Happy Chanukah!

I was not ready for Chanukah.

I think I have finally caught up with the holiday now that we are well into the third night, but it really should not have taken me this long to wrap my brain around the 25th of Kislev. I mean, we have been well into December for almost two weeks now, and I should have been marking off the days with my own Jewish version of an Advent calendar.

Excecpt that I didn't. Maybe my subconscious was rebelling against the over-hyping of the December holiday season, and I was trying to place the holiday in its proper medium-grade cultural and religious context by reducing my anticipation. Or perhaps my brain was focusing on the imagery of the final night with all the candles burning bright instead of the first night with its scintilla of illumination. Or maybe I just haven't been getting enough sleep these days.

To make matters worse, we can't find all of our best Chanukiot (Chanukah menorahs), and we are relegated to a palsley two. I have until the end of the holiday to find the rest of the chanukiot so we can appropriately celebrate what I lovingly refer to as, "The Fire Hazard Night."

Thankfully, the holiday lasts eight nights, which gives me time to catch up. I've already made latkes and sufganiyot. I've already played dreidel with my kindergarten students. I've already watched my children open up two nights of presents. I think I've caught up to the holiday.

All I need now is a small paper fire on the mantel, and the holiday will be completely kosher.

Noah's Ark Class Poster

On Sunday mornings, I teach the kindergarten class at our synagogue religious school. I don't know how many PhDs in molecular biology teach kindergarten students, but I definitely believe that more of us should. Perhaps kindergarten education should be a requisite for medical and legal continuing education as well. Of course, we would call it something else, such as Advanced Studies in Humanistic Perspective.

You simply can not think too much of yourself when you teach 5 year olds. You can not take yourself too seriously when you are dancing around the classroom, flapping your arms. You can not worry about your professional image when you are reading a book that requires silly sound effects. Your students will see right through any conceit and call you on it.

That's why I have my students call me Mr. Winicur or Mr. Zev or sometimes just Zev if they can't remember the "Mr." part, but definitely not "Dr. Winicur." Protocols for honorifics are not worth their time and not worth my time. I figure that I can teach them respect for adults without confusing them about what to call whom when. Life is tough enough.

Part of my challenge is to come up with new and exciting ways to engage the students, particularly since I have such a mix of kids. Some of my kids are learning about Judaism for the VERY first time and some of them have been going to Jewish day school every day for the past three years. Some already know how to read, and some are just learning their A-B-Cs. It's a challenge.

So, whenever I come up with a new and exciting activity, I feel compelled to share it and, of course, brag about it. Just because I can't show off to them doesn't mean that I can't show off to YOU.

I call my activity the Noah's Ark Class Poster. Feel free to use it, but please reference me by name whenever you do. My name is Dr. Zev Winicur.

NOAH'S ARK CLASS POSTER

Noah's Ark is one of the best stories for kindergarteners because it bypassess all the boring theology, dogma, and philosophy, and cuts right to the fun stuff: animals and boats. Kindergarteners understand animals and boats.

Supplies:
1 piece of poster board
1 permanent marker
coloring pictures of animals (two of each animal)
coloring supplies (crayons, markers, pencils, etc.)
scissors
glue sticks

Preparation:

1. Draw an ark on the poster board. It should take up most of the posterboard. It doesn't need to look pristine, but it helps if it is vaguely boat shaped. See the picture above.


2. Find pictures of animals that can be colored in, and make two copies of each animal. Make sure that you have enough DIFFERENT animals so that there is one animal per student. I found (stole) many of my animals from various sites throughout the Web. I don't guarantee that I was not using copyrighted pictures, but I figured the chance of litigation by kindergartener was relatively low.


3. Put one stack of the animal pictures on the tables in front of the students.


4. Fold the rest of the animal pictures (the counterparts), and "hide" them around the room. You can decide how well to hide them based on whether you want this to be a remedial exercise, an afikomen hunt, or Indiana Jones's search for the Ark of the Covenant.

Implementation:

1. Have each student select a picture from the pile on the table. This is their starting animal.


2. Tell the kids that they must help Noah round up all the animals to put in the ark. To do this, they must find the other animal somewhere in the room.


