'The system' doesn't work

I was born into the system. I didn't choose it, it was my birthright. Perhaps, for that reason, I failed to see the beauty of it. Because there is beauty, of that I am certain, but it is covered, hidden, and I have yet to discover it.

The system, roughly, goes like this. You are born into a Lubavitch family. Your parents may have been Baal Tshuva, or Frum from birth, with many generations of lineage to prove it. BT or FFB in short, which basically gives some people an excuse to say 'I'm better than you', when in no way are they better.

You grow up in a Lubavitch community, in this case I'll use Crown Heights, as an example, because thats where I grew up, and where 'the system' is most dominent.

You go to Bais Rivkah or Ohlei Torah all your life. Now you are no longer a person, but a number. One in a grade of 130, one in a school of over 1000. You don't have a chance to prove yourself, or expand your talents, or assert your individuality. In a school of over 2000, individuality is not possible. The girls who are the loudest get heard, while the quiet ones fall to the wayside, lost, forgotten about, while they have so much to give, but no one to give it to.

The system has many rules. These are not official, of course. These are unwritten rules, things that are known, but never spoken about. It tells us how to dress. It tells us who to be friends with, how we should act, etc. These rules you want to follow, because you are trying to copy someone, some unknown person who makes these rules. But who are you really trying to impress?

It's like an exclusive club that I somehow did not get membership to. I walk into 770, and I feel like an outsider. Somehow the holyness of a shul, and 770 specifically, has gotten mixed up with a central meeting place, where you mingle, and chat with friends you havn't seen in a long time, or parade around in your new Shabbos outfit. It's like a runway. You walk in the door and heads swivel to look you up and down, from head to toe. In general this is wrong, but especially taking place in 770, the Rebbes shul, it hurts to see. So I don't go.

The system is strong in boys yeshivos too. They try to fit a square into a round hole. If it doesn't fit, they cut off the edges. So what if the boy will lose part of himself in the process, but at least he'll be a good bochur, just like everyone else, right?

Wrong. There is no one manual for children, for students. We are each born with different talents, different capabilities, different ways of thinking. We each have our own guidebook, our own separate paths in life. It is up to our teachers, leaders, and parents to tap into that, to help us discover who we are, and what we are capable of accomplishing.

But they forget that. There are so many of us, we get lumped together, all packaged with the same lable. Individuality is not encouraged, talents may not be expanded, and therefore, wasted.
Chabad is supposedly one big family. There are thousads of Chabad houses all over the world, opening their doors and hearts wide for strangers, caring, sharing, and being there for them. While here in the 'Shchuna', our own are getting lost, tramppled upon, neglected.
Where are the shluchim here? Who are we supposed to turn to in time of need?

When a boy 'frys out, G-d forbid, people point fingers, place blame, and put him down. He becomes an outcast. But where were these same people when this boy was crying out, pleading silently for someone to help him, and understand him? They weren't there. They ignored the warning signs, trying to convince themselves that all was fine. So in reality, they pushed him out the door with their own two hands.

In the system, shluchis is preached about. From the time when a child is young, they know what shluchis is, and that the ultimate goal is to become the Rebbes shliach, and help bring Moshiach. It is so ingrained in them, that we find our little mushkies and mendels playing shliach, or Rebbe and chossid, instead of the games of the goyishe velt.

A girl is encouraged to go on a year of shluchis after seminary, and a boy does shluchis as part of the smicha process. This is meant to be a taste of what will come, what they will face when they eventually get married, and go on shluchis.

And yet, I know of so many couples sitting in Crown Heights, waiting for over a year, only to get their hopes dashed, because no position is available. While perhaps other young couples, who have connections, will get a position right away. So why preach if you won't pull through in the end?

A girl who wants to go to college is practically considered not frum, in the eyes of many. And a boy who wants to learn a trade instead of getting smicha, or going on shluchis, is looked down upon. But are these boys and girls supposed to sit forever, wasting their life away, waiting for shlichus, when it may never happen?

The Rebbe spoke about shlichus constantly, and promised many brachos to those who go on shlichus. I love shluchim, and the concept of shlichus. It is an attitude, a way of life. The world needs shluchim, and there are so many out there who are B''H doing amazing work. But why does it seem like it turned into a competition? I used to dream of going on shlichus, now I'm a little less sure.

When the Frierdike Rebbe came to America, he chose Crown Heights to be his base. It became the main force behind all Chabad activities throughout the world. Lubavitch world headquarters, Bais Rabainu Shebibavel. It is a special place, a holy place, and we, the people of Crown Heights, should treat it as such. Is is an honor to be able to live the very neighborhood where the Rebbe walked.

