With eighty degree days and no sign of chill in sight, Thanksgiving seemed a far-off option in a country that is more familiar with religious Pilgrims than the sort that settled New England. But left to some homesick Americans with a penchant for good wine, the holiday can turn into much more than the one celebrated in the good ole US of A--the one preceded by a large parade and capped off with black Friday.

Twelve Americans and one Israeli gathered in a lovely apartment in Jerusalem as the weekend began in the holy land. Two poets, four rabbis in waiting, a computer engineer, a photographer, a teacher and a few visitors began the evening, not with the carving of a bird or the giving of thanks, but with the popping of some bubbly. The notion of this meal was not to follow the dictates of tradition but rather to create something new: five courses, each paired with a specific wine, and lemon sorbet to cleanse our palettes in between.

The first course, appetizers enjoyed before setting down at the table, included veggie antipasto and veggie chopped liver. They were accompanied by a bottle of Cava and a bottle of Brut. These were my favorite wines--cold, sparkling, the perfect start to a fascinating meal.

Everyone found their seat, finished off their Cava and moved onto the second course. In an effort to not leave tradition completely in the dark, one of the guests prepared a honey sage cornbread--in my opinion, a modern American classic. Sweet, savory, amazing. This was served with a carrot soufflé--the recipe of a guest's aunt and the perfect retake on the sweet potato marshmellow combination that often graces Thanksgiving tables. As we were now seated at the table, the cries of "Pimp your dish" began--a chorus that followed us through the night and necessitated that the cook give the origins and secrets of his or her recipe. This course was served with Chenin Blanc.

Before moving on to course three, we were served lemon sorbet to make sure our palates were clean and prepared to best enjoy what came next. The third course included a stuffing recipe out of Long Island and a gourmet macaroni and cheese. The mac and cheese truly shamed Kraft--big shells covered in mozzarella, cheddar, and gruyere with tomato slices for color. Sauvignon Blanc, a few rounds of Johnny Appleseed, more sorbet and on to course four.

The fourth course was the real meat of the meal, minus the meat. Salmon done in a cumin rub, sour cream mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli and homemade cranberry sauce. Any other night, this would be the entire meal. On this Thanksgiving, this and some Tempranillo equaled just the fourth course.

With all of the savory food dispensed, we moved on to the best and most important course--dessert. Pumpkin cheesecake bars, chocolate pecan pie, pumpkin pie, dark chocolate truffles and Malbec to boot.

I walked in knowing only the hosts and two other people. I walked out with a handful of new friends, a full belly and real inspiration--this was not a Thanksgiving without thought or hope. This group of temporary expats really redefined the notion of Thanksgiving for me; each course was given its time, its wine and its appreciation. There were true thanks given at this meal--for the food in front of us, for friends new and old, and for the ability to celebrate the holiday despite our proximity to New England. 

JDub's Director of Events, Adam Teeter and his fiancee Naomi are planning their wedding - and their new life together. Naomi was raised in a kosher home, and so Adam has decided to learn to make some great kosher recipes. He's starting off with a very Thanksgiving-appropriate recipe: parve mashed potatoes. It's perfect to serve with turkey, and delicious to boot:

 

I love cooking big dinners, especially when they come with interesting dishes or new culinary challenges.  Thanksgiving has been a favorite of mine for a long time, since I have in part not been celebrating the Jewish holidays for all that long.   Even when I was college, I was whipping up elaborate meals despite limitations on space (one year it was a dormitory kitchen in the basement of the building) or even supplies (I forgot to buy aluminum foil so I improvised by covering my chicken, not a turkey, in applesauce, which by the way kept the meat moist and gave it a slightly sweet flavor).

Living in New York City poses its own set of challenges and provides a certain range of advantages.  I mean in New York, you can get anything and usually get it delivered (at least in Manhattan).  I’ve found that mostly to be true – that is, until I tried to serve venison for Thanksgiving.

A couple of years ago I decided that Thanksgiving was all about traditions.  Whether or not the legends of Pilgrims and Indians were anything like what we used to represent out of construction paper, glue and paper bags, my Thanksgiving table was going to be full of indigenous and local produce.  That was remarkably easy to procure in New York City.  I ordered my Heritage Turkey at The City Bakery and gathered my veggies at farmer’s markets.  But venison is hard to find in NYC, and the clock is always ticking.

Perhaps here is where I should point out that I start planning for this holiday weeks in advance.  I am totally a list maker and once the menu is set, I plot and plan on where and when I will procure what is required.  I dash around the City often picking up specialty items from various locations.  My grocery list is set by date and location.  But, even with the best of planning, there are always obstacles.

