So at my day job, I’ve had to somewhat pussyfoot around Savannah’s mayoral race because apparently, politics are very political.

But here at Yo, Yenta!, loud opinions are very much allowed, because there’s no one else around to tell me I cain’t. If you’ve seen me in person, you already know I’ve been very vocal about where my vote is going. Since the election is tomorrow, I’m gonna make it official:

The Yenta happily and proudly endorses Jeff Felser for Savannah mayor.

I’ve attended multiple mayoral debates, and there’s a clear difference between Jeff and the other five candidates. Jeff is energetic, pro-business, forward-thinking and ready to implement change. Everyone else seem like they’re running on haggard, feel-good nonsense about “keepin’ the kids off the streets and out of trouble” and creating jobs out of thin air.

While I don’t agree with his stance on the harbor deepening and plan to rally against it if he’s elected, I still think he’s Savannah’s best bet by far. He also stays awake at city council meetings, which is more than I can say for a certain candidate who has been caught napping on numerous occasions via public access television.

But frankly, he had me at gay Jew.

That alone says progress. Savannah has been stumbling 15 years behind socially, environmentally and economically long enough. Having a gay Jewish mayor would make finally make both of those adjectives a non-issue in this town. It would also attract a higher class of tourist and socially-forward companies who dismiss Savannah as a backwards place to do business.

So where has Savannah’s Jewish community been? Not behind Felser. No endorsement from the Savannah Jewish News. No old schoolers calling with fundraiser invitations. No bigshots escorting him around last week’s Shalom Y’all Food Festival.

I wish I could chalk up the cold shoulder to the old Savannah Jewish tradition of sticking with the status quo, not rocking the Christian boat, as it were. Or that it’s Felser’s politics that have driven the money and support to other candidates.

Unfortunately, I’ve heard firsthand that certain people don’t want someone gay representing the Jewish community. Of course, it’s all been said behind closed doors and off the record, but I found it shocking, embarrassing and inexcusable when this came to my attention.

Tomorrow’s election is likely going to come down to a runoff between Edna Jackson and either Felser or Regina Thomas, according to the latest poll.

My favorite conservative blogger SavannahRed wonders, if ends between Felser and Jackson, whether Savannah will support a gay mayor.

I hope we get to find out. And I hope Savannah’s Jews step up.

In the meantime, you know where I stand.

UPDATE: After posting this, a dear friend and Felser supporter called me to ask whether it’s in the campaign’s best interest to “out” Felser. I want to say that Felser rightly hasn’t addressed his private life in public, but I wasn’t aware it was a secret, either.

Perhaps I’m remiss in thinking that the chilly “don’t ask, don’t tell” climate of gay people in Savannah politics has warmed. After last week’s post by SavannahRed, other news pieces and a discussion with one of his campaign volunteers, I assumed that Felser is fine with the public acknowledgement, since only by bringing it to the surface can we dismiss it for what it ultimately is: Irrelevant.

Yes, I know I wrote earlier that I find it a selling point, but that’s because I want the Savannah Pride Festival to have enough clout to bring in RuPaul next year.

Every year the Jewish blogosphere buzzes about how Jews really aren’t supposed to celebrate Halloween because it’s Christian Pagan bad for the digestion not Jewish.

Some rabbis say it’s OK to give out candy but not to dress up; others nix the whole deal and say ignore the meshuggeneh goyim and save your costumes for Purim.

I say, FEH. While it may have had ritualistic origins long ago, Halloween can hardly be called someone else’s religious holiday anymore. Unless you count zombies.

You have to be really reaching to see Halloween as anything other than a secular, American holiday that exists only so children can OD on high fructose corn syrup and women with very little imagination have an excuse to dress up like slutty nurses or slutty pirates. While I struggle plenty to reconcile with my version of Judaism with everyone else’s, Halloween is not one of my issues. (But why chicken parmesan is not kosher is.)

