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bailey-writes · 4 years ago

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So You Want Your OC to be Jewish

So you��re writing a story and you want to make a Jewish character—great! I’m here to help. I always want more Jewish representation but I want good Jewish representation, so this is my attempt to make a guide to making a Jewish character. What are my credentials? I’m Jewish and have been my whole life. Obligatory disclaimer that this is by no means comprehensive, I don’t know everything, all Jews are different, and this is based on my experiences as an American Jew so I have no idea, what, if any, of this applies to non-American Jews.

If there’s anything you want me to make a post going more into detail about or if there’s anything I didn’t mention but you want to know please ask me! I hope this is helpful :) Warning, this is long.

Jew PSA

If you are Jewish you can use the word Jew(s), e.g. “She’s dating a Jew.” If you are not Jewish you cannot use the word Jew(s). This is not up for debate. Non-Jews calling us Jews has a negative connotation at best. Don’t do it and don’t have your characters do it.

Basics, Plus My Random Thoughts that Didn’t Fit Anywhere Else

A confusing enduring issue is, what is Judaism? It’s a religion, but some Jews aren’t religious; is it a race? A nationality? A culture? A heritage? The only constant is that we are seen as “other.” There’s a lot of debate, which makes it confusing to be Jewish and as such it’s common for Jews to struggle with their Jewish Identity. However many people agree that Jews are an ethnoreligious group, aka Judaism is a religion and an ethnicity.

Temple/Synagogue/Shul = Jewish place of worship. Shul is usually used for Orthodox synagogues.

Keeping kosher = following Jewish dietary rules: meat and dairy can’t be eaten together and you can’t eat pork or shellfish. Fish and eggs are pareve (aka neutral) and can be eaten with meat or dairy (but again not both at the same time.) When eating meat it has to be kosher meat (e.g. kosher Jews are allowed to eat chicken, but not all chicken is kosher. I know it’s kinda confusing I’m sorry.) Kosher products in stores will have symbols on them to identify them as kosher. If someone is kosher they’ll probably have separate sets of utensils/plates/cookware/etc. for meat and dairy

Shabbat/Shabbos/Sabbath = holy day of the week, day of rest, lasts from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. Depending on observance Jews might have Shabbat dinner, attend Shabbat services, or observe the day of rest in its entirety (making them shomer Shabbat)

Someone who is shomer Shabbat will refrain from any of the prohibited activities. These can easily be looked up but include: working, writing, handling money, cooking, and using technology.

Bat/Bar/B’nai Mitvzah = tradition where a Jewish boy/girl becomes a man/woman. Celebrated at 13-years-old for boys, 12- or 13-years-old for girls. Girls have Bat Mitzvahs (bat means daughter in Hebrew), boys have Bar Mitzvahs (bar means son in Hebrew) and twins or two or more people having one together have a B’nai Mitzvah. They will study for this for months and then help lead services and, depending on observance level, read from the Torah. The ceremony is often attended by family and friends and followed with a celebration of sorts (in America usually this means a brunch and/or party.)

Goy/gentile = non-Jew. These words are not slurs, they are literally just words. Plural of goy is goyim and is a Yiddish word, plural of gentile is gentiles.

Jewish holidays follow the Hebrew calendar, meaning that according to the current solar/Gregorian calendar the dates of our holidays are different each year.

Jewish law recognizes matrilineal inheritance. This means that Jewish law states your mother has to be Jewish for you to be Jewish. This is because of reasons from biblical times that I can explain if you wanna come ask, but as you can imagine is a bit outdated. While Orthodox Jews might embrace this idea and only consider someone Jewish if their mom is Jewish, many Jews are more flexible on the idea (and yes, this does cause tension between Orthodox Jews and other Jews at times.)

Judaism =/= Christianity

Some people think Judaism is just Christianity without Jesus (some people don’t even realize we don’t believe in/celebrate Jesus so newsflash, we don’t) and that’s just wrong. Yes both religions share the Old Testament, so they also share some history and beliefs, but the entire ideologies of the religions are different. In brief, they are similar in some ways but are not the same.

What seems to me to be the biggest difference is that Christianity (from what I understand) has a heavy focus on sins, more specifically repenting for/gaining forgiveness for your sins. In Christianity you are born tainted by original sin. In Judaism we believe everyone is born pure and free from sin and everyone is made in God’s image. Judaism has some concept of sin, but doesn’t focus on them and instead focuses on performing Mitzvot (plural, singular form is mitzvah. Direct translation is “commandment” but basically means good deed or act of kindness. It also relates to the commandments, so following the commandments is also performing mitzvot.) Examples of mitzvot include anything from saying a prayer or lighting Shabbat candles to helping a stranger or donating to charity (called tzedakah). One of the main tenets of Judaism is tikkun olam, which directly translates to “repair the world” and means exactly what it says on the tin. Instead of focusing on being forgiven for doing bad Judaism focuses on doing good. The only day we focus on past wrongdoings is Yom Kippur, one of our most holy holidays, discussed below.

Holidays

Rosh Hashanah – The Jewish New Year, occurs around September and lasts for two days, though Reform Jews often only celebrate the first day. Day of happiness and joy, celebrated by eating sweet things for a “sweet new year” (often apples dipped in honey) and circular challah to represent the end of one year and beginning of another. Also celebrated with services and blowing the shofar (rams horn.) Some spend the day in prayer and/or silent meditation. Possible greetings: chag sameach (happy holiday; can be said on almost any holiday), Shana Tovah, or happy new year (which is what Shana Tovah means, some people just say it in English.)

Yom Kippur – Day of Atonement. Occurs ten days after the start of Rosh Hashanah. One of if not the most solemn day for Jews, but also the most holy. The day is spent reflecting on yourself and any past wrongdoings and atoning. The day (sundown the night before to sundown the day of) is spent fasting, a physical way of atoning. We do this in hopes of being “written in the Book of Life” and starting the year with a clean slate. The shofar is blown at the end of the holiday. Most Jews will end the fast with a grand meal with family and friends. Most common greeting is “have an easy fast,” but happy new year is still appropriate.

Sukkot – Celebrates the harvest, occurs on the fifth day after Yom Kippur and lasts seven days. Celebrated by building a temporary hut outdoors called a sukkah and having meals inside it, as well as shaking palm fronds tied together (called a lulav) and holding a citrus called an etrog. Very fun and festive holiday. Possible greetings include chag sameach or Happy Sukkot.

Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah – Some Jews (mostly Reform Jews and Jews living in Israel) combine both holidays into one day while some celebrate them as two separate days. Either way they occur immediately after Sukkot. Shemini Atzeret is similar but separate from Sukkot and features a prayer for rain; Sukkot is not mentioned in prayers and the lulav isn’t shaken but you do eat in the sukkah. Simchat Torah celebrates finishing reading the Torah, which we will then begin again the next day. It’s a festive holiday with dancing and fun. Some Temples will roll the entire Torah out and the children will run under it. Appropriate greeting for both would be chag sameach.

Rosh Hashanah through Simchat Torah are referred to as the High Holidays.

Chanukah – We all know about Chanukah, celebrating the reclaiming of the Second Temple and the miracle of the oil lasting eight days. The most represented Jewish Holiday there is. Unfortunately it’s one of the least significant holidays for us. Occurs around November or December and lasts eight days and nights. Celebrated by lighting candles in the Menorah each night with a prayer and kids usually get gifts each night. Also celebrated with spinning tops called dreidels, fried foods like doughnuts (sufganiyot in Hebrew; usually the jelly filled ones) and potato pancakes called latkes. Greetings: happy Chanukah or chag sameach.

Tu B’Shevat – Birthday of the trees, basically Jewish Arbor Day. Minor but fun holiday, sometimes celebrated by planting trees. Occurs around January or February.

Purim – Celebrates how Queen Esther of Persia defeated Haman and saved her people, the Jews. Occurs in Spring. Festive holiday traditionally celebrated by dressing in costumes, eating sweets, and giving tzedakah (it’s also technically commanded you get drunk so woohoo!) Whenever Haman’s name is mentioned you make a lot of noise, booing and using noisemakers called groggers. Greetings: happy Purim, chag Purim, or chag sameach.

Passover/Pesach – Celebrates the Jews being freed from slavery in Egypt. Occurs in Spring and lasts eight days. The first two nights (some only celebrate the first night) are celebrated with seder, a ritual meal with certain foods, practices, prayers, and readings from a book called the Haggadah and often attended by family and friends. Most famous prayer/song of the holiday is the four questions, which ask why that night is different from all other nights and is traditionally sung by the youngest child at the seder. The entire holiday is spent not eating certain foods, mostly grain or flour (the food restrictions are complicated and differ based on denomination so look it up or ask a Jew.) We eat a lot of matzah during Pesach, which is like a cracker kinda. I personally hate it but some people actually like it. Greetings: happy Passover, chag pesach, or chag sameach.

Tisha B’Av – Anniversary of the destruction of the Temple. Occurs in Summer. Very sad, solemn day. Some celebrate by fasting from sunrise to sunset. Not the most widely celebrated holiday. Some also commemorate the Holocaust (also called the Shoah) on this day as it was the destruction of a figurative temple.

Denominations

There are a bunch of denominations in Judaism, we’ll go into it briefly.

Religious denominations:

Reform/Reformed: This is the least religiously observant level. Often Reform Jews don’t keep kosher or observe Shabbat, their services on Shabbat will use instruments. Reform Jews probably attend services for the high holidays at the very least and probably had a Bat/Bar Mitzvah. Might say they consider themselves more culturally Jewish. Their Temple/Synagogue will be the most “liberal”—aka have more female/diverse Rabbis and a more diverse congregation. I’m Reform and my Temple’s lead Rabbi is a woman and we used to have a Rabbi who’s a queer single mother.

Conservative: More religiously observant and more generally traditional. Might keep kosher or observe Shabbat, but not necessarily. Services likely won’t use instruments (not supposed to play instruments on Shabbat). Most likely had a Bat/Bar Mitzvah, but girls might not read from the Torah, though this depends on the congregation. They do allow female Rabbis, but in my experience it’s less common.