3. Tell the kids (AND THIS IS IMPORTANT) that the task is not complete until EVERYONE finds their animal. Therefore, if they come across an animal not their own, they should help their friends by saying, "Does anyone need a giraffe," etc.


4. Once the kids all have found two of each animal, let them color their animal and cut it out.


5. As each student finishes with their colored animals, have them glue the animals to the ark.


6. Proudly display the class poster for at least three weeks until the students get bored with it.

This was a wildly successful activity. First of all, I was able to illustrate and personalize the story of Noah hunting for two of every animal. Second, the kids learned to work together. Many of them really got into helping their friends find their animals. Third, this is a class project, not an individual project, so the kids get to see the fruits of their labor in class every day. More importantly, the parents finally get a day free of tzotchkes that must be displayed on the refrigerator until it crumbles into dust.

No wonder the parents love me.

The True Lesson of Sesame Street

With all due respect to Robert Fulghum's heartwarming book All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten (some might go as far as to call it "literature of ipecac"), I think we need a companion book, All I Need to Know I Learned on Sesame Street.

For example:

• The world is a diversity of races, ethnicities, colors, and felt patterns.


• Impulse control, particularly with respect to cookies, is overrated.


• Math is fun, particularly if it is punctuated with lightning.


• Corporate sponsorship is ubiquitous ("This episode was brought to you by the letter 'R', and the number '12.'")

However, I think two of the most important lessons are:

• Know the people in your neighborhood.


• Surround your personal experience with people from many ethnicities, socio-economic statuses, and ESPECIALLY professions.
  

This second point is most crucial. Too often, we are constrained by our own professions and social groups. We are afraid to make friends outside our comfort zones. It is vitally important that we extend ourselves. Our social networks should include business people, medical professionals, lawyers, taxi drivers, police, firefighters, teachers, computer programmers, and artists. How else can we gain a balanced perspective of the world? How else can we teach our children about infinite diversity?

How else can we barter favors or seek free advice?

Let me put it this way...if I know that if I have a legal problem, medical problem, security problem, or computer problem, I have people I can contact who will point me in the right direction, even if they can't directly help me.

That is the true lesson of Sesame Street.

Repo! The Genetic Opera - WTF?

Yes, kids...WTF means "What the fooey?" Just ask your parents.

My wife and I found the perfect Halloween movie...one that left us scratching our heads and asking each other, "Did we just share the same hallucination?" The movie is called "Repo! The Genetic Opera". It is a goth sci-fi horror rock opera. And you know that you just don't run into many of those at the family theatre these days

The movie has an impressive cast: Alexa Vega (definitely moving past her Spy Kids years), Anthony Stewart Head (very reminiscent of his Buffy the Vampire Slayer work), Paul Sorvino, Sarah Brightman, and a cast of others I had never heard of before. It also stars Paris Hilton perfectly cast as a character who needs to look alternately trampy and vapid. Not so much "vampy" as "trampid."

The backdrop of the movie, a goth sci-fi horror rock opera, is definitely original. In the future, an epidemic of organ failures devasted the planet and GeneCo, a multi-billion dollar biotech company, emerged. GeneCo supplies organ transplantation for a profit, and the company offers financing for those who can not afford new organs. Of course, if you can not make your payments, an organ repo man comes to collect your organs. Due to a bill passed by Congress, organ repossesion (carried out by skilled assassin surgeons) is now legal.

Onto this rather gruesome cinematic canvas comes a bizarre story of Nathan Wallace, an organ repo man (Anthony Stewart Head) who's daughter (Alexa Vega) has a rare blood disease that she's been told she inherited from her mother. She doesn't know that her dad is a legal assassin and not a doctor as he claims, but as she escapes from her room, which has become her prison both methaphorically and practically, she starts to discover just how dangerous the world is around her.

The president of GeneCo, Rotti Largo, is dying and must find an heir. Too bad his children are all murderous, psychotic nincompoops (this is my description, not his...you can't use "nincompoop" in a goth sci-fi horror rock opera). And, as you will find out, Rotti is not only Nathan's boss but responsible for the death of his wife 17 years ago...even though Nathan blames himself for her death.