So then why do I see such shmutz? I'm not talking about physically. Yes, New York is dirty, but it is mine, it's home. But why must I feel like a stranger in my own hometown?

I have friends who come from small towns, and they speak of their communities with such pride.
When someone asks me where I'm from, I'm almost embarrassed to say Crown Heights.

Firstly, because it's not 'my place'. It is everyones. Crown Heights is home to all of Chabad.
But thats not a problem, thats a special thing to be able to share your home with so many strangers.

But mostly because I feel like an outsider, like I don't belong. I walk down the street and I feel eyes on me, judging me. They judge me on my mode of dress, whether it's according to the current fashion trends, or if it's tznius enough. They wonder who I am, and if I'm a 'somebody', worth investing their time talking about. I make one move and everyone has something to say about it.

Sometimes I wish that I was born in a small quiet hicktown, where everyone knows everyone, and people are friendly and welcoming, and not so judgmental.
But then I remember that everywhere has its problems.

Then I wish that Crown Heights was different, that people were more accepting, and less gossipy.

Sometimes I wish that I was a Baal Tshuva, because they tend to see only the beauty, and not the shmutz. I wish I could be someone on the outside, looking in, cuz everything always looks much better from that vantage point. But I was born into 'The system'.

Whether I will go on shlichus or to college doesn't matter. If I go to college, I know people will talk, but let them, what they have to say doesn't bother me.

Whether I choose to live in Crown Heights after I get married, and send my little mushkie and mendel to Bais Rivkah and Ohlei Torah is not the point here.

What is important is that the system doesn't work. No one created this system, no one is in charge of this system, but it is there, nontheless.

Who should I blame for it, for the fact that I have no pride in where I come from? That I don't feel comfortable in my own home? That people are judgmental, and if you don't act a certain way, talk a certain way, or are friends with the wrong person, your considered a 'nobody'?

If it's true what they say, that 'Chassidim ain mishpacha', Chabad is one big family, then we have a problem here.

There is no point placing blame, for no one is responsible for the fact that Crown Heights, and Lubavitch, became this way. But everyone has a responsibility to help change it, to help break the system that we are stuck in.

People who are not Lubavitch have asked me countless times, why does Chabad think theyre better than us, and the rest of the world? And I have no answer for them, I don't know.

I don't doubt that Chassidus, and specifically Chabad Chassidus, is the truth, and that we will be at the front lines to greet Moshiach. I don't doubt that the Rebbe, our holy Rebbe, is the leader of all Jews worldwide, and that every holy word he says is the truth.

But I doubt that we are better than everyone else. Special, maybe. The prince, the son of the king, is special, yes. But only because of his title, his position. What makes him a better person are his actions, how he chooses to conduct himself. That is entirely up to him.

We are all Chassidim, whether we like it or not. The Rebbe chose us to be his Chassidim, and he gave us a mission, to bring Moshiach. He has faith in us that we will get the job done.

So why are we betraying his trust?
We are special, but we are not better. We have outreach, but we don't have inreach.

There are other Chassidic groups that are extra carefull with shmiras halashon, or Tznius. We laugh at them, how they dress closed up, or old fashioned. What right do we have to judge them, when we dress like the goyishe models of the velt?

Our mission is to bring Moshiach. We must reach for the stars, but don't forget the little things along the way. Moshiach includes all those other things, especially tznius.

Bringing moshiach is a big job, but all it takes is one small brick. Bit by bit we can do it. A 1/2 hour of your day thats lashon hara free. An extra button on your shirt thats closed. A smile and greeting to a passing stranger.

I look at the shluchim of the world, and I am envious of the special work they are doing. They are doing exactly what the Rebbe asked, and demanded of each and every one of us, spreading the Torah, teaching about moshiach, and bringing Jews closer to yidishkeit. They are the lamplighters of the world, and the Rebbe has promised countless brachos to shluchim, and spoke about them with such warmth. But I am not out there, I am here. What am I doing to help bring moshiach?

And then I realized, that every flame has a source, from where it gets its light. Here in Crown Heights, we are that source. As the headquarters, we have the job of keeping it all running. It all starts here, and spreads to the rest of the world.

Everyone looks at us, and talks about us, and points fingers at us. The job is that much harder now. But we can do it, because the Rebbe believes in us.