Modern Orthodox: Very religiously observant but also embrace modern society. Will keep kosher and observe Shabbat. Men will wear kippot (singular=kippah) and tzitzit under their shirts. Women will cover their hair (if they’re married), most likely with a wig, and wear modest clothing (only wear skirts that are at least past their knees and long sleeves). Emphasis on continued study of Torah/Talmud. Parents will likely have jobs. Might have larger families (aka more children) but might not. Services will be segregated by gender, girls won’t read from the Torah publicly, and female Rabbis are very rare. Children will most likely attend a religious school. Will attend shul services every Shabbat and for holidays.

note: there are some people who fall somewhere between modern Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox, or between any two denominations really. as you can imagine people don’t all practice the exact same way.

Ultra-Orthodox: Very religiously observant and not necessarily modern. Will keep kosher and observe Shabbat. Men will wear kippot or other head coverings and tzitzit under their shirts, and are also often seen wearing suits. Women will cover their hair (if they’re married) with a wig or scarf and wear modest clothing (only wear skirts that are at least past their knees and long sleeves). Emphasis on continued study of Torah/Talmud. Men might have jobs but might instead focus on Jewish studies, while women most often focus on housework and child-rearing. Don’t believe in contraception (but this is kinda nuanced and depends). Will often have very large families because having children is a commandment and helps continue the Jewish people. Might be shomer negiah which means not touching members of the opposite sex aside from their spouse and some close family members. Services will be segregated by gender, girls won’t read from the Torah publicly, and there won’t be female Rabbis. Children will attend a religious school. Will attend shul services every Shabbat and for holidays.

Ethnic denominations (the different denominations do have some differences in practices and such but tbh I don’t know much about that so this is just the basics):

Ashkenazi: Jews that originate from Central/Eastern Europe. Yiddish, a combination of Hebrew and German, originated from and was spoken by Ashkenazim and while it’s a dying language it’s spoken among many Orthodox Jews and many Jews of all levels know/speak some Yiddish words and phrases. Majority of Jews worldwide are Ashkenazi.

Sephardi/Sephardic: Jews that originate from the Iberian Peninsula, North Africa, and southeastern Europe. Ladino, a combination of Old Spanish and Hebrew, originated from and was spoken by Sephardim. It is also a dying language but is still spoken by some Sephardim. After Ashkenazi most of the world’s Jews are Sephardic.

Mizrahi: Jews that originate from the Middle East and North Africa.

Ethiopian Jews: Community of Jews that lived in Ethiopia for over 1,000 years, though most have immigrated to Israel by now.

Stereotypes/Tropes/Controversies/Etc.

There are so many Jewish stereotypes and shit and I ask you to please be mindful of them. Stereotypes do exist for a reason, so some people will fit stereotypes. This means your character might fit one or two; don’t make them fit all of them. Please. Stereotypes to keep in mind (and steer away from) include:

All Jews are rich.

All Jews are greedy.

All Jews are cheap/frugal.

All Jews are [insert job here]. We’ll go into this more below.

All Jews hate Christians/Muslims/etc.

All Jews are white.

First of all Ethiopian and Mizrahi Jews exist, many Sephardi are Hispanic, and today with intermarriage and everything this just isn’t true.

All Jews have the same physical features: large and/or hooked nose, beady eyes, droopy eyelids, red hair (this is an old stereotype I didn’t really know existed), curly hair.

Many Jews do have somewhat large noses and curly hair. I’m not saying you can’t give these features to your characters, but I am saying to be careful and don’t go overboard. And don’t give all of your Jewish characters these features. As a side note, it is common at least among American Jews that girls get nose jobs. Not all, but some.

Jews are secretly world elite/control the world/are lizard people/new world order/ any of this stuff.

STAY AWAY FROM. DO NOT DO THIS OR ANYTHING LIKE THIS. If you have a character that’s part lizard, do not make them Jewish. If you have a character that’s part of a secret group that controls the entire world, do not make them Jewish.

Jews have horns. If you have characters with horns please don’t make them Jewish.

Jews killed Jesus.

The blood libel. Ew. No.

The blood libel is an antisemitic accusation/idea/concept that back in the day Jews would murder Christian children to use their blood in religious rituals and sometimes even for consumption (did I mention gross?) Not only did this just not happen, but it’s actually against Jewish law to murder, sacrifice, or consume blood. Yes these accusations really happened and it became a main reason for persecution of Jews. And some people still believe this shit.

Jews caused The Plague.

The reason this conspiracy exists is because many Jews didn’t get The Plague and the goyim thought that meant it was because the Jews caused it/cursed them. The real reason Jews didn’t get it is because ritual hand-washing and good hygiene kept them from getting it. Sorry that we bathe.

Jewish mother stereotype.

Ok, listen. I know stereotypes are mostly a bad thing but I have to admit the Jewish mother stereotype is not far off. Jewish moms do tend to be chatty and a little nagging, are often very involved in their children’s lives, and they are often trying to feed everyone (although they don’t all cook, my mom hates cooking.) They also tend to be big worriers, mostly worrying about their family/loved ones. They also tend to know everyone somehow. A twenty minute trip to the grocery store can turn into an hour or two long trip because she’ll chat with all the people she runs into.

Jewish-American Princess (JAP) ((I know calling Japanese people Japs is offensive. Jews will call girls JAPs, but with a completely different meaning. If that’s still offensive I am sorry, but just know it happens.))

This is the stereotype that portrays Jewish girls/women as spoiled brats basically. They will be pampered and materialistic. Do these girls exist? Definitely. I still recommend steering away from this stereotype.

Names

Listen. Listen. There are some names that Jews just won’t have. I won’t speak in definites because there are always exceptions but you’ll rarely find a Jew named Trinity or Grace or Faith or any form of Chris/Christopher/Christina etc. Biblical names from the Old Testament? Absolutely Jews will have those names they’re actually very common.

I’m in a Jewish Sorority. My pledge class of ~70 girls had five Rebeccas and four Sarahs. Surprisingly only one Rachel though.

When it comes to last names I have two thoughts that might seem contradictory but hear me out: a) give your Jewish OC’s Jewish surnames, b) don’t give your Jewish OC’s the most Jewish surname to ever exist.

By this I mean I would much rather see a character named Sarah Cohen or Aaron Levine than Rachel Smith. Just that little bit of recognition makes a happy exclamation point appear over my head, plus it can be a good way to hint to readers that your OC is Jewish.

On the other hand, please don’t use the most stereotypical Jewish names you’ve ever heard. If you have five Jewish OCs and one of them is Isaac Goldstein then fine. If Isaac Goldstein is your only Jewish OC I might get a little peeved. There are tons of common Jewish surnames that are recognizable and easy to look up, so don’t revert to the first three that come to mind. Maybe it’s just me, but I find it yucky, for lack of a better word.

Jobs

We all know there are certain jobs that are stereotypical for Jews to have. We’re talking lawyer, dentist, doctor, banker type stuff. To an extent these stereotypes exist for a reason, many Jews go into those careers. Do not make these the only careers your Jewish OCs have. Stereotypes might have reasoning behind them but it doesn’t mean they aren’t harmful. If you have multiple Jewish OCs some of them can have these careers, but not all of them. I do know a lot of Jewish lawyers, dentists, and doctors. I also know accountants, people involved in businesses (“mom, what does Brad do?” “he’s a businessman” sometimes there just aren’t more specific words), people involved in real estate. I don’t actually know any bankers personally, and with money and stuff being one of the most common and harmful Jewish stereotypes I would suggest steering away from that.

These are common fields for Jews, but Jews can have literally any job. Please feel free to get creative. And if you have more than one Jewish OC you can think about making one of them a Rabbi, but DON’T do this if they’re the only Jewish OC. Please.

Yiddish

So I mentioned Yiddish earlier. Like I already said, it’s not a very widely used language anymore but there are some words and phrases that are still used by a lot of Jews (in America at least.) Here’s a list that is absolutely not comprehensive:

Oy vey = oh no

Shvitzing = sweating (but not just a little bit. Shvitzing is like SWEATING)

Kvetch/kvetching = whine/whining or complain/complaining

Mazel tov = congratulations; this is the same in Yiddish and Hebrew

Chutzpah = nerve or gall (e.g. “He’s got a lot of chutzpah for breaking up over text like that”)

Kismet = fate; I just learned this is Yiddish

Bubbe and Zayde = grandma and grandpa

Schelp/schlepping = drag/dragging, can also mean carry or move (e.g. “I had to schlep the bag all around town” doesn’t mean they literally dragged it)

Schmutz = dirt or something dirty (e.g. “you have schmutz on your face”)

Schmatta = literally means rag but can be used to refer to ratty blankets or clothes

Plotz = collapse (usually used in the sense of “I’m so tired I might plotz” or “she’s gonna be so excited she’s gonna plotz”)

Schmuck/shmendrick = both mean more or less the same, a jerk or obnoxious person

Shtick = gimmick, routine, or act (can be used like (“I don’t like that comedian’s shtick” or “he always makes himself the center of attention it’s his shtick”)

Spiel = long speech, story, or rant

There’s so many more so look them up and think about using them, but don’t overdo it. A Jewish person isn’t gonna use a Yiddish word in every sentence (or even every day or every few days.)

Israel

In my community at least it’s very common that by the time your college-aged that you’ll have been to Israel at least once.

Israel is a controversial topic within the Jewish community and in the world. It’s sensitive and complex. I really, really suggest not getting into it. Just don’t bring it up because no matter what you say someone will be unhappy. Just don’t do it.

Ashkenazi Disorders

Ashkenazi Jews have some sucky genes (I’m Ashkenazi so I can say this, you cannot.) These sucky genes cause certain disorders to be more prevalent for us. Children only get the disorder if both parents are carriers of the disorder, so Jews usually get genetic testing done before having children. If both parents are carriers the risk of the child getting the disorder is high, so parents might reconsider or have some indecisiveness/fear. Some of these are:

Tay-Sachs

Cystic Fibrosis

Canavan Disease

Familial Dysautonomia

Gaucher Disease

Spinal Muscular Atrophy

Fanconi Anemia

Mucolipidosis IV

Niemann-Pick Disease

Torsion Dystonia

Bloom Syndrome

Ashkenazi Jews also have a high prevalence of the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes, which increase the risk of breast and ovarian cancer in women and increase the risk of breast and prostate cancer in men.

