed, but often elusive, sleep.
The need for respite is great. But in order for it to happen, the parent must be confidant that the child receives care from trained individuals. Which means, of course, that it doesn’t happen often enough.
R’fua V’Chayim is a non-profit organization in Israel that provides respite for parents by holding regular Shabbatonim (Shabbat retreats) for special needs children. Trained counselors and medical staff provide round-the-clock care in a rich, Jewish environment. The children return home to parents and family members who are refreshed.
The program was a godsend to Faigie Grunberg, whose daughter, Daniella Meira, z”l, was a quadriplegic and had cerebral palsy.
When you’re raising a disabled child, you don’t have a second to breathe. Your every moment is dedicated to making sure she’s alive, healthy and comfortable. When someone reaches out to you and helps ease the workload, it refreshes you so that you can keep going.
Since Daniella Meira’s death in 2007, at the age of seven, Faigie has sponsored a Shabbaton in her memory. With the annual Shabbaton just a week from now, there is still time to donate and give the gift of respite to those who sorely need it. Refua V’Chayim is a registered Israeli charity; funds collected through the site (www.daniellameira.com) go directly to Refua V’Chayim’s PayPal account.
בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ מֶֽלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם, הַנּוֹתֵן לַיָּעֵף כֹּֽחַ
Blessed is the One who grants strength to the weary.
By Popular Demand…
Crummy Chicken
from the kitchen of Grandma Selma
- chicken
- oil
- paprika
- corn flakes
- Put oil in soup place – add paprika.
- Crush corn flakes.
- Place chicken in oil and then into corn flakes.
- Grease pan.
- Bake 1 hour at 350°F
******
That’s it. That’s what it says on the handwritten card in my mother’s recipe box. Seriously, Grandma, not a lot to go on here…
So some notes:
I amMy kids are picky eaters. In lieu of paprika, I used Lawry’s Seasoning Salt®- I lined the pans with tin foil. Because I always line pans with tin foil. And then a bit of cooking spray
- I used thin, skinless chicken breasts because that is what PC prefers. And really, who I am cooking for if not for him??
I would add the following instructions:
- Bake for 25 minutes on the first side
- Flip and add more corn flakes
- Bake for 15 minutes on the second side
If I had known how easy this was, I would have attempted it in my non-cooking days.
It. is. that. easy.
Love By Association
Dear Grandma,
I made your Crummy Chicken recipe for dinner this Shabbos. It was a huge hit with all the Frummies.
I told the kids that it was my grandmother’s recipe. 
MamaBear, z”l?
Nope.
Grandma Rose, z”l?
Uh-uh.
Grandma Gussie, z”l
No. Grandma Selma.
Who?
I’m sorry that I haven’t done a better job sharing you, through stories, with them.
Sure, I was young when you died. Nearly five. But that isn’t a very good excuse for why I haven’t told them more about you. After all, I never knew Grandma Gussie (one of my great-grandmothers) or Grandma Rose (another of my great-grandmothers) but my children speak of them as though they have first-hand knowledge of their great-great-grandmothers.
My memories of you are few. Shaggy green rug in your living room. A candy dish that was always filled with Hershey’s miniatures. (A candy dish that, as it so happened, taught me the meaning of the very useful word, ungepatchke.) An unfortunate hair incident.
Mostly, though, I remember love. I wasn’t even a fully-formed person and you loved me. You loved me because you loved DadGiraffe and I was his daughter. That was all the reason you needed. We never had the luxury of a real relationship. I had MamaBear for thirty-nine years and she loved me despite knowing all of my faults. You never had that (dis)advantage. You loved me less for who I was meant to become and more for being an extension of you. That was enough reason for you.
And that’s what I told them.
I promised to do better. To have their ZaydeGiraffe (your precious boychikel is a zayde!!!) share his memories and stories so that they become incorporated into their collective memory. To talk about you more regularly so that you become a real, living person rather than just a faded photograph. To add you to the line-up of women who are their matriarchs.
Love always.
Frummie
Oh, and one last thing, Grandma. I told them about the unfortunate hair incident…but it was only by way of introduction.
