It’s a way to participate in community, not just your Jewish one, but the one you actually live in if your live somewhere besides within an eruv. If Halloween isn’t Jewish enough for you, then you make it Jewish, OK? Here are a few tips:

*Answer the door for trick-or-treaters in full tefillin and tell the kids that laser beams will come out and fry them if they take more than one piece of candy

*Hang a skeleton from the mezuzzah

*Give away chopped liver

*Dress up as a zombie Amy Winehouse, complete with extra eyeliner and empty bottle of Manischewitz

*Drink He’Brew beer while trailing behind your children as they schnorr for candy

And now, I have fake blood to administer to some little Jewish zombies. See you on the street.

Ben Stiller and Andy Samberg did a priceless skit on SNL about breaking the fast:

I got to schtick in plenty of Yiddish in this week’s Connect, doing my best to educate Savannah on the ways of the tribe:

Here’s an excerpt from “What the @$#! is Rugelach?”, a little overview of this Sunday’s Shalom Y’all Jewish Food Festival:

First of all, you have to say it right. When it comes to Jewish food, “ch” doesn’t sound like the one in “cheese” or “patch.” It’s more of a growly “h” that comes from the back of the throat, reminiscent of a bear with a cold. Say it now: Rugelach. Did you get that “achhh” part? You can practice more later…

Read the rest here.

Huge props to Becky Smith of Photos by Becky who supplied the sumptuous photos for the story. Many apologies, Becky, that your credit did appear in print–I’m hoping the boss will print a correction next week.

On the next page is my account of eating with Bizarre Foods host Andrew Zimmern in the kosher sukkah. Money quote: “I eat enough pig and shellfish to make my rabbi’s toes curl.” Check it out.

And while I’m shepping nachas for myself, here’s this week’s Civil Society Column regarding last week’s mayoral debate, “Women & Children First-or You Know, Whenever”.

Hope to nosh with y’all Sunday!

It’s so heartening that transgender folk are finally finding their way into our collective souls.

Even as a relatively straight married lady, even when I was a little girl in combat boots, I have always understood that the duality of gender is just too simple for beings as amazing and creative as we are. I find the people who explore and claim their own genders in spite of what came with their birth bodies just incredibly brave and awesome. Especially the ones with a sense of humor.

You wouldn’t think the frum world would be so open to queer and gender-twisting tendencies, but the truly pious know God don’t make mistakes. If you didn’t catch the story in last week’s Forward, it’s a must read. I’ve been thinking about dear shtetl Beryl all weekend.

And then there’s Schemeckel, the wicked funny Jewish transgender punk polka band from Brooklyn, telling us all about the interesting dilemma of visiting the mohel once you’ve got a shlang to snip:

Awesome, nu?

While I’m on the subject, I may as well post my favorite song in the world from my favorite movie in the world, Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Hedwig is East German and definitely not Jewish, and The Origin of Love has its roots in Greek mythology and not Torah. But somehow, these lyrics—written by James Cameron Mitchell who performs them himself as the blond goddess of hilarity—reach their arms around the whole, wide, weird world:

May you be feeling loved today, wherever you’re dancing on the gender spectrum.

I don’t know how the observant balabustas do it. Several J-mamas posted this photo on Facebook, and even our heretic family can totally relate. Too many holidays, too little time…and so much going in the (and my) Jewish world.

I’m having hard enough time getting a full meal on the table, so you, like my family, are going to have to settle for a series of nourishing snacks:

*All of Israel and the diaspora is celebrating that Gilad Shalit is a free man! All I can think about is his mother and her tears of joy. I wonder if she thought the same thing I did when she saw him: “Oy, so thin! The terrorists couldn’t feed you a little schmaltz in five years?”

*This week the Forward published an extensive article about the “lost” letter from George Washington to Savannah’s Congregation Mickve Israel…oops, not sure anyone actually knew it was missing! This article is a must read for those interested in Southern Jewry and the history of America’s third oldest congregation. Have you visited the museum lately?

*Paul McCartney married nice Jewish girl Nancy Shevell and attended Yom Kippur services a couple weeks back. Mazel tov to the couple; all they need is love, since I’m pretty sure they’re both rich.

