Purim in the holy land- part 1

Ok, I've learnt a few things this purim. Firstly, no matter how much you prepare for it, you'll never be ready. Plan your shaloch manos weeks in advance, but you'll still be up all night packing them, and have to run back to the store 3 times for things you've missed.

Oh, and proven fact- you can survive on 2 hours of sleep. I've tried it. 

Costumes are not exclusively for kids- everyone should dress up. Another thing I've learned.

After baking all day on a fast day, (surprisingly, it made me less hungry, not more) ruining half the stuff I baked, hearing the migilla, breaking the fast, making a new batch of stuff, I was told I was a party pooper, and it didn't sit too well with me. I just wanted to take a shower and go to bed. 

But I told myself, it's purim, you gotta put on something. So I dragged out a few things, threw it together, and voila! A costume! Yay! The girls seemed to like it, so I think I did well.

Tel Aviv doesn't seem to celebrate purim. Weird. They're all looking at me  as if I'm the strange one. So I'm off to Bnei Brak, where the real fun is. And tomorrow, it's another full day of fun in Jeruselam. TWO days of purim??? Double the fun!

Hope you're all having a good one!! More tomorrow!

Joy that knows no bounds

As Jews, we have a commandmant to be happy constantly. 'Ivdu es Hashem b'simcha.' If you have to be serving G-d all the time, and while we do that we must be happy, then that means happiness at all times.

We recently had a class on laughing therapy. Imagine someone teaching you how to laugh. I thought he was joking. Apparently, he was. But not about the class. The whole class, he told jokes, and tried to get us to laugh. He taught us different types of laughter, which are real, and which ones are fake.

I listened with only one ear. Some of the jokes were funny. But the whole time I was thinking, how does he expect to teach us how to laugh? It's not possible. Either you are in a good mood, and you feel like smiling, or you don't. It's as simple as that. Or is it..?

Did you ever play the smiling game? You sit in a circle, usually with a bunch of kids, and one starts off with the 'smile' in his hand. He needs to smile, pull it off, then throw it to someone else. If you don't have the 'smile', you are not allowed to smile. Usually, five minutes into the game, all the kids are smiling, and gigling hysterically. Because a smile is catchy.

When the miraglim returned from spying on Israel, and reported bad news, the Jews cried. G-d told them, I'll give you a reason to cry. Thus, we have Tisha Ba'av. Sadness is just the absence of joy. just like darkness, it is not an entity on it's own. That's why we need a reason to be sad, whereas with joy, there doesn't have to be a reason. If a child is laughing and dancing, we don't question it. It's natural behavior.

What do we do when we are in a bad mood? We had a bad day, things are not going right, and all we seem to be able to do is frown. People try to cheer me up, but I don't want to smile. I want to sit here in the dark, being miserable, all by myself. The darkness is like a black hole. Literally. It sucks you in, until you can't get out.

When I am in a bad mood, it's hard to believe that it will soon pass, and that I will be happy once again. Once the bad mood passes, I can't remember why I was ever upset.

If it is true that we don't need a reason to be happy, then we should be happy all the time. Take your mind off your problem. Never dwell on it, that just makes it worse, gives it strength. Put on music, get outside, take a walk, breath in the fresh air, and smile.

There are so many reasons to smile. Thank G-d I am healthy. I have a loving family, and caring friends, and so many blessings that I forget at times.

>One erev Shabbos, I looked up at the sky, at the setting sun, and I felt to at peace with myself, with the world. The sky was turning gorgeous colors, and I thanked G-d for His wonderful creations.

Unfortunately, with all the problems in the world today, we do need a reason to be happy, to forget about all the pain and suffering. When a tragedy happens, it's hard to move on, to be happy again, to stop grieving. But that's what we must do, because G-d commanded us.

Once a year, on purim, we are commanded to be extra happy. To strip away our layers, let ourselves go, and just be b'simcha. It's not easy. Some people need a little wine to let themselves go. Or a mask. Hiding behind a mask does wonders to our personality. Try it. You feel like a stranger.

Just smile. Just be happy. We don't need a reason to be happy. It's free! Don't be like the Jews of long ago, and cry for no reason. We don't need to give G-d a reason for more suffering.

I wish everyone a VERY happy purim, filled with blessings, and joy. Use this day to it's fullest, take advantage of it. Push away the darkness, the sadness, let yourself go, and just be happy!

Drink a little, laugh a lot, put a smile on someone's face. And may we celebrate Purim this year together, in the beis hamikdash, with Moshiach, and lots of joy!!

Growing up

It's something that just happens. You can't plan it, prepare for it, or even wait for it. It comes when we least expect it, and most often, when we don't want it. But we have no choice. Sometimes, we just have to grow up.

I feel like I'm straddling a very fine line between being a little kid, who relies on her mother for everything, and being an adult, all on my own. No, I'll be an adult relying on my mother. But one day I just opened my eyes and realized, the world wants me to move on. And I am not ready.