I had previously found venison at the 125th Street Fairway market, but around Thanksgiving they don’t restock specialty meats (like game) to make room for more turkeys.  This year, I played phone tag with “Raymond”, the Meat Department's manager, for a week until he rudely told me no, they didn’t carry venison and would not special order for me despite previously telling me that he would do so if I would only call back later.  Apparently, this is a stressful time of the year for Meat Department managers.

Not having much luck with any other grocery store I called, I made my case to the next obvious choice – Facebook.  “Mia Rut still needs venison. Fairway has been giving me the run around for a week only to hang up on me now. Very annoyed,” said my status update.  Remarkably there were some good suggestions, including one from my uncle the hunter, who kept a bunch of venison tucked away in his freezer.  Too bad he didn't live any closer.

So the search continues.  Time is running short, my money is running out and I think that our menu may have to be adjusted.  However, despite the lack of deer meat on our table, we have a slight variation to our theme this year.  We typically host a Thanksgiving Shabbat dinner, foregoing a big meal on Thursday in favor of a more communal Friday night (friends often share Thanksgiving with family, but will come over for Shabbat dinner the next night).

This year we are shaking things up by using traditional Thanksgiving ingredients placed into a traditional Ashkenazi Shabbat dinner - traditional flavors presented in surprising ways.  So instead of matzo ball soup and gefilte fish we are starting out with fish consume.  I even started testing out the more experimental dishes, and thus far they have had rave reviews.  Everything is homemade, even the cranberry pasta for the kugel (use cranberry juice concentrate instead of water) which was another feat of scouring the city for a pasta machine (that didn’t cost an arm and a leg). But feel free to weigh in how this menu sounds:

Corn Bread Challah
Fish Consume
Cornish Hens Roasted in Acorn Squash
Butternut Squash Gravy
Seared Venison Sashimi
Cranberry Sauce Kugel
Chestnut and Sage Stuffing in Baked Apples
Roasted Pumpkin in Soy and Crushed Sesame
Green Bean Gelee
Mashed Japanese Sweet Potatoes with Kimchi
Tzimmis Sorbet
Shoo-Fly Pie
Chocolate Cake

Given the persistence of wars around the globe and the bewildering, destructive, unravelling of our economy, we're clearly living in an age of anxiety. And at the same time, we share a newly ignited sense of awe. Never would I, for one, have imagined that only thirty-five years after we sang "We Shall Overcome" at the Washington Mall and that Martin Luther King, Jr., shared his dream with the thousands of us there that day, that America would overwhelmingly choose a black President. Today, a photo of the young, thoughtful President-elect glowed from the newspaper's front page, arguably the most intelligent, emotionally mature, menschlik man to occupy the White House in way too long a time.

Into the midst of our stormy fusion of anxiety and elation, worry and joy, the harvest festival of Thanksgiving arrives. It seems fitting that the recently much-referenced Abraham Lincoln is the one who formalized this national expression of gratitude. Exactly a century before the March on Washington, Lincoln declared that, despite the anguish of the still-raging Civil War, abundant blessings were nevertheless evident in the land; we should acknowledge them, said Lincoln, express our gratitude for them, remembering at the very same time the "widows, orphans, mourners and sufferers" of the war. As we celebrate the richness of our harvest, we should also pray, he said, that our nation's wounds be healed.

Coming in the midst of a tumult of feeling, this Thanksgiving, too, seems a profoundly apt time to acknowledge the emotional complexity that Lincoln articulated with such unadorned eloquence 145 years ago. But we need words, we need a shared language, that enables us to do so, a way in that also has depth, resonance, history.  

I believe we can find those words within the too often neglected psalms of our own liturgy.

Why the psalms? Because the psalms offer a language for giving voice to the longings within us - whether for love, faith, wholeness, peace, understanding, justice or joy - and for our victories and our failures. They give us a way to express the sheer intensity of life itself, promising a world of ultimate justice and stability upon which, despite the vagaries of life, we can rely. And, if we pay careful attention, a psalm that at first glance psalm seems so unassuming can articulate the whole at once troubling and exhilarating terrain of this particular moment.

