Meet Rachel.
Hello, Rachel.
Rachel is a nomad.
Oh, really? How nice. My uncle was a nomad.
Oh, really? How nice.
Silence.
Er, Rachel, you don't look like a nomad.
I don't look like a madman either.
Madmen-Nomad combos typically reek of hobo, don't you think?
But of course.
You don't look like a hobo.
How kind of you. I'll let myself know that as soon as I see her.... Have you seen me? I can't seem to find that girl. She's a wanderer, you know.
Rachel is a nomad of her own life. She can't seem to quite figure it all out at the moment.
(A soon-to-be deleted post? Perhaps.)
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Thought
When I was in high school, my English composition teacher would make us do "train of thought" exercises- We would be assigned to write in a journal for fifteen minutes regarding any and all things that came to mind, no matter how disconnected it seemed.
My mind is so cluttered right now, that that's just what I feel like doing. Except I'm cheating- I'm not sitting and writing all at once... I'm going about doing what I'm doing and writing it as I feel.
I'm going through a box full of old papers I wrote and sketches I drew.
I'm feeling like dirt.
The two sentences are disconnected. Almost. Because first I'm feeling like dirt, and then- completely disconnected- I'm forcing myself to go through that box searching for that old paper I need.
I still haven't found that old paper. But I find another one, from an old application. It asks for my favorite quote.
"One must at times do more than they can possibly do. For each mortal is endowed with a G-dly soul, and G-d transcends mortal constraints" (R' Schneerson).
I had forgotten it since. I feel like I'm in a whole other category of human, a whole other species to whom this quote does not apply. A mass of limbs incapable of accomplishing anything useful. Useless. (And at the same time I'm thinking, "Rachel, you're such a Jew for writing that on an application.")
But there has to be a soul. Because I felt chills at the sound of those words and the melody streaming through the speaker just now.
There's something about tefillot that aren't part of your nusach. Something fresh. So that whenever I read them, I feel something tugging within.
My mind is so cluttered right now, that that's just what I feel like doing. Except I'm cheating- I'm not sitting and writing all at once... I'm going about doing what I'm doing and writing it as I feel.
* * *
I'm going through a box full of old papers I wrote and sketches I drew.
I'm feeling like dirt.
The two sentences are disconnected. Almost. Because first I'm feeling like dirt, and then- completely disconnected- I'm forcing myself to go through that box searching for that old paper I need.
I still haven't found that old paper. But I find another one, from an old application. It asks for my favorite quote.
"One must at times do more than they can possibly do. For each mortal is endowed with a G-dly soul, and G-d transcends mortal constraints" (R' Schneerson).
I had forgotten it since. I feel like I'm in a whole other category of human, a whole other species to whom this quote does not apply. A mass of limbs incapable of accomplishing anything useful. Useless. (And at the same time I'm thinking, "Rachel, you're such a Jew for writing that on an application.")
But there has to be a soul. Because I felt chills at the sound of those words and the melody streaming through the speaker just now.
There's something about tefillot that aren't part of your nusach. Something fresh. So that whenever I read them, I feel something tugging within.
Like that one shabbat that I had to daven out of a siddur that wasn't edut mizrach. Av HaRachamim was new to me. As I followed the words with my eyes, I had to hold the siddur higher to cover my face because of my tears.
Or kriat shema al ha'matah... when I read the ashkenaz nusach. And every time I read "b'shem Ad-nai Elokei Yisrael, m'yemini Michael, u'msmoli Gavriel, u'milfanai Uriel, u'machorai Rafael, v'al roshi Shechinat Kel" I would tremble.
I wish for those words on my brothers right now- that they should have the malachim surrounding them and Hashem's Shechinah protecting them. I received a text message just now saying they might be marching into Gaza tonight- say Tehillim.
Please, Hashem, return them to us safely. Don't let it be the end of this road for any of our boys. Don't let any mother, daughter, wife, sister have to come out of this empty-handed, broken-hearted. Shower them with protection and blessings.
So I go off to say tehillim. To make myself useful.
Or kriat shema al ha'matah... when I read the ashkenaz nusach. And every time I read "b'shem Ad-nai Elokei Yisrael, m'yemini Michael, u'msmoli Gavriel, u'milfanai Uriel, u'machorai Rafael, v'al roshi Shechinat Kel" I would tremble.
I wish for those words on my brothers right now- that they should have the malachim surrounding them and Hashem's Shechinah protecting them. I received a text message just now saying they might be marching into Gaza tonight- say Tehillim.