Every time I open a newspaper or magazine, there are stories in there I'd rather not read. Incidences that I don't want to believe are true. But that is the world's problem. They deny it. The child inside me feels like screaming at the 'grownups', 'fix it!! What are you doing to make things better, to make it alright?'

I read articles about child rearing, about kids going off the derech, about child abuse, substance abuse, spouse abuse. Why??? Is this what the world has to offer me? I feel like asking, hmm, do you have anything else? Maybe there are some other choices besides this society? Maybe I just landed on the wrong universe, I really belong somewhere else.

It scares me. In a few years, IY''H, I'll be having my own kids. I don't really want to bring them into this society, to see all the garbage of the world. What's the solution? Live in a little box? protect yourself, and your kids, and stay far away from people who are harmful, and bad?

But I am lubavich. As a chossid, we have to live outside the box, we need to be there for other people, be an example for the world. There is always an exception to the rule. I hope I am one of them. I feel like telling the world, don't worry, I'll be fine. I'm different, those things won't happen to me.

And I hope to G-d that they won't. I want to go on shlichus someday, and help people, spread a little bit of light in a dark world. I need G-d, and I need the Rebbe's brachos to help me survive.

Because I've finally grown up. And it's a scary thing.

Please knock first

She came barging in without knocking. She was a bundle of energy, talking a mile a minute, while my sluggish brain struggled to comprehend what she was saying.

I was sitting here because I wanted to be alone, and she was disturbing me.

I have a recollection of when I was a young kid. My older sister was sleeping, and I wanted to double check, in case she was faking it, just because she didn't want to play with me. So I lifted her eyelids, and saw she was indeed sleeping. Then I ran away, before she could wake up.

Thats what I felt like now. Like she was exposing me to a bright light, making me very vulnerable.

''So why are you sitting here all by yourself? Go join the party!"

She was talking to me. I didn't want her to.

"Because", I mumbled. What I really wanted to say was, mind your own bussiness. I have free choice, I can sit here if I want to. And juat by the way, if you noticed I'm sitting here by myself, maybe theres a reason for it, meaning, I don't want you here!

But I didn't say that, I kept quiet. I didn't need her thinking I was a mean person, in addition to being a loner, which she already must think of me.

"You know what your problem is?"

No. please tell me. (Trying not to sound sarcastic.)

"You think too much." (She may have a point there.) "You walk into a party and see you don't know anyone there, and you don't like the music, and you'd rather be home, so you go outside to get a moment to breath, and then you never go back in."

Right. She hit it on the spot. Thats me in a nutshell. Who is this girl anyway? I don't even know her name. I ask her that.

"Oh, silly me, I havn't introduced myself. (She says a name. It flies right by me. I still don't know who she is.)

"I'm gonna be a psychologist when I grow up."

Ya, that explains it.

I try explaining that I'm feeling fine, I just wanted some fresh air. She persists. She wants to know whats wrong with me. Her Dad is a Dr., her Mom a homeopath, she knows all about everything. By know I know her whole lifestory, and I still have no idea who she is, or what she's doing here.

"You look sad. Are you upset about something? you can tell me."

Ya well I'm not going to.

She prattled on for a while longer, but I just tuned her out. After a while she got the hint and walked away.

Ok, now I have a headache. I feel like someone just took a hammer and smashed it on my head.

This situation happens all too often. 'Well meaning' people ask questions, when they are not welcome.

But worse is when they ask, for no reason at all.

Sometimes I have a bad day. What I really need is for someone to ask me how I feel, and what happened. But people ask and don't really mean it.

"Oh hey, whats up, how are you?"

"Hi, I'm-" She's already half way down the block. her question didn't require a response.

Always say what you mean. But more importantly, mean what you say. If you ask someone how they are, stop and think about what you are saying. Make sure you mean it, and listen for the response.

If you don't really mean it, don't bother asking.

There are some people who are 'naturally curious' about others. In other words, they are nosy. They like to know the who what where when why, the ins and outs of other people's lives. Maybe it makes them feel better about their own life when they see how miserable someone else's life is. They poke around, they ask questions, they pry.

Maybe they do have good intentions. But they didn't stop to think about how it would be recieved by the person they are inquiring.

Sometimes I feel like hanging a sign on my forehead. "Do not disturb".

There's no nice way to say 'mind your own bussiness.' So I say it as nicely as I can.

Please knock first. And if theres no reponse, don't knock again.

Just DO it

They pull at my heartstrings. They follow me wherever I go. Somehow they know where to find me. And they are silent. Their words are unnecessary, for their eyes do the talking.

They say that eyes are the window to the soul. Well, their soul talks to my soul, and my heart bleeds at what I see there. I want to cry, because it hurts me. I want to scream at G-d, because of the injustice of it all. My hand reaches towards my pocket, hesitates- and then I walk away.

