My Immortality

February 7, 2013, College Campus. Confusion surrounds as I pass through the protestors, Pro-Israel on one side, and Pro-Palestine on the other. Each with their own agenda, their own drastic views, differing greatly one from the other.

Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement against Israel. Students for Justice in Palestine- this is what they preach. They want equal rights, they want freedom from Israeli oppression, they want land, they want it all. They say that it is their right. Yet that very same night, Jews were kicked out of the pro-Palestinian forum even though they were on the invite list.

Let us talk about rights. June 25 2006- Gilad Shalit, an Israeli soldier was abducted by Hamas militants, and held in captivity for five years. He was finally released after 1,027 Palestinian prisoners were set free. Palestinians who had collectively killed more than 569 Israelis. Palestinians who went on to kill again after they were released. Israel exchanged over a thousand soldiers for one of our own, even as the Palestinians use their own women and children as shields, even as they train their kids from a young age to hate, and to kill, even as they teach them how to strap bombs to their chests, and walk into public places and kill as many Jews as they can.

And yet, they want equality? Every night when I go to sleep, I think about my little brother, who at 18 went into the Israeli Army. He wears heavy armor and gear every day, he carries a gun wherever he goes. All it will take is one stray bullet to harm or kill him. He is not an Israeli citizen, but he is a Jew, and he voluntarily took it upon himself to protect our land.

I am a Jew by birth, though at times I don't understand what is means to be a Jew.

I don't understand, but I am reminded of it every day. In 2011 the Palestinians fired 680 rockets into Israel. In November 2012 the Israelis retaliated, and killed Ahmed Jabari, the leader of the Hamas military. For a week, the Palestinians rained down rockets, and I prayed for my little brother every day.

President Obama showed his support of Israel and said, "There's no country on Earth that would tolerate missiles raining down on its citizens from outside its borders". Israel was pushed into a cease-fire, even though America would never back down under attack. 

Even as the ceasefire was announced, the air raid sirens were going off, letting everyone know to run and hide, that rockets were coming their way. "The definition of a ceasefire: Israel ceases, and Hamas fires". Israelis have fifteen seconds to get to a bomb shelter once the siren goes off. Fifteen seconds is the difference between life and death.

I am a Jew because I was born a Jew, even though sometimes I don't understand what that means. But the world will never let me forget it.

An evil man named Hitler killed 6 million Jews, only because they were Jewish. He wanted to create a pure Aryan race, he wanted to eliminate Jews from the world. He killed, and gassed, and mangled, and destroyed 6 million Jews, and he kept souvenirs to display as historic artifacts once the Jews were all gone. Yet We are still here.

We created museums, We have displayed those same souvenirs that were kept, We tell the world that We have survived, that We are a nation of survivors, and no matter how many times you knock us down, We will get right back up again.

I am a Jew by default, even though sometimes I don't understand what that entails.

At the Miss America pageant, the winner always wishes for world peace, to solve world hunger, to stop global warming. Matt Damon refuses to use a toilet until the whole world has clean water. These are all very worthy causes. Everybody believes in something.

The Nazis used to make the Jews go on death marches from the concentration camps in Poland, and at the end of the miles long walk, along which many Jews collapsed and were shot, all the Jews were shot and killed, their bodies dumped into pits. One day I will join the March of the Living, which runs along the very same path that the Jews were forced to walk. We remember the fallen Jews, as We show the world that We are undefeated, that we are alive and well.

I am a Jew because I was born a Jew, even though sometimes I don't understand what is means to me. But I say 'We, We, We'.

I am a Jew because I was born a Jew, even though sometimes I don't understand what that means. But I walk on the Pro-Israel side of the street during the protest.

I am a Jew because I was born a Jew, even though sometimes I don't understand what that means. But my People were killed because they were Jews, their arms were tattooed because they were Jews, they were forced to wear yellow stars that said 'Jude', Jew, because they were Jews.

As Mark Twain once said, the Egyptians, the Babylonians the Persians, the Greeks and the Romans all came and went, rose and fell throughout time, died out and disappeared. “The Jew saw them all, survived them all... All things are mortal but the Jews; all other forces pass, but he remains. What is the secret of his immortality?”

I am a Jew because I was born a Jew, even though sometimes I don't understand what that means. I support Israel because it is my land, my people, my home. I defend the Jewish people because it is my identity, my core, my very being. Throughout time many people rose up to destroy us but in the end We always won. We are a strong people.