Please, Hashem, return them to us safely. Don't let it be the end of this road for any of our boys. Don't let any mother, daughter, wife, sister have to come out of this empty-handed, broken-hearted. Shower them with protection and blessings.
So I go off to say tehillim. To make myself useful.
* * *
Okay, I said some tehillim. Said mincha. I'm back. And the train of thought is going.
One of those exhilarating not-really-coinky-dink sort of things just happened. That quote I quoted in the beginning of this post, the one about doing more than one can possibly do- I just got a slap on the back of the hand for calling myself useless. Here it goes:
I come back from mincha, and randomly head to watch this video (titled "Waves"), not knowing at all what it's about. And these are the words I hear, all by the same R' that said that quote which I quoted... and it speaks to me on that same matter:
"When a person contemplates that he is one person alone, surrounded by a vast world, how can he expect, with his limited abilities, to benefit all of creation?
One of those exhilarating not-really-coinky-dink sort of things just happened. That quote I quoted in the beginning of this post, the one about doing more than one can possibly do- I just got a slap on the back of the hand for calling myself useless. Here it goes:
I come back from mincha, and randomly head to watch this video (titled "Waves"), not knowing at all what it's about. And these are the words I hear, all by the same R' that said that quote which I quoted... and it speaks to me on that same matter:
"When a person contemplates that he is one person alone, surrounded by a vast world, how can he expect, with his limited abilities, to benefit all of creation?
"The Torah says, 'He is the one Who gives the strength to achieve.' G-d, Creator and Director of the world, tells every person and every Jew, that He gives the ability. So surely there are no limitations- that is how G-d created the world. That one single act, which is seemingly minor and isolated, can tilt the scale. When G-d created man, He created him all alone: A single person, Adam. This was for every person in every place and time to know that he is a complete World!
"It seems to be a tremendous exaggeration: A young man, a woman, a girl, or boy comes along- as a shliach in a certain place, and is told that through saying one statement in that place, they'll change the world! And they will "save and redeem" the entire world!
"Every Shliach also shares in the spreading of Judaism to a far-flung corner of the world; a place where they have never been, never mailed letters there, but through speaking with a Jew in that place, and that Jew later repeated his words to another Jew, at the end, those words reached a Jew in a far-flung place, and affected him.
"It seems to be a tremendous exaggeration: A young man, a woman, a girl, or boy comes along- as a shliach in a certain place, and is told that through saying one statement in that place, they'll change the world! And they will "save and redeem" the entire world!
"Every Shliach also shares in the spreading of Judaism to a far-flung corner of the world; a place where they have never been, never mailed letters there, but through speaking with a Jew in that place, and that Jew later repeated his words to another Jew, at the end, those words reached a Jew in a far-flung place, and affected him.
"This also explains how every Jew can be a Shliach; for even the smallest child has the ability to perform a deed which affects the entire world! G-d hopes that everyone will do his or her part, to make the world a 'garden'- a place that brings Him delight and pleasure. When one goes out into the world, there is nothing to fear. We live in a precious world! It is a world that G-d calls 'His orchard'...."
Thank You for that.
Thank You for that.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Eighth Night
She was so focused on singing by the menorah that when she opened her eyes, she saw that she had blown out half the candles.
(Oh, how we laughed.)
(Oh, how we laughed.)
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Excuse me, sir, are you Jewish?
"Come. Follow us. You'll put on tefillin and you'll get a parking spot."
(The only good part about getting stuck going to the mall in the icky, nauseating overflow of materialism... is leaving and bumping into another brother.)
Monday, December 22, 2008
Greece Defeated
From the "Daily Dose":
The Ancient Greeks couldn’t understand us Jews. They asked us to describe our G–d. We said He could not be described. They asked us to explain how He created a world out of nothing. We said it could not be explained. They told us that which could not be explained could not exist.
And so continued the debate between philosophy and Torah for many centuries. Step by step, men described and explained everything they saw, until there was no room left for miracles, for prophecy, for divine providence, for G-d.
It was then that the fountains of wisdom opened for humankind and we gazed into the mysteries of the atom, of energy fields, of black holes in space.
Suddenly, the universe became once again a wondrous place. Suddenly, we discovered that existence itself could not truly be described or explained. In truth, the greatest mystery is that anything exists at all.
Today, it is okay to believe in the supernatural, for the "Laws of Nature" have been deposed from their throne. There is no reason to deny free choice, for the iron chain of Cause and Effect has been loosened. Today, once again, scientists talk about the oneness of the cosmos and a Consciousness within it.
Today, if anyone should tell you that Science has all the answers, respond that yes, it does. Its answer is to stand in awe at the design of this universe in which we live.