You know what I'm talking about because you've seen them too. They are everywhere. On street corners, in the mall, on sidewalks. Some look clean and put together, while others seem to have all their life's possessions in a bundle by their feet, and look like they havn't eaten in days.

Some people avert their eyes, and rush by as if they didn't see them at all. Unfortunatly, because there are so many of them, we have become immune to them, and people really don't notice they are there. Other people do stop and give something, a coin or two.

I see them. Even if I avert my eyes, I see them because they are hard to miss.

There's a picture in front of me of Rabbi Nachman M'Breslov. He has his hands up in the air, palms out, as if begging us to do teshuva. When I see beggers, this is what I see. They may be sitting there quietly, but in my mind they are screaming and crying for me to help them. How can I turn them away? How can I abandon them in their time of need?
'Simple', a voice inside me answers. 'Just walk away.'

And sometimes I do. on a day when my conscience allows me, I mumble something about not having any change on me, trying not to think about the fat hundreds sitting in my wallet. In the space of two seconds, a battle is being fought in my head. 'Well I don't really want to break up a bill. Plus, I already gave tzedaka this morning before davening. So really I'm not a bad Jew, I already did my part.' One side has won.

And then I can go on my merry way, with a clear conscience, reassuring myself that I'm a good person, and I'm not going to go to hell, contrary to what the lady was screaming after me as I walked away.

But it does hurt me. Because I have, and they don't. At the end of the day, I have a warm bed to go back to, with food, and clothes, and even extra things. While these people are not as fortunate as I am. Some don't have homes, and resort to sleeping on park benches. Some have families to support, small childrern who are hungry and have no food. They wait to see what their father will bring them at the end of the day. They rely on him for their livelyhood, and due to certain circumstances, he relies on good people like you and me for his livelyhood.

By giving him money, you are putting food into his mouth, keeping him alive. By not giving him, you are potentially killing him. With that thought in mind, how can you not give?

When I stick my hand in my pocket to take out money, they sense it. I have in mind to give only one person, but suddenly twelve pairs of eyes are staring at me, watching my every move.

Do I have to give everone? Do I have to empty my pockets and give them all I have because they need it and I don't?

I don't know.

I question G-d, and the system he created. In an ideal world, everyone would have enough, whatever they need. There would be no rich people, or poor. We would all have an equal amount. There would be no mitzvah to give tzedakah, because no one would have a need, no one would be lacking. Just one less mitzvah, 612. Imagine that.

It was tried before. It didn't work. In Russia, one man got up and tried to make everyone equal. They had a slogen: "All men are created equal". But some are more equal then others. There are always those who want more. They aren't happy being comfortable. They want to be filthy rich, rolling in money. And they don't want to be 'equal'. They want to be better, or they feel inferier.

G-d was right. He is always right. If everyone was equal, the world would be a boring place. Rich people would have nothing to do all day, and they wouldn't be able to give away millions of dollors to charity, and feel good about themselves.

So G-d made levels. Those that have, and those that don't. Those that need, and those that give. He gave us a commandment to give, and left it up to us to even things out, for the rich to make sure the poor are provided for.

Poor people are not exempt from this mitzvah, merely because they don't have anything, and rely on others. And I am not a rich person. At times, I to rely on others for money. So does it make sense that we all have an equal commandment?

G-d commanded me to give, so thats what I must do. At the end of the day, its not up to me to worry if others are doing their job or not. I didn't make the rules, I just play by them. I need to give as much as I can, and not worry about the rest. To what extent do I have to give? I don't know.

'But what if the person doesn't really need the money?' I've heard this question many times before, and it bothers me. People have told me, 'you shouldn't give to this person because they are not Jewish/ they don't really need the money/ they use it for drugs.

I ask them how they know that. And if its true, who are you to judge them? Who am I to decide if this person is worthy of my money or not? I need to give because G-d told me to, and thats it. G-d put this person in my path for a reason. And if they don't really need the money, just the fact that they are lowering themself to beg shows that they need it in whatever way.

I don't have all the answers, but I know one thing.

You may not have money to give, but you have the ability to feel. If you become immune to someone in pain, someone who needs your help, then in truth, you are worse off then them.

If you walk by a begger and don't give him money, thats between you and G-d. But if your conscience doesn't bother you, if your heart doesn't hurt for them, even a little bit, because f their plight, then you have a problem.

Purim is coming up. now is the time to think about someone else, other than yourself. Open your hand and your heart, and just give.

Shimshon Stock, z''l, used to sit outside his house on purim, with his infamous black box, collecting money for families in need. He had a well known saying: 'Take out your wallet, take out a dollar, and give me the rest.'

