On Jewish music

This is a cute video. I commend the YU boys on their originality. I believe this video was aired on the news, and I can only imagine what a positive impact it has had, and how many Jews it has reached.

I do however want to point out a few things. This tune is from a popular non-Jewish song that is currently being played on the radio. As such, it is not appropriate for frum children to listen to. It is similar to how Matisyahu said his music was not meant for frum boys, but as an outreach to non religious Jews who know nothing about yidishkeit.

Personally, I hate hypocrisy. What you want to do in your own life, for your own family, that is fine. But don't be hypocritical about it. Don't preach about how non Jewish music is bad for the soul, how it is all tuma, klipa dekedusha, etc. etc., and then listen to so called "Jewish" music, which is nothing but a watered down version of the non Jewish music these days. I cannot tell you how many Jewish singers take a non Jewish song and put holy words to it and call it Jewish. And this is what you want your kids to listen to? I say, you might as well listen to the real thing.

Someone enlightened me to the fact that there is no such thing as "Jewish" music, that there is no source for what I was taught in school, that music effects the soul, and non Jewish music, specifically classical music, is associated with bad sources, therefore we shouldn't be listening to it.

At this point, I don't know what is or isn't true regarding music, I just want to make it clear that as much as you try to block out the 'goyish velt', here it is seeping straight into your home with the chrap called "Jewish Music."Maybe we should only listen to nuggunim. But then again, who is to say even that comes from a good source?

Whatever you do, don't be a hypocrite about it.

Enjoy the video.

The man who had no ears

Once there was a man who lost his ears. He was walking along, when suddenly he fell into an open pothole. As he fell through the hole, both his ears were sliced off his head. Luckily, he was alive, but now he looked very different.

He sued the city and won a settlement of a few million dollars. But what good was the money if his face was deformed?

It came time for him to date and take a wife. He was self conscious about not having any ears, and he wanted to marry someone who would look beyond that. On every date, he asked the girl, "what was the first thing you noticed about me?", ad if she said his ears, he would turn her down.

There was one girl he met whom he really liked, and after a few dates he decided to pop the question. "What was the first thing you noticed about me?" he asked her. She responded, "you wear contact lenses." He was pleasantly surprised and said, yes I wear lenses, but how did you notice that?

"Well, I figured you couldn't wear glasses because you have no ears".

(Here it is appropriate to laugh.)

Now I am going to analyze this story:

1) How could he slice off both ears while falling straight through a hole? If the hole was wide enough for his body to fall through, then it was not tight enough to cut off both ears at the same time.

2) If he won a few million dollars, why didn't he get reconstructive surgery, or better yet, an ear transplant? Then maybe he would look normal and not care what people thought of him.

3) If the last girl did in fact notice that he had no ears, did he marry her anyway?

4) Why would somebody make up a joke like this?

5) What lesson can we learn from this story? Look where you are going? Don't judge people just because they have no ears? Look beyond the physical imperfections?

I'll leave you with these points to ponder.

Happy Chanuka!

Chanuka is not about donuts and latkes. It is not about bake sales, or singing songs in nursing homes. It is not about ice skating, or building menorahs out of cell phones. It is not about parties, or dreidels, or fire on ice.

It is about none of those things, and all of them put together.

To me, Chanuka will always be a festival of lights. My mother explained it to me as a child, when I was trying to understand how we could do muksa stuff on chanuka if it was a holiday. She said, it is not a holiday, it is a festival. There's a difference. It is not a separation from the mundane, it is no different than any other weekday. And yet, it is a world unto itself.

Where's your light? That is the theme of the month in the high school. The month of kislev is full of light. R"CH kislev, Tes kislev, yud tes and chof kislev. And finishing off the month, Chanuka. It is about spreading the light into the physical. Infusing the mundane with spirituality.

The food we eat on chanuka, the parties and the fun activities, those are merely a vessel for the spiritual. There has to be a reason for it, other than just having fun.

Chanuka is a fun time of year. Yesterday it snowed a bit. It is cold outside, but inside it is nice and warm, around the menorah, with family, and presents, always food, and music, dreidel games, and good spirits.

Chanuka has to be about something more. It is about a miracle that we are still living today. It is about pride in being Jewish. Bringing light into the world, being stronger than all the other nations. Being a light unto all the other nations. It is about more than just good food.

A freilechin Chanuka, keep the gelt flowing, and enjoy a donut every night.

Go to Google

It is so interesting how Google changes their image to fit the holiday, or whatever special day it happens to be. It is also very educational. Every time I go to Google I wonder what image will it be today.