Crohn’s Disease, Ulcerative Colitis, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, and Lactose Intolerance are also very prevalent

In a dorm of like 40 Jews, six of them had Crohn’s.

Ways to Show Your OC is Jewish

Wears Jewish jewelry, e.g. Star of David (also called Jewish Star and Magen David), Chai symbol (means life), jewelry with Sh’ma prayer, or hamsa (but beware this symbol is used outside of Judaism).

Mentions their temple, their Rabbi, having a Bat/Bar Mitzvah, going to Hebrew School, Shabbat, or a holiday coming up.

Have someone ask them a question about Judaism.

Have someone notice they have a mezuzah on their door.

Most Jews will have a mezuzah on the doorframe of the front door of their house/apartment, but they could even have one for their dorm room or whatever. It’s traditional to kiss your hand then touch the mezuzah when walking through the door, but most Jews don’t do this every time, at least not most Reform or Conservative Jews.

Have them call out antisemitism if you’re feeling spicy

The end! I hope this helped and if you have any questions my ask box is always open!

#writing advice #writing tips #writing help #jewish characters #judaism #writing resources #writeblr community #wtwcommunity #i said i would make this post literally months ago but i finally did it!

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cosmic-acee · 3 years ago

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Here have a goddamn list of "musical songs explained in crack" because its 1 in the morning and I'm bored and i caNT SLEEP(contains spoilers and the "the pants song" one is based on the bootleg-)

Falsettos:

Four jews in a room bitching: biTCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH

A tight-knit family: he divorced his wife he left his child and ran off with a friend

Love is blind: HIS NAME IS MENDEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The thrill of first love: Gay gay homosexual gay

Marvin at the psychiatrist: a three-part mini opera: mendel is bad at his job part one

My father's a homo: trina is not thrilled at all.

Everyone tells Jason to see a psychiatrist: geT THEE TO A PSYCHIATRIST

This had better come to a stop: act 1 marvin is the worst person ever part one

I'm breaking down: local woman has a breakdown while making a banana carrot surprise

Please come to our house: exorcise a deVIIIIIIIIIIL cause it inhabits marvin's son

Jason's therapy: local kid is scared he's gay

A marriage proposal: mendel is bad at proposals

A tight-knit family reprise : whose side are you on???

Trina's song: *trina sings about how she's tired of happy men who rule the world* marvin, jason, mendel, whizzer: this is so sad, alexa play march of the falsettos

March of the falsettos: BEHOLD, THE "I'M NEVER LEAVING YOUR THOUGHTS I WILL BE HERE FOR ETERNITY" SONG

Trina's song reprise: s h e ' s b r e a k i n g d o w n , g e t h e r a p s y c h i a t r i s t

The chess game: act 1 marvin is the worst person ever part two

Making a home: THE POOR DOG

The games i play: we worship andrew rannells in this house.

Marvin hits trina: ACT 1 MARVIN IS THE WORST PERSON EVER PART THREE, THE END

I never wanted to love you: you fucked uo marvin

Father to son: okay that dialed it down a little.

Falsettoland/about time: FINALLY GROW THE HELL UP MARVIN | WOOOOOOO SPIKY LESBIANS

Year of the child: if this song isn't how your family reacts to some big event that involves you i dont know anymore

Miracle of judaism: ...at least he's not gay-

The baseball game: WHIZZER RETURNS LOOKIN LIKE A GAY ICON

A day in falsettoland: mendel is bad at his job part two | mARVinS baCK wiTh wHizzEr | NOUVELLE. BAR MITZVAH. CUISINE. SHE'S BEEN PRACTICING. | 1234 1234 1234

Everybody hates his parents: HE'S A PSYCHIATRIST GET LOST

What more can i say?: good song. the last happy song you will ever get in this musical

Something bad is happening: oh shit oH SHIT

More racquetball: oh look tears

Holding to the ground: local woman tries not to feel bad

Days like this: the almost is there for a reason

Cancelling the bar mitzvah: "jason we cant be certain if he'll ever get better" oh look my heart shattered

Unlikely lovers: MORE TEARS

Another miracle of judaism: PLEASE MAKE HIS FRIEND STOP DYING

Something bad is happening reprise: OH WOW MARVIN HAS IT TOO HAHAHA I AM NOT FINE

You gotta die sometime: damn the tears are back

Jason's bar mitzvah: MORE GODDAMN TEARS

What would i do?: WhEN ARE THEY GONNA STOP FUCKING SPILLING

Falsettoland reprise: CRY YOUR EYES OUT WHERE IS THE AWARD FOR THIS MUSICAL

Be More Chill:

Jeremy's theme: sci-fi noises

More than survive: ccccmon ccccmon go go

I love play rehearsal: christine is amazing. thats it theres no crack thats just a true statement

The Squip song: IT'S FROM JAPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNN

Two player game: someone called for gay energy?

The Squip enters: screaming

Be more chill pt. 1: j e s u s c h r i s t

Do you wanna ride: piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINK BERRY

Be more chill pt. 2: ah yes bribery

More than survive reprise: no masturbating you horny fucking twink

A guy that I'd kinda be into: LOL IT AINT YOU JEREMY

The Squip lurks: sci-fi noises 2.0

Upgrade: JEREMIAH FUCKING HEERE DID YOU JUST LEAVE YOUR ONE REAL FRIEND FOR A FUCKING TIC TAC

Halloween: THE CHOREOGRAPHY OF THIS SONG IS JUST👌

Do you wanna hang: GET AWAY FROM HIM CHLOE

Michael in the bathroom: ah yes the most relatable song in this musical

The smartphone hour: rICH SET A FIRE CUZ HES TOTALLY GAY

The pitiful children: lets go nano drug the school

The pants song: w h a a a a a a a t ?

The play: MICHAEL MAKES AN ENTRANCE

Voices in my head: wE UN-NANO DRUGGED THE SCHOOL

Six the Musical:

Ex-Wives: HER-STORY

No way: bitch nO✋

Don't lose ur head: 👏👏👏

Heart of stone: what's worse than a broken heart?

Haus of holbein: *screaming with a German accent*

Get down: BOW TO YOUR FUCKING SUPERIOR

All you wanna do: katherine deSERVED BETTER

I don't need your love: FUCK YOU HENRY

Six: GO FUCK YOUSELF HENRY THEY DON'T NEED YOU

#falsettos #be more chill #six the musical #i am what the kids call ✨mentally unstabl✨#and ✨sleep deprived✨#i am sorry #not sorrh #not sorry at all

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helenaredamancy · 4 years ago

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more cool musical stuff: falsettos edition (p2/?)

- specifically talking about the revival

- the harmonies in tight knit family/ love is blind

- “life’s a sham and every move is wrong, we’ve examined every move as we move along”

- hepa hepa hepatitis hepatitis hepatitis

- the way jason and marvin parallel each other so perfectly? idk the line “dont know why but he looks like marvin” is so beautiful in context for me since jason spends act 1 despising how much he resembles his father- i find the line kind of important because while he’s always looked like marvin, now that’s no longer an insult

- i like that arguably, jason and marvin are the main characters of falsettos and the show’s central relationship is jason and marvin’s and not marvin and whizzers

- the entirety of im breaking down

- andrew rannells

- high note when he sings “these are the ONLY GAMES I PLAY”

- jasons dancing in year of the child

- another miracle of judaism kills me (its such a sad song but it opens with ‘hello god. i dont think we’ve ever really spoken’)

- “and godchild to the lesbians from next door”

- jason saying he’ll let whizzer win, and putting his king piece on whizzer’s grave later on (he let him win!!!!)

#falsettos #musicals #christian borle #andrew rannells #stephanie j block #anthony rosenthal #brandon uranowitz #betsy wolfe #tracie thoms

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years ago

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Menorah Lights, Blessing of Life

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: I would LOVE to see some Everlark Hanukkah fluff there’s way to little out there right now. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T - for non-explicit: adult situations, childbirth description, and breastfeeding.

Canon typical violence. Vague reference to a war zone/conflict.

This work contains religious and cultural imagery and traditions. There’s also some use of the Yiddish language, as well as some Hebrew. There will be a glossary and more in-depth commentary at the end of the fic, when this piece gets cross posted to AO3 in a few days. Peeta makes a quick reference to 1 Samuel 1:27 towards the end part of the fic.

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for this prompt. I have to be honest, and disclose I’ve never witnessed a Hanukkah celebration personally, and most of the events depicted in this story concerning the festival is a product of hours of research. I apologize for any inaccuracies or if I’ve inadvertently misrepresented any cultural or religious aspect of the holiday.

Extensive thanks to @rosefyrefyre, who was kind enough to beta read, spell check my Hebrew, direct me to some great sites to aid my research, and serve as the best resource for Judaism accuracy I could’ve asked for! Rose, I always learn something from my interactions with you. I’m grateful for your willingness to share your knowledge.

***Hannah: Hebrew origin. Means: ‘grace’/‘favor’; attributed meaning: ‘He (God) has favoured me with a child’.***

Happy Hanukkah to those celebrating the holiday!

————-

The house is reverently quiet, despite being crammed to the gills with all our family and friends.

Peeta checks his watch nervously for the fifth time in ten minutes. He’s so rigid, I know his leg will bother him so much tonight, he’ll take hours to fall asleep.

I smile at him, making a mental note to warm some lavender infused oils to massage the stump of his leg. It’s the least I can do for my husband.

Peeta lost his lower leg protecting me from shrapnel during an attack while deployed to the Middle East some 16 years ago. I was rendered deaf in my left ear on the same attack…we are a perfect match, my husband and I; he has to wear a prosthetic leg to get around, I have to wear a hearing aid, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the burn marks and other scars we sustained in the service.

“I think we should…” he says quietly, motioning to the small table we placed by the window earlier.

I turn to my cousin, Johanna, and nod.

Jo winks at Peeta and shuts the lights off, while I pull back the curtains from the windows and tie them up, revealing a waning sunset over the rooftops of our neighborhood.

Peeta stands a pace behind me, transfixed by the slim line of flaming orange in the horizon being swallowed by deep purples and indigos of the falling night. It’s Peeta’s favorite color.