Shimshon's holy soul was taken from us on purim, two years ago. He cared so much about other people, and G-d ironically chose to take him on this happy day. He was a very special person, and though I didn't know him that well, I miss him, because there is one less good soul in the world.

I'm sure this purim he'll be sitting up there, laughing and celebrating, and keeping an eye on his black box, watching it fill up with money.

I walk by someone less fortunate then I am. Their eyes follow me, their heart talks to my heart. I hurt inside, and I want to help them. I want to give everyone, to eliminate all suffering from this earth. But I know that isn't possible. So I give as much as I can, and hope that I have done my part.

Give, because G-d commanded you to. Give, because they need it. Give, because it makes you feel good. There are many reasons why we should give.

But remember one thing. If you stop giving, or feel you can't give, never stop caring, never stop feeling. Because the second your heart turns away, the second we stop hurting for others, I question, what has the world come to? How have we fallen so low?

Open your pockets, open your hearts, and give.

Just DO it.

We are very different, you and I

We met at the traffic light, you and I,
waiting for the green.
You signaled me to turn right,
I wanted to go left.
The race was on.

You said I liked red, when I favored blue.
You said teacher, I thought lawyer.
When I wore jean, you said corduroy was in.
Nothing I could do would please you,
because you were trying to change me.

But you forget one thing, dear friend.
We are very different, you and I.
We are not the same.

I wanted to play. You said stay in class.
I loved guitar. You said piano was right for me.
Even my way of thought was wrong.
Everything I did was wrong.
Because you were trying to change me.

You packaged me in a neat little box, with a label.
I like shapes, triangles, circles, color.
But you made me a square, boring and drab.
Everyone was the same, you said. 'Unique' was foreign to you.
Because you were trying to change me.

But you forget one important thing, dear friend.
We are very different, you and I.
We are not the same.

I saw a rainbow in the sky.
You saw only clouds.
I saw trees, grass, flowers of many colors.
You saw ugly weeds.
And you were trying to change me.

I have many thoughts, ideas about life.
You tell me not to think, just do.
You want me to wear glasses, because I see everything wrong.
But maybe you are wrong, and I am just different, unique.
But you try so very hard to change me.

For some reason, I scare you.
When you come across a stranger, someone different than you,
you don't know what to do.
Because you want everyone to be the same.
Just like you.

I tell you that you, too, are different, special.
You close your ears, you don't want to hear that word.
You don't want to be different.
Special, you say, means you are a freak, crazy.
So you try to change everyone else, to be just like you.

But you forget, you choose to forget, dear friend,
that we are very different, you and I.
We will never be the same.

I embrace my differences, my individuality.
I am special, unique, it makes me who I am.
You too, are different, though you choose to forget.
By wasting energy trying to make everyone the same,
you are losing yourself.

Find yourself, don't bother with me.
I know who I am.

We met at the traffic light, you and I, waiting for the green.
You signaled me to go right. I wanted to go left.
With a little wave, and a smile, I was gone.
And you were left sitting there, confused.

Because you always forget, dear friend,
that we are very different, you and I.
We will never be the same.
Get used to it.

My little flame

It wavers,
unsure which way to go.

Starts out small,

than begins to grow.

It gathers strength,

goes steady now.

Despite the cold,

it lives somehow.

Amongst the storms,

and rain filled night,

the wind will blow,

but this one fights.

It is brave,

to live it must,

or it will die,

go back to dust.

The day will come,

but never the same,

without my time,

with my little flame.

Im standing here,

my eyes shut tight,

blocking out,

this little light.

Behind my hands,

the tears will fall.

My broken heart,

to G-d does call.

This special time,

with G-d I share.

The world is gone,

just we are here.

I feel at peace,

in G-d's embrace.

With Him right here,

I know I'm safe.

I ask of Him,

so many things.

Appreciate,

the good He brings.

At the flame I gaze,

so strong and bright.

This little act,

brings so much light.

Shabbos had come,

the week goes away.

Nothing can taint,

this special day.

As I whisper the bracha,

and G-d's holy name,

I cherish this time,

with my little flame.

I glance at the candle,

on the window sill.

The light has gone out,

but my eternal flame, burns still.

I 'love' you (not)

This article is dedicated to my dear parents, who are B''H celebrating their 29th wedding anniversary today, 28 of Shvat, koach. I want to thank them for loving me, and thereby teaching me how to love in return. May they have true koach (strength) in life, lots of nachas from all their children, and IY''H very soon, grandchildren. May they have many more healthy, happy, and love filled years together, and may G-d grant them all brachos materially and spiritually, and may we celebrate the big 30 with Moshiach Now!

I'm standing on the train and across from me is a young couple, so obviously in love. they can't keep their hands and eyes (and mouths) away from each other. He keeps whispering sweet nothings in her ear, to which she responds with blushes. And their 'conversation', if it can be called such, is peppered with the phrase 'I love you' too many times to count, and usually ends off with 'baby', or some other endearment. So obviously in love.