Oh, and there's a graverobber who steals dead bodies to steal their fluids to make Zydrate, a cheap, highly addictive pain killer used by people who are addicted to multiple surgeries.

At this point, you are either a) curious about the idea, b) totally sold on the concept, or c) already losing your lunch in the toilet just at my description. If you are c), you should probably skip this one, particularly since it was made by the producers of the "Saw" movies. It is definitely not a movie that I could in good conscious call "good" or even "above average," but it is definitely engaging, enthralling, and very, very different.

It has Anthony Stewart Head who is a fine actor who can alternately do bookish everyman, hardened psychotic killer, and rock singer...and have you believe all three. It has Sarah Brightman, who lends some gravitas to the opera part of the rock opera. It has Alexa Vega, who is a rising pop star and effective actress in her own right. It has Paul Sorvino playing the bad guy and singing (who knew?). And it has Paris Hilton. But frankly she doesn't get in the way of the experience as much as you would think.

It is an experience. Whether you find it a good experience, bad experience, or overly medicated experience depends a lot on you. But no matter who you are, you will definitely come out of the movie asking, "What the fooey?"

The Hilly Hundred

If I may be allowed a conceit, I would like to pat myself on the back. I am pretty darn proud of myself. This past weekend, I biked the Hilly Hundred.

For those of you outside the fair state of Indiana, the Hilly Hundred is a bike tour of south central Indiana that covers 100 miles of hilly terrain over 2 days. It is a gorgeous ride, a wonderful way to meet new friends, and an incredibly grueling event.

Allow me to put this into perspective for you. I am 41.2 years old, and I make my living by sitting at a desk and typing. Before 2 years ago, the farthest I had ever ridden in a single day was 10 miles. Before 4 days ago, the farthest I had ever ridden in a single day was 40 miles. And to top it off, I own a Schwinn Criss Cross hybrid bike. Think of it as the Subaru Outback of bikes (sturdy, reliable, poor gas mileage, and definitely not a Ferrari). At best, I am an Aspiring Cyclist. By that, I mean that I am definitely a step above the general cyclists who only bike occasionally or for fun around their neighborhood, but I am not yet a Pserious Psychlist. I am sure you all recognize the Pserious Psychlists. They have the equipment, the uniform, and above all, the attitude. They zip by you on the Monon Trail at 200 miles an hour on their Trek bikes with pencil-thin tires and seven bottles of water clipped to the undercarriage. They wear skin tight biking pants, and they sport biking jerseys advertising their favorite sponsored biking team including (I'm not making this up, I really saw it) TIAA-CREF.

With mid-life staring me in the face, I needed a new physical challenge in my life. The Hilly Hundred was just beckoning. I thought, "What the heck?"

When I arrived at Ellettsville High School Friday night to register, I fully expected to be surrounded by 25 year old hardbodies with bad attitudes. Instead, I found myself surrounded by thousands of friendly people, ranging in size from skinny to portly, ranging in age from 8 to 85. Maybe, the Hilly Hundred isn't so tough, I thought to myself. Sure, it's 100 miles, but look at all these "normal" people. Heck, if they can do it, I can do it. I even rented a spot in the gym to throw my sleeping bag to show everyone that I was a normal person just like them. Just a bunch of normal Aspiring Cyclists out to have fun.

The next morning, as I was pulling on my eclectic biking gear gathered over two years of sporadic spending (bike helmet, $80 biking shorts, $10 sweat pants, $2 gloves covered by what I think were old gardening gloves, two sweatshirts, a fleece jacket, and three pairs of socks), I noticed that everyone around me...and I mean EVERYONE...was putting on quite a different uniform. Everyone had biking tights, nearly everyone had windbreakers, and most had biking jerseys. I felt like an outsider at a superhero convention. I started to feel just a weeee bit out of my depth. And this was before we started biking.