Psalm 126, traditionally recited as a prelude to the "Blessing after Meals" on the Sabbath and on festivals, seems to me a truly powerful one to recite, as well, before our Thanksgiving meal this year. It's a psalm that evokes the gamut of emotion: remembrance of loss and the joy of return; the struggle to survive, but also the sheer plenitude and simplicity of life at its best. It conjures up the hard realities and possible sorrows of labor, as we work hard so that our land will flourish -- but also the ecstasy of reward, when a generous earth offers us streams even in the desert, and fields richly golden and alive with the glory of ripened grain. Above all, Psalm 126 suggests that the spiritual and earthly are not separate realms; that every crust of bread is a miracle, most of all those crusts of bread which have been hard won. It seems to me that's a message we are needing to hear again right now.

Set in the new context of American Thanksgiving, moreover, Psalm 126 reverberates with new meanings. "Zion" now can be experienced as an emblem of all of our ideals, a way of being or state of mind in which we are spiritually, psychologically, and emotionally most at home - a letting go of the "low dishonest decade" we've just been through, dominated by "mismanagement and grief," to borrow the words of W.H. Auden. To be out of exile, to be home, in this context now suggests a renewed sense of faith in the future - a sense of great gratitude, and at the same time an expression of hope. Notice, too, that the sorrow that the psalm describes is far from existential despair: it is not a paralyzed sorrow, preventing any positive action. For even as there is sorrow, there is also sowing - a sense of future promise.

Though in general Jews are not a praying people, reciting Psalm 126 together this year as we begin our Thanksgiving meal can remind us again of the miracle of everyday life, of how the everyday is infused with the holy, and the most mundane with the sacred. Most of all, it can remind us of the never-to-be-taken-for-granted blessedness of laughter filling our mouths, and tongues singing with joy. It reminds us that, though times may be difficult, our labors will bear fruit again.  

Psalm 126

A song of ascent.

When Adonai restored Zion, we were like dreamers.

Laughter filled our mouths and our tongues sang with joy.

Then the nations of the world said, "Adonai has done great things for them!"

Adonai did so great things for us-and we were glad.

O Adonai, restore our well-being now, like streams like that flow in the Negev.

So those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy -

And those who walk along weeping, bearing a bag of seeds,

Will surely come home singing with joy, bearing sheaves.

 

Blessed be your basket and your kneading bowl (Deut 28:5).

 

All images by artist Barbara Nesin

Okay, I know it’s a Christian song, but I have to say that the old Thanksgiving hymn, We Gather Together speaks to me a lot more than Debbie Friedman’s Thanksgiving song. Not that I don’t just love the Debbie Friedman song—we sung it a number of times at dinner last night, much to my sister’s boyfriend’s chagrin. In case you were wondering the lyrics are as follows:Gather Round: and sing vaguely Christian songs but try not to think about Christ

Happy Thanksgiving, hooray hooray hooray!
Aren’t you glad you’re not a turkey, on this Thanksgiving Day?
Oh, Happy Thanksgiving, hooray hooray hooray!
Aren’t you glad you’re not a turkey, on this Thanksgiving Day

Indians and Pilgrims celebrated on this feast
This very special holiday first started in the east
Plymouth rock the Mayflower that’s how it all began
Feel free to join me in the chorus if you can

Oh! Happy Thanksgiving, hooray hooray hooray!
Aren’t you glad you’re not a turkey, on this Thanksgiving Day?
Oh, Happy Thanksgiving, hooray hooray hooray!
Aren’t you glad you’re not a turkey, on this Thanksgiving Day

Apple Pie and pumpkin pie and lots of things to eat
Kosher turkey filled with stuffing, a very special treat
Don’t forget the indigestion on this holiday
Better take some Rolaids so the pain will go away!

Repeat chorus add nauseum.

Nothing fills me with the spirit of Thanksgiving more than whiskey, comraderie, and the word Hooray shouted by a table full of cousins.

Anyway, part of the reason we were singing Debbie Friedman despite my general aversion to her oeuvre is the lack of Jew friendly Thanksgiving appropriate songs. We ended up taking down the Siddur Sim Shalom because it contains the lyrics to The Star Spangled Banner, My country ‘tis of Thee, American the Beautiful, and O Canada (the latter sung for the aforementioned boyfriend, who is Canadian).

Problem is, those songs are a little heavy on the Christian themes, which was kind of irritating. Another reason Shabbat is my favorite holiday is all of the songs we get to/can sing that don’t make me feel like I’m somehow letting the WASPS win.

For some generally non-offensive Shabbat zmirot to sing around your table, check out this site. My favorite is Yom Ze L’Yisrael (This day is for Israel) though not the version available on that site.

Anyway, Shabbat Shalom!