Too graphic for you? Ya, I was there. My eyes were averted the whole time, wishing I was somewhere else. I don't understand why people feel the need to broadcast their 'love' for the world to see. Or maybe I do understand, all too well.

Love. Such a strong word. So complicated, and yet, so simple. A word with such meaning behind it, so much potential. It is a universal term, used in every culture and religion, though its form may change.

Life is dependant upon love. Without love you can not truly live. You may think you are living, but in reality, you are merely existing, being. your heart is pumping, your body is moving, you can think, speak, and simply be. But this is not really life at all.

If G-d wanted us to exist on our own, He would have created each of us on our own little independent planet, where we could command our own universe, and enjoy our singular company, and never have to see another face.

But He created this world with billions of people in it. He wants us to interact, to live together in peace and harmony. We each have a purpose here. We are each traversing our own specific path in life. But along the way, we will rub shoulders with many strangers, and have to learn how to live, and get along with them.

Every person was born with the amazingly powerful ability to love, and be loved in return. It's like a storehouse, where it collects, and sits, and grows. At the right time, we can let it out, and endow it upon those special people in our life who are deserving of it.

As we go through life, we need to decide to whom we give this love. Unfortunately, many times we make mistakes, or misjudge a particular situation, and give this love to undeserving people. They may actually hurt us, or use it against us, or disregard it entirely, and throw it back in our faces.

The outcome is different with every person. With some people, their trust may have been so badly shattered, that they lock the love up inside, and are overly careful to guard it next time. If this happens to often, they may never feel comfortable with sharing this love, causing people to make the incorrect assumption that they are incapable of loving, when of course this isn't true, since every human, living being is capable of feeling love.

Other people may decide that they made a mistake this time, so must try harder next time, and might keep throwing around their love and getting hurt time and time again.It is all a matter of trust.

A word represents the definition, the meaning behind it. The word itself is important because of what it means, and they way you use it will change the sentence, or the outcome.

The word 'love' has much meaning behind it. It represents feelings and emotions, caring, and kindness, and sharing, giving and taking, having and holding. If used the right way, this one word can mean the world to someone. It can be used to communicate how one feels towards another.

But people misuse this word. They drag it through the mud, they say it without thinking, thereby causing it to mean nothing, lowering it.

I love my family. I love my close friends. It is a love I am certain of, I don't doubt it. It is an unconditional love, and I am comfortable telling them I love them. I don't need to proclaim this love, because it is known. However, I will say it when i feel it. When you feel extremely close to someone, or you are in an emotional mood, you may tell someone you love them, because that's what you're feeling at the time. And that's healthy.

The problem is when people say it, and don't mean it. I do someone a favor. They tell me, 'thanks so much, I love you!' I bake really good brownies. they say, 'Oh my G-d, I love you!' I help a girl with an assignment. She says, 'your the best, I love you!'

And I want to scream, No you don't! You don't love me, you don't mean it, so don't say it!
Because they are abusing the term, the feelings that are meant to be had behind it, and it bothers me.

My friends know me. I am very careful with saying 'I love you'. Meaning, I hardly ever say it. We have this joke going. My friend will say, 'Altie I loooove you!!', and i answer back, 'I like you toooo!' Only it's not really a joke, its how I feel.

They tell me, 'Oh you know you love me!' Maybe. I don't know. Again, it's a matter of trust. If in the past I was certain that I loved someone, and then they broke that trust, it will take me longer to trust someone now.

I'm sitting in a restaurant, and at the next table over is an older couple, your typical Grandma and Grandpa. They sit in silence, no words exchanged throughout the whole meal. They don't even seem to be looking to each other.

I puzzle over this, and conclude they must have had an argument, or be bored in each others company. But then I notice something strange. they are each using only one hand to eat with, and the second hand is not in sight.

I look closer and realize, they are holding hands under the table, and have not let go once during the meal. The husband glances briefly at his wife, and there is a look of such utter and pure love in his eyes, I feel my heart twist, and a tear forms in my eye. this couple is so in love, and by the looks of it, have been for many years.

There is no need for words, or public gestures. The knowledge of it between them, alone, is enough. this love is like old wine. the longer it sits, the sweeter it gets.

When a couple starts out in life, there may not be love, per se. In real life, people don't meet and fall in love, and have sparks of feelings, and live happily ever after. Maybe in books, or movies.

In life, a couple gets married if there is attraction between them, mutual respect, friendship, feelings. Yes, there must be feelings, and you may like this person. But most often the love comes later on. After living with him for awhile, seeing his flaws and faults, enjoying his company, and getting to know him, then the love will come. There's a certain point in a relationship, and when you pass it, you just know. You feel it in your heart. That is true love.