The Ancient Greeks couldn’t understand us Jews. They asked us to describe our G–d. We said He could not be described. They asked us to explain how He created a world out of nothing. We said it could not be explained. They told us that which could not be explained could not exist.
And so continued the debate between philosophy and Torah for many centuries. Step by step, men described and explained everything they saw, until there was no room left for miracles, for prophecy, for divine providence, for G-d.
It was then that the fountains of wisdom opened for humankind and we gazed into the mysteries of the atom, of energy fields, of black holes in space.
Suddenly, the universe became once again a wondrous place. Suddenly, we discovered that existence itself could not truly be described or explained. In truth, the greatest mystery is that anything exists at all.
Today, it is okay to believe in the supernatural, for the "Laws of Nature" have been deposed from their throne. There is no reason to deny free choice, for the iron chain of Cause and Effect has been loosened. Today, once again, scientists talk about the oneness of the cosmos and a Consciousness within it.
Today, if anyone should tell you that Science has all the answers, respond that yes, it does. Its answer is to stand in awe at the design of this universe in which we live.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Hey, David
Looks like someone I know has been reading my blog.
I feel like hiding all of my old posts. (But then again, you read them all already anyway.)
And I know you can't possibly understand why I cringe at the thought of having someone I know read this. So... whatever. I don't want to bother trying to explain it at risk of mistakenly sounding overly dramatic.
Maybe I'll block this blog. Or delete it. Or maybe I'll continue it. I don't know yet. I just can't bring myself to write the same way when I know you're reading this.
I feel like hiding all of my old posts. (But then again, you read them all already anyway.)
And I know you can't possibly understand why I cringe at the thought of having someone I know read this. So... whatever. I don't want to bother trying to explain it at risk of mistakenly sounding overly dramatic.
Maybe I'll block this blog. Or delete it. Or maybe I'll continue it. I don't know yet. I just can't bring myself to write the same way when I know you're reading this.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
One Year Later, a Hundred Levels Higher
One year ago today I started this blog with no idea where I was going with it. I didn't even think anyone would read it.
But I'm really glad I started it. It unexpectedly picked me up and lifted me higher than I thought writing could possibly do.
Before, I was terrified of seeing my words written on paper. Before, I lacked inspiration. Before, I lacked the ability to see how far my words could reach. (And, before I thought the world would stop turning if I started a sentence with words like "and" or "because." Hehe.)
You see, while others might not be able to see the thoughts and life (my life) that went behind each post, I can. I can see each up and down. I can see how ridiculously afraid I was to write anything personal in those first posts. I can see how much I learned about myself just by being forced to put my thoughts into written words. And, most importantly, I can see how much higher I flew spiritually.
I learned. I grew. I saw what an effect words could have. I realized a negative post could unknowingly kick a person sitting behind his/her computer screen somewhere across the world. And I decided I would try to help radiate positive energy.
It wasn't all just from writing these posts. It also came from reading some of yours. I didn't always comment to you about how educating or inspiring what you wrote was for me, but you did in fact educate and inspire. Some of you introduced to my geekish self new subjects to explore academically. Others of you shared with me how great He is, and inspired me to want to grow that much more. And one of you even became a soul sister who helped me on my journey to walking back to those bookshelves stacked with sefarim in my house that I used to overlook, and helped me start learning again.
(Did any of you realize what an effect your words had? Because, wherever you are, however far you are, you reached me. And I can only hope that at least one of my posts reached someone out there, and helped lift them up too.)
So I thank this blog, and Him, and all of you for all of that. For the inspiration, the knowledge, the spirituality, the encouragement... thank you.
Here's to another year of growth.
But I'm really glad I started it. It unexpectedly picked me up and lifted me higher than I thought writing could possibly do.
Before, I was terrified of seeing my words written on paper. Before, I lacked inspiration. Before, I lacked the ability to see how far my words could reach. (And, before I thought the world would stop turning if I started a sentence with words like "and" or "because." Hehe.)
You see, while others might not be able to see the thoughts and life (my life) that went behind each post, I can. I can see each up and down. I can see how ridiculously afraid I was to write anything personal in those first posts. I can see how much I learned about myself just by being forced to put my thoughts into written words. And, most importantly, I can see how much higher I flew spiritually.
I learned. I grew. I saw what an effect words could have. I realized a negative post could unknowingly kick a person sitting behind his/her computer screen somewhere across the world. And I decided I would try to help radiate positive energy.