“Almost time, Katniss!” he whispers, giddy, placing a match box on the table at the foot of the menorah.

There’s a soft buzz behind us, which means everybody is shuffling closer to the window. Outside, the world is busy with cars driving by, splashing the dirty slosh of melted snow accumulated on the ground from days ago; a dog barks somewhere in the distance, and a couple of people hustle home; but the thing that really catches my eyes, is that in a few houses down the street, candlelights start to flicker to life on windows and front porches, announcing the start of Hanukkah.

“Should—should we do it?” Peeta asks leaning closer to the window pane, clearly seeing the other houses already lighting their candles.

“There’s still a sliver of sun. They just can’t see it because they’re facing our way, against it.” I mutter back.

This is Peeta’s first Hanukkah as a host, so he’s a little eager. In fact, my beautiful husband was beside himself when everything fell into place for us to host tonight’s celebration. If he could’ve gotten his way, we’d have everyone over to light the menorah the whole eight days of the festival. But, we are expecting the arrival of our very own little miracle any day now, so hosting the first day was a very generous compromise with our family.

The thought warms me inside, and I caress my protruding stomach absentmindedly, staring at the darkening sky.

The sun finally sinks. “Now!” I grin at my other half.

Peeta grins back, handing me the candles. Two of them, to be precise; long and blue. If my Tatte —my father— were here, he would’ve insisted we used olive oil and wicks instead, but it’s only Peeta’s first Hanukkah leading, and he’s so nervous about the whole thing already…candles are perfectly acceptable.

First, I place the shamash— “Shamash means helper candle, Katniss,” Tatte would explain— in the middle peg of our menorah, so it sits higher than the rest. Then, I place the one other candle in the rightmost holder, to signify today is the first night of the Festival of Lights.

Peeta passes me the matches, and I light the shamash. I smile at him, encouragingly, and mouth the words: “Your turn,”

He takes a deep breath, wiggling his fingers at his sides, and then starts reciting the first blessing: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Asher kid-shanu bi-mitzvo-tav vi-tzee-vanu, Li-had-leek ner shel Chanukah.”

His Hebrew isn’t perfect, but he recites the whole prayer exactly as we practiced.

My mother, who’s standing with Peeta’s family, translates quietly, to not disrupt too much, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.”

Peeta waits a moment, and then recites the second prayer: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Shi-asa nee-seem la-avo-teinu, Ba-ya-meem ha-haim baz-man ha-zeh.”

Again, my mother translates, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.”

Peeta’s blue eyes shine joyfully in the dim of night.

“Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Sheh-he-che-yanu vi-kee-yimanu vi-hee-gee-yanu laz-man ha-zeh.”

He finishes the third blessing, which we only say on the first night, with utmost reverence, and holds my gaze for only a second.

My mother translates this prayer as well, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.” She explains this one we only say once, during the first day, but the first two, we recite every night.

I take the shamash from its holder and tip the flame into the wick of today’s candle, so it starts the mitzvah of the night. After the light has been kindled, we —the ones in attendance who speak Hebrew— sing Ha-nerot Halalu together.

When we finish, my sister, Primrose, starts singing Maoz Tzur, and Peeta turns puppy-dog eyes on me, because he loves my singing.

I chuckle ruefully before opening my mouth and letting the lyrics spill like second nature. The rest of the attendees join in singing, and suddenly everyone is participating in some way. When the song ends, another one starts, and the atmosphere grows animated and joyful the longer it goes. As it should!

Peeta’s brothers came with their families, so he goes to them to chat. My mother has been sitting with them, explaining the proceedings, since it’s the first time they’ve joined us for Hanukkah.

The candlelight flickers from the menorah, the only light in the room, just as we finish another song, and then Uncle Haymitch staggers into the middle of the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. The children peer up with interest, because most of them have known Haymitch long enough to guess what’s to come.

Haymitch moves his arms just a fraction, and all the kids slip out of their seats like an exhale, and then, the paunchy, ol’ grump is throwing small, shiny, gold disks up towards the ceiling, crowing: “Gelt! Gelt! Gelt for everyone!”

“I think he believes he’s some kinda middle-aged, Jewish Oprah!” Blight, Johanna’s husband, cackles somewhere behind me, as the children descend like locusts on the chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil scattered all over the room.

Peeta encourages his younger nephews to get in on the fun.

Between all three of our siblings, Peeta and I have seven nephews— two of them are teenagers— and one niece.

The adults shake their heads and smile from the sidelines, watching the children in merriment.

When all the gelt has been collected from the floor, Peeta asks the children if they would rather: eat, play dreidel, or hear a story. Since the oldest child in attendance is 8½, the kids settle on a story pretty quick.

I sink into the cushions of our plushest chair to watch my husband corral the little ones onto the rug for their story; one of my hands rests lazily on my heavily pregnant belly, while I hold a half eaten sugar cookie in the other one.

“So…who can tell me what we’re celebrating for the next eight days?” Peeta starts.

There’s a soft chorus of kiddy voices calling “Hanukkah!”

“That is right!” Peeta agrees, his eyes are wide, excited, merry, “and Hanukkah is a very important party, because it reminds us of the Miracle of Lights and the victory of the Sons of Israel over the mean ol’ gentiles—“

“Mamme says gentiles aren’t ‘all’ bad!” cries out Bekka, Johanna and Blight’s little girl, who looks like a carbon copy of her mother, except with long, wavy hair.

“Um…you’re right, I should’ve said ‘Greek invaders’ instead of gentiles…my bad—”

“Uncle Peeta…” one of our nephews— on Peeta’s side— blinks owlishly at him, “What’s a gentile?”

“Non-Jewish people,” says Asher, one of Prim’s twins.

“Oh…like Muggles are non-magic folk?” asks another of the Mellark boys.

“I guess so,” answers the other twin, Aspen.

“I don’t think we are Jewish,” comments one of Peeta’s nephews, turning inquisitive blue eyes to my husband and then to his own parents, “Are we?”

“No, buddy, you aren’t a Jew—“

“Uncle Haymitch says gentiles are helpless,” interrupts Aspen, shaking his head sadly, “He says the goyish thing gentiles do is putting mayo in their pastrami sammiches! So, if neither of you don’t put mayo in your pastrami, then you’re alright. You’re mishpachah, Bran!”

“Um…what does that mean?” asks Bran.

“We’re your mishpachah, right, Mamme?” inquires Asher.

“It means ‘family’,” explains Prim, making the Mellark boys look relieved, and even proud.

“Are you a gentile too, Uncle Peeta?” asks Asher, “Uncle Haymitch says you used to be his favorite Shabbos Goy of all times before you married Auntie Katniss.”

I almost choke on my cookie.

Peeta wheezes out a tiny chuckle, but is interrupted by my enraged sister.

“Boys!” Prim rushes from her chair, her daughter half asleep in her lap; she dumps the toddler into her husband’s arms to stand in front of the twins with her hands on her hips. “That is not nice! What have I said about repeating all the mishegas Uncle Haymitch says?”

“Not to…” the twins mumble contritely.

“Oy! I’m sitting right here, Sunshine!” Haymitch calls out. “Plus, kinder wisdom,” he pronounces it the Yiddish way, like the start of kindergarten, “it’s still wisdom!”

The twins are 7, but they can be a menace and clever to boot.

Haymitch continues, “Everybody knows the Boy used to be pretty helpful back in the day. I was almost sad when Sweetheart finally snatched him up, despite it being the smartest thing she’s ever done,”

“Haymitch…” I ground a low warning.

It’s a well known fact I kept digging my heels in against Peeta’s subtle advances for years, despite having feelings for him myself; I’m grateful my beautiful husband persevered though, because looking at him now, I can confidently say that our marriage, our family, would’ve happened anyway, despite my deep seated fears, the physical and mental toll being in a war zone took on us both, and all the heartbreak in between…

Unlike my mother, Peeta did not convert to Judaism in order to marry me. He did that on his own, way before I agreed to make our odd relationship official. I tried to persuade him from converting though— he does love Christmas and bacon— but again, he was committed to our faith with an iron will only the grave can quell.

“Eh!” Haymitch waves me off, “Nobody can win with you girls. Not even kvelling about one of your husbands!”

I sink deeper into my chair, sufficiently mollified. The old man can gush all about Peeta all he wants, as long as he doesn’t comment on me.

But Haymitch has a big mouth; he used to give me a hard time for my apparent ‘prickly personality’, often telling me I was so surly, I was practically gornisht helfn—beyond help—and once, he even said, I was as charming as a slug. I retorted he was probably looking at a mirror, and that was the end of that.

When Peeta started hinting at wanting more out of the casual arrangement we’ve had since the Army, and to my chagrin, two more suitors sprung out of nowhere, Haymitch had the gall to tell me that before Peeta, I was as romantic as dirt. Peeta gave him an earful for that one, though. It was glorious seeing Haymitch properly chastised by his favorite Shabbos Goy.

I giggle at the memory.

I finally relented a couple of years ago, letting my fears go. Haymitch was the first to congratulate me when I announced I was dating Peeta, like a normal couple. My uncle fixed me with a stare that said he expected me to really try, because this boy was a true catch, or as he called him then, “a mensch if he ever saw one.”

I happen to agree.

I sigh, massaging my ribs where the baby is digging its tuchis in.

Haymitch gets away with a great deal of things on the simple account that he was the only person who actually accepted, and welcomed our mother into our family, when she married our father. Everyone else called her an opinionated shiksa behind my parents’ backs, probably thanks to my Bubbe…dear old Grandma really disliked the idea of my father marrying a gentile girl, despite being clear as day how much they loved each other.

My sister glares at Haymitch too, then turns to her sons, “It’s the first day of Chanukah, nu?” The boys nod in affirmative, “Then be good, so Uncle Peeta can finish the story—“

“But, Mamme…we know the story!”

Prim gives them The Look and shuts them up right away. “Bannock, Graham, and Bran don’t know the story. They’re our guests, and we are called to be hospitable to everyone, right?”

I stare at Prim with mild amusement. She’s such a MOM!

“Yes, Mamme.”

I wonder if I’ll be able to master ‘the stare’ as well as my baby sister has?