In other languages, Spanish, for example, there is more than one word for the English word 'love'. You don't 'love' your car the same way you love your family, or even your dog. They have more than one word to express the different types of feelings.

In the English language, there is only one word. There are advantages, and disadvantages to this. On the one hand, it should cause you to think twice before you say it, and be careful to say it only when you mean it. But then there are people who abuse it, and use it for every situation, and in every context.

Sometimes they feel uncertain. they doubt this love so much themselves, that they feel a need to prove to the world that they are actually in love. Thus the behavior of the couple on the train.

If you are comfortable, and certain of the love, it won't matter whether other people believe you are in love, or see it. The only people it will matter to is you, and the object of your love.

If you view it as precious pearls, you'll be way more careful how and when you use it. Make sure to let those special people in your life know that you love them, even if it hurts you to admit it. You never know if this time may be the last time.

Don't horde it, or lock it up and throw away the key. But don't leave the door wide open for every stranger to come in and walk all over your heart.

'Love can touch you one time, and last for a lifetime'.

It is so powerful. Only you have the key.
Use it wisely.

I wish

I wish that life were simpler,

and that I wasn't so confused.

I wish it was easier to do G-d's will,

and my brains I'd actually use.

I wish that I could speak my thoughts,

and not worry what people would say.

I wish tomorrow wouldn't come so soon,

and erase all my efforts of today.

I wish the world was a better place,

and that everyone here was good.

I wish people were more honest,

and did things the way they should.

I wish people didn't do drugs,

and hurt themselves so bad.

I wish there wasn't any pain,

and no one would be sad.

I wish that kids wouldn't have to grow up,

and lose their naivete.

I wish I could place my trust in people,

and not worry that they'd betray me.

I wish there would be no suffering,

and that things would be black and white.

I wish there were no dreary days,

and all darkness would turn to light.

I wish that love wasn't so painful,

and you could tell someone how you feel.

I wish that hearts weren't so breakable,

and that pain would quickly heal.

I wish I could find that special someone,

who would make my life complete.

I wish I were more motivated,

and didn't easily admit defeat.

I wish that I could turn back the clocks,

and do things differently.

I wish I had a second chance,

to become a much better me.

I wish people fulfilled their dreams,

and actually reached for the moon.

I wish that goals were attainable,

and people didn't give up so soon.

I wish there was a point in wishing,

and your dreams would actually come true.

I wish a genie would come along,

and grant me a wish or two.

I wish I could see the future,

and know everything will be ok.

I wish G-d wouldd help me more,

and make all my problems go away.

I wish so many things. But above all,

I wish that I could fulfill my purpose here,

and make G-d proud of me.

I wish I could change someone's life around,

and give them the chance to wish too.

Because without hope, and wishes,

where would we all be?

When I am alone

When I am alone, I like to think.
Sometimes I think happy thoughts.
Sometimes they're sad and melancholy.

When I am alone,
I like to dream.
To think of what I'll be when I grow up.
To imagine what type of person I will marry.

When I am alone,
I like to write.
I write poetry,
much like this one.

Sometimes my poems are happy.
Most of the time they are sad.
I let my hand record my thoughts on paper,
let all my feelings be released.

When I am alone,
I think about myself.
About how I relate to others,
and how others relate to me.

When I am alone,
I like to sing.
Even though I have a horrible voice.
Cuz I know I'm the only one listening.

When I am alone,
I can be myself,
without feeling that I have to be someone else
just to please others.

When I am alone,
I am limitless.
Not bound by other's opinions,
not pressured by other's behavior.

When I am alone,
I am relaxed.
Enjoying my own company,
just me, and G-d.

I like being alone.
But only sometimes,
those times that I feel stifled
just being around other people.

But at other times
I'm ok being with others,
enjoying their company.

Just as long as they treat me,
just as I would treat myself,
if I were alone.

Cheat Sheet

I ask you for answers, for clear direction. Every night before I go to sleep, and every day when I pray, I talk to You. I ask You to put me on the right path in life, and help me stay there. I ask you to send me people in my life, and all the tools I need to help me do the right thing.

You don't answer me. Maybe I'm asking for too much. I don't know. Maybe what I'm really saying is, G-d, open the great book for me, show me my page. I want to see what's going to come next, where I'm supposed to go from here.

Maybe I'm asking You to help me cheat on the test by giving me the answers, or tell me the end of the book, because I'm too lazy to read it.

In any case, I doubt You're ignoring my plea. You've heard me, loud and clear. your answer is no.

It's frustrating. It's like trying to solve a puzzle and some pieces are missing.
It's like a child climbing the monkey bars, and they can't reach the last rung. The child will cry out, 'Daddy!' A loving, caring daddy may run over and help then that last little bit. But a good daddy will say, no, my sweet, clever child. Heres where I sit and watch, and let you figure it out all on your own.

You are a good daddy, G-d. I am a frustrated, and disgruntled child.