Google told me that today is the 55th anniversary of the day that Rosa Parks, an African American woman, refused to get off the bus and give up her seat to a white person. I remember learning about it in history, and how it was told was that she wasn't trying to do anything brave, she was simply tired and didn't feel like standing up. But respect to her.

And what is the image that google uses to display this? A school bus in the background, and little black children and white children running hand in hand. Alas, Martin Luther King Jr. prophecised that this day would come.

I stop and think about it for a minute. Would I defend myself the same way Rosa Parks did? It takes a strong person not to back down in the face of adversity, and to fight their enemies head on.

Here's to world peace, and harmony amongst our neighbors.

Headlights in the darkness

You come at me, just two pinpricks of light. I can't see you and I will never know who you are. In the worst of nightmares, you are the last thing I see before the crash, before it all goes dark.

You blind me. As I pass you, you switch off your brights so I don't see blotchy splotches of light for miles after, but sometimes it is too late, and for a second, I can't see where I am going. It is ironic, that with such a strong light in front of me, I am blind.

The darkness doesn't scare me, or if it does I would never admit it. My headlights lead the way, I feel safe and confident on the road. But when you come at me head-on, that is when I get scared. The road is narrow, what if I don't swerve in time?

I wonder what you think about when you see me coming. Do you feel the same way? Or am I just another anonymous companion on the road, traveling to an unknown destination? Do you give me any thought at all?

Just two headlights in the darkness is all I see when you come at me. But what is behind those headlights, or who- that I will never know.

And I hope to never find it out the hard way.

Happy Thanksgiving!

It is so very cold, and I am trying to steal (borrow) internet from the neighbors. All is good in the heights, now that I am here. And I will be here for the weekend.

Gotta love working in a 'Hebrew day school'. Nowhere else have I ever gotten off for Thanksgiving weekend.

Enjoy the Turkey, and have a good one!

What are you doing on my roof?

That is the title of my new book. (The one that has not yet been written.)

A blank page

The page is blank, but not because I have nothing to say.

There is a saying, "no news is good news", which is not always true. But when a kid goes away to camp and barely calls home, it is usually because he is too happy and busy to call.

I pointed out to a friend of mine that I feel like I don't write as often as I used to, and that I have been slacking off. She expressed her concern, and thought maybe I was going through a slump. But I told her it was quite the opposite. The times when I have an urge to write, to express myself, are usually when I am feeling depressed or upset about stuff in my life. Don't ask me why there are so many poems and songs about sad dark depressing thoughts, but there you have it.

The Rebbe said, I am here for you when you have bad news to tell me, but don't forget to let me know when there is good news to tell.

It seems that when life is all rosy and good, people don't have anything to write home about.

Here's the proof: I haven't called my mother in awhile, and I don't write as often as I used to.

Consider this a blank page.

Oh to be a child... one more time

I listen to them giggle and chatter. They talk about the usual stuff, school, classmates, teachers. I try to add in a few words here and there, thinking that I am one of them, hoping they won't notice how oddly I stick out. But then they point out that I am their teacher, and despite the fact that it is only for davening, and only once a week, I feel like I have been found out, I will now be named a fraud and kicked out of their little group.

But they don't mind having me there. And I think back to what it was like being a 13 year old girl, how we enjoyed the attention of older people, because it somehow validated us and made us feel less like the immature children that we were. Apparently, that is what I am to these girls. It makes me realize with a thump that I am not, and will never again be 'one of them.'

They start to get hyper, they laugh, they want to paint my nails and play with my hair. I let them, because it feels nice to be a part of their group. It is a weird feeling, wanting to be a child again, wanting to be one of them, but knowing that I am not.

They are now grating on my nerves, with their childish laughter and how they cling to me. They ask me what I think of them, and I try to answer nicely so as not to hurt their fragile egos. One of them wants me to come to her brother's bris, but I barely even know her. In a way, I want them to forget how much older I am than them, but they too want me to believe that they are older than they really are. It is kind of hard to do with the way they are acting.

I retreat, and they follow me. I finally decide it is time to leave. Playtime is over. I am frustrated and annoyed, and I wonder, why are these girls acting so immature, why can't they just behave like me?

And then I realize, they are only children, but I am not a child anymore, and I will never again be one. It is like the book "Morris the moose goes to school". (One of the first books I read as a child.) A moose goes to school, and the children hang their coats on his antlers. They recognize that he is not one of them, even as he tries so hard to blend in.

It's nice to hang out with children once in awhile, and have the illusion that you are accepted as one of them. But I've had my fix.

Now it's time to go back to the adult world and try to prove that I am really 'one of them', that I am not a child anymore.