I may not like Crown Heights, but I grew up here. I may not have pride in where I come from, but it is a part of me. You can take someone out of Crown Heights, but you can't take Crown Heights out of them. I may leave, but I'll always come back. I may not see the beauty now, but maybe one day I'll see it.

We all have a job to do. I think I'm doing mine. I am breaking the system.

Morning Coffee

When I was a little kid, there were two things that in my mind, defined a grown-up. These were, reading the newspaper, and drinking coffee.

I guess I haven't yet 'grown up', because as of now, I do neither. 

Newspapers confuse me, and I like to stick with the well known saying, ''ignorance is bliss.'' I know it's not true, but its easier than trying to figure out who is who, and what is really going on under our noses. So I don't bother.

And as for coffee, it usually just gives me a headache. And I don't believe that part about caffeine. I think its a 1% energy booster, and 99% psychological. My mind refuses to believe it works, so it never helps me.

The world at large drinks coffee. As a stimulater, energy booster, because it smells good, or because everyone else does it, more than two thirds of the worlds population depends on coffee to get them through the day. 400 billion cups of coffee are consumed a year. 

In a world thats constantly changing, this is one of the few things that will forever remain the same. That, and fast foods. So Starbucks and Mcdonalds have nothing to worry about in the way of economy.

People talk about change. Society expects it. They need it, they want it, they thrive on it. For hundreds of years nothing changed at all, and then boom, in ten years alone, we've got more inventions then we can keep up with. Name a gadget, and they've already made it, and are busy thinking up the next one. From bluetooth, to ipods, GPS, handheld computers, and I wouldn't be surprised to see flying cars somewhere on the horizon. With one click of a button, the world could be blown to pieces, brought to a state of nothingness, before it was ever created. And all thanks to some brilliant minds, and inventions, of our times.

And yet, throughout it all, there's a part of the human existence that is scared of change. It is very subtle. People try to hide it, because no one wants to feel like the odd man out,the spoilsport, the one thats so against change in an ever changing world. So they keep their fears to themselves. But what they don't know is, they are not alone. Every man is the odd one out in this sense. Change is frightening, it's a fact.

So they look for something to hold on to. Something familiar, and comforting, much like a child who clings to a ratty old blanket, or moth eaten teddy bear. 

This is where coffee comes in. It is a constant. Its stable. Its the 'home free' base that kids cling to, like a life preserver, amid the chaos and chase of people around them.

Whether or not the effect of caffeine really works, or is just plain psychological, is yet to be proven. But to those who drink it, it makes no difference. Even when their bodies have gotten used to it, and the jolt they once got now fails to take effect, they will continue to drink it. Because it is comforting, familiar.

I search for a constant in my life. I don't drink coffee, but even if I did, its not enough. I need something deeper, more substantial. Something that I don't have to worry about becoming extinct, or rationed. When the last of the coffee beans on this earth have been ground and brewed, where will I be?

And I have the answer. I have G-d, and the Torah way of life. I have all the commandments He as commanded me, I have Shabbat and the holidays, the laws of modesty, and Kashrut. All the little things we do from day to day, that reminds me who I am, who created me, and what my purpose here in this world is.

This is my constant, my life boat amongst the swirling and churning waters which is the world. Fashion trends will pass, celebrities will come and go, and the flavors of coffee in Starbucks will change from day to day.

But the Torah will stay the same. It is eternal. We, as Jews, the Chosen nation, will exist forever, long after global warming has turned this earth into one big heat wave, and fashion trends from the 70's have been recycled five times over.

I walk by Starbucks, and smile to myself. I love going in there, because the smell of coffee is addicting, even if I can't stand the taste. And they do have comfortable chairs, and a cozy atmosphere. I watch the line of customers stretch on and on, and never seem to empty, only recycle itself from time to time. The workers in their uniforms scurry around, ever efficient, to fill people's orders, earning points for good customer service. The life of coffee will go on.

I watch all this through the window, as the snow falls softly around me. I am a stranger to this world, the world of coffee. I am an outsider. 

But I am a part of a much more vibrant world, one alive with joy, and rich with fulfillment. It is a world of many colors, and customs, many people, many commandments. But one G-d, one Torah, One nation.

This is the world that I am privileged to be a part of, and it is this world that will go on forever.

Letting Go

This article has been published in The Jewish Press

Its that feeling that you get when you're dreaming, and things are spiriling out of your control. An unknown assailant is chasing you, and you can't escape him. Or you are chasing someone else, and just as you reach them, they get away.

