Anorexia and Shabbat

Campus & Community, The Conspiracy on newvoices.org by Jourdan Stein

Third grade lunch at Solomon Schechter Jewish Day School. All my friends are sitting around eating Cheetos and sharing sandwiches. Me, I’m staring at the clock waiting for the little and the big hand to both land on the twelve so that I can throw the untouched lunch my mother packed me into the trash can. For as long as I can remember I have had an aversion to food, which is funny since almost all of my memories from childhood include food. When I look back and think about holidays I spent surrounded by family, I think about how many Rosh Hashanahs at my zaida’s house I spent saying I don’t like apples and honey, how many Hannukahs I refused to eat latkes, and how many Purims I convinced myself I didn’t like Hamantashen. I don’t remember the discussions we had at the table, but I do remember the anxiety I felt about eating the meal in front of me. I love being Jewish, I have always felt that it is one of things about me that makes me special. But there is another thing about me that has always made me special—anorexia.

These early memories of food and Judaism are just the beginning of a life filled with memories of feeling pride in starvation. Food, or lack of it, has taken me down a long, dark road that is now slowly turning upward. It started with throwing my lunch out in elementary school. Then skipping dinner the 3 nights a week I had dance in middle school. By high school I was eating under 800 calories a day, and by the start of college 500. By the time I sought treatment I was living only on caffeine. I know this sounds implausible to those of you without an eating disorder, but it’s not like people didn’t notice. I lost weight, then when people got too concerned, gained it back only to lose all of it and more again. I honestly have no idea what started my eating disorder. I do, however, know why it took me so long to seek treatment. Anorexia served as a protector for me. I needed nothing and no one. Nobody could hurt me more than I could hurt myself. I created a wall between me and the rest of the world through anorexia. The big problem started, though, in college when starvation was no longer enough to protect me from the world.

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School 'love-bombed' after Nazi graffiti attack

Students whose school was bombarded with Nazi graffiti at the weekend were surprised on Tuesday to find the building had been "love-bombed" by Stockholm well-wishers.

By Oliver Gee for The Local-Sweden's Newspaper in English

Stockholm's Vasa Real school was hit by a Nazi graffiti attack on Sunday night, when unknown assailants sprayed swastikas on the walls, as well as the words "disgusting Jews" and the number 1488, which is a symbol for white power and the Nazi greeting Heil Hitler. The attack left one parent in tears.

On Monday night, members of Sweden's Liberal Party (Folkpartiet) youth wing organized a "love bombing" to counter the offensive Nazi slogans.

"We wanted the pupils at the school to be greeted by love in the morning instead of all the hate they saw on Monday," young Liberal Bawar Esmail told The Local.

"So a group of us got together and cut (out) some heart-shaped paper and put them up on the doors and in the hallways at the school," he explained. "People passing by joined in, and everyone wrote messages for the students."

He explained that the messages were meant to bring comfort to the students, some of whom are as young as 11. The messages contained words such as "Love overcomes hate" and "Love comes in all shapes and colours". Others wrote that there were 1,000 times more people lovers than haters in Sweden.

The move kicked off a hashtag on social media "#1000xFler", which literally means "1,000 times more". It featured in tweets on Tuesday from Democracy Minister Birgitta Ohlsson and Integration Minister Erik Ullenhag, among hundreds of others.

As to why Esmail felt compelled to help, he said the answer was simple.

"I'm an immigrant myself, and racism really frustrates me," he said. "It's easy to get depressed by hateful messages in society."

The Vasa Real school has more than 800 pupils from grades five to nine, when the children are between 11 and 15. At high-school level, there are three classes with Jewish children who study the Swedish curriculum but also study Hebrew and Jewish studies, according to the Vasa Real website.

Meet Miss Israel 2014

18-year-old Mor Maman of Beersheba has been crowed as this year's Miss Israel

By: Dalia Ben Ari for ShalomLife

The first Ethiopian-born woman to be crowned Miss Israel, Yityish (Titi) Aynaw, bid farewell to her crown Tuesday evening and handed it over to the winner of the 2014 beauty pageant, 18-year-old Mor Maman of Beersheba.

Maman, who studies computer graphics, will soon enlist with the Israel Air Force. She comes from a family of beautiful women: Her mother, Ilana Maman, was once crowned Miss Beersheba.

"Participating in the Miss Israel contest is a dream come true for me," she said when she registered for the competition.

"Four years ago, our life changed. My mother fell down and lost her memory as a result of the fall. It was simply erased. I arrived at the hospital and she didn't know who I was. I was angry at the entire world, I began neglecting myself, and then my father had a heart attack.