Oh the strange world we live in.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzz

In the mornings it is like my vocal chords are paralyzed. (G-d Forbid.) How can a kitchen containing four girls be so quiet? Simple. Who has energy to talk in the morning? The best I can do is grunt.

Luckily, I am not usually up so early every morning. But when I am, it reminds me of my high school days. Wake up ten minutes before the bus comes, roll out of bed, throw on a uniform (Thank G-d for those) grab two pieces of bread to call lunch, a bowl of cereal and milk which I brought on the bus (and tried expertly to hide from the driver who refused to let me on with food), and then colapsed into a seat on the bus, to get in a few more minutes of sleep before that horrible thing we called school was upon us.

Oh, and to see the bus. Row after row- girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, one girl per seat, each with ear buds jammed in, in her own little world, and if someone dared to ask to sit down, she would grudgingly move over. No talking. Again, who has energy to talk in the mornings?

I motion for a world where grunts suffice as conversation. All we need is a different sound for everything we want to say.

"Good morning" 'grunt'.

"How are you" 'grunt'.

Maybe a friendly nod. That's about it.

It's also funny how many things are going through my head in the morning, and how so few of them ever get said. I look at a girl and think, what is she doing, why is she in my way, maybe I should nudge her along or she will be late for school. But none of those things actually get said. It's like the path between my brain and my mouth is still asleep.

Don't be fooled by this post- I really am a social person.

Ode to my niece

I love you even though you are not here,
and even though I don't see you every day.

I love you even though you never talk to me,
and sometimes you cry when I'm near you.

I love you even though you don't do much,
and the most I see of you is from pictures.

I love you even though you are the smallest person in my life.

I love you because you are beautiful, and you smile all the time.

I love you because you are so cute,
and you are a part of me.

I don't love you because I have to,
or because I choose to;

I love you by default,
because how can I look at you and not love you?

I love you, my one and only niece, my beautiful booba, my Pretty Princess, Rochel Leah.

First Snowfall in Orange Connecticut!

I thought it was raining outside, but when I opened my shades, this is what I saw:
(First the turkeys, now this. What other surprises await behind my window shade?)

An hour gained, an hour lost

We changed the clocks back but I didn't gain an hour. Or rather, I gained an hour but then I lost it. So it didn't really do me any good.

I only remembered about changing the clocks when I noticed that the time on my laptop was an hour behind my alarm clock. But I didn't go to bed right then, I didn't get up and say tehillim for that hour, I didn't start dancing. I just sat there and continued to do what I had been doing the whole time from 1 am until 2 am.

In other words, I got the chance to redo an hour in my life, and I did nothing about it.

I remember a scene from the movie Donald Ducks, where the three ducks stopped time for awhile, and everyone just froze. They ran around running errands and doing whatever they had to do, and then when they were done they started time again.

If I were handed an hour on a silver platter and told, forget about the world around you, everything is going to stop for you while you do whatever you want with this hour, maybe I would use it. I don't know what I would do with it, but certainly not whatever I was previously doing the rest of my life.

Perhaps for the first ten seconds I would stand still, trying to decide what to do and where to go, but then I would be off and running.

So why then, when I just got a tangible extra hour to use for whatever I wanted, I wasted it? I didn't utilize it in any way other than to notice that I just got an hour back, and then to continue doing what I was doing until then.

Is time that unprecious to me?

2 years and 400 posts and I'm still going strong!

I am gonna make this short, because it is Friday and I have to go shopping and cook for Shabbos. (I love the sound of that!)

Today marks 2 years since I started my blog. This also happens to be my 400th post. Four hundred posts in 2 years is a pretty good average. It also shows that I like multiples of 2. (My brain thinks in positive numbers.)

Today is also pay day, which I'm happy about.

There are lots of reasons to be happy. There are also a lot of quotes about happiness. This one in particular I really like:

"Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections."

That means that even when your life is seemingly bad, and everything is going wrong, you can still find reasons to be happy.

Have a good Shabbos, and may we all see revealed happiness in our lives.

To another year of wisdom and lots more blog posts!

Change

"You never realize how much things change till you look back and everything is different."

To say I hate change would be false. It is more a reluctance to let go of the past, and an uncomfortable feeling with the vast unknown.

Big changes scare me. Little changes make me nervous. And the ones in between sometimes make me nauseous, or a combination of the two.

It is not that I don't understand that change is a good thing, that we can't live without it, that it is in fact healthy to change, and unhealthy to stay in the same spot your whole life, physically or otherwise. It is that I yearn for familiarity, for comfort, for something in my life that is constant.