I am strong because I am a Jew. I am a Jew because I am strong. I am a Jew because I was born a Jew, even though sometimes I don't understand what that means.

But I am learning and understanding more each day of what it means to be a Jew. The world teaches me what it means to be a Jew. Jewish leaders show me what it means to be a Jew. Deep down inside my soul, I know what it means to be a Jew.

And I will never forget it.

Of Roses

Red
splotch
of color
imposed on
a black
and white
background,
no good,
throw them away,
Wait.

Please.
Give me
the rose,
give me
three roses,
for me
for my friends.
Let us photograph
you, me
and the rose.

Smile,
don't smile,
look pensive,
look thoughtful,
look at the rose,
look hipster,
look gangster,
look like
someone else,
not yourself.

Backdrop
of garbage
a dumpster
a brick wall.
Urban.
Cool.
Hip.
Trash?
No.
Let us savor
this moment.

Subway.
Mice scurry.
The walls,
the floors
covered in
grim,
layers on layers,
dirt.
Don't touch.
Germs.

The train
pulls away
and I run
alongside it
with you
silhouetted
in the window.
The Rose
Just a splotch
of Red

With dank walls
turned black
behind it.

Forever After

What happens when the book closes?
When the lights turn off?
What happens when the audience goes home?

I wonder what happens after Happily ever After.
I guess we will find out in the sequel, 'Ever After'.
Except, none of that is real.

Oh, Disney, how you have ruined me.
I want the white horse drawn carriage
That used to be a pumpkin.

I want to be the maid who turns into a princess,
The toad who turns into a prince.
I want the kiss under the moonlight.

I want the magic,
And the fireworks,
The 'love at first sight'.

I don't know if I am prepared
For what comes after,
For everyday humdrum life.

Thank you Disney,
For inflating my expectations,
That I won't even recognize normal when I see it.

I'll bet the next morning,
Cinderella and the Prince woke up
Bleary eyed and disoriented.

Maybe they had cereal for breakfast,
As they eyed each other,
Two strangers wondering what just happened.

That magic fairy dust wears off,
And Happily Ever After
Turns sour pretty quickly.

Ever After is codename for Reality.
It hits hard when you are not expecting it.
Because you started out starstruck.

Don't look for a fairy tale,
And your 'Once Upon a Time', and 'Happily Ever After'
may just happen for you.

Look closely,
Because it will be disguised as
Boring 'ole Reality.

Mi, mi mi mi miiiiiiiiii!!!

A Story All About Me.

It is just so horrible how they treat me, it is like they hate me, and all I am trying to do is do my job.

You annoy me, you get in my way, you don't help me even when I ask you nicely, which of course forces me to ask not so nicely and say things to you like "you are useless, you suck. The person before you did this job so much better." Because, you are truly incompetent. You call me the "b" word, only you don't say it to me but more about me. And the funny thing is, it doesn't hurt.

You are in my way. Move. Move out of my way. You walk so slow on the sidewalk, and up the stairs and when I brush by you to get ahead you have the nerve to get annoyed at me! Like, hello you are in my way, do you not see that I am in a rush, can you not tell that I have somewhere to be and I am late and besides, I walk fast and you walk slow so move aside and let me pass.

I sigh. I told you three times today about that thing I need you to take care of and you didn't do it and it is getting really annoying, like how many times do I need to ask you to do this? I don't care if you are the boss, you said you would do it and then you forgot. Really, that it not nice and it doesn't help me do my job.

I answered your question 5 times today, and you just keep asking. Are you stupid? Don't answer that. You are stupid. You are so dumb. Read my answer! How do you not understand what I'm saying?? Clearly you should not be using a computer.

Why didn't you answer when I called you? Are you too busy to talk to me? Are you ignoring me? Oh, I'm sorry, is this a bad time? Just answer the stupid phone when I call and then I won't have to call back.

Why are you using the kitchen? I wanted to cook and you are taking up space. Get out. No really, I was thinking a long time ago that I would cook now, how come you didn't tell me that you were planning to also? You are getting in my way.

Be quiet I am trying to go to sleep. Why must you make noise and turn on the light when I am sleeping? You are so rude. Rude rude rude. You shouldn't even be here because I got here first.

You told me to ask nicely and I did ask nicely and you still didn't help me. You say something about team, and I remember the lame pep talk, how there is no 'I' in Team. Right. Okay. Yippy.

And then I look around and I am all alone and I wonder why everyone was so mean and selfish and left me when I needed them most. Why? I ask myself. Whyyyyy?