It wasn't all just from writing these posts. It also came from reading some of yours. I didn't always comment to you about how educating or inspiring what you wrote was for me, but you did in fact educate and inspire. Some of you introduced to my geekish self new subjects to explore academically. Others of you shared with me how great He is, and inspired me to want to grow that much more. And one of you even became a soul sister who helped me on my journey to walking back to those bookshelves stacked with sefarim in my house that I used to overlook, and helped me start learning again.
(Did any of you realize what an effect your words had? Because, wherever you are, however far you are, you reached me. And I can only hope that at least one of my posts reached someone out there, and helped lift them up too.)
So I thank this blog, and Him, and all of you for all of that. For the inspiration, the knowledge, the spirituality, the encouragement... thank you.
Here's to another year of growth.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Hey Abba, Catch Me
Uh, are You planning on putting another of those unforeseen curves in my life path again? Because I think I can see one just appearing on the horizon.
What? It's not like it's the first time You've done this.
You know that phrase, "Man plans, G-d laughs"? It was apparently coined based on my life.
And it's not like I don't trust You. I know that curve will have a nice road waiting... it always does. I'll admit, it's actually a bit exciting.
...And terrifying..... What do you mean I have no (none, zip, zilch) idea about where I'm going to be next year? A person should have some idea as to where they're headed to, no?
I thought I knew where I was going. I thought I had it all perfectly planned out- at least the next four/five years or so. Now I feel like I'm standing on the edge of the world, unsure of how to dive in.
Has anyone seen my remote control? I think I'm going to put the next six months (six months until graduation!?) on "scan slow." Because if You're going to put that curve in the road, I only have six months left to try to re-plan the next hundred years of my life.
(*Pause*)
I'm so not getting the point, right? Here I am trusting You, and here I am pretending to go behind Your back with my useless remote control.
No really, have you seen my remote control?
Okay, okay. I'll stop. I'm trusting You.
Whether or not You have a different path in mind for me, I trust You.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be making my laps around the world, warming up while I wait to see how He's going to send me diving in next fall.
What? It's not like it's the first time You've done this.
You know that phrase, "Man plans, G-d laughs"? It was apparently coined based on my life.
And it's not like I don't trust You. I know that curve will have a nice road waiting... it always does. I'll admit, it's actually a bit exciting.
...And terrifying..... What do you mean I have no (none, zip, zilch) idea about where I'm going to be next year? A person should have some idea as to where they're headed to, no?
I thought I knew where I was going. I thought I had it all perfectly planned out- at least the next four/five years or so. Now I feel like I'm standing on the edge of the world, unsure of how to dive in.
Has anyone seen my remote control? I think I'm going to put the next six months (six months until graduation!?) on "scan slow." Because if You're going to put that curve in the road, I only have six months left to try to re-plan the next hundred years of my life.
(*Pause*)
I'm so not getting the point, right? Here I am trusting You, and here I am pretending to go behind Your back with my useless remote control.
No really, have you seen my remote control?
Okay, okay. I'll stop. I'm trusting You.
Whether or not You have a different path in mind for me, I trust You.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be making my laps around the world, warming up while I wait to see how He's going to send me diving in next fall.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Melech, the New A+
Ya, you're probably getting tired of it already. But I'm absolutely amazed/stunned/excited/proud.
May you keep growing, kiddo.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
My Friday Final
Discuss Perry Anderson's essay in the New Left Review.
Perry Anderson's essay was more like the Palestinian-Israeli conflict condensed into ~30 pages with two extra helpings of "left-wing" on top.
If you would have read Perry Anderson's essay in the New Left Review, you would have known that this was not fair assigned reading if it were not accompanied by, say, an essay by someone like Alan Dershowitz in a publication called the Righter-than-your-Right-Hand Review. (Except it wasn't. It was only complemented by another essay from the New Left Review- one written by the professor himself.)
(During an earlier discussion, the T.A. divided the class to argue both sides of the conflict. And, considering the fact that most of the kids hardly have any background on it, one of the kids actually raised his hand and said, "Er, what do you want us to say for the Israeli perspective?" )
It wasn't just that it had to do with the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. This wine-expert feigning, intellectual wannabe seemed to consistently offer his perspective masked as fact throughout the entire course- which was supposed to simply be a survey course on the history of the Middle East from circa 600 C.E. (And along with all that, I actually had to sit through his incredibly inappropriate jokes... racial and sexual. Bleh. *shudder*)
I don't care if his political views don't hold with mine. (The T.A. is a grad student who's going to the West Bank next year to study the plight of the Palestinians. I still thought he was respectable.) But I do think it's wrong, disrespectful, and intellectual theft to provide a one-sided education to students.