Whether my fear, or rather aversion to change stems from moving houses four times throughout my life, the first time when I was only three years old, or something else that I don't know about, or just because that's how I was made, doesn't really matter. Most of the time it doesn't matter how you got to where you are now. The main thing is to deal with it now. (Unless of course you believe in Freudian psychology.)

My life went through a lot of changes in the past two years, some good and some bad. I go back only as far as two years because I see my life as stages. When I finished high school I began a new stage, which lasted about two years, and this year began the next stage in this whirlwind called my life.

I am reflecting on all of this now because tomorrow marks two years since I started my blog. It is a big accomplishment for me, and maybe the longest time I ever stuck to something. Of course, writing for me is an outlet, and an enjoyment, but not always.

There are so many things I have done in the past that I wish I never did, and I wish I could undo. Sometimes I wish that humans were built as robots. That we didn't have this inhibiting thing called emotions, that at times causes us to go astray, and at other times trips us up, makes hurt other people or ourselves, holds us back from moving on. But without emotions, we wouldn't have this beautiful thing called love.

I can't undo the past. And when I look back and see where I used to be, and where I am now, it is with a feeling of relief that I am finally growing up. It is a feeling of contentment, that I am at a good place in my life. It is a realization that maybe my mistakes were stupid, and I should never have made them, but in the end I may very well be a stronger person because of them. (That doesn't stop me from wishing they could be erased.)

I don't know what the Hebrew date was when I started my blog, but November 5th will always be a special day to me, a kind of turning point in my life.

So here's to good change and bad, and everything in between, and may we have clarity to always make the right decisions.

Get used to it

It is my guilty conscience telling me that what I am doing is wrong, but more than that, it is the fear that I will be discovered. That I will be told off, that I will be asked to leave. That they will realize that I am a fraud, and that they made a mistake.

I tell myself to follow the rules. To obey the powers that be. But there is a part of me that wants to live on the edge, discover the wild side. Not only that, I just hate rules.

But if they find out, who knows what will be. I feel like I have been punched in the stomach. My conscience bothers me, my guilt gnaws at me, and the fear won't let me rest.

I like my freedom. I hate the constricting feeling of someone telling me what to do. But when you have a job to do, and you know it, what other option do you have?

Free time? Maybe some other time. They are my responsibility, and this is my life now.

Get used to it.

Scars on my body, scars on my soul

This article has been published in The Jewish Press

The scars on my body you can see.

The one on my arm where I burned myself. And on my chin, from the hot tomato sauce that splashed.

The one over my eye where the door banged into it.

The one on my elbow from when I fell off my bike.

The one on my leg I got from cutting myself while shaving.

The one that I believe I got as a child from an operation.

The scars on my body you can see.
They don't make me who I am,
but they are a part of me.

The scars on my soul are hidden. I can hide them with a smile, or a laugh.

I can cover them up with a life well lived.

I can conceal them from my friends and family, sometimes even from myself.

The scars on my soul are so well hidden, sometimes even I don't know that they are there. I would have to look at my soul under a microscope to determine where I got each scar from, and how deep they are.

The scars on my body you can see.

When I am in pain, you know it. You see it clearly on my face. You can offer a comforting word, a hug, or just ignore it, as you yourself would wish others to do.

But what of the scars on my soul?

When my soul is in pain, you do not see it. When I am crying inside, you do not know.

Do I wish that each and every thing I go through every day, and throughout life, were stamped on my face? Do I wish that you knew how I was feeling without me telling you so?

But some things are not meant to be shared.

The scars on my body you can see.

But the scars on my soul may run so deep, and from looking at me, you would never know that they were there.

The month of Cheshvan

I wanted to know why the month of Cheshvan is called "MarCheshvan". Why is it referred to as bitter? I googled it and came up with this:


It is known that the month of Cheshvan is known as “Mar” Cheshvan, bitter Cheshvan, because of its lack of holidays. Why is it that this month is so empty of holidays?

Rav Kook, in Meged Yerachim, writes for the Month of Cheshvan: “When the soul is illuminating, even a cloudy sky can give bright light” (rough translation).

The message is clear. After the intense month of Tishrei where almost every day has special significance and where we continuously grow, now we are put to test. What are we going to do in a regular, day to day, life? How will we react in a month devoid of holidays?

We can look at that month as a cloudy and dark month. Or, we can recognize the fact that its cloudy but also that it hides some deep light behind the clouds. And when our soul is illuminated after such an intense month of growth, we can attain this light even through the clouds.

The light of the Month of Cheshvan is very deep. Most of the time, the deeper the thing, the harder it is to get to it, the less obvious it is. May all our preparations of the month of Tishrei give us enough strength to find the light inside the month of Cheshvan. Chodesh Tov!