Prim told me once, that everything she knows about mothering, she learned from the years in which I took care of her, after our father died, and our mother fell into a debilitating depression that almost killed us all from starvation and hebetude.

I have mixed feelings about that assessment, first, because: At first I was just trying to keep our situation hidden from others, so I made sure Prim and I were clean and presentable for school, that all homework was made on time, that we studied our Torah lessons, and that we attended Hebrew school without missing a class. I made sure Prim ate at least once a day, even if that meant I went without.

There were things I couldn’t provide for my sister, simply because I didn’t know how, and when the pantry was empty, I started secretly raiding the trash containers behind the stores in our neighborhood.

I was 11 then.

That’s when the first and only interaction with Peeta— or as I knew him then: the baker’s son— occurred before the Army.

Peeta had been watching me steadily lose weight and figured something wasn’t right. Then he saw how I dove out of his folks’ bakery’s garbage container and emerged empty handed, because trash had already been collected.

Instead of sneering, bullying me or calling the police, Peeta gave me two, fresh loaves of bread— the chiefest of foods in our culture— and thanks to his generosity, I figured out how to keep Prim, mother and myself fed when money was tight, hunting squirrels and little birds, long enough for my mother to find the strength to get the help she needed to get better.

Secondly, in my adult life, I’ve learned to appreciate our mother’s position. She had a really hard time with life in general. Her family turned their back on her when she converted to Judaism, yet people in our community mistrusted her because of my grandma’s own prejudice, the fact that my mother was a nurse and every now and then her hospital wouldn’t (or couldn’t) honor her religious freedom to observe the Shabbat didn’t help her case. People started trusting her after they saw her care for the sick in the community, often paying from her own pocket for their treatments.

Peeta never struggled fitting in with my family. Then again, he’s so sweet and friendly with anyone, always so happy and ready to lend a hand…why everyone in our community loves him, and welcomed him with open arms as one of us. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to picture my loving, sweet husband as a seasoned Army veteran, who’s seen his share of destruction and death…then again, maybe it is because he’s seen humanity at its worst that he makes the extra effort to stay a pacifist and he chooses to show The Lord’s love unto others.

“Sorry, Peeta, please continue with the story. You’re doing a lovely job!” says my sister.

I chance a glance at my husband, and see the mirth in his bright, blue eyes.

“Thank you Prim,” he says, turning back to the boys, with wonder in his voice. “But, I was thinking, and this might be the best idea I ever had! What if we let the boys tell the story of Hanukkah tonight, since it’s true, they know it better than I do? They are incredibly smart young men!”

“Avadeh!” exclaims Haymitch from his spot.

The twins wiggle with excitement, and both of them turn eager, hazel eyes to their mother, seeking approval.

Prim takes a deep breath and nods.

Both boys turn their bronze haired heads back to Peeta, enthusiastically.

“Alright, go on then, tells us what happened!” Peeta encourages.

Asher starts, “The brave heroes, called the Maccabees, kicked out the Greek gentiles that wanted to make the people of Israel pray to their gentile gods! Then the priests came to ‘re-medicate’ the Holy Temple—“

“Rededicate!” Thom, Prim’s husband, corrects from the back of the room, but the boys are on a roll now.

“‘Redadecate’ the Holy Temple, by lighting the menorah. So, they looked all over the place, but found only one jar of ‘puridified’ oil—“

“Purified!”

“Yes, what Tatte said! They only found enough of the good oil, to light the menorah for one day!”

Asher pauses for effect, while all the adults react to the suspense accordingly, gasping and murmuring.

Aspen continues the narration after a second.

“At first, the priests thought: oh no! We don’t want to light the menorah for only one day, it needs to burn all the time to clean all the filth the Greeks left behind, so we can praise Adonai again!”

Hushed voices comment their approval.

The other twin picks up the story. “But they decided, that even one day, was better than none at all, so they used that little bit of oil, and fired up the lamp, and the lights burned for eight times straight!”

“Eight days…” corrects Thom.

“Eight days straight!”

“It was a miracle!”

Everyone claps, excitedly.

“The priests had time to…” Asher cranes his neck, seeking his father in the crowded living room, and then smiles, enunciating his word with precision, “‘purify’ more olive oil, to add to the menorah from then on!”

“That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah every year! To remember how our people defended their freedom,”

“And won back the Holy Temple,”

“And The Lord accepted their effort with a miracle of lights!”

The whole room erupts in cheers and song. Everybody hugs each other in celebration.

After a moment, our auntie Effie calls out, “Oh what wonderful storytelling, Tattelles!” She rushes over to the twins and smacks loud, wet kisses, on both of the boys’ cheeks, leaving red lipstick all over their wincing faces.

The twins wipe their cheeks with the backs of their hands, and Prim just sighs, hugging her sons to her chest. “Well done, Asher. Well done, Aspen.”

Peeta pats them both on the head, and ever the attentive host, directs everyone to help themselves to the many treats he made.

“Is everything fried?” asks one of Peeta’s sisters-in-law.

“For the most part,” I hear my mother say, fondly. “To commemorate the miracle of the oil, traditionally, Hanukkah food is fried.” She explains, patiently. “Everything is delicious, and Peeta and Katniss made quite the spread.”

My mother busies herself, setting up a stack of napkins on the table where we placed all the food; she then serves latkes to the Mellarks.

Haymitch grabs her hand and pulls her to sit by me. “Come rest, sit with your daughter, enjoy the lights. I’ll shmooze the bakers now, nu!”

My mother comes to sit next to me. She smiles tiredly, “How are you feeling, zeeskeit?”

I grin, she’s using the same term of endearment Tatte used to call us. It means ‘sweetheart’.

“I’m alright. Just a little tired. My back is killing me and I think I have gas, ‘cause my belly keeps rumbling and tensing up.”

My mother arches a dark blonde eyebrow, “Maybe the baby is on the way?”

“I suppose that could be a possibility,” I shrug. I’m 6 days shy of my due date, but the doctor says I’m healthy, and he expects no complications, whatsoever, plus first time mothers can be early.

Thom brings out a dreidel to play with the children.

My toddler niece rubs her eyes grumpily— she’s got gray eyes, like my father did. Like mine. Mother and Prim are blonde and blue eyed, but I favored my father in appearance…I wonder who my child will like? I hope it’s a little of both Peeta and I— the girl clings to her father’s arm, watching her brothers and cousins spin the top, suspiciously. Once she realizes gelt is involved in the game, she perks up a little, and tries to spin the dreidel to mixed results.

Everyone sits around the children, eating latkes dipped in applesauce or sour cream; Peeta decided not to serve any meat tonight, so we could eat dairy products. Effie is dipping hers in salsa…what an odd woman!

Johanna is eating an entire block of cheese, noshing on it like a mouse.

Peeta brings me and my mother sufganiyot; he smiles sheepishly. “These were a hit.” He says, “they’ve already disappeared from the tray.”

I stare at him with wide eyes. “Why does that surprise you, babe? Your cooking is amazing!”

Peeta rubs the back of his head, bashful. “Eh, it would be embarrassing if the baker couldn’t handle jelly filled donuts, nu?” he whispers, kneeling in front of my chair.

“Nonsense,” I say equally quietly, “you are the most talented person I know.” I kiss him on the forehead, after pushing back the ashy waves of hair falling into his eyes.

I hope our child has wavy hair like Peeta does! Mine is boring…not so much the dark as ink color, but the way it’s so thick and straight, the only way to keep it up is in braid.

Peeta gazes at me with so much love, my heart skips a beat.

“Have I told you recently, just how grateful I am to have you as my wife, lover and partner in life?” He reaches up to caress my face, and suddenly the hubbub of the party fades, leaving us in a bubble of our own.

“I’m grateful too!” I say, curling my sugar coated fingers around his, cupping my cheek.

It’s a veritable miracle that Peeta and I are here today, married and with a child on the way.

We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and frequented the same places; yet, despite crossing each other’s paths often, and outside the lone time with the bread when we were eleven, we never truly interacted with each other until we found ourselves deployed to the same base overseas.

Peeta enlisted in the Army fresh out of high school. I enlisted much later, when it became glaringly obvious that if I was going to pursue any higher education, it would have to be paid for by the military, since every penny Mother and I made, went straight into Prim’s Med school fund.

Prim took a couple of breaks from school while building her family, but she’s a pediatrician now, beloved by her patients and their parents.

Thom is in the field as well, as a Physical Therapist. He was Peeta’s PT for a while; that’s how him and my sister met. They married years before we did.

Call it chance or providence, Peeta and I had no idea we were in the same camp, until our names got chosen for some grunt duty I can no longer remember. We recognized one another instantly, and became very close friends while in the service. Close enough to share cots and knock boots when the itch was too unbearable to ignore. We discovered we had more in common than just our hometown, and then…the worst day of our lives happened, cementing our dependence on the other, like only tragedy can.

While on a mission, our unit got attacked. Our Commander, a burly man named Boggs, called for extraction while we ran for cover from a volley of bullets raining on us. In the confusion, Boggs stepped on a landmine that blew off both his feet.

I rushed to him, pulling him back to safety. I didn’t think of the shrapnel flying everywhere, but Peeta— who had located me a second earlier— did. He made it to me somehow, and shielded my body with his own, earning a mangled leg full of lead for his troubles.

Boggs was beyond medical help; the poor man bled to death in my arms in the transport back to base. Peeta was badly hurt, losing blood quicker than anyone in the transport could stomach. I tried to help him as best I could, wishing I had my mother’s touch or Prim’s cleverness; I placed a tourniquet on Peeta’s thigh. It saved his life, but cost him his leg.

It wasn’t until we arrived back in camp, and the adrenaline and terror left my body, that I was able to feel my own wounds. I had second degree burns in several places of my body; the fire and heat miraculously spared my face. Then, I noticed the ringing in my left ear wouldn’t go away, and when it did, no other sounds came in.

I was honorably discharged for my damaged ear, but I requested to stay close to my buddy, Peeta Mellark, until he was stable enough to go back home. When questioned about this, I simply replied, “We protect each other. Is what we do.”

Peeta was discharged too shortly after. We got shipped back home to America together, which is how we’ve been ever since.

Peeta and I survived against the odds.