Thanksgiving is done and Black Friday is upon us along with a fridge full of delicious leftovers. Unfortunately, another glorious meal - Shabbat dinner - is now just a few hours away, while your desire to cook dwindled away sometime between burning yesterday's green bean casserole and washing gravy off your 25 guests' plates. To help get you back in the mood, here are the Top 5 suggestions for easy, Jewish-inspired leftover goodies.

	Leftovers: What leftovers? Little Joshie looked much too thin - that shiksa mother of his doesn't feed him enough. Better he should take home a little of my stuffing than have it - God forbid - sitting on my zaftig hips for years to come.
	Turkey Soup with Noodles: Ok, so it isn't exactly bubbe's famous chicken soup recipe. But oy! the extra turkey! Besides, what do noodles know from a little turkey in place of chicken broth?
	Mashed Potatoes: There's not much you can do with leftover mashed potatoes - but you wise mamaleh, you thought ahead and bought the ten-pound sack of Yukon gold's at the supermarket knowing that Chanukah (and golden fried latkes) are just two weeks away.
	Cranberry Sauce: Canned, fresh - whatever. Just add prunes (ahem, dried plums), apricots, and a little sugar, heat and stir. Easiest tzimmes you ever made. Convincing people to eat it is the tough part.
	Pumpkin Pie: Chances are, with Aunt Minnie around, the pumpkin pie disappeared slowly but steadily over the course of Thanksgiving eve. If you're lucky enough to have salvaged a piece from her mouth (or the pieces she stuffed in her purse for later), it makes a better breakfast than even the sweetest babka.

This week we salute Meredith Jacobs, who commented on Maya’s post about Jews and Thanksgiving:Rivka's First Thanksgiving: by Elsa Okon Rael

There is a wonderful book I bought for my children years ago called Rivka's First Thanksgiving. It's by Elsa Okon Rael and you can still buy it on Amazon.com (I double
checked!). It's a wonderful picture book about a little girl who immigrated to America in the 1910s. She comes home from school one day excited about the new holiday she has learned about...Thanksgiving. "It sounds to me as though this is a party for Gentiles," her Mama replies, "It's not for us."

Rivka argues that they are Americans, too, and that Thanksgiving is an American holiday. Well, the argument goes to the Rabbi and he agrees with Rivka's Mama and Bubbeh, that Thanksgiving is not for Jews. Rivka thinks the Rabbi's decision is wrong. Finally, Rivka is summoned before a board of Rabbis to argue her case. She beautifully explains that, like the Pilgrims, the Jews came to America to escape religious persecution:

"I was lucky to be born here, but my mother and her parents came from Buchach. My bubbeh says you also came from Buchach, Rabbi, so you must know about the terrible pogroms there. They happened all the time, for no reason. My mother was badly hurt in a pogrom when she was twelve years old. A cossack on a horse struck her on the head because she was Jewish--for no other reason than that. No one thought she would live, but she did. She can't remember anything that happened to her before she was twelve. Nothing. Not a single thing."

The Rabbis shook their heads sadly.

"So here we are now, safe in America. God first brought the Pilgrims and then He brought us, the Jews. The Pilgrims were the first to give thanks to Him, but I believe we also owe Him a Thanksgiving. As much as anybody, we owe Him thanks."

In the end, Rivka has her Thanksgiving and the Rabbi joins her family for the celebration. This year, while enjoying the wonderful food, take the time to make Thanksgiving a little bit Jewish. Our children learn at school about our American forefathers coming over for
religious freedom, but teach them about when your family came over. Tell stories. And, if you are fortunate enough to have grandparents or great aunts and uncles at your table, ask them to tell stories.

We didn't come to Plymouth Rock nor were there any Jews at that first Thanksgiving when they ate maize with the Native Americans. And we have different stories to tell about our journey. Different obstacles to overcome.

Molly's Pilgrim: by Barbara Cohen
Jewish children’s books were such a huge and important part of my childhood that I want to recognize Meredith for bringing one to our attention. Buy Rivka's First Thanksgiving here. My favorite Thanksgiving book is Molly’s Pilgrim, a story about a Russian Jewish girl who ends up seeing herself as a modern Pilgrim in the face of the bullies at her new American school. Turns out us Jews feel quite a connection to Thanksgiving, especially when we’re writing kids’ books.

Happy Turkey Day, everyone!