Written by: Dan Illouz


I am of course saying the prayer "mashiv haruach umorid hageshem" in shmonei esrei, even if I don't really enjoy the rain so much. I think it is meant to benifit Israel more then us, but even so it has been a rainy past few weeks.

Today I went shopping for a winter coat. As I drove home I noticed how the leaves had changed colors. I don't usually pay attention to that. They are a very pretty shade of red now, as opposed to the generally green color. But it is a dreary feeling.

The cold weather, coupled with the fact that I am tired and coming down with a cold, makes me want to curl up in bed with a sweatshirt and socks on and a hot cup of tea.

Tomorrow morning, each girl will get a cup of powerade on her desk with a label that says: "Good morning! Today is Yud Zayin Cheshvan. The day the mabul started!"

Happy rainy season.

Interview with G-d

That little fish

I say goodnight to him every time I pass him in the hallway. He may be a she for all I know. I never call it by its name. I don’t even know if it has a name. So I keep it gender friendly and say “goodnight little fishy”. I don’t know if it is a boy fish or a girl fish. I suppose I could make up a name for him, maybe call him Fred, or perhaps Thelma. But for some reason Fishy seems to suit him just fine.

He watches me with his eyes wide open. Sometimes he turns away like he doesn’t want to look at me. Maybe he is moody. Or maybe he is lonely. In any case, I bet I know what goes through his mind every time he sees me walking by. “So why is she at school this late?” Well, I could explain to Mr. Fishy that it has something to do with the fact that the dorm doesn’t have internet, plus I have things to do, but I don’t think he would quite understand, or care for that matter.

They told me that there used to be more fish in the tank. But I guess they died somewhere along the way. Now it is just Mr. Fishy. When the lights are all off and the school is quiet, it is just Mr. Fishy and me. And then I leave, and he is all alone. But I tell him I’ll see him tomorrow. I wonder how long Mr. Fishy will be around for.

When I was little I had a pet goldfish. We gave him away to a family friend who had lots of other fish. I suppose that fish died sometime in the prime of his life. And that is why I don't want to have a pet fish.

I hope all of you find a Mr. Fishy to go through life with.

Three doors down

No more of my 2 am posts, as much fun as those were. I am a night owl at heart. My natural instinct is to stay up until the late hours of the night, and then sleep. in. But no more, because I have a job now.

I used to wish that I could be anywhere else in the world than where I was. Florida maybe. Or California. Or Hawaii, or for a change of pace maybe even Switzerland. All very appealing destinations, the main reason being that they were not here. That was in the days when I couldn't stand being in class, couldn't wait to get out of school, wanted tomorrow and next week and next year to come faster.

There is a point in your life when you have to stop wishing for your life to go by faster, and just learn to take each day and each moment as it comes.

I no longer wish to be anywhere else but here. Right now, I want to be here, because here is where I am meant to be.

10/10/10

Today is 10-10-10. The 10th day in the 10th month of the year 2010. It is a cool sequence when you stop and realize it, and it only comes once every year. The first time someone pointed it out to me was in the year 2003, when the sequence waas 03/03/03. That was seven years ago.

Someone told me that every time the clock is at 10:10, or 11:11, or 12:12, (I don't know if it works for 1:01, or 2:02, etc.) you can make a wish. Of course, this sounds like one of those made up teenage shtus, and I doubt it even has a proper source. Then again, you can make a wish anytime you want, that doesn't mean it will come true.

But if it were true, then I'm pretty sure a day like today would have more power.

I recently passed a milestone. It has been a year and three days since I got my license. I am a good driver, if I do say so myself. Oh how much has happened this past year...

Sometime in November it will be 2 years since I started my blog. And I am almost up to 400 posts. Not too shabby.

Today we are going hiking. I will enjoy myself. It is nice weather out.

If any of you believe that you can truly make a wish today, then go ahead. And have me in mind.

I know what I would wish for.

Glorious cupcakes

Winter, and other stuff

The air is fresh and I breath in big lungfuls of it. This is heaven to me. It rained last night, and it is still raining lightly today. I stand outside on the wet grass in my boots and sweatshirt and smile. I stand under the trees, mostly shielded from the rain with little droplets falling on my face. I can sit here forever. This is bliss.

I am not looking forward to the winter. Winter is a depressing time for me, when the sun sets early in the day, when the trees lose its leaves and turn brown and bare, when everyone stays inside huddled by the fireplace, instead of going out and having a good time. It is a time of hibernation, a time of sleep.

The only thing I like about winter is the snow. Snow is a beautiful thing. It is pure and fresh, it makes everything look clean and new, and it is so silent. Whenever it snows it feels like the world is hushed, holding its breath.