It took us months and lots of counseling to be able to sleep through the night without waking up screaming.

It took him years to convince me it was okay to let my guard down around my heart. I was always so scared I’d lose him to some unseen danger, and like my mother, fall into such a deep depression I could harm any potential children we had together, because in my heart of hearts I knew Peeta was it for me.

It took us five, ten, fifteen years to be where we are at, and that in itself is a miracle I’m grateful for.

“Peeta, darling, the candles are almost out,” says Effie, who apparently is eager to turn the lights back on.

“Alright, let’s see…” I stand up to check just how consumed those candles really are, and as soon as I do, my incompetent bladder releases all the pee I have in my body, and then some. “Feh!”

My mother gasps and pushes Peeta back, who was still kneeling close by. “Katniss, your water just broke!”

“What?! Already? Whatdowedo?!” Peeta is frantic, practically jogging in place, hands hovering uselessly around my belly.

Effie screeches in a very uncharacteristic fashion. “Oh! What a big, big, big day this is, darlings! Katniss, doll, you might get to hold your very own bundle of joy in your arms on the first day of Hanukkah! What a blessing!”

“Well, first things first,” says my mother, going into nurse mode. “Everyone, calm down! This child is not about to drop just yet. Second, Katniss needs to get out of these clothes and into clean ones. Then we need to get you packed and ready to go to the hospital. Peeta, dear, you need to call the doctor, and let them know your wife’s water broke, and you’re heading to the hospital soon.”

“Okay! Yeah…on it!” says Peeta chewing nervously on his lower lip.

He reluctantly steps aside to make the call. By then, my sister is moving people around to get me through the room.

Delly, Peeta’s sister-in-law, comes from who-knows-where with an armful of towels to mop up the floor.

“Thank you,” I offer embarrassedly.

Delly waves me off, “Oh no, honey, don’t you worry about it. I know how these things go. You have more important stuff to think of right now. We will clean this place up, and probably call on grandma and grandpa Mellark, to let them know.”

I give her a hug, because she’s the nicest person I know, and barely hold back an ugly sob.

Peeta comes back from calling the doctor just as my mother is helping me into a pair of baggy sweatpants. Prim’s going through my bag triple checking what I packed, despite my protests that both Peeta and I have been checking on it every day for the last week.

“Everything is ready, Katniss. The doctor is on the way to the hospital. There’s a triage nurse already waiting for you, our paperwork is being processed as we speak, so all we have to do is sign it when we arrive, and Effie and Haymitch are taking over hosting duties from us.”

“Oh great!” I sigh, “you can say goodbye to all the wine in the house if those two are in charge,”

“Is that sarcasm I detect? That means the contractions aren’t even painful yet…” says Prim dryly. Then she and my mother giggle.

I glare at them, rubbing the back of my hips, my bones back there kind of burn.

Peeta seems confused and wisely keeps his mouth shut. He grabs the hospital bag I packed for me and the baby, a week ago, and shoulders a backpack for himself, he packed almost a month ago.

My mother rides with us to the hospital, and since everyone knows her and my sister there, I get extra pampered by the nursing staff.

My obstetrician, Dr. Aurelius, checks on me as soon as I’m put in the hospital gown; he’s a little concerned about my blood pressure, so the nurses keep an even closer eye on me. At 32 I’m not at any greater risk of things going wrong than any other mother-to-be, but this is my first child, so I endure their over prodding gratefully.

Labor itself goes quickly, only a couple of hours from the water breaking to the crowning. Peeta holds my hand through it all; he tends to me lovingly, feeding me ice chips, blotting sweat from my face and neck, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement into my ear, and when he’s not talking to me or the medical staff, he prays.

After surviving a war zone, second degree burns and a few broken bones, I think that giving birth is perhaps the least painful experience of all. Not in the literal sense of course— giving birth physically hurts like a mother!— but in the psychological-emotional sense. I’m going through this trial for love, with the expectation of meeting someone amazing in the end.

But when it’s time to push, a fear older than time itself chokes me up. “I can’t do this! Let the baby stay in my belly…I can keep the child safe here, please!”

“Sweetheart, look at me,” says Peeta cupping my face in his hands, “You are the bravest, most selfless person I know. I’m not denying how scary this is, bringing an innocent into the world, but you’re not alone…we have each other, and we will face this fear like we’ve faced any other fear, and we’ll beat it into dust!”

“Together?” My voice wavers.

“Together!” he vows.

“Katniss…the baby’s crowning,” says Dr. Aurelius, “This is it! On your next contraction, I need you to push real hard, alright?”

I nod, exhausted; Peeta squeezes my hand in his, and I squeeze right back.

“Here it comes!” I bear down with all my might and growl all the breath out of my lungs, and suddenly, the best sound in the world fills the delivery room: the meowling of my newborn reaches my ears.

“It’s a girl!” calls the doctor from between the stirrups holding my legs up.

The man holds the screeching child up, so we can see her, and my whole world shrinks to her tiny shape.

Peeta is crying.

I’m crying too!

My mother is somewhere in the background singing something I can’t quite catch, and everyone around is bustling to get my brand new baby girl cleaned up and measured. Then finally she’s placed on my chest, and my husband and I can’t stop staring and caressing her.

“Shalom, sheifale,” I sigh in contentment, kissing my baby’s forehead.

“Welcome, little one!” Peeta murmurs. Our daughter wraps her whole hand around her father’s index finger and holds fast to it.

Again, it feels like we are in this hermetic bubble, where only Peeta, myself, and now our newborn, exist. Meanwhile the doctor and nurses are still working on me, but that doesn’t matter. My family is finally whole, and that too is a miracle full of light!

“Mazel Tov, my dears!” says my mother, smiling at Peeta and me. “I’ll go tell the people in the waiting room the good news…do you have a name picked out already?” she asks tentatively, her face lit with happiness and relief.

“Hannah!” says Peeta right away. “For I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted my plea.” Peeta’s eyes widen, then he looks down at me sheepishly, “unless, you have something else in mind?”

“No!” I laugh, “Hannah is perfect!” I hold the babe higher on my bosom, and tilt her head towards my mother, “Hannah, say hello to Bubbie Lily, she’s my Mamme, and I am yours!”

My mother giggles, “Happy birthday, Hannah Mellark, and happy Hanukkah, zeeskeit.” My mother leans closer, and gives Hannah’s head a peck. “Next time I see you, there will be others with me…your mishpachah, who are eager to meet you, sheifale!”

“We’re almost done here, and you can see some of your family. But be mindful of visiting hours!” says Dr. Aurelius, pushing back from the instrument table.

We all say our thanks to the staff, and my mother goes to talk to our family in the waiting room. Peeta’s led to the nursery, to give Hannah her first bath. Once the baby is dressed and swaddled into a hospital blanket, Peeta snaps a couple of pictures of her with his smart phone and sends it to everyone one we know. The caption reads: “Hannah Mellark, because G-d favored us with a child!”

The nurse helping Peeta, takes two of those thin hats they give all the newborns, and fashions it into a single hat with a big bow on the front. Our daughter’s head will be warm and stylish.

Back in the room, Hannah latches onto my breast easily enough, and to our surprise opens her eyes, to show deep blue peepers, like her father’s!

“Look, Daddy, she’s got your eyes!“ I exclaim.

“Can she call me Tatte?” Peeta asks quietly, as if asking permission.

I nod, “Hannah, your Tatte gives the best hugs in the world!”

The visitors file in. My mother-in-law falls in love with Hannah, her first and only granddaughter. Peeta’s father tears up a little bit, and hugs his son, kissing his temple. I’ve never seen the Mellarks so happy and moved. A baby would do that, I guess.

After our siblings come to visit, Effie and Haymitch make a quick appearance. Haymitch holds Hannah the longest; he sings her a song in Hebrew, then says a blessing over her.

Effie pulls Peeta aside, “What we discussed…” she says demurely, smiling softly, and hands him a bag.

Since she already gave us practically half of Buy Buy Baby at our shower, I have no idea what else she could’ve gotten, but my husband’s entire demeanor lights up like fireworks when he peeks in the bag. He hugs Effie and thanks her profusely.

I fall asleep after a while.

When I wake up again, the room’s mostly dark, except for a soft, flickering light.

Hannah is not in her bassinet, so I sit up with a start, only to find the most wonderful scene in front of me: Peeta’s holding the babe by the window looking down the road. The blinds are open, and on the sill sits a child size menorah. The shamash is lit, but the day one candle is not.

“Peeta?” I call softly.

My husband turns, smiling, “You’re awake! We didn’t want to disturb you. You had a hard, busy day, but…” he shrugs, “It’s Hannah’s first Hanukkah, and I figured you wouldn’t wanna miss it,”

No, I wouldn’t.

I get up, gingerly, and shuffle towards my family.

I cock my head and study the candelabra, which looks suspiciously like the kind business owners put in their offices along their Christmas trees and other wintry decor to show how inclusive they are. This one is smaller than regular menorahs, made of plastic, with a cord sticking from the side which is plugged into the wall besides the window. The flickering light I thought at first to be a real flame, is just a small bulb with a candlelight effect.

“Where did you get an electric menorah?” I ask skeptically.

“Effie,” my husband blushes. “She said it was okay, as long as we lit a kosher menorah, which we did at home,” he says a little defensively, with a lot of pleading generously sprinkled in between.

My father would’ve frowned at the decidedly un-kosher menorah.

Reading my expression, my sneaky husband harrumps, “This is a hospital, Katniss. I don’t think they’ll be thrilled to find there’s an open flame in a room housing a newborn, no matter what holiday you’re celebrating.”

I sigh. He’s right. Safety protocols should be observed, and we did light a traditional menorah already; plus, this one is practically a toy for the baby…technically a Hanukkah gift.

I relax my stance. I wasn’t aware that my shoulders were so tense during that exchange.

“Fine,” I acquiesce, “show me how does the thing work?”

Peeta grins, looking at ease holding our daughter in one arm like a pro. No wonder he’s always our nephews’ and niece’s favorite uncle.

He pulls a couple of bulbs from his pants pocket, and holds them on his palm for me to peruse. “All you do is screw these in the small sockets, just like placing the candles in a regular menorah. Then, you press this button, and it lights up!” He points at a small button at the base of the toy.