Since we all now know that Thanksgiving is basically Sukkot for gentiles, I thought a Heebish pumpkin recipe was in order for the coming holiday, hence: Moroccan Pumpkin Soup. This is from Gil Marks' award-winning cookbook, Olive Trees and Honey. He suggests serving it in a white porcelain bowl to show off the vibrant orange color, but serving in hollowed out mini pumpkins is an alternatively festive option.

¼ cup vegetable oil
2 leeks (white and light green parts only), washed and chopped, or
2 onions, chopped
8 cups Vegetable Stock or water
2 to 3 pounds pumpkin, butternut squash, or other winter squash,
peeled, seeded, and cut into 1-inch cubes (5 to 6 cups)
3 cups cooked chickpeas or 1 cup dried yellow split peas
2 carrots, cut into chunks (optional)
1 to 4 tablespoons packed brown or granulated sugar
2 (3-inch) cinnamon sticks or about 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground ginger
¼ teaspoon ground turmeric or saffron thread
1/8 teaspoon ground allspice or freshly grated nutmeg
About 1½ teaspoons table salt or 2½ teaspoons kosher salt
Ground black pepper to taste

¼ cup chopped fresh parsley or cilantro, ½ cup toasted pumpkin seeds or pine nuts, or 1 cup sautéed mushrooms for garnish

1. In a large pot, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the leeks and sauté until soft, about 5 minutes. Add the stock, pumpkin, chickpeas, optional carrots, sugar, spices, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce the heat to low, and simmer until the pumpkin is very soft, about 50 minutes. Discard the cinnamon sticks.

2. To serve, garnish with the parsley or pumpkin seeds, or top each bowl with a little mound of sautéed mushrooms.

Think Thanksgiving is a secular holiday? Think again. In fact, it's quite possibly a direct descendant of Sukkot. Wait, what? Sukkot? The Jewish harvest festival of Booths? Yup. Robert J. Hutchinson, author of The Politically Incorrect Guide to the Bible, writes in an editorial today about the biblical roots of Thanksgiving:

There is at least some evidence that the deeply pious Pilgrims - who, as Puritans, believed the Old Testament law was binding on Gentiles as well as Jews - may have been partially inspired by the Jewish harvest festival of Booths (Sukkot).

Sukkot is a week-long celebration, mandated in Leviticus 23, in which the Jewish people remember and give thanks for their deliverance from bondage in Egypt. It is usually observed in October -- as was the original Thanksgiving in 1621.

At the very least, the concept and duty of thanksgiving is deeply rooted in the Biblical tradition. Indeed, you can actually see much of the Torah’s ceremonial commandments as being nothing less than institutionalized thanksgiving: The Sabbath, Passover, the Festival of Weeks, The Festival of Booths, the entire sacrificial system, seeks to inculcate among the people the awareness of divine graciousness.

So, when you're stuffing that Turkey (or Tofurkey, if you're one of my ilk) and candying those yams (mmm, yams) take a moment to think of our biblical ancestors, whom we have to thank for this long weekend.

After years of being constantly annoyed and often angry about the historical denial built into Thanksgiving Day, I published an essay in November 2005 suggesting we replace the feasting with fasting and create a National Day of Atonement to acknowledge the genocide of indigenous people that is central to the creation of the United States. I expected criticism from right-wing and centrist people, given their common commitment to this country's distorted self-image that supports the triumphalist/supremacist notions about the United States so common in conventional politics, and I got plenty of such critique. But I was surprised by the resistance from liberals -- even some on the left, including a considerable number of my friends. The most common argument went something like this: OK, it's true that the Thanksgiving Day mythology is rooted in a fraudulent story -- about the European invaders coming in peace to the "New ...

Happy Thanksgiving from Faithhacker! I hope you’re either reading this in a turkey coma, or in a house that smells like my grandmother’s kitchen, about to partake of something scrumptious.

I love Thanksgiving, maybe because it’s not a real holiday. Maybe because there’s no real work involved, no serious family issues, no religious baggage. Just a day to eat and hang out....

But despite that fact, I got to thinking about the holiday, about the meaning of the holiday… (you know, wampum and buckled hats and shit) then and I thought you might be interested in this!

Because while there weren’t a whole lot of Jews hanging around that first Thanksgiving table, eating maize and turkey, the American Jewish experience provides a LOT to be thankful for. And a lot of interesting things to discuss at the dinner table, between the green bean casserole and the candied yams.

So maybe this year you might want to spend some time thinking about your own family’s version of the Mayflower experience. How much do you know about your immigrant ancestors? What city was your grandmother born in? Your great grandmother? What did they do for work, and how big were there families?