I look forward to the spring again. Spring, a time of renewal, of revival.

I always wonder what it would be like if I lived in a place with a warm climate all year round. If the winter had no meaning to me, if my life wasn't ruled by the weather outside, if I didn't have to wear a winter coat and boots when I went outside, or a sweatshirt and socks to bed. Would my life be so boring if I had nothing to complain about? Would humans have anything to talk about?

(Guy behind counter at starbucks): "Sure is cold outside today."
(Customer): grunts "Sure is. Took me forever to git ma car out of de snow. Ya know. Sure wid be nice not to have te git up early every day to shovel ma car out and warm it up. Ain't no fun driving to work freezin ma buns off."

What would they have to talk about if it was sunny and warm all the time?

In other news: I got promoted to chef. Now I will be cooking dinner every night for the dorm girls and I. It is fun, I enjoy cooking, and if gives me something to fill my day.

In addition, I will be the davening monitor once a week for the 7th and 8th grade girls.

Life is good here in Orange Connecticut.

Stripped bare

Simchas Torah is a guys holiday. So don't ask me how my Simchas Torah was.

I brave the streets, weaving in and out of groups of guys singing enthusiastically, trying not to bump into them or worse, be bumped into 'by accident'. Every once in awhile, all heads turn at the sound of some extremely drunk guy breaking into song, or jumping on his friend's back for the fun of it. The word 'lechaim' is on their lips, and the smell to go along with it.

I walk on Eastern Parkway and gingerly step over piles of throw up. I sit on a bench and watch Hatzalah go by with their sirens on, and then return speeding in the opposite direction and I wonder, who's father/son/husband/brother/friend is passed out this time?

I attempt to go into 770 to watch the dancing, but I don't get very far. The place is packed with Israelis, and lots of other girls. I stand on my tip toes, but even then I can hardly see above the heads of the girls standing on benches. I see a swarm of black hats, and hear the singing, which is very loud. It's hard to explain how I feel. This is familiar to me, the scene, the color scheme, (black and white being the predominant colors). I feel at home here, and yet I hate being a spectator. It is just for holidays like these that I wish I was a little girl again, on the shoulders of my father or brothers; or better, that I was born a guy. They always seem to have more fun.

My claustrophobia kicks in and I have to leave. Reluctantly, because I do wish I could be a part of this experience. I stand on the plaza until even that is too much for me. I cross the street and sit on a bench with my friend, watching scores of guys standing around outside 770.

It strikes me as ironic that the loudest guys, the guys who are standing on the street corner linking arms and singing ani maamen, the guys who stand out the most, are the ones who are not dressed so conservatively, the ones who shallow people (I admit to sometimes being in that category) would be quick to label as 'not so frum'. I wonder if they are trying to get attention, or if they are truly expressing their inner feelings and beliefs, namely, that they do believe in G-d and all that is holy.

It is times like these that I abhor the labels we tend to stick on everyone. Imagine if we could see everyone like a negative- a photo before it is developed. We would all look eerie and weird and creepy, like when you tilt a picture and it looks like an x-ray. But that is when everyone looks the same. We are all equal on the inside, are we not? Maybe not, but that is not for you or me to judge.

If we were all stripped bare, then how would we be able to judge each other? Outer appearance constitutes so much of how we label each other. Sometimes it is so tedious and takes up way more time then just saying, "Hi I'm Altie nice to meet you, what's your name?". I have to remind myself constantly to not jump to conclusions about people.

Back to the topic of guys- I am happy that they get a yom tov where they get to let out all their energy in a positive way, where they get to strip their inhibitions, take off the masks and just show their true selves and feelings. If music is the pen of the soul, then singing is the souls way of communicating. It is a beautiful concept to sing and express what you can't say in words. (If any guy wants to step in and veto me here feel free to. I can't say that I've ever been a guy.)

Maybe I will be different next year. No, I don't mean that I will turn into a guy. But maybe I will be able to internalize the yom tov so that it won't be 'just a guys yom tov' in my head. Or maybe I won't change my way of thinking, but I'll have someone on the men's side to keep my eye on and smile proudly and say "he's mine".

My sukkos, etc etc etc

This is how I started my post Sunday night:

Here's how I know I'm growing up- it's 8 PM, I'm dead tired and craving my bed, I've been up since 7 am, it's chol hamoade and I have no interest in going to the simchas bais hashuava, or a concert, or an amusement park, and above all- I've dealt with kids all day and I've had enough. There is that niggling doubt every once in awhile that says 'hey, if you can't even deal with kids now, how are you going to have your own?' But these are not my kids, and I hope G-d will give me the strength when I have my own.