I nod, accepting his explanation.

Hannah wiggles a bit in her father’s arm, then makes an aggravated noise. Peeta adjusts the child against his chest, and looks at me, expectantly.

“Hannah’s waiting, and she’s probably getting hungry. I should know, I’m her Tatte!”

I snort a reluctant laugh. The man can drive me crazy, in an endearing sort of way. How can I deny my family anything?!

We say the blessings together, then Peeta whispers all the ceremonial rules on lighting the candles to our baby.

Hannah has her fist wrapped around his finger again, so he picks up the pretend shamash with the same hand, and touches the tip of the bulb into the opening, so— according to him— Hannah is lighting the day one candle herself…symbolically.

He screws the bulbs in their right places, and switches the candlelight on.

I must admit, it’s not as tacky as I feared it would be. I make a mental note to let Peeta know I’m glad he thought of this, later…probably tomorrow.

We sing quietly, not to disturb anyone else on our floor. After the ceremony of the candles is done, we hold onto each other, watching the flickering lights, while Peeta narrates the story of the Maccabees to Hannah.

Everything is quiet after that; Hannah fusses once, so I take her into my arms, and sing a lullaby.

Peeta has been staring at me all night like I hung the moon in the sky. He gazes at our daughter like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and I’m sure my eyes reflect the same feelings as his.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right now, and live in it forever.”

I smile up at him, who in turn is gazing at our daughter and me with adoration; my heart fills to bursting!

“I do too!” I stand on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. “Happy Hanukkah, Peeta. Happy Hanukkah, Hannah.”

“Same to you too, sweetheart, and thank you Lord, for blessing our family with the miracle of life.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #prompt

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teddybasmanov · 3 years ago

Text

Actual writing posted on AO3

(If I made a Tumblr post about it, I’ll link the post, which contains the link to AO3, if not – the actual AO3 work.)

Redacted ASMR/Audio:

My Little White Hawk – a tiny-tiny essay about Gavin being a trans metaphor.

I want the world to know – transgender freelancer comes out to D.A.M.N. boys (excluding Kody). I’m still both low key proud and ashamed of this one, because it’s by no means greatly written, but I did write it after all. The first fic I’ve written after a six-years pause, so proceed with caution, I guess.

And for Exactly a Thousand Years We Wake Up Together – a fluffy domestic Gavin/Freelancer fic with some feelings. Based on this song.

Revenge Party – Kody is an ass to the freelancer and the boys give him a very strict talk. Poly all the way – the freelancer and everyone. My most popular fic so far. Arsenal has drawn fanart to it and I’m not going to shut up about it.

Being Alive – a little angsty songfic about Gavin and the freelancer based on “Being Alive” from “Company”.

Muddling of the Taiga and the White Snow of the Birches – a short fluffy song based one-shot about Freelancer giving Huxley sweet dreams.

What More Can I Say? - another self-indulgent songfic about the Freelancer’s feelings after Gavin’s confession.

Somebody to Love - a songfic about Caelum playing matchmaker for Gavin and the freelancer.

Wet Gleam of Our Eyes - a sappy and not explicitly smutty Gavin sogfic.

Taymyr - a tiny self-indulgent Huxley hurt/comfort one-shot.

Tell Me How Are We Going to Find Out Again - Vindemiator/Humanborn fic - technically a collection of one-shots but they are all connected. Mostly semi-fluffy, but the laws of the universe call for angst. Arsenal has drawn fanart of it and I bloody cannot.

The One I can’t Get Enough Looking At - Vindemiator/Humanborn angst in which the humanborn dies and the world ends, but it’s actually not that hopeless.

Miracle of Judaism - Gavin proposes to the freelancer on Hanukkah.

The more things change, they say, the more they stay the same - freelancer runs away from Gavin and their feelings after the Inversion.

Russian Roulette - an omegaverse Mob!AU Gavin/Freelancer fic. NSFW Chapter 1|Capter2|Chapter 3

Your Excellency, Lady Foreign Land - a collection of one-shots about foreign listeners. Chapter 1, Chapter 2,

and the soul basks in the nirvana of resurrection - self-insert isekai freelancer wakers up from a coma in the D.A.M.N. polycule and everything is great. Chapter 1|Chapter 2

Statistically - NSFW fic about Gavin and Freelancer’s studying, full of communication.

Young Blacksmiths in the Forge - a small fic about Asher meeting my OC Nathy. For business, of course.

This Could Have Been a Thesis. Or Several. – a collection of pseudo-scientific rambles on different lore-related topics with more questions asked than answered. Currently contains a chapter about vampire trancing, about genetic and about history. Planned chapters about politics and evolution.

Jim ち ASMR:

The Verdict is Final and not Subject to Appeal - Jim ASMR spy series fic. Chapter 1|Chapter 2|Bonus

Ландыш, ландыш белоснежный - Dimi/Malenkee nightmare comfort.

Other:

Lullabies for a cursed elf - one chapter of a fanfic about Salem’s cursed elf and the knight listener.

#master post #redated asmr #master list #writing #fanfiction #ao3

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canisonicscrewyou · 4 years ago

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i'm gonna make you have a stroke during the album ranking thing ~ rate all of falsettos 2016, best to worst

send me an album and i’ll put the tracks in order from most → least favourite

Okay I had to put a lot of mental energy in this so I will not be taking constructive criticism on this right now

Falsettos

1. What Would I Do?

2. Jason’s Bar Mitzvah

3. This Had Better Come To A Stop

4. The Thrill of First Love

5. A Day In Falsettoland

6. You Gotta Die Sometime

7. Marvin at the Psychiatrist

8. Please Come To Our House / Jason’s Therapy

9. Unlikely Lovers

10. Falsettoland

11. Falsettoland - Reprise

12. Holding to the Ground

13. I’m Breaking Down

14. Everyone Hates His Parents

15. Year of the Child

16. Father to Son

17. Something Bad Is Happening / More Racquetball

18. Trina’s Song / March of the Falsettos / Trina’s Song Reprise

19. Days Like This

20. A Tight Knit Family/Love Is Blind

21. The Chess Game

22. The Games I Play

23. Four Jews In A Room Bitching

24. What More Can I Say?

25. My Father’s A Homo

26. The Baseball Game

27. I Never Wanted To Love You

28. A Marriage Proposal

29. Marvin Hits Trina

30. Cancelling The Bar Mitzvah

31. Something Bad Is Happening Reprise

32. Making A Home

33. Another Miracle Of Judaism

34. Miracle of Judaism

#I tried a AHSBSJDJDKS #anonymous #ask game #answered #falsettos #I should also specify that I feel differently about certain songs NOT in the context of the whole musical??? I guess???#but this is ranked in the context of it as a whole show if that makes sense

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superkitten-poison · 4 years ago

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i would like to formally apologize to 'miracle of judaism,' 'another miracle of judaism,' 'something bad is happening - reprise,' and 'jason's bar mitzvah' for being the only falsettos songs not in my spotify 2020 wrapped. truly a shame

#also this is jason slander wtf #falsettos #falsettos revival

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jewish-privilege · 6 years ago

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Today should have been my funeral.

I was preparing to give my sermon Shabbat morning, Saturday, which was also the last day of Passover, the festival of our freedom, when I heard a loud bang in the lobby of my synagogue.

I thought a table had fallen down or maybe even that, God forbid, my dear friend Lori Gilbert Kaye had tripped and fallen. Only a few moments earlier I had greeted Lori there; she had come to services to say Yizkor, the mourning prayer, for her late mother.

I went to the lobby to check on her. What I saw in those seconds will haunt me for the rest of my days.

I saw Lori bleeding on the ground. And I saw the terrorist who murdered her.

This terrorist was a teenager. He was standing there with a big rifle in his hands. And he was now aiming it at me. For one reason: I am a Jew.

He started shooting. My right index finger got blown off. Another bullet hit my left index finger, which started gushing blood.

After the massacre in Pittsburgh, we had a community training. Now that training kicked in. Somehow my brain directed my body to the synagogue ballroom, where the children, including two of my grandchildren, were playing. I ran toward them screaming “Get out! Get out!” I grabbed as many as I could with my bloody hands and pushed them out of the building.

One of our congregants that day, Almog Peretz, a veteran of the Israeli Defense Forces, ran after me to help get the children to safety and took a bullet in the leg. His eight-year-old niece, Noya Dahan, took some shrapnel to hers. Then an amazing miracle occurred: The terrorist’s gun jammed. Two other heroic congregants — an Army veteran named Oscar Stewart and an off-duty border patrol agent named Jonathan Morales — rushed toward him and he fled.

The ambulances had not yet arrived. We all gathered outside. I don’t remember all that I said to my community, but I do remember quoting a passage from the Passover Seder liturgy: “In every generation they rise against us to destroy us; and the Holy One, blessed be He, saves us from their hand.” And I remember shouting the words “Am Yisrael Chai! The people of Israel live!” I have said that line hundreds of times in my life. But I have never felt the truth of it more than I did then.

I am a religious man. I believe everything happens for a reason. I do not know why God spared my life. I do not know why I had to witness scenes of a pogrom in San Diego County like the ones my grandparents experienced in Poland. I don’t know why a part of my body was taken away from me. I don’t know why I had to see my good friend, a woman who embodied the Jewish value of hesed (kindness), hunted in her house of worship. I don’t know why I had to watch Lori’s beloved husband, a doctor, faint as he tried to resuscitate her. And then their only daughter, Hannah, sob in agony as she encountered both her parents collapsed on the floor.

I do not know God’s plan. All I can do is try to find meaning in what has happened. And to use this borrowed time to make my life matter more.

I used to sing a song to my children, a song that my father sang to me when I was a child. “Hashem is here,” I would sing, using a Hebrew name for God, pointing with my right index finger to the sky. “Hashem is there,” I would sing, pointing to my right and left. “Hashem is truly everywhere.” That finger I would use to point out God’s omnipresence was taken from me.

I pray that my missing finger serves as a constant reminder to me. A reminder that every single human being is created in the image of God; a reminder that I am part of a people that has survived the worst destruction and will always endure; a reminder that my ancestors gave their lives so that I can live in freedom in America; and a reminder, most of all, to never, ever, not ever be afraid to be Jewish.