The first couple of miles were uneventful, although they were misty and cold. I got used to people zipping by me with a friendly, "On your left." What they were really saying was, "On your left, but aren't you cute for trying!" At about 7 miles in, I decided that I needed someone to bike with, someone to help me keep my pacing. I saw a gentleman in front of me who seemed to be going my speed. I sped up a bit to introduce myself and see if he minded some company. Just as I got close enough to see his face, I realized that man was about 80 years old. There is nothing more demoralizing than realizing that the one person you can keep pace with is an old guy of 80. "On your left," I said and forced myself to pass him.

Luckily, I did eventually meet a lady who was there with her family. Her family members, who had all zoomed ahead of her, met up with her at the first rest stop. "This is Zev," she told them. "He's by himself." Thankfully, she didn't add, "And isn't he cute for trying." The group immediately adopted me as one of their own and became my cheering section. I would like to give a shout out to Mary Therese, Bill, Kevin, Andrew, and Joe. Thank you. You kept me going.

Saturday, the first day of the tour, was all about survival. My goal was to get through the tour without requiring the assistance of an oxygen tank or rescue from a pick-up truck. I made it up as many hills as I could but walked part way up some of the steeper ones. Mary Therese naturally rode up every hill at 4 miles an hour. "That's OK," she said. "Many people walk up the hills at their first Hilly. I don't anymore, of course. My family would give a hard time if I did."

In other words, she was saying, "Don't you worry your pretty little head about those big hills. When you grow up, you'll be man enough to ride them all the way." Grrr. So, naturally, Sunday I had to ride up every stinking hill. And the hardest hills...they were all on Sunday. When I hit Mount Tabor (0.2 miles but a 20% grade), I found myself ascending at a glacial speed, repeating my new mantra, "I paid for this...I paid for this..."

The important thing is that I signed up, I showed up, I rode it, and I loved it. The Hilly Hundred is not just a bike tour. It is truly an event unto itself. They feed you, they entertain you, and they thrill you. You meet Aspiring Cyclists, Pserious Touring Psychlists, and yes, occasionally some Psuper Pserious Psports Psychlists. The guy who slept next to me in the gym rode 100 miles on Saturday...and THEN rode the 50 miles on Sunday. Why? Because he could. And good for him.

The funny thing is that I thought the Hilly would be an endpoint, a single tally on my bucket list. I thought I would finish the ride, flip the bird to the universe, and get back to my office and computer. But even as I sit here nursing my hobbled legs, I am planning for next year's Hilly. I am hooked, and there is no turning back.

Of course, I hope to meet up with Mary Therese and her family again. We'll ride together, eat lunch together, and laugh about the wimps carrying their bikes up the hill. And of course, there's an old guy I need to burn past. Hopefully he'll be back. He is so cute for trying.

The Healing Power of Denial

My mother tells a wonderful story about a friend of hers back in graduate school who once explained how he dealt with a cold. He explained that he crawled into bed with a bottle of tequila.
"Does that help?" my mother asked.
"Oh, Sandra," he answered, "who the hell cares?"

A stroll through the self-help section of any major bookstore leaves us with an unescapable conclusion: we have not given nearly enough recognition to the healing power of denial. In fact, denial is passed over as a psychological modality. Personally, I think that positive thinking is an outdated schema. Have we not yet learned that thinking good thoughts day in and day out is taxing to our psyche, whereas denial and negative thinking is simple and cathartic? When someone tells you to, "Have a nice day," do you actually start to think about how you can have a nice day, or do you think about how you can do bodily harm to the well-wisher?

I am going to write a book titled Who the Hell Cares?: The Healing Power of Denial and Negative Thinking. It will have its own place of honor in the self-help section of the bookstore. It will have a place of honor because none of the other self-help books will talk to it. This, of course, won't bother my book, because it will spend every evening coming up with new ways to deface Wayne Dyer's cover jacket photo.

See, I'm feeling more relaxed already.

Speaking of denial therapy, my wife had a dance performance last Saturday night. She did a bang up job (of course), but she was concerned about feeling congested the morning before the performance. "It's just allergies," she told me. And it was just allergies, all the way through the performance Saturday night, after which, on Sunday morning, it turned into a whopping case of the flu.