So... back to his Friday final. We had two choices for the essay question. I chose the one stated on top of this post- Discuss Perry Anderson's essay in the New Left Review. (Albeit, this showing up on the exam was unfair in more ways than I care to explain here.)
And I was delightfully shocked at how little I was bothered reading and writing about the topic with such crude one-sidedness. (A year ago, when I first became acquainted with this professor, I'd sit through each class silently tortured, and leave fuming red.)
So I marked a nice, large BS"D and B"H- in Hebrew characters, of course- on the top corner of each paper of the exam and proceeded to write about the evils of Zionism, the tight Jewish control of world politics, and the plight of the Palestinians. The BS"D and B"H will be sure to raise his blood pressure. And I think (-hope-) he'll get the irony in it.
Perry Anderson's essay was more like the Palestinian-Israeli conflict condensed into ~30 pages with two extra helpings of "left-wing" on top.
If you would have read Perry Anderson's essay in the New Left Review, you would have known that this was not fair assigned reading if it were not accompanied by, say, an essay by someone like Alan Dershowitz in a publication called the Righter-than-your-Right-Hand Review. (Except it wasn't. It was only complemented by another essay from the New Left Review- one written by the professor himself.)
(During an earlier discussion, the T.A. divided the class to argue both sides of the conflict. And, considering the fact that most of the kids hardly have any background on it, one of the kids actually raised his hand and said, "Er, what do you want us to say for the Israeli perspective?" )
It wasn't just that it had to do with the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. This wine-expert feigning, intellectual wannabe seemed to consistently offer his perspective masked as fact throughout the entire course- which was supposed to simply be a survey course on the history of the Middle East from circa 600 C.E. (And along with all that, I actually had to sit through his incredibly inappropriate jokes... racial and sexual. Bleh. *shudder*)
I don't care if his political views don't hold with mine. (The T.A. is a grad student who's going to the West Bank next year to study the plight of the Palestinians. I still thought he was respectable.) But I do think it's wrong, disrespectful, and intellectual theft to provide a one-sided education to students.
So... back to his Friday final. We had two choices for the essay question. I chose the one stated on top of this post- Discuss Perry Anderson's essay in the New Left Review. (Albeit, this showing up on the exam was unfair in more ways than I care to explain here.)
And I was delightfully shocked at how little I was bothered reading and writing about the topic with such crude one-sidedness. (A year ago, when I first became acquainted with this professor, I'd sit through each class silently tortured, and leave fuming red.)
So I marked a nice, large BS"D and B"H- in Hebrew characters, of course- on the top corner of each paper of the exam and proceeded to write about the evils of Zionism, the tight Jewish control of world politics, and the plight of the Palestinians. The BS"D and B"H will be sure to raise his blood pressure. And I think (-hope-) he'll get the irony in it.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Contents Better than Title
I could have copy-pasted my paper here, but I reconsidered under the assumption that most people have the attention span of a goldfish. With that said, I present fun facts for history geeks, a la Avraham Grossman*:
Jewish women of Europe during the Middle Ages-
They were shokhets, mohels, and even sandeqs.
....
......
Okay, fine... so maybe it's not as fun when you condense an essay into one line. But the excitement of the facts in that line leave you yearning for more. Right? Right. Fear not-- link on bottom. V'achalta v'savata.
* Pious and Rebellious
Jewish women of Europe during the Middle Ages-
They were shokhets, mohels, and even sandeqs.
....
......
Okay, fine... so maybe it's not as fun when you condense an essay into one line. But the excitement of the facts in that line leave you yearning for more. Right? Right. Fear not-- link on bottom. V'achalta v'savata.
* Pious and Rebellious
Here's what I'm Thinking
The concept of jail/prison hardly exists in Jewish law. (Am I correct, readers of the yeshivish persuasion?) Ergo, if the neshama is feeling "caged" (i.e. imprisoned) by halakhah, you're going about Judaism the wrong way.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Censorship Amuses Me
Amusement, oddly-targeted: I can't help smiling to myself when I open the door and find the delivery man has dropped off another box that looks like it's been torn apart and taped back together.
Censorship. Heehee.
More things:
1. Mamluks reek of possom-flavored road-kill.
2. Chevron. Who read the name of Shell's competitor and who read the name of a city?
Censorship. Heehee.
More things:
1. Mamluks reek of possom-flavored road-kill.
2. Chevron. Who read the name of Shell's competitor and who read the name of a city?
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
The View from Up High
Preface:
Nathan refused to do any homework I assigned him to complete outside of our study sessions. So we would do any and all studying in class.
His [I refuse to write disrespectful adjectives here, but encourage you to insert what your imagination will allow] teacher kept insisting he had a "learning disability." (He actually confided in me that he generally played along with any teacher who fancied he was stupid.)
