What to Expect When a Southern Belle Is Transplanted in New Jersey

I can call myself a Southern Belle, right? Because that's what I am, right? At least, my heart's still there.

So. New Jersey. By far the strangest thing is the driving. Everyone I met seems pretty normal, so I don’t know where they got all the maniacs driving the cars. Changing lanes is taking your life into your hands. And making a U-turn—ha! Basically, you have to cross the state border before you can turn around. But Princeton is very picturesque and it is lovely to walk outside and not immediately begin to sweat. (You hear that, Memphis? When are you going to simmer down?)

A lovely couple from Highland Park agreed to host me for Shabbat. They were welcoming and sweet, served delicious meals with great conversation, and invited fabulous guests for Saturday lunch. They even had two very cute cats.

The service was only slightly different from what I’m used to, and of course the shul looked different and the mehitza was different. The important part, however, was the things that were the same. Listening to those around me sing the first part of the “Shema,” following along in the Chumash as the week’s parsha, “Shoftim,” was chanted, and taking three steps back, then three forward, before saying the “Shemoneh Esrei.” All these things occurred not only at Ahavas Achim in Highland Park, New Jersey, and Anshei Sphard Beth El Emeth in Memphis, Tennessee, but in every congregation of every shul in the world on every Shabbat. It felt good to know that certain things will not change. It felt even better to know that, as a Jew, I am part of a larger community, a greater force and a stronger pulse, all doing our best to be close to G-d.

Shavua Tov, y'all. 

Cabin in the Woods--Not a Horror Story!

I had the pleasure of spending this past weekend with my entire family: Mom, Dad, three brothers, one sister, two sisters-in-law, one brother-in-law, one nephew and one brother’s girlfriend. All in the same cabin in the mountains of Pennsylvania. And it was relaxing and beautiful and pleasant.

Three mustached, but beautiful ladies. My sister-in-law, me, and my brother's lovely girlfriend.

My family has many ways in which they show how much they love and care about me. One of the very important ways that they demonstrate their love is by respecting that I keep Shabbat and kosher. They do their best to understand not only the Halacha (laws) but also ask questions in order to better understand. They are careful to leave on bathroom lights and watch television in another room, as well as planning activities that will not force me to break Shabbat. For example, we went hiking (I was so glad my ankle held up!), played board games, and retold stories for the benefit of my baby brother’s girlfriend. Keep in mind, my baby brother is about to begin his junior year at Emory, so he is a baby only in the pecking order of the family.

The visit reminded me of how much I miss seeing everyone in person. We talk on the phone often, but it does not replace a real-life hug. And my family are definitely huggers.

Being from a big family is a blessing. There was always someone with which to argue, play, and discuss problems. We tormented each other but protected each other from outside tormenters. I always knew that my teachers would be pleased to see another Green, because of the impression that my older brother and sister set before me. Now, as adults, we have strengthened our relationships, which grow and change as we grow and change. We are friends as much as we are siblings, and that is not something that everyone can say. I am very appreciative to be so close with my brothers and sister. I guess my parents must have done something right.

My adorable nephew and I mug for the camera.

You Look Cute with Two Shoes

Sunday, after close to three months of trying to heal a sprained ankle, I took off the giant, black boot the doctor prescribed. 

By doctor’s orders, I wore it all day, every day, except in the shower. As one can imagine, in the heat of a Memphis summer, there were complications. Since I still lived on the third floor apartment for the majority of the time, even getting to work could be perilous. As a good friend stated, it really helps you appreciate your health. Being unable to run, use an exercise machine, or even swim, my body was not happy with me. I am definitely a bit fleshier than when I first turned my ankle.