From here on in I am going to be more brazen. I am going to be even more proud about walking down the street wearing my tzitzit and kippah, acknowledging God’s presence. And I’m going to use my voice until I am hoarse to urge my fellow Jews to do Jewish. To light candles before Shabbat. To put up mezuzas on their doorposts. To do acts of kindness. And to show up in synagogue — especially this coming Shabbat.

I am a proud emissary of Chabad-Lubavitch, a movement of Hasidic Judaism. Our leader, the great Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, famously taught that a little light expels a lot of darkness. That is why Chabad rabbis travel all over the world to set up Jewish communities: I have colleagues in Kathmandu, in Ghana, as well as in Paris and Sydney. We believe that helping any human being tap into their divine spark is a step toward fixing this broken world and bringing closer the redemption of humanity. It is why 33 years ago my wife and I came to this corner of California to build a house of light.

Because we are obviously Jewish, identifiable by our black hats and beards, it has also meant that some of us have been targets before. Eleven years ago, my colleagues Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg, who ran the Chabad of Mumbai, India, were murdered with four of their guests. They were targeted by the terrorist group Lashkar-e-Taiba because they were Jewish. And over the years people I know have been harassed and assaulted by thugs in the neighborhood where I grew up, Crown Heights, Brooklyn, in incidents that typically go unreported by the press.

In his vile manifesto, the terrorist who shot up my synagogue called my people, the Jewish people, a “squalid and parasitic race.” No. We are a people divinely commanded to bring God’s light into the world.

So it is with this country. America is unique in world history. Never before was a country founded on the ideals that all people are created in God’s image and that all people deserve freedom and liberty. We fought a war to make that promise real.

And I believe we can make it real again. That is what I pledge to do with my borrowed time.

#poway synagogue shooting

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justforbooks · 5 years ago

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Little Richard. Prime force of rock’n’roll who made an explosive impact with songs such as Tutti Frutti, Good Golly, Miss Molly, Lucille and Long Tall Sally

Little Richard, who has died aged 87, was the self-proclaimed king of rock’n’roll. Such was his explosive impact that many of the baby boom generation will vividly recall the moment when they first encountered his assault on melody.

Awopbopaloobop alopbamboom! That first hit, Tutti Frutti, released in October 1955, was wild, delicious gibberish from a human voice as no other, roaring and blathering above a band like a fire-engine run amok in the night. We glimpsed a new universe. The Sinatra-sophisticats were slain with a shout. Enter glorious barbarity, chaos and sex. With a few others – Fats Domino, Bill Haley, Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis and Buddy Holly – Little Richard laid down what rock’n’roll was to be like, and he was the loudest, hottest and most exhibitionist of them all.

Richard Wayne Penniman was born in Macon, Georgia, one of 12 children of Charles, a bricklayer, and his wife Leva Mae Stewart. His family were Seventh-day Adventists and Richard learned the piano and sang gospel in the local church choir, but was thrown out of the family home at 13. He performed in medicine shows - with “miracle cures” promoted between entertainment acts – before hitching to Atlanta, where he signed to RCA Records in 1951, using the name Little Richard.

He recorded several undistinguished singles for them, including Every Hour (1951), but none had much impact. His optimism undimmed but his style still unformed, he tried the independent Peacock label in Houston, recording sides on which he began to reveal a delicate, elaborately filigreed vocal style that would resurface years later on slow gospel numbers. This same style would sometimes ornament his rock sides too, as on She’s Got It (1957), where that “got” is twiddled into 10 syllables.

These Peacock sides brought no success, and at the beginning of 1955 – the year that was to end in triumph for him – he returned to Macon and to washing dishes. He sent a demo to another indie label, Specialty, whose owner, Art Rupe, soon became so sure that Little Richard defined the future that he rejected Sam Cooke as too pallid.

Brought to New Orleans in September and given almost the same band as Fats Domino, Penniman went into the studio with the producer Bumps Blackwell, and came out with Tutti Frutti. The single was a hit with black and white audiences and sold 500,000 copies – despite the popularity of Pat Boone’s cover version released shortly afterwards – and reached 17 in the US pop charts and No 2 on the R&B list.

A cascade of frantic but tight hits followed, establishing Little Richard as a prime force in rock’n’roll. His piano work, crucial to his sound, was limited to hammered chords and skitterish riffing (he did not even play it himself on Tutti Frutti) but with that megaphone voice, falsetto squeal, bursting energy and powerhouse band, his records became classics: songs every local group played every weekend for years to come; songs the other rock greats covered; songs that fired the ambition of those artists who would change the 1960s, the Beatles and Bob Dylan.

Long Tall Sally, Slippin’ and Slidin’, Rip It Up, Ready Teddy, She’s Got It and The Girl Can’t Help It were all released in 1956. The following year, Little Richard recorded Lucille, Send Me Some Lovin’, Jenny, Jenny, Miss Ann, and the awesome Keep A-Knockin’. And 1958 produced the last great batch: Good Golly Miss Molly, True Fine Mama and a glorious pillage of the music-hall oldie Baby Face.

It is obvious now from the titles alone that a formula soon set in with these records. Back then though, it was just how Little Richard was: an unstoppable force. Within the flailing combustion of True Fine Mama we now recognise a conventional 12-bar blues; at the time we heard formless galactic meltdown. Similarly, we now see that his presentation was partly “outrageous queen”, his catchphrase “Ooh ma soul” pure camp. But these were cliches from the future. When rock’n’roll and Little Richard were new, his preening, boasting and benign lasciviousness seemed highly individual.

He was an inspiration to younger black musicians with white audiences. The young guitarist Jimi Hendrix learned a lot from backing Little Richard on tour; and as Richard once observed of Prince, “the little moustache, the moves, the physicality – he’s a genius but he learnt it from me. I was wearing purple before he was born; I was wearing make-up before anyone else.”

His sexuality was no simple thing. As he revealed in his candid autobiography, The Life and Times of Little Richard (1984, as told to Charles White), he fancied men and women, but most of all he fancied himself.

However, touring Australia in 1957, he threw his rings off Sydney Harbour bridge, renouncing the devil’s music for God. The performer who had once said of gospel that “I knew there had to be something louder, and I found it was me” now divided his time between bible school in Alabama and the Seventh-day Adventist church in Times Square, New York. He met his wife, Ernestine Campbell, at an evangelical rally in October of that year. They married in 1959 but divorced four years later.

Specialty kept the hits coming until 1959, when the long line ended with a game By the Light of the Silvery Moon. An era was over. Elvis had been drafted, Holly was dead. With God on his side, and Quincy Jones producing, Little Richard made the religious album It’s Real, for Mercury Records, billing himself “king of the gospel singers”. A 1962 single, He Got What He Wanted (But He Lost What He Had), fused old and new, its parables sung in vintage style: a steaming, raging, funny tour de force to equal Long Tall Sally. It was a minor hit.

He returned to rock’n’roll and Specialty, recorded Bama Lama Bama Loo (1964), and played Britain with the Rolling Stones, Bo Diddley and the Everlys. As the rock critic Nik Cohn testified, “he cut them all to shreds”. While in the UK he also made a TV special with the Shirelles (It’s Little Richard, 1964) – one of the rare times when rock was truly exciting on television.

I saw him live in this period, backed by the instrumental group Sounds Incorporated. He never paid them a moment’s attention, and was magnificent. When he stood on top of the piano, took off a ring and threw it into the audience, even those of us at the back with no chance of getting within a 100ft dived forward, hypnotised by this consummate artist.

But while the debut record from the 60s soul king Otis Redding was titled Shout Bamalama, Little Richard himself slid through failed comebacks, vainglorious live theatrics and indifferent re-recordings.

Exceptions included fine versions of Lawdy Miss Clawdy (1964) and Bring It on Home to Me (1966), while 70s covers of the Beatles’ I Saw Her Standing There and the Stones’ Brown Sugar emphasised how much he had inspired those bands in the first place. Attempts to update himself brought small success and in 1976 he retreated back to religion. By the decade’s end he was a late but rapacious convert to drug abuse.

In the 80s, however, the world and Little Richard were ready for each other again, and in 1986 he appeared, smiling with Hollywood good health, in the hit film Down and Out in Beverly Hills. It says much for his unquenchable charm that so soon after his upfront autobiography he could remake himself as a Disney favourite, with an album of children’s songs and a TV series, on which a revisited Keep A-Knockin’ incorporated knock-knock jokes swapped with his new young audience.

In 1993, the 60-year-old gospeller had supposedly found Judaism but was also rock’n’rolling again. In 1996, wavy hair down his back, he was to be seen playing on a truck at the closing ceremony of the Atlanta Olympics, and, as gloriously incongruous as ever, in an episode of Baywatch, performing on the boardwalk, his eerily plastic-smooth face that of a 35-year-old.

Little Richard became embedded in showbiz, appearing frequently on American television, in roles and as himself, including as a judge on Simon Cowell’s Celebrity Duets in 2006. He voiced a Disney World pineapple, saw his hits recycled in ads and films, was the subject of a 2000 biopic, and recorded anew with partners from Bon Jovi to Elton John. As a preacher, he conducted weddings for celebrities including Bruce Willis and Demi Moore, and spoke at the funerals of Wilson Pickett and Ike Turner.

Gaining multiple awards for his pioneering early work, he was among the first to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, in 1986, and received a lifetime achievement Grammy in 1993. Little Richard needed none of these awards or hall of fame citations to tell him who he was or what he had achieved. He knew that all along. He was one of the gods, and almost the last among them.

His health declined in the 2000s, and he had heart surgery in 2008, cancelling a planned European tour with Berry. In 2009 he had hip replacement surgery, after which he still performed, yet giving audiences the novelty of seeing him seated at the keyboards.

In 2013 he announced his retirement. His last appearance was while attending the ceremony at which he received the Distinguished Artist award at the 2019 Tennessee Governor’s Arts Awards in Nashville.

He is survived by a son, Danny.

• Little Richard (Richard Wayne Penniman), singer-songwriter, born 5 December 1932; died 9 May 2020

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Little Richard #Richard Wayne Penniman

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