Post:
Today Nathan walked in, sat behind the table, took out a paper and pen (with the typical boisterous messing around, of course)... and then proceeded to show me he knew everything I asked. Nathan knows his aleph bet until "ayin."
Heart swelling. Bursting with pride and joy.
I. Could. DANCE.
Oh, and the previously-incorrectly-stated "vulgar and obscene" student body? Allies.
Nathan refused to do any homework I assigned him to complete outside of our study sessions. So we would do any and all studying in class.
His [I refuse to write disrespectful adjectives here, but encourage you to insert what your imagination will allow] teacher kept insisting he had a "learning disability." (He actually confided in me that he generally played along with any teacher who fancied he was stupid.)
Post:
Today Nathan walked in, sat behind the table, took out a paper and pen (with the typical boisterous messing around, of course)... and then proceeded to show me he knew everything I asked. Nathan knows his aleph bet until "ayin."
Heart swelling. Bursting with pride and joy.
I. Could. DANCE.
Oh, and the previously-incorrectly-stated "vulgar and obscene" student body? Allies.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
This is How I Study for Huuuugggeee Exams
Today was a problem-day on the animal front.
One look at the parshah, and I decided I wanted to grow up to be a sheperdess just like the Rachel. Then I realized I don't have sheep. (My sister refused to commit to my dreams of her growing up to become a sheep. Ungrateful Homo sapien.)
Then I decided I wanted to have duckies. (This, reader, has been a dream of mine since high school. Baby duckies. Baby duckies. Baby duckies.) But m'Mama crushed my dreams by telling me the cats and squirrels would eat them up if I left them out. I refuse to put any animal in a cage. (Uh, I accidentally let one of my sisters birds free a few years ago. It was my happiest mistake.) I subsequently proposed putting them in my room, to which I was informed they would defecate in extreme proportions on the carpet. Sigh.
One look at the parshah, and I decided I wanted to grow up to be a sheperdess just like the Rachel. Then I realized I don't have sheep. (My sister refused to commit to my dreams of her growing up to become a sheep. Ungrateful Homo sapien.)
Then I decided I wanted to have duckies. (This, reader, has been a dream of mine since high school. Baby duckies. Baby duckies. Baby duckies.) But m'Mama crushed my dreams by telling me the cats and squirrels would eat them up if I left them out. I refuse to put any animal in a cage. (Uh, I accidentally let one of my sisters birds free a few years ago. It was my happiest mistake.) I subsequently proposed putting them in my room, to which I was informed they would defecate in extreme proportions on the carpet. Sigh.
Friday, December 5, 2008
JewBeJew
Back when the yeshiva shooting happened on Rosh Chodesh Adar, a ["secular"] Israeli girl wrote an article. Not surprising. It wasn't everything she wrote that touched me (I'm not sure I even agreed with all of it), but what stood out about it was an astounding level of ahavat yisrael that made her words stick in my mind. I felt I should post it here. (I highlighted a couple of the parts I found the most touching.):
March 13, 2008
A letter to my secular friend in Tel Aviv
By Orit Arfa
This letter is directed to a friend of mine in Tel Aviv and to all those who can relate to what she said to me.
I know you didn't mean to be insensitive. I know that you seek to be a good person and to improve yourself and the world in your own way.
I'm no angel, either. I admit I wasn't as sad or shaken over the suicide bombing in Dimona last month as I was over the massacre at Yeshivat Mercaz Harav.
But I wonder what has allowed you to say, rather glibly, "I'm not so upset by the attack, because I can't identify with yeshiva community."
Is it acceptable, even fashionable, to say that you can't identify with religious Zionist yeshiva students? How is it possible that good people can forgive the sickest of Arab murderers but can't mourn the deaths of their fellow Jews because they wear knitted kippahs or grow payot?
Or does this reflect the sad reality of the sharp divisiveness of Israeli society, in which we box each other into compartments so that we can't see one another's basic humanity? In which we are so self-absorbed that we can't break our daily routine to care for our countrymen? In which you can't feel for mothers with Jewish head scarves weeping over their sons' freshly dug graves; brothers and sisters who will forever face an empty seat at their Shabbat table; teenagers who will have to go back to school to study a page of Talmud without their hevrutas?
Let me tell you why you should feel for these yeshiva students: Because while you don't identify with them, they identified with you. I'm sure they might have reserved their own, passionate critique of your secular Tel Aviv lifestyle, but they sat in that yeshiva not merely because it gave them joy and a spiritual high, but because they wanted you to be safe.