This coming Saturday, I am biking the Hilly Hundred. I am doing everything possible to shield myself from my wife's flu (getting a flu shot, sleeping in another bed, spraying my surroundings with disinfectant, dosing on vitamin C and elderberry extract, chewing whole cloves of garlic...). I even have been drinking my new favorite vitamin C drink, which is kind of like a poor man's Tequila Sunrise. I call it a Tequila C.

Tequila C

1 highball glass
3 ice cubes
1 jigger tequila
juice of one lime
3 oz orange juice (or enough to fill up the remaining space in the glass)

Mix all ingredients. Drink.

Every now and then, I started to feel a little tickle in my throat or a touch of congestion, but I know that because of all my preventative measures, anything I am feeling is simply allergies. And it will stay allergies through the end of the Hilly Hundred.

Of course, I fully expect to get one whopping case of the flu on Monday morning. But that's okay, because I can simply crawl into bed and cuddle with the remainder of the bottle of tequila. And will it help me recover? Who the hell cares.

There's a Sukkah Born Every Minute

You will not find it in the Hebrew Bible, you will not find it in any tractate of the Talmud, and you will probably not find it in any rabbinical responsa, but I am convinced...firmly convinced...that for a sukkah to be kosher, it needs to be kashered with the blood of the builder. A sukkah is not complete until you have picked up a splinter, cut your finger on a jagged edge, whacked your thumb with the hammer, dropped a 2x4 on your head, or - as was the case with me two years ago - broken your pinky while trying to readjust a sagging wall.

I am a little concerned that this year, I have yet to kasher the sukkah. In fact, unlike nearly every year in the past, the sukkah building went swimmingly well. IN FACT, I would go so far as to say that this year's sukkah is the most structurally stable, best decorated, and least injurious sukkah we have built to date. I am terribly worried that on the last night of Sukkot, a sudden wind storm is going to lift up my Ford Taurus, smash it into the sukkah, and spray the house with wood shards, the largest of which will embed itself into my forefinger when I leave the house the next morning and kiss the mezuzah.

So, maybe I had better enjoy the sukkah while I can.

I think I should write a book titled How Not to Build a Sukkah. Although I am in no way an expert on sukkah building, I am quite accomplished at finding ways to do it wrong. For example:

• Never store the wooden beams upright. Make sure they are flat. Otherwise, the boards will warp something terrible and make a "Sukkah with a Bad Attitude."




• Never use steel fence posts for your sukkah unless you have a post hole digger to sink the posts into the ground. Otherwise, the posts won't stand up by themselves and you will be forced to reinforce the structure with duct tape. You will have the only redneck sukkah in the neighborhood.




• Never build your sukkah so that one-quarter of it rests on the patch of lawn that suddenly slopes downward. Enough said.

This year, I decided to start over with a new design and new materials. I could go into details, but suffice it to say that the simple design took into account many of the "Don't Dos" that I described above. The final sukkah was just large enough for us to drag in three sling chairs so we could sit back and eat our pizza under the stars.

I say three chairs because Shirah made it perfectly clear that she was not going to sit out in the cold. Me, on the other hand, after everything I did to erect the stupid thing, I want to get my money's worth, even if it means brushing my teeth and getting in my pajamas in the sukkah. Now there's an image you didn't need.

Changing subjects quickly...I came across a wonderful activity to do with kids during Sukkot. I tried this out with my kindergarten religious school class, and it was a big hit.

I used graham crackers, cake icing (Duncan Hines or Betty Crocker), pretzels, and any vibrantly colored kids cereal (eg, Trix) and made sukkahs like the one in the picture. There are various tricks one can use to facilitate the building, but the basic idea is that you use the icing to stick everything together (wall to wall, pretzels to roof, cereal to walls, etc.). The construction requires a light touch (which may be challenging for young children), but the icing sticks everything together incredibly well.

Maybe I should start using cake icing on my real sukkah. I could have the only epicurean sukkah on the block. Well, maybe the only redneck epicurean sukkah.