So many times I call out, 'C'mon G-d, help me out here. Right or left. Black or white. I just can't choose!' One way may ruin my life, while the other will propel me into a dazzling future. But I don't know the outcome, only You do. And You keep silent, guarding Your secrets, and leave me here to sweat, and figure it out on my own.

Sometimes I think Your silence itself may be the answer. Maybe despite how many times I ask You to show me where I'm supposed to be, maybe I'm here now. Maybe this is exactly where I'm supposed to be now in life, even though it may not seem so to me.

I can't say I'm thrilled about it.
If a parent does the homework for his child, the homework is done. If a parent shows the child how to do the homework, it also gets done. The outcome is the same in both situations. The difference is, in the second example, now the child can do it on his own in the future.

'Catch a man a fish, and he has food for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he has food for life.'
It's the same thing. But I was always kind of lazy. Though I know it's better to learn how to do it on my own, I like to take the easy way out. Seems quicker to get someone to do it for me.

But I'm an honest person. I'd rather fail a test, because I was too lazy to study, then steal someone else's answers. Because that's what cheating really is.

This is the test of life, the biggest test of all. Ya, I do wish that You would give me some answers, and put me on the right path in life. I won't stop asking, even though I know the answer is no.

But You clearly wants me to try on my own, no matter how frustrating and hard it may be. In the end of the day it's better for me, and I may learn to fish, or do the homework, or something from all of this.

Asking You may be futile. But it never hurt to try.

I was never there

This article has been published in N'shei Chabad Magazine

You're standing there, and you're talking to me, to us, and I'm listening, because that's what's expected of me. I don't know what you're saying, and you're still talking, and I'm still listening, but it doesn't mean anything, even though I know it should.

You tell me about your memories, your experiences. You tell me about your feelings, how it was when you were there, all the emotions you went through, and how it impacted your life. You tell me how it is now, and how you somehow carry on, even though life is not the same as it once was. No, it is very different now.

You tell me all this because you want me to feel something too. You want my life to change because of your memories. And I listen, and I try to understand, to feel something. But I can't, because I was never there.

You tell me how you trembled, feeling the Rebbe's eyes on you, bearing into you, into your soul. And I tremble too, just hearing it. You tell me how you felt at a farbrengin, drinking in the Rebbe's words, trying to understand. How special you felt just being there.

You tell me about receiving dollars from the Rebbe, waiting on long lines for an endless amount of time. How that one short moment felt like forever, how the Rebbe said just a few words to you, and how it changed your life.

You tell me about kos shel bracha, scrambling to find an empty cup, and crushing on line to receive wine from the Rebbe's holy hand.

You tell me about your yechidus with the Rebbe, how long you prepared for it, and how scared you were walking in there, knowing that the Rebbe knew everything about you, things maybe even you didn't know.

You tell me how beautiful the Rebbe's smile was, and how he cared so much for every single Jew.

You tell me how it was at farbrengins, how enthusiastically he swung his arms, signaling that the singing should be louder. How he told people to whistle, and beamed out at all the chassidim, at times, so happy with them. And you tell me of other times, when he cried during a sicha, begging and pleading with us to do our part, and bring moshiach.

I listen to all this, and I envy you, for your memories. But I was never there.
You tell me the grief and pain you went through when the Rebbe became sick, and you could no longer see him in 770. How subdued and sorrowful everyone felt.

You tell of the joy when the Rebbe came back to 770, how you lived again, knowing
that the Rebbe was better.

You tell me all the little things you experienced, how much you saw, and felt, and gained from, because you were there, and you have years of memories to show it. But these are not my memories, these are yours. Because I was never there.

You tell me about gimmel Tamuz, and how crushed you felt, like you lost part of yourself. You tell me of the incomprehensible grief everyone went through, how the world held its breath, wondering what to do, and what would happen now.
You tell me how people picked up the broken pieces and went on with their lives, their connection with the Rebbe confusing, yet somehow still intact.

How the world was pleasantly surprised that we survived this, that Lubavitch
continued on, despite not being able to see our beloved Rebbe.

I can imagine how people felt then, not knowing what to do, where to turn. But I'll never really know, because even though I was there, I don't remember.

You tell me how it was after gimmel Tamuz. How the Rebbe lives on, and is still here with us. You tell me how your connection to the Rebbe continues and thrives. How you turn to him in times of need, and somehow get answers.

You tell me that even though it's hard for you to live without seeing the Rebbe, you do, and you still feel him here, guiding you.

And then you tell me how special you think I am, the generation I'm living in. Because we somehow have a connection, even though we weren't there.

I want to cry at the injustice of what you're saying! You just recounted all of your memories, how much you have to live by now, to hold on to. And you think I'm special?