However, my boot taught me several important lessons. The first of which is that other people notice a handicap much more than the handicapped person. Aside from some pain and not being able to move as quickly as I would have liked, the boot did not alter my everyday life. After having it on for a month, I began to get constant “when are you going to get that off” questions, which were immediately followed by “how long have you had that on” and (since I’m in the South) “bless your heart” type comments. For me, the boot was not that great of a hardship. Sure, I slept better without it on and when I was moving, carrying boxes down to my car, there were several times when I began to slip and saw the exciting bits of my life burst before my eyes. But aside from that, life went on.

More importantly than the attention, I learned that when I don’t slow down, life has a way of forcing me to slow down. Before spraining my ankle, I was working fifty hour weeks. After spraining my ankle, before the boot was put on, I could not walk great distances, and was forced to quit my second job. Had I not sprained my ankle, I would have continued to work two full-time jobs indefinitely, taxing my body and mind, and not leaving myself time for anything else.

Boogie, my beautiful cocker, got his stitches taken out and his cone off Monday. 

Boogie had to wear the cone for months, due to an irritated growth on his head, which has since been removed. Sweet by nature, he is clearly happy not to have to deal with the difficulties of not being able to judge the size of the cone when walking by things and also not being able to reach his ears to scratch. Released from both the cone and the growth, Boogie is now free to enjoy his adult puppyhood.

For the two of us, life is just waiting to happen. I can’t help but think that the physical healing is just the beginning of greater spiritual and emotional growth. Soon, we will be in Princeton, after close to seven years in the South. But most importantly, getting the boot off got me the strangest compliment of my lifetime: “You look cute in two shoes.” The second strangest? “You look cute in that headband, like Gwen Stacy.” 

On Your Doorposts

Before...

After.

Wednesday night, I finished carrying the last bit of trash from my apartment, and cleaned from top to bottom, scrubbing the floor on my knees. When I was through, I almost forgot the mezuzot, until I was standing outside the door. I had to come back with a screwdriver and hammer to pry them off of the door posts. I can predict with high confidence that the next person to live in that apartment will not be a Jew.

Taking off the mezuzot had a finality that even turning in my keys did not. I realized that I was truly leaving. Not just my apartment, but the Memphis that has embraced and held me for the past four years. I will be celebrating the New Year in a new state.

Since 2008, when I first drove from Oxford to Memphis in search of a synagogue, I have been keeping Shabbat and the holidays with the congregation of Anshei Sephard Beth El Emeth. I studied Torah there, met many beloved friends, and converted in the mikveh attached to the shul. There are so many people I will miss dearly, and it will be difficult to leave.

Removing the mezuzot did not turn out to be as easy a task as I had expected. Since they were nailed in, I had to first hammer the blade of a baby screwdriver under the cover, and then a normal-sized screwdriver when I had loosened it enough. Then I had to wiggle and hammer and pry until I could free the cover and scroll. Then it was no longer my home.

I don’t know what Princeton has in store for me, but I know that I will miss all of my loved ones dearly. Thank you, every one, who has helped me so far on my journey. I hope that you will continue on this glorious ride with me.

Say What You Will about Memphis

So this is why moving is awesome: it’s so exhausting and time consuming that you can’t possibly think about all the people you love who you will be leaving behind. That said, I just am not going to be able to say good-bye to all the people that have been so kind to me since I started making the commute from Oxford to Memphis in 2008. Now that I live here, I have developed so many rich relationships that will be sorely missed. Thank you to everyone who has been so wonderful to me, especially the Memphis Jewish Community. Let no one say there are no Jews in the South.

Now, as for moving: how on earth did I come to acquire so much stuff? An exercise ball? I used it for exactly one week. It took me three days just to pack all of my books. Now I’m wrestling with those things that I need, but it might be easier just to buy a new one. You know: broom, dish drainer, hair dryer, etc, etc. How many garbage cans have I bought in my one short life time? And the cleaning! A little scrubbing on the hands and knees never hurt anyone. Except if you have bad knees.

Time to take a weird rolling-wheel exercise thingy that I’m not even sure where it came from to the trash compactor. More fun to come!

Someone decided that she did not want to get left behind!