It happens while reading a book too. Don't! You want to shout, to warn the character. Don't go in there, the bad guy is waiting for you, he may even try to hurt you! But of course they can't hear you, because it's all just a fantasy. The outcome is up to the author, not in our hands at all, and it was, in fact, predestined, so to scream now is useless either way.

A person is wrongly accused of a crime he never commited. He wants to scream, to curse, to fight, to prove somehow that they are wrong, and he is innocent. But there is nothing he can do, for no one believes him. It is not in his control.

Control. A powerful word. Oftentimes, an illusion. We, as humans, as free men, believe we have more control over our lives than we actually do. We make decisions that will affect our entire life, for good or bad. We choose what to wear, what to eat, where to live, who our friends will be. But the second we step out of our door, the instant we let our children leave the protective nest we've created for them, that illusion is gone. Nothing is in our control anymore.

We are at the mercy of drunken drivers, of stalkers, of psycho killers. And once we come face to face with them, there is absolutely nothing we can do about it. Our false sense of control is shattered, gone.

We watch as the life of a close friend is ruined, thrown down the toilet, squandered away. We can only grit out teeth, and do nothing, as they waste away, making bad decisions, and mistakes that will impact them for ever after. And there is nothing we can do about it, for it is not in our control.

A loved one has been taken from us. We get mad, refuse to acknowledge it, ball our hands into fists, cry, and cry, and beg G-d to bring them back. Why? You shout. Why him, and not me? You should have taken me instead. Or better yet, take me now too, so I won't have to suffer my entire life, missing them, wishing and hoping, and wondering, what if.

But life and death is not in our control.

You are sitting on a chair. Your hands and feet our tied, your mouth is taped, maybe your eyes are even covered. Imagine it. Feel it. You are powerless, at the mercy of whomever has done this to you. Your stomach is in knots, energy is sizzling through you. You want to scream, to thrash out, to demand release from this bondage. But you are not in control. You are at the mercy of a Higher Being, one who sees the full picture, as you do not.

In essence, we are never really in control. Ever. Even the small decisions we make in life, petty things, like whether to turn left or right, to wear red or blue, to go or not to go, even those are not in our hands. Because at the end of the day, G-d knows what you will decide. He knows the outcome of this game.

When we put our life in someone else's hands, we are taking a gamble, a huge risk. When we trust someone to make decisions for us, or give over a task for someone else to see through, we don't know if it will all work out as we want it to, or at all. In my mind, TRUST has a big question mark where a picture should be. It is something I ponder every day. How can you really trust someone, how do we know whom, and when to trust?

But with G-d, not only do we know with certainty that we CAN trust Him, we are also COMMANDED to. So if we doubt Him for a second, we are going against one of the 13 principles of faith.

You are still sitting on the chair, tied down, and powerless. But now, close your eyes, relax, and think about who's hands your life is in. Let peace overtake you, because your life is in G-d's hands, in His control, and He would never let anything bad happen to you. Whatever happens, good or, seemingly, bad, G-d has ordained it, and there is a higher purpose, which we may never understand.

Fall backwards, and know that someone will catch you. Jump off a cliff, and know that He will never let you fall. Live your life, and don't be afraid, for G-d is protecting you, watching over you, helping you every step of the way.

Our life is not in our control, nothing in this world is. But in matters of trust, I'd rather rely on Someone much greater than I am, to make the decisions.

If you place me and G-d on a scale, I have no worries, for I know what the outcome will be. And for once, I'm okay to let someone else take over. My life is in good hands.

We are just pawns

Black and white, side by side.

Soldiers, tall and proud, ready to charge.

Kings ready to conquer,

pawns waiting to be ruled.

A game of chess about to begin.

But this is Your game, not mine.

Your rules.

I am here not by choice, but by force.

It is all a game.

A game of life, a game of death.

But a game nontheless.

With a flict of the rist, the race is on.

Who will win, and who will lose.

Who will rejoice, and who will suffer.

This is not in my control, but Yours.

My life is in Your hands, for You to do with as You please.

I only hope You choose wisely,and that I come out of this game alive.

But that is impossible,for death must come at the end of the day.

'That' Israel Trip

So I finally did that Chevron trip. Yay. Another place to mark on my map. But is that really how I want it to be? Just another entry in my diary, another name to add to the list of cool places that I've been to? Maybe if it was China, yes. Or France, or Italy, or Kalamazoo. But this is Israel, the holiest land, my land, rich with history. I want to feel something, to connect to my ancestors who walked these very streets long ago. I want every breath I take here, and every step of holy soil I walk on, to mean something, to have a purpose to it.