They deliberately studied in that yeshiva to celebrate the month of Adar, the month in which Jews were saved from a horrible genocide. Because they would have understood that the Arab terrorist and his gang didn't target them because Jews stole their land, but because they proudly, defiantly celebrated the tradition for which Jews have been murdered, lynched and torched for centuries. It's a tradition you reject, but which the enemy doesn't reject in you.
They studied in that yeshiva so that their minds and spirits could be armed with the Jewish pride, wisdom and conviction necessary to spur them to join the best units in the Israeli army and to fight our enemies with valor, so that you can freely enjoy your secular lifestyle, no matter that it's contrary to theirs.
And if, God forbid, you would have met a similar fate, they wouldn't have said, "I'm not so upset because I can't identify with secular Tel Avivians. Let's go study." They would have scrambled to that same study hall in which they were mercilessly shot in cold blood, and they would have recited psalms with full emotion in your memory.
Those 15-, 16- and 18-year-olds bore more wisdom and sensitivity than any of those beer-guzzling men who like to pick us up at the bars we frequent in Tel Aviv. And if those pure, wholesome young men had been given the chance to grow up to be their age, they wouldn't have degraded us by sizing up our bodies, asking for our number, taking us out to get us drunk and fool around, only never to call us again.
Their worst offense might have been persuading us rationally of the beauty of Shabbat, of the wisdom of the laws of family purity, of the wonder of the Land of Israel.
They would have seen past our immodest clothing, not to figure out how to touch our flesh but how to awaken our vibrant Jewish soul, which, by living in this land, has already realized a part of the miraculous Jewish dream you don't recognize or honor.
I know it's not always pleasant to be reminded of an identity and religion that is associated with so much limitation, strife, hatred and tragedy. Maybe you don't like that they tenaciously held onto the Book for which we are being killed. Maybe we should burn the Book, so that our bodies aren't ripped apart by bullets.
Why bother studying ancient ideas when the contemporary wealth of Tel Aviv is at our disposal -- the hot bars on Lilienblum, the stylish fashion boutiques on Dizengoff, that great seafood restaurant on the corner on Ben Gurion? Most of all, why bother caring deeply for people who studied those ideas?
I'll tell you why you should bother: Because the day is not far off when events in this country will spiral into even bloodier destruction, and you will be forced to turn your focus from a night out on the town or from making love with your boyfriend or from making the month's rent to the national, physical and spiritual survival that these Jewish boys have sought to secure for you, for us.
I can't make you believe what I believe, but I hope, at the very least, you can open your heart to people who are different from you, and who, I'm sure, are now praying for you and me in heaven, even as we forget them. For we need their prayers -- and we need them far more than they needed us.
* Points to Sabra. I wanted to post this back when it came out and I forgot to do so until now.
March 13, 2008
A letter to my secular friend in Tel Aviv
By Orit Arfa
This letter is directed to a friend of mine in Tel Aviv and to all those who can relate to what she said to me.
I know you didn't mean to be insensitive. I know that you seek to be a good person and to improve yourself and the world in your own way.
I'm no angel, either. I admit I wasn't as sad or shaken over the suicide bombing in Dimona last month as I was over the massacre at Yeshivat Mercaz Harav.
But I wonder what has allowed you to say, rather glibly, "I'm not so upset by the attack, because I can't identify with yeshiva community."
Is it acceptable, even fashionable, to say that you can't identify with religious Zionist yeshiva students? How is it possible that good people can forgive the sickest of Arab murderers but can't mourn the deaths of their fellow Jews because they wear knitted kippahs or grow payot?
Or does this reflect the sad reality of the sharp divisiveness of Israeli society, in which we box each other into compartments so that we can't see one another's basic humanity? In which we are so self-absorbed that we can't break our daily routine to care for our countrymen? In which you can't feel for mothers with Jewish head scarves weeping over their sons' freshly dug graves; brothers and sisters who will forever face an empty seat at their Shabbat table; teenagers who will have to go back to school to study a page of Talmud without their hevrutas?
Let me tell you why you should feel for these yeshiva students: Because while you don't identify with them, they identified with you. I'm sure they might have reserved their own, passionate critique of your secular Tel Aviv lifestyle, but they sat in that yeshiva not merely because it gave them joy and a spiritual high, but because they wanted you to be safe.
They deliberately studied in that yeshiva to celebrate the month of Adar, the month in which Jews were saved from a horrible genocide. Because they would have understood that the Arab terrorist and his gang didn't target them because Jews stole their land, but because they proudly, defiantly celebrated the tradition for which Jews have been murdered, lynched and torched for centuries. It's a tradition you reject, but which the enemy doesn't reject in you.