*I’ve been writing my tushy off at Connect Savannah, including the weekly The Civil Society Column. Last week’s “How to Raise a Subversive Rabblerouser” has gotten lots of “likes.” New stuff goes live today at noon. It might be a little racy.

*Hope y’all have had a fabulous Sukkot. A big thank you to my friend, Eeta Travis, for inviting me to lunch in her pretty sukkah decorated by her four daughters. I even got to participate in the mitzvah of shaking the lulav and etrog, adding my own hippie-Afro dance moves, ’cause I’m DIY like that. Then I spent the weekend camping under the stars, marveling at the maroons and yellows of the changing leaves at the Southeast Women’s Herbal Conference near Black Mountain, NC, which in my personal tradition fulfills the rest of the Sukkot blessings. What better way to honor the harvest than learning about the practical and spiritual properties of medicinal plants?

*Tomorrow we conclude the outside festival with Simchat Torah, which includes a tradition of joyfully taking the congregations for a spin around the synagogue to show ’em a good time. I have my dancing shoes all picked out–get ready for some hippie-hippy shake, peeps.

Tonight begins the holiday of Sukkot, and once again, I am an epic fail.

Every fall, I really think, “THIS is the year we are going to build a sukkah!”

But then I remember how much bickering ensued when El Yenta Man and I were building the chicken coop and I think maybe hanging out at the communal synagogue sukkah together with a glass of wine is sooo much more pleasant.

Clearly, I have no more excuses since apparently it’s so easy, even a dog can do it:

Thankfully, it’s a mitzvah to invite others into their sukkahs, so we can leave the backyard to the chickens and come to your place.

Tomorrow evening brings us to the culmination of the Days of Awe, a time when Jews eschew food, drink and, if they’re way hardcore, toothbrushing.

Fasting on Yom Kippur helps us focus on atonement and lets God knew we’re serious about teshuvah (repentance.)

Tomorrow is also my 40th birthday. El Yenta Man keeps lamenting how superlame it is that my milestone birthday should fall on Kol Nidre, but sheesh, I came out of the womb at the beginning of the month of October/Tishrei, whaddya gonna do?

Milestone birthdays, suffering, I’m all over it. My 21st birthday corresponded to the day of Yom Kippur 5753, and after breaking the fast with my family at a Meixcan restaurant, I marched right up to the bar and ordered my first legal shot of tequila. And promptly puked. Had to break the damn fast all over again, this time sin los chiles rellenos.

So a wild throwdown of fried chicken livers and martinis at Circa is out of the question tomorrow. As heretical and blasphemous as I portend to be, deep down I really am a nice Jewish girl who wants to be written into the Book of Life. I’m sincerely sorry for all the fun I’ve poked at my peeps this year and if I’ve offended anyone personally. I repent for all the times I’ve lost my temper and committed lashon hora with my nasty pottymouth. I’mma gonna go ahead and do this fast, big birthday or no, because I believe it’ll help me see where in my life I can be better and how I can make amends.

But I might be wearing this t-shirt with my vegan shoes.

It’s available at Cafepress.com, along with other Yom Kippur-themed swag such as Repentance Means Having to Say You’re Sorry and The Fast Way to Forgiveness.

An easy fast to all!

The fanatical zealots of the anti-circumcision movement got a bitter taste of their own medicine when Governor Jerry Brown effectively banned circumcision bans in California over the weekend by signing AB768, a bill that precludes local and city governments from establishing legislation that would make it illegal to have a child circumcised.

As you may recall, “intactivists” in San Francisco and San Diego attempted to get measures on the ballot to ban circumcision in their cities last spring. Both were shot down when attorneys declared that city governments don’t have the authority to regulate to what’s considered a medical procedure. Of course to Jews and Muslims, it’s much more, and these asinine measures were correctly seen as an attempt to limit people’s religious freedoms.

Best background can be found on my original penis post, which caught some very interesting commentage, including a really long hilarious one from El Yenta Man.