But I am so tired. I just arrived in Israel from New York the day before that auspicious trip. I wanted to feel prepared, ready somehow, but I slept through the busride and just felt groggy and jetlagged.

We went to Mearas Hamachpela. And to kever Rachel. I tried to daven, but my heart just wasn't in it. I waited for that spiritually uplifting feeling you're supposed to get, of feeling close, and one, with our forefathers and mothers, but it never came. So I said the words. My lips moved, and I prayed, but it didn't go any deeper.

By Avrahams kever I felt something slightly, and I asked him to tell G-d that we need moshiach. I hope he was listening.

When I enetered kever Rachel, my heart jumped. Maybe because I am a woman, and she was a mother, or some other reason, I felt an instant connection. I stood there, and felt something I hadn't felt at the other kevarim. Whatever it was, it made me pray. The site of Nava Applebaums wedding gown, the one she never got to wear, touched me too, and I davened my heart out, for women worldwide, and for redemption.

Being in Chevron made me realize something. I take security and safety for granted. Living in America, it just seems so obvious that violence and death will never effect me.

And yet here are people, just like me, and it does affect them. It is a daily occurance. Baby Shalhevets father didn't see anything wrong with taking her to the park that fatefull day. But there was something wrong. Very wrong.

Her parents layed her to rest, and all that is left is a monument, all because some arab, y''sh, refused to let them have that freedom that we take for granted.

It makes me so mad, at the injustice of it all. Sometimes I just want to kill them, all of them, for the evil that they do.

But standing at the graves of holy people, I realize that this is the way we fight them. By coming here, davening, praying every day for redemption.

And by living. by going about our day to day lives, showing them we are not afraid, living in Chevron, in Sderot, and not running away. They want to kill us, but we fight back, by clinging to life, and staying strong.

So that was my Chevron trip. I wish I was in a different frame of mind, or that I felt more than I did. But I think just by going there, walking the streets of Chevron, passing arabs by, and showing them how proud I am to be a Jew, and how they don't scare me, maybe, just maybe, that helped too.

I survived The teenage years

Though I havn't 'survived' the teenage years, for in reality I'm still going through it, the ending I have written is how I want it to end, and I pray to G-d every day that it will end this way, with no harm done.

A tunnel looms ahead of me,

long and dark and vast.

I do not wish to enter it,

but my chances of escape have long since passed.

A force Propels me forward,

almost like a gently guiding hand.

I try my best to fight it,

but my wish is no longer His command.

The darkness closes around me,

and my heart stands still in fear.

I search in vain for the exit,

but escape does not seem near.

I sense people around me,

and realize that I am not alone.

Yet somehow this thought doesn't comfort me,

for this battle I must fight on my own.

The tunnel fills with water,

but its ok cuz I can swim.

Just keep your head up and forge ahead,

and I know that I will win.

But things start getting complicated,

someone is holding on to me, pulling me down.

They are using me to stay afloat,

but if I let them, then I too will drown.

I hear screams of fear all around me,

as people succumb to the waters bite.

It is cunningly pulling them into its muck,

and one by one they are losing the fight.

Their crys pierce my heart,

and my whole being feels their pain .

I want so much to help them,

but my limbs will not obey.

I think about letting go,

about ending it all right now.

I could try to survive, and reach the end,

but giving up seems easier somehow.

I cry out, and ask for help,

as tears fall from my eyes.

I beg G-d to guide me safely through,

yet all I hear are my echoing sighs.

You said that You would help me,

yet I dont see You around.

You promised me You'd come when I call,

but I dont hear a sound.

I let the water close over me,

give in to its warm embrace.

The fight has finally gone out of me,

I want out of this race.

But I'm wrenched back to reality,

some higher force will not let me drown.

Part of me screams out in frustration,

while the other can not let them down.

The tunnel slowly empties,

as many are giving up the fight.

I want to follow their lead,

when suddenly I see a light.

It glows faintly in the distant,

my chances of reaching it are few.

But I cant give up, I know I must try,

not just for me, but for all the others too.

I feel all of them watching me,

silently cheering me on.

Though they have lost, and I might win,

this battle is all of ours, we are one.

I want them to swim with me,

and not give in to their fate.

But they tell me to go, and leave them behind,

for them its already too late.

The light grows stronger as I forge ahead,

and I know that I'm almost there.

Excitement gives me a burst of speed,

my victory is very near.

