"middle Aged Women Shouldn't Participate In Fandom" And You Think It's Teenagers That Are Writing Those

COLD WEATHER REMINDER!!!

As the outdoor temperatures start to drop, cats will hide under car hoods for protection and warmth.

Use caution when you start your car in the cold winter months ahead. If cats are left outside, they may climb under the car hood for protection from the cold. Before you climb into your car, slap the hood or open it for a quick look around.

din djarin just accidentally becoming acquainted with every single fucking person in the galaxy will never not be funny

Henry is literally the only reason a live action Geralt of Rivia worked in the first place. And it has nothing to do with him being a big fit dude but everything to do with him being a huge nerd and a bigass fan of the books and the video games. He knew this character. He was literally on set discussing with the show runners what Geralt would or wouldn’t do. This show only worked because Henry was the One good choice for Geralt. Just cancel your fucking show.

Poe: Look me in the eyes and stay serious with me for a second! Y/N, smiling and giggling: Your eyes are so beautiful. Poe, forcing himself to stop smiling: nO!

Just thinking about their tiny sleeping nook and Grogu’s lil hammock 😭

subby steven grant (˶◕‿◕˶✿)

anakin touching rex + bonus - reverse:

Temuera Morrison as Axel Barb Wire (1996) dir. David Hogan

Thursday Thoughts: Israel Story

“I honestly think that it’s adorable that you actually believe these children’s stories. But there is nothing magic about the waters.”

“Without the Creed, what are we? What do we stand for? Our people are scattered like stars in the galaxy. The Creed is how we survived.”

-Bo-Katan Kryze and Din Djarin, The Mandalorian Chapter 18: The Mines of Mandalore

When I was thirteen, my grandparents took the family on a big anniversary trip to Israel.

As a Jewish American kid in the early 2000s, growing up where there weren’t a lot of other Jews and spending my summers at Reform Jewish summer camp, I was told a lot of things about Israel. The big thing was always that Israel was important – that it was our home. That I should go there, and that when I went there, I would have an amazing feeling of connection, and I would know that it was my home.

So, as a recent bat mitzvah, I was excited about this trip. I was ready to go to Israel and have my big moment of feeling connected with the world.

I remember standing in the airport in Tel Aviv, minutes after stepping off the plane, and asking my dad, “When does it start to feel like Israel?”

Because it didn’t feel like Israel. It felt like an airport.

And then we stepped out into Tel Aviv, and rode around on a bus, and it felt like a city. I’d been to cities before. It was cool to see the street signs and graffiti were in Hebrew and Arabic just as much as they were in English, but it was a city.

Over the course of our trip, we went everywhere we could possibly go. We floated in the Dead Sea. We climbed Mount Masada. We saw the archaeological sites at Megiddo. We went to Caesarea, and Ein Gedi, and Yad Vashem, and Tzfat. We rode camels, we ate falafel, we learned just how unbreakable Druze glass is.

And, again, it was cool. I enjoyed the trip. It was beautiful everywhere we went, and we were surrounded by history everywhere we went. I remember thinking that the dust of history was gathering in my boots, because this is a place where people have lived for as long as there have been people.

But I kept waiting for it to feel like Israel – to have that big magical moment of connection that everyone said I would have – and it just wasn’t happening.

Then, we went to Jerusalem. And I thought, “Okay, here it is. This is where I’m going to have my big moment.” We went to the Western Wall, the last remaining piece of the platform that surrounded the ancient temple, the holiest place any Jew could visit in the world. I saw people there, pressed against the wall, eyes shut, in fervent prayer, clearly feeling something amazing. I walked up through the crowd in the small women’s section of the wall. I found enough space to reach forward, and I put my hand on the wall.

It felt like rock.

I remember thinking, “What is wrong with me, that all I feel is rock? Where is the connection I’m supposed to feel?”

And then, on our last day of the trip, we went to the Diaspora Museum (Beit Hatfutsot, now called the Museum of the Jewish People). It’s all about the Jewish people – our exile from that part of the world, and all our journeys since then. I’d never seen such a comprehensive look at the diversity and history of Judaism before. I’d certainly never been to a museum before that provided such an honest critique of the United States – it’s where I first learned about the SS St. Louis.

There was one room in the museum that caught my attention. I don’t know if it was a permanent installment or a temporary exhibit; I haven’t been back there since. In the room, there was a screen on the wall, rotating through pictures in a slideshow. Some of them were drawings, while others were photographs. All of the pictures were of the insides of people’s houses – their kitchens and dining rooms. Each picture was labeled with a place and a time. This was Poland, this was Spain. This was the fifteenth, eighteenth, twentieth century.

These pictures were from all across the world and all across history. And, in every picture, three items were circled in red: the challah loaf, the kiddush cup, and the Shabbat candlesticks.

As I stood there, watching these pictures, it hit me – slowly, and then all at once – that I had those things in my house. I was connected to every single place, and every single time, all across the world, all across history.

That was it. That was my moment, the completely mind-blowing and earth-shattering realization. That connection through tradition – that’s what it meant to be a Jew. I felt then a supreme sense of belonging, of being grounded, of being a part of something so much bigger than myself – something that mattered, something that was made of love, something that could never die. That realization has stuck with me ever since.

I told this story on TikTok on Tuesday. On Wednesday, Chapter 18 of The Mandalorian aired, and I marveled at the serendipity. I’ve talked here before about the connections I’ve noticed between the Mandalorians as depicted in this series and Judaism. We too were scattered. Our holy sites were destroyed. We are diverse, and disparate, and faced with the question of what to do now, in a world that hates us, hurts us, and demands that we too become hateful and hurtful. And we are united – we are grounded – we are able to survive because of the stories, the traditions, the rituals at the heart of our people.