For instance, I know we come from Moldavia, but I have no idea where… or when exactly. I don’t know who the first American in my family was, or how we ended up in Baltimore. But this year, before I retire to the living room to watch endless Law and Order re-runs, I’m going to find out. Add a little content to the holiday. A little Jewish history lesson, while I’ve got a few people at the table who can answer my questions…

See what you find out! (and let me know)

Tofurky sales pass one million! From Businessweek,Tofurky: Even better than it looks

With Thanksgiving upon us, the folks who make the vegetarian poultry alternative known as "Tofurky" have good reason to flap their wings. Having survived sitcom jokes and glacially slow initial sales, Turtle Island Foods is celebrating the sale of its 1 millionth Tofurky roast since the product was hatched in 1995.

Magnificent. That’s one million big dead birds that’ve been replaced by scrumptious, ethically impeccable tofurkys. This is a tipping point for the vegetarian movement, I can feel it. If we can sell a million tofurkys, there’s nothing we can’t do. By 2050 we’ll have you all eating organic parsley and locally farmed twigs. And paying a carbon tax on it. And still feeling guilty.

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Last week’s tale featured a traumatized Isaac mysteriously recreating in the bushes (thank you, readers, for your many odd suggestions as to what he was REALLY doing there) and meeting his bride, Rebecca, as she swoons off her camel. This week’s episode moves on with the breeding agenda as the next generation of patriarchs enters the stage: Jacob and Esau. So complex is this tale of the first pair of twins in history and their fateful struggle that a word is invented to explain the act of trying to comprehend the nature of duality. This word, DRASH, appearing this week for the first time, is the primary investigative technique in Jewish intellectual history. And who is the first person to actively use Drash as a tool for deeper understanding? A very pregnant Rebecca, matriarch to be, mother of meaning-making, possibly the pioneer of Jewish scholarship. So, what is it that she does exactly?

Chapter 25 in Genesis opens this week’s tale, TOLDOT – ORIGINS, tersely narrating the much-awaited pregnancy: Rebecca carrying the heir/s of Abraham’s dynasty. She is carrying twins, but she doesn’t know it, and as they kick in different directions, she is aware of struggle and puzzled by its meaning. Verse 22: ‘The children struggled together within her; and she said, "If it is to be this way, why do I live?" So she went to inquire of the LORD’. Genesis 25:22 KJV

The Hebrew action word we are fascinated by, being drash junkies ourselves, is LIDROSH, translated here as TO INQUIRE. Other translations suggest ‘to Supplicate’ ‘to Demand’ or ‘to Seek’. What is intriguing here is not only the act itself – but the journey that goes with it. What does it mean for a biblical woman to go and seek answers from the divine? How does one, then and now, go to solved existential dilemma that steer one’s insides in different, conflicting directions? WHO AM I, asks Rebecca, WHY ME? Her midrash-making is a bold question, a demanding plea, a mother’s insistence on clarity, a human quest for divine truth. Some commentaries say she went to a yeshiva, to consult the local sage (Shem, son of Noah, mythic father of the Semites, and apparently ageless) some say she went to the old women of the tribe, some say she went to Abraham, some, to an oracle. The 17th century rabbi Shlomo Efraim of Prague, known for his biblical commentary Kli Yakar, gives Rebecca’s drash action a startling existential spin: She went out to seek the identity of God, and learn the nature of life’s meaning.

Frankly, we are more interested in the question than in the answer, focused on the act of seeking. And while the different English translations help us to attain a glimpse into what MIDRASH may mean, it is to the extra terrestrial lingo that we turn for assistance. There is a word that comes from Mars that perhaps best explains what Midrash means, and that word is GROK.

GROK, according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, is a verb enabling one to ‘understand profoundly and intuitively’. "Grok" was introduced in Robert A. Heinlein's 1961 science fiction novel “Stranger in a Strange Land”. The book's main character is a Martian-raised human who comes to earth as an adult, bringing with him words from his native tongue and a unique perspective on the strange, strange ways of earthlings. To GROK something means to either understand it fully or - to drink it, thus becoming one with the other. So, assisted by aliens, Lauviticus describe the wonderful art of midrash thus:

‘The boys wrestled within her; and she said, "If this is life, why do I live?" and she went to grok God. Genesis 25:22 KJV

And you, dear reader, where do YOU go when two roads diverge in the wood of life and clarity is sought? how do you grok? Please comment here so this converstion is a two way street, just like the one Rebecca started...

Happy Thankgiving!