This is how I would have started it Monday night:

Oh what a day. Five kids, and some food, in a car, going on a chol hamoade trip to Fun Time America. I get to play Mommy for a day. We got lost and looped around the same highway three times until I realized we weren't lost and that was indeed the right way. Finally we got there only to see that the place was packed with.... Jews!!! Frum Jews of all sizes, with kids kids kids. Oh boy, but I was so not gonna stuff the kids back into the car to go find somewhere else to go. So we waited on line for half an hour, me having to hear that people were skipping us and not being able to do anything about it. Finally we paid and went inside...

Now I am watching only one kid, leaving the 2 younger ones to go around with the 2 older ones. So me and Child go to jungle gym, and I can't go with him cuz it says kids ages 2-12 only... He goes in by himself and a little while later I see Child crying his eyes out cuz he got lost inside the jungle gym and can't find his way out... my throat constricts with tears, and I feel anxious cuz I can't get to him. I look around for a kid, maybe to ask them to go help Child get out. I contemplate going in myself, but then Child comes down the slide. Trouble averted. I give him a sandwich and he is happy.

Some rides and arcades and lots of prize tickets later I am exhausted and ready to call it a day. Food, drinks, bathroom. Time to make our way to the prize counter, another hurdle I am not looking forward to. I leave it up to the oldest kid, who is 10. Tell him, make sure everyone gets a prize and no one cries. Finally, back to the car.

It is raining out, I realize I forgot to print directions back to the house, I don't have a GPS. Luckily, we figured out how to get home, in considerably less time then it took us to get there, and we didn't get lost.

Along the way: I have to hear how "how come she got 3 prizes and we only got one?" in a whiny voice. One kid unbuckles his seat belt, they are having a merry good time back there, I can't drive like this. I pull over, left him on the side of the road, demand that the kid put his seat belt back on, get back in the car, drive off.

I told the parents maybe I'll come back to visit in, oh, two years. Oh what a day.

(Disclaimer: I do love these kids and I love going there. Of course, I have to say that cuz if their mother or any of her sisters read this, they will call up the mother, ask her what she did to me that was so horrible, she will call me and I will never hear the end of it.)

Monday night I went to Simchas Bais Hashuava in Crown Heights, my first time this year. I stayed until 6 am, which was good because I didn't have a bed to sleep in at home, what with all the people there and all.

I was gonna go away for the second days of Yom Tov, but now I'm not, cuz the family I was going to is sick with strep. My family is going to Monsey to stay with my sister and bro-in-law and niece. So I am going to be home alone. I am quite looking forward. (My father already warned me: no parties, no people over, no guys or girls... I said, I'm gonna be anti-social, read, relax, sleep, you know.)

I have not done much with my Sukkos vacation, besides all of the above, plus chillin with my niece the first days. She is awfully cute. My whole plan for chol hamoade was to get glasses, and even that I didn't do. I go back to Connecticut on Sunday, and then I'll be there for about a month.

So there's a little update on my life. I felt you deserved to know since I haven't blogged in 2 weeks. Bet you missed me.

Have a good yom tov everyone, and watch the alcohol consumption on Simchas Torah. I don't need any guys bumping into me 'by accident' cuz they are inebriated.

Now raise your cup and say- lechaim.

Turkey in the yard

A view from my window

How great are Your people

Hope y'all had a great yom tov.

I decided this year I am not going to write a post-Rosh Hashana post, as I did in previous years. I am not going to exclaim how I don't want to look at food anymore in my life, I am not going to say whether the davening was moving or not, whether I now feel cleansed and refreshed and ready for a new year.

No- all of that I didn't feel like writing about this year. So why then am I writing a blog post? Because I have one thing to say-

G-d, how great are your children, the people of Israel.

In shul on yom tov, a man was standing at the bima for his aliyah to the Torah. He was standing there quietly when his cell phone rang. He took it out sheepishly and turned it off. I was struck by the irony of the two extremes.

That's how great Your people are. They know how important Rosh Hashana is, and so they come to shul, cell phones, cars and all. But they come. That is the main part.

And if they could be there, then who am I to complain how long and tiring the davening is?

Happy new year.

Happy and spiritual Rosh Hashana

Yes, the holidays are coming.

Since I don't have my own home, this doesn't mean much physical preparations for me. I don't have to cook, I don't have to clean, and since I am going to be a guest at someone's house for yom tov, I don't have to do much of anything.

So I sit here and reflect on the past year. And I am scared.