They studied in that yeshiva so that their minds and spirits could be armed with the Jewish pride, wisdom and conviction necessary to spur them to join the best units in the Israeli army and to fight our enemies with valor, so that you can freely enjoy your secular lifestyle, no matter that it's contrary to theirs.
And if, God forbid, you would have met a similar fate, they wouldn't have said, "I'm not so upset because I can't identify with secular Tel Avivians. Let's go study." They would have scrambled to that same study hall in which they were mercilessly shot in cold blood, and they would have recited psalms with full emotion in your memory.
Those 15-, 16- and 18-year-olds bore more wisdom and sensitivity than any of those beer-guzzling men who like to pick us up at the bars we frequent in Tel Aviv. And if those pure, wholesome young men had been given the chance to grow up to be their age, they wouldn't have degraded us by sizing up our bodies, asking for our number, taking us out to get us drunk and fool around, only never to call us again.
Their worst offense might have been persuading us rationally of the beauty of Shabbat, of the wisdom of the laws of family purity, of the wonder of the Land of Israel.
They would have seen past our immodest clothing, not to figure out how to touch our flesh but how to awaken our vibrant Jewish soul, which, by living in this land, has already realized a part of the miraculous Jewish dream you don't recognize or honor.
I know it's not always pleasant to be reminded of an identity and religion that is associated with so much limitation, strife, hatred and tragedy. Maybe you don't like that they tenaciously held onto the Book for which we are being killed. Maybe we should burn the Book, so that our bodies aren't ripped apart by bullets.
Why bother studying ancient ideas when the contemporary wealth of Tel Aviv is at our disposal -- the hot bars on Lilienblum, the stylish fashion boutiques on Dizengoff, that great seafood restaurant on the corner on Ben Gurion? Most of all, why bother caring deeply for people who studied those ideas?
I'll tell you why you should bother: Because the day is not far off when events in this country will spiral into even bloodier destruction, and you will be forced to turn your focus from a night out on the town or from making love with your boyfriend or from making the month's rent to the national, physical and spiritual survival that these Jewish boys have sought to secure for you, for us.
I can't make you believe what I believe, but I hope, at the very least, you can open your heart to people who are different from you, and who, I'm sure, are now praying for you and me in heaven, even as we forget them. For we need their prayers -- and we need them far more than they needed us.
* Points to Sabra. I wanted to post this back when it came out and I forgot to do so until now.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
I Wish for Redemption
I can't write anything- at least not about what I want, should, and need to write about- because some feelings can't be articulated. Some feelings are simply an abyss in the soul that you try to mask with anger, or fill with tears or written words, but to no avail.
And still I want to write it. I want that abyss to ebb away. I want to finally take heed and "continue to build." Yet, at the same time I just want to dwell within that abyss.
I want to spill it all out here, and stop feeling it.
I want to be numb.
I want to get up in the morning without having my conscious immediately slam me with thoughts of it again.
I want to stop my mind from constantly wondering what they did last Friday. What they did last Shabbat. What they did last Sunday. What they did last Monday. What they did last Tuesday. And even Wednesday. Last Wednesday.
And yet I fear losing it. I fear losing that sudden proof of the existence of the soul: The unbreakable ties between souls physically distanced. I fear losing the sparks that have come to almost tangibly connect us. Because the individual and communal pain somehow turned into an elevation. And I want to stay up here... just with a different view below us.
...And then I want to press the delete button- on time and on this post. Because neither time did justice, nor this post.
Note to reader: Don't bother yourself too much if you don't get it. It wasn't much intended to be understood by others.
And still I want to write it. I want that abyss to ebb away. I want to finally take heed and "continue to build." Yet, at the same time I just want to dwell within that abyss.
I want to spill it all out here, and stop feeling it.
I want to be numb.
I want to get up in the morning without having my conscious immediately slam me with thoughts of it again.
I want to stop my mind from constantly wondering what they did last Friday. What they did last Shabbat. What they did last Sunday. What they did last Monday. What they did last Tuesday. And even Wednesday. Last Wednesday.
And yet I fear losing it. I fear losing that sudden proof of the existence of the soul: The unbreakable ties between souls physically distanced. I fear losing the sparks that have come to almost tangibly connect us. Because the individual and communal pain somehow turned into an elevation. And I want to stay up here... just with a different view below us.
...And then I want to press the delete button- on time and on this post. Because neither time did justice, nor this post.
Note to reader: Don't bother yourself too much if you don't get it. It wasn't much intended to be understood by others.
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