I'm suddenly blinded, and I stumble,

but strong hands pull me through.

Out of the darkness and into the light,

I feel it, I know its true.

Im battered and bruised and weary,

but I made it out alive.

I could have drowned, or be swimming still,

and yet, I have survived.

I'm different than when I started,

I will never again be the same.

But I know I'm stronger, more mature,

I've learnt a lot from this deadly game.

There is no going back, only forward,

let us see what the future will bring.

As the winter awakens from it's slumber,

it ushers in the warmth of spring.

Many happy days are coming,

filled with life, and laughter, and fun.

The darkness is gone now, part of the past,

the bad times are over and done.

Looking back now I dont regret it,

the tunnel has made me who I am today.

I am a fighter, a stronger person,

but I wish there was an easier way.

My message to all those still going through it,

head up and hold on tight.

The ride will be rough and difficult,

but after darkness there is always light.

As hard and depressing as it seems now,

know that G-d is always here.

When the going gets tough, and you want to give up,

just call out, and He'll be right there.

It may seem bad, at times impossible,

but its all a test, to make us stronger.

None of it is real, its all just a game,

I should know, for I am a survivor.

Memories from the wedding

She was a vision in white. The room took on an extra glow when she walked in. This was her day, the day I was waiting for forever, amd it was finally here.

But for some reason, I was nervous. No, it wasn't my wedding, but it was my simcha too. And I was scared of letting it pass by, scared that the special moments would move too fast, and it would all be over before it started.

All through the hair and makeup, and struggling into my gown, I was going through a kind of shock. I couldn't believe this day was actually here. But it was. Walking around in my gown, passing by little boys in uniforms, I felt funny. Like I was the one that didn't belong here.

Things blurred together. Relatives arriving, greetings, and pictures. Davening mincha, pouring my heart out to G-d to give this couple so many brachos, for a good start to their new life. Time flying, chosson arriving, more pictures.

Kabbalas Panim. Emotions running through me, not sure if I should smile, or cry. Or both. Niggun starting, and they were there. Chosson and entourage. Veil in hands, moving slowly, making contact with her head. Blessings, father crying. Emotions flying. First part done.

Walking to the chuppa, anticipation in the air. 770. The Rebbes shul. The Rebbe will be at this wedding.

Chosson arrives, Kallah arrives, and the chuppa is ready to begin. The holiest part starts. Blessings, and wine, and words. So many words. I tense, waiting for the moment.

Cars in the background, noises from the streets, from the passersby. Normal people, going about their daily lives. But here, in our little corner, things are silent. This is not mundane, this is not every day life. This is a one time experiance, a very special union.

Theres silence. Time stops. My mind zooms in on the chuppa, framing this moment forever in my mind. He slips the ring onto her finger, 'Harai at mikudeshet li'. Glass on the floor, foot raised to smash. There is joy, so much joy. And at the same time, we feel the sadness of being in golus, of the absence of the holy temple, at the time of the most joy, we remember that we are still waiting for moshiach.

And boom! Mazal tov! Veil lifts, music starts, hugs and kisses, and a new unity has started. The happy couple has started life together.

Returning to the hall, food and wine, and dancing! So much dancing. More pictures with the new addition to the family. Friends arriving, and more dancing, dancing, dancing. We dance the night away.

I take a break, a moment to breath. Standing on the side, I watch her. I'm so happy. Happy for her, for them. And at the same time, I'm a bit sad. Things are changing, and I hate change. but I push those thoughts away, and let the joy wash over me, and enjoy every minute of it.

All too soon, its over. The last dance, sheva brachos, mazal tovs, the hall empties out, and only family is left. All the weary members pile into the car, still in finery. I don't want to go, I don't want it to end. I want to repeat the whole thing, every exciting detail of it. But its over. I danced my heart out, and its time to go home.

Entering the house, and my room, I dont want to go in. It feels so empty. Turning on the light, I look around. It looks so big, and clean for a change. I've always wanted my own room. And now I got it. But in another location somewhere close by, someone else has gained a roommate that I have lost.

Sadness is fighting the joy within me. I'm still on a high from the wedding, but at the same time, one little tear escapes my eye and slips silently to the floor. I've lost a roommate, but gained a brother in law. My room feels empty and bare, but a new couple has started life together.

I let the joy take over the sadness, and I smile, a slow, hesitant smile. Things will be differant now, I know. But change isn't always a bad thing. It will be good, very good.

Harai at mikudeshet li- may this couple have many blessings, and a fulfilling and happy life together.