Governor Brown’s signature shuts down any more possible impositions on what should be a private, personal decision. It’s a definitive “Fuck OFF already” to the fascist and undeniably anti-Semitic undertone of this movement. Yeah, yeah, yeah, we get it, some people don’t want to snip their boys. So don’t. No one’s making you. Mind your own penises, m’kay? Again, and always, it’s about choice. This country will improve tremendously when we stop trying to politicize the personal.

So that certainly means I don’t support the mandatory male circumcision movement, though I do love this photo that I nipped off their website. Hee hee.

Holy Moses, it’s almost 5772 and I haven’t made my honeycake yet!

Life been as twisty as a ram’s horn lately as I recover from another trip out West (Dad’s rehab is going well) and continue to find the groove at the new gig (I launched The Civil Society Column last week. Hope my Marxist feminist dialectic brings all the Southerners to the yard, yo.)

What this means is that the house has been lacking its hausfrau, the me who’s usually whistling around the kitchen on Erev Rosh Hashanah getting honey in my hair and burning things. It doesn’t feel particularly fantastic to be starting a new year with nothing but stale tortillas in the fridge and a battalion of dustbunnies threatening to suffocate the houseplants, but geez, even a balabusta can only do so much. El Yenta Man’s valiant efforts to keep it going last month waned once he realized the endless cycle of laundry and dishes and chicken tending and Whinese interpretation does not automatically result in sex.

Fortunately, we’re Reform, which means services are short and I’m allowed to use the oven tomorrow.

Instead of baking up my usual Coca-Cola honeycake, I’ma gonna do go for an updated spice cake with a tarty kick to celebrate the new year, my new job and my new updated me. (My dear mom insisted on treating me to a salon haircut while I was in Scottsdale so I had my long hair lopped off into a sassy chop since I’m turning 40…on Kol Nidre. More about not eating cake on your birthday next week.)

Here’s what’ll be baking tomorrow (or maybe on Friday if I choose, because I’m almost 40 and I’m pretty much going to do what I damn please for the rest of my life.) It’s a variation of Streaming Gourmet’s Apple Pomegranate Spice Bread recipe, except I added a whole lotta honey ’cause that’s how we balabustas do it, nu?

Yo, Yenta’s Rosh Hashanah AppyPommyHunny Cake

3 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 Tbsp baking powder
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground allspice
1 pinch ground cloves
1 generous pinch fresh ground nutmeg
3/4 cup sugar
1 cup honey
2 eggs
1/2 stick (1/4 cup) melted unsalted butter
1 1/4 cup milk
1/4 cup unsweetened applesauce
1 cup finely diced apples
1 cup pomegranate arils (no, I didn’t know they were called “arils” either; new Scrabble word!)
A glass of your favorite wine

1. Preheat the oven to at 350˚F. Mix all of the dry ingredients. Drink a sip of wine, just ’cause.

2. Melt the butter by placing it in a microwave-safe ramekin and microwaving it for about 30-40 seconds. Mix the melted butter with the applesauce to cool it down. Beat eggs and milk. Beat the applesauce/butter mixture into the egg/milk mixture. No matter how much they whine, do not beat the children; drink another sip of wine.

3. Pour the wet mixture, the apples and the pomegranate arils into the dry ingredients and stir until just blended. Once all of the dry ingredients are wet, stop mixing, even if there are a few clumps left. If you overmix the dough, the bread will come out tough like your Aunt Flo’s matzah balls and no one wants to relive that. Another sip of wine.

4. Pour into two 9×5 greased bread tins. Bake for 50 minutes or until edges are lightly browned and bread is springy to the touch. You can finish your glass of wine, but don’t call your BFF to gab about your new haircut and forget about the cakes and burn the house down.

5. Good-naturedly fight off children who don’t want to wait while the loaves cool on a rack for 10 minutes before removing from the pans.

6. Eat. Enjoy. Relax. It’s gonna be a sweet, sweet year.

L’Shana Tovah Umetukah to you all!