"But I quickly understood that I had no other choice but to lift myself up. From a spoilt middle child I became responsible – cleaning, preparing food without neglecting my studies. When I graduated with honors and got on the stage to accept the certificate, everyone applauded. Fortunately, our house is functioning again and we're happy."

The beautiful Maman grew up as an overweight child. "Following the overweight, I began developing health problems," she said. "At the age of 13, while my parents were in Morocco for two months, I decided I wanted to be like everyone else. No one could stop me. For two months I mainly ate salads, did a lot of physical activity and lost 30 kilos as a result. I have not been overweight since then. I taught myself to eat right, and I exercise a lot.

"I started a Facebook group which helps girls who want to lose weight without falling to anorexia, Heaven forbid. When the group members are having a hard time, I give them hope. I tell them to follow their dream and not to give up. If I succeeded – anyone can do it."

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A Love Letter to My 7-Year-Old Teenager

By Susie Lubell for Raising Kvell

Dearest Sugar Bee,

It was your birthday yesterday and I fell in love with you again. We were out in the desert with friends and you were your beautiful, lively self, enjoying your family and friends and soaking in the sunshine. We spent a lot of time holding hands and swinging in a hammock and talking about life. I gave you your “7″ charm to wear around your neck this year. It’s the charm that I wore when I was 7 and Grandma wore and Aunt Lenore too. The charm that Grammy brought into our lives. Lucky seven. We are indeed lucky.

Flashback a week and we are fighting about homework. Again. You are giving me that look. Slack jawed, tongue forward, eyes rolled, wobbling your head like a car ornament. And I want to kill you. I feel my chest tighten and I want to shriek that I can’t stand you. That I don’t understand why you treat me the way you do. Why only me? I try to diffuse your frustration and anger which I have gotten pretty good at after this much practice. My encouragement falls on deaf ears. You are too far gone. I excuse myself from homework and give myself a time out in my bedroom and hold my head in my hands until my anger dissipates. When you calm down too you knock on my door and we hug. You give me the picture you drew of us together. I smile and thank you and add it to the pile. We continue to work; you finish your homework and peace is restored to our home.

And so it goes with us. Two steps forward, one step back, which mostly describes my own progress at navigating our tender relationship. But you are forging ahead as best you can and you are magnificent. You are strong and loving and confident and curious and wild and silly and expressive. You are finding your stride and it is amazing to watch.

But we clash, as do mothers and daughters. And it reminds me of clashes I used to have with Grandma. And that’s hard too. A friend of mine with a 4-year-old asked me what was the deal with her “teenager” and I gave her a knowing smile. I told her it eases up with time. And it does. I can see that. Our clashes are fewer and further between. We no longer fight about the “bumps” in your high ponytail. Getting dressed in the morning is a non-issue (school uniforms help). We have tools to help us. We do that funny thing when we feel a fight starting and we put up our fists and make our meanest faces. And then we laugh. And then we can talk. But sometimes the fury comes on so fast that we miss our window and it gets ugly.

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Ice Queen

For an Orthodox preteen, Tonya Harding was a hero—and a Purim inspiration

By Dvora Meyers for Tablet Magazine
When Victoria Beckham last week told a panel of sports experts—that is, the ladies of The View—that she thought men should not wear feathers, I took offense at the swipe directed at Evan Lysacek, the just-crowned Olympic figure skating champion. He had pumped his feathered fists after a successful short program and wore a silver snake draped around his otherwise understated black outfit during the free skate. His costume was classier than the one I wore for Purim in 1994, when I went to synagogue as Tonya Harding, the disgraced bad girl of figure skating.

It was hardly an obvious costume choice for an Orthodox girl in Brooklyn. Rollerblading around the synagogue while brandishing a baseball bat, I wore a bright purple leotard over black leggings and rouged my cheeks to beauty-pageant standards. Though my collarbone, knees, and elbows were supposed to be covered (and not in clingy spandex) in keeping with Jewish law, I got around this restriction because I was still under 12 and had yet to enter formal Jewish womanhood, when dress guidelines went from suggestion to requirement. After my Tonya night, I thought, I would go quietly into adulthood, not minding the high necks and low hemlines I would have to wear.

But when I watched television or read my sister’s People magazine, which arrived every Sabbath afternoon, I would stare at the photos of celebrities and long to wear the same low-cut dresses and short skirts. I tried but failed to imagine what I would look like in those outfits. All I could see was my uniform—a long sleeved blouse paired with a plaid skirt that fell below the knees. It was tough to envision myself as an Olympic figure skating champion in such modest attire.

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