And so I turn old and gray and I sit there with my 23 cats and I talk to them until they all walk away and then I get mad that they are not listening to me and I throw them out the door.

And so I win the lottery and buy an island and name it AltieLand and let no one come there, because clearly everyone hates me.

~~~~~

The End

P.S. This is a self reflection and a note to self about being more patient and less self-centered. In case you totally missed the point.

The thread that holds us together

Sometimes the thread is clear,
So clear that I just can't see it,
And I wonder if it is still there.

So I pull at it,
I tug until I see the seams coming apart,
And the thread begins to unravel.

It just keeps on unraveling
And I wonder if I started something
That I just can't stop.

We make excuses that sound good
To our own ears and to others,
They are valid and sound arguments.

But sometimes we just can't face the facts,
We can't look into the mirror
And speak the truth.

That maybe the thread that holds us together
Is not as strong as we thought.
The thread just keeps on unraveling. 

It pulls us farther and farther apart,
Until One whole becomes Two,
Three, Four pieces.

That just can't seem to fit back together.

Patience

Patience may be a virtue but it is definitely one that I have very little of. I have no patience for people, for trains, for slow explanations, sometimes I just have no patience for anything. I'm sure it can be learned, but I'm just not sure I have the patience for that.

I bought my brother a plant for his birthday almost two years ago, and recently noticed that he re-potted it and it is growing big and tall. It is nice to see that he can take care of plants, and they do look pretty in his living room.

My sister-in-law gave me a plant for my birthday, and while it is a sweet gesture, it seems she doesn't know me very well. Unless she is trying to teach me a lesson, much the same way teachers make their students take care of fake babies. I went home for Shavuos and forgot to ask someone to water it, and when I got back it was bone dry and droopy. I think I revived it, and now I leave it right near the sink to remind me to water it. Poor plant.

Good things take time. Time that I think I don't have, until I find myself bored with nothing to do and lots of time. But I'm bored and I want things to happen NOW. Why should I have to wait for good things?

Plants take years and years to grow big, and the only way to ensure that they get there is by taking care of them and watering them regularly. And having extreme patience. If you sit there and watch it grow and see no movement and get frustrated and destroy it- you will never see any change.

Yes it is hard. It is hard to stand around in a roomful of strange people that I don't know, with the spotlight on one girl enjoying her moment, and wishing that was me.

It is so hard to have patience with people who talk slow or funny, or when you are starving and want your food to cook faster. It is hard to be in school for years and work slowly and patiently to get a degree.

I'm not going to magically become the most patient person overnight, but it definitely helps to take a step back and say "calm down and let things take their course, and G-d Willing good things will come your way." 

Naivete

You are so closed minded, living in your little box following all the rules, while I, I am so worldly and open-minded, I live by my own rules. I never understand why you do what you do, and you give me reasons for it and explain it, but you are merely repeating what you were told, it is like you can't even think for yourself to make your own decisions.

Naivete. That word I abhorred when they said it to me, like it was a bad thing. Oh how sad for the poor little girl, how naive she is, how she does not even realize what she is missing out on, because she is just so... naive... and there is that word again.

I wanted to prove them all wrong, and I did. And how did that make me feel.... like I made a mistake. Like I finally got to the other side only to realize that I was not missing out on much...

But now that I was already there, hey I may as well use it to my advantage. So move aside everyone because here I come, I, the enlightened one. The one who knows all, has seen all and done all, and oh what I have done.... oh no you don't want to know... I can't tell you that, because you know, you are just so... naive.... oh you poor little girl, you are missing out on so much.

I hate innocence, I want to crush it and rip it up and throw it out the window, because it will be lost sooner or later so why not sooner than later. Hey, you gotta grow up someday and realize that Santa is not real, that money does not grow on trees, that everything you believed in to be true, that you were TOLD was the truth was really all lies to try and get you to follow the truth, their truths, which may have been only slightly altered versions of G-d's truth to fit their needs and not yours.

But oh, how I mock you, because it is just so cute how you listen to all you are told without questioning it. And don't you wonder about the world out there, and aren't you even a little bit curious about what you are missing out on? Don't you want to try it, get a taste of the forbidden? Must you live in a bubble your whole life and do the right thing, the right that you believe in, as if there is only black and white, wrong and right, and no gray. Oh what a beautifully naive existence you live...

Me, well, ha, my eyes were opened and they can never be closed again. I can never undo what I've done, I can never unseen what I've seen, or unsay what I've said. Oh no, now that I have experienced things, well I am experienced, oh yes. I am informed and enlightened.