I consider my relationship with G-d a good one. Perhaps I am fooling myself. Most likely that is the case. This is not confessionals, so I don't have to spill my guts to you, but I know what I have done, or not done in the past year. I know that some days I have not davened. Is talking to G-d one on one in English considered praying? When I say Oh my G-d, or thank G-d, does that mean anything? Yes it does. Why then is it so important to pray the words in Hebrew, the special prayers that great men have created long ago? I don't know.

I wonder what G-d will inscribe for me in His book this year. I wonder about everything the new year will bring. Will He choose life for me, or (G-d forbid) death? Good fortune, or bad? I have no idea. But for some reason, I have a cocky confidence that I will be alright.

I don't know for certain, because no one but G-d can know, but I am confident.

Yes I know it is foolish. I share the same confidence as the man in the song 'isn't is ironic.'

Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye
He waited his whole life to take that flight
And as the plane crashed down he thought
"Well isn't this nice..."
And isn't it ironic... don't you think

How can you know if this is your last day? How can you know that you won't have bad fortune? You can't. But at the same time, who walks around thinking, today I will die? The assumption is that we will have many more years on this earth, which is why so many people waste their time here, and end their lives with nothing much to show.

The point is, there is no reason why I don't daven every day. It does not come from a place that says, me and G-d are tight, so there's no need to thank Him and ask Him for special things, they will just come to me. No, it comes from a place of neglect.

I am scared because when G-d comes to my name in His big book, what will He see? Not much. So why then am I still here? I assume it is because I still have a lot more to accomplish here, and G-d is giving me some more time to discover what it is. Hopefully I will not let Him down.

I want to wish all of you and your families a happy and healthy sweet new year. May it be a year that brings only good and happiness and blessings in abundance. May your spirituality reach great heights, may G-d grant all of your hearts desires in all areas, and may we all celebrate the ultimate redemption with Moshiach now.

I hope that every one of you takes some time for introspection, and to ask yourself, am I ready for this Rosh Hashana, am I ready for G-d to judge me, and am I ready for what this new year will bring?

The places of my mind

I stand here
a little midget next to this vast mountain
cowering in apprehension.
In just a minute
it can lean over
way over
and crush me.
Should I stand still
or should I run?

This is a place I love to come to-
yellow daffodils,
the deep blue of water
with a glint of sunlight.
A hint of autumn in the air,
a chill, but not enough to
overpower the warmth.

I lay here,
the smell of grass permeating my senses,
the blades cool between my fingers.
It is bliss on earth.
The sound of birds chirping,
the noise from cars and traffic far away and faint.

This is peace.

But then-
words, they haunt me.
They follow me.
They don't let me rest.
They knock at the recesses of my brain
and beg to be let in.

But I refuse.

My emotions can't deal with them today.
Words, so powerful.
Poetry, meant to question and discover,
to study human nature
and delve deep into the echelons of the universe.

But this is not peace.
This is a fear of discovery.
For when you question-
you have to be prepared for what you will find out.
and for this I have no patience.

And so I leave this place,
this place of mind,
and I amuse myself with a spider web
or counting the sounds of the cars
as they whiz by.

And I tell myself someday I will return
one day when I feel ready,
older and more mature.

But in my heart I know
that day may never come.
Maybe I don't want to go back
to that place that challenges me
frightens me
makes me feel so small and meaningless.

So goodbye
I need to go chase a butterfly.

You are special

You are special. Yes you. And you, and you. Every single one of you is special in your own way. I may not know you, I may not know what you are like, where your talents lie, how smart you are. But I know that you are special.

I have a poster on my wall, it is a motto from Mr. Rogers. It says, "You make each day special just by being you." I see that every time I walk into my room. It is a good reminder, especially when I am feeling particularly un-special.

I want to thank you, oh anonymous people, whoever you are. Some of you may know me, and some of you may have never met me. But you are dear to me. You give me the opportunity to share my thoughts, my goals and dreams with you. You let me broadcast my feelings, my experiences, and my day to day life. To you this may mean nothing. Maybe you read my posts, and maybe you don't. But to me, this feels like I have someone with me the whole way through.

Don't get me wrong- I have friends. Real live friends whom I see most of the time. But this is different.

I hope to make you proud of me. My journey is far from over. It may never be over. So thank you for sharing it with me and being a part of my life.

Good Shabbos!

Tis almost Shabbos in the dorm; our first one here. I am making cookies for breakfast. It gives me pleasure to make the girls happy. I am starting to get a taste of what being a mother feels like.

I am content. And life is good.

Something funny:
I hung up my birthday cards on my wall. One is a singing card from my family. It hangs half way open, and sometimes when I make my bed, or randomly, it swings open and suddenly I hear my family singing me happy birthday. It scared me once. Now it makes me laugh. It's like having them right there with me.

Have a good Shabbos, and don't forget to smile :)