For three years I was there, and I don't even remember. Now I have pictures, videos, books to go by. I can write to the Rebbe and put it in the igros, and hope to get an answer. I can smile at a picture of the Rebbe, and feel him smiling back at me. I can watch a video of farbrengins, or dollars.

But I am detached. I am living on someone else's memories. You tell me your story and expect me to feel something. But how can I, because I was never there.
Yud Shvat is coming up. I'm sure you can tell me all your memories from that auspicious day too. How the Rebbe accepted the nisiyus, and how his leadership began. You can tell me all about the moment when he began saying basi legani, and how you felt then.

You can tell me what a Rebbe is, how we have to write pannim, how we have to work on our hiskashrus, and do all the horaos and mivtzaim the Rebbe started.

You have so much to tell me, and I want to listen, I want to be affected by it. But right now I can't. Because I'm jealous of you, and even a little bit mad, despite how childish that sounds, because you were there, and I was not.

And I realize that even though you have so many memories to share with me, and they may give me a taste of what once was, I now have to start my own memories. You can live in the past, or visit there once in a while, and it might help you deal with the present.

But for me, the here and now is all I have, so I can't live in the past, I can't live by your memories. I need to create my own. I need to write to the Rebbe, tell him of the joys and pain I experiance. I need to look at pictures and videos of the Rebbe, and try to connect. I need to go to the ohel, and 770, and feel his presence. I need to learn his sichos, and do his horaos, live the way he wants each of us to live. And in that way, form my own special connection with him, one that no one can tell me how to upkeep. Because my relationship with the Rebbe is entirely between me and my Rebbe.

And though I don't fully understand what you meant when you said that my generation is special, I think I'm starting to see.

In a way, it must be harder for you, because you had a taste of it, you saw the Rebbe with your physical eyes, and now you no longer have that.
I am living in a different time entirely. We have to try so much harder to connect to the Rebbe, because we can't see him. But because of that, our connection is so much stronger.

You are lucky, because you were there. Your memories are like a treasure box, that you can open from time to time, and reminisce of how it once was. You need to preserve your memories, and yes, share them with me, with us, with all of those who are not as lucky as you are. You are already sharing them with your children, and grandchildren, and people like me.

When I will have children, IY''H, I have no memories to share with them. Maybe I'll have stories, of how I got answers, or miracles that occurred. But firsthand, physical accounts, that I don't have. I am living by your memories, because I was never there.

But I hope, and I pray with all my heart, that my children won't need memories to
keep them going. They will have their own memories to tell, because they will be there. And I will be there too, and so will you. And we'll have our beloved Rebbe back again.

'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.

Israel, my home...?

A blast of fresh air. Cold air. Frigid, New York temperature, in early December. Winter was coming on, fast and furious.

Exiting the subway steps, blending with the mass of people, Manhattan at night, the heart of New York.

The lights, the life, the sounds and smells. I stop walking, and just let it all wash over me. Feel the vibrations, the sensations. I feel like I'm living once again.

The subway filled with weirdos, and strange people, preaching, about the bible, their savior, and whatnot. The jostling, and shoving, and swearing. All part of the experience. It's MINE. It's home.

The spray paint, the garbage, the bleakness, and black. But MINE.

I look up at the sky. Snowflakes are drifting lazily down, settling in my hair, and on my coat. I open my mouth and taste the cold bits of heaven.

First snowfall of the season, and I am here for it. Home. Where I belong.

Ten glorious days, home from Seminary for my sister's wedding, I take it all in, embrace it. I've missed this! My country, my people, my language, my home-town, my friends. It's all so familiar. 

Ice skating in Bryant park, sliding, and gliding, and falling, and grabbing on to people. Broadway, and Starbucks! Christmas lights, and trees covered in snow. I almost forgot how it felt, this feeling, the holidays coming, excitement in the air.

Chanukah is around the corner. Eight days of fun, and laughter. And food. Donuts, and latkes, and chocolate coins, and real coins. Dreidel, and family parties, and trips with friends. Curled up around the Menorah, absorbing its warmth, while telling the story of the miracle of the oil that happened long ago.

But my Chanukah will not be in snow. I won't be home, because I'm going back. Back. Such a strange word.

All good things must come to an end. It's time to go back. There. 

To Israel, Eretz Yisroel. My people, my land. A place of Holiness.

Then why, instead of feeling like I'm going home, does it feel like I'm leaving, and going back? 

New York, Israel. Going home, leaving home.

Where is my home? I don't know, it's so confusing.

I cry on the plane, because I miss my family, and the fun times I had at home.

As the wheels touchdown on the holy soil of Eretz Yisroel, the land of the Jews, my people, I don't feel home. I feel lost. Disoriented. 

The life of the wandering Jew.

I'm back now. But this place still doesn't feel like home. 

I'm waiting for Moshiach, a time of completeness, when this place, these people, will feel like my home, and my family.

But until then, I'm just back. And missing home. Wherever that is.