They told me that there is no black and white, only gray, that I can't really give my opinion until I've experienced it. Well, I do see the gray area more often now, as the black and white mesh together. Excuses and justifications become the truth, and you start to forget why you ever resisted to begin with. You forget what is right and wrong,  you are flying on autopilot and the sky looks like the sea and you are lost in a fluffy white cloud and you really cannot tell if you are going up or down.

Naivete comes with a price, but so does enlightenment. As I laugh at your innocence, I wish for those days that I cannot retrieve, for that little girl sitting on the steps with everyone laughing at her and how gullible she is for believing their prank. They tell her that the word gullible is not in the dictionary and she vows to prove them all wrong....
You are so innocent and naive, and I, what of I, and my worldly experience?

I lost and I gained and it was not an even exchange.
So maybe I am the naive one after all.

Broken engagements

It's that awkward conversation when you ask someone, "So when's the wedding?" and she says, "oh, the engagement is off."
Awkward pause. "Oy, I'm so sorry to hear that." Her response: "Don't be, it's for the best."

Yes, I'm sure it is. Yes, everything is up to G-d and He has a reason for everything that happens. Yes, you were not meant to spend the rest of your life with this person. The right person is still out there and he/she is waiting for you.

People want to share good news. Websites announce engagements. They are a happy occasion, a time to rejoice with the couple who has just made one of the biggest decisions of their lives. But how must it feel to have to retract that? To say, we made a mistake, we jumped in too fast, we just found stuff out about each other that is a game changer. Some people say that it is easier/better to have a broken engagement than to be married for years and then get divorced due to differences that could not be worked out. I don't know if you could say that unless you have experienced it.

There are no websites for broken engagements, no place to let everyone know that the wedding invitation was not lost in the mail, it is not coming. Returned gifts, returned dress, returned wigs. All that excitement and joy gets put back into a box and shoved under a bed not to be taken out for awhile.

The right decision is definitely not always easy, and it is made harder when it is such a public thing. Some nosy people always try to pry or guess at the reason for the decision, and it makes the people involved that much more uncomfortable.

It must be hard to walk down the street and have people say, "When is the lechaim/wedding?? I'm so sorry I missed it, I was out of town." And you breezily tell them that no, they did not miss it and that the wedding is off, while keeping that perfectly practiced smile glued on your face until it feels like it will crack and you just wish that people would stop giving you that pitying sigh and saying 'oy, G-d willing it will be good.' Of course it will be good, because you made a decision that was right for you. And that should not be a sad thing.

I do not speak from experience, thank G-d, although someone close to me did experience this. I don't even want to imagine what it feels like, and I hope to G-d that the moment I say "YES!" I am 100% absolutely sure that I mean it.

What does it mean to be a mother?

A mother who doesn't want her children (Article). I can think of few things that are worse than that.

I don't speak from experience, but as a child I never felt that I wasn't wanted. Even though I haven't always had the smoothest relationship with either of my parents, I was always secure in the knowledge that they love me and are happy to have me in their lives.

This woman states that after having her first kid she realized that "having a child had been the biggest mistake of my life." Then she went on to have a second child because that is what she agreed upon with her husband. She keeps repeating that she never wanted to have children, but then when she did become a mother she dedicated herself completely to the job, not hiring a nanny or neglecting her children like other mothers. She says that her children encroached upon her free time and she felt that "like parasites, both my children would continue to take from me and give nothing meaningful back in return".

Ironically, her own daughter, who decided not to have children, developed multiple sclerosis. The adult daughter is now living at home with the mother who wished she had never been born, and the woman states "I would cut off my right arm if she or Stuart needed it." She would do anything for the daughter she regrets having.
 
Is a mother obligated to love her children, or just provide the basic necessities in life? Should a woman have a child if she does not want one?

So many times I hear parents say that having children is a huge responsibility and takes a lot of work and energy, but they would never trade it for anything and that their kids are the best thing that ever happened to them.

Understandably, this article received 1839 comments, mostly people who were horrified that a mother could say these things, calling her cold-hearted and selfish. I am sure she expected the backlash.

I can't totally condemn her, because she is honestly stating something that she truly feels, it just happens to be a shock to society. Can I open up my mind enough to try and understand where she is coming from, or will hearing something like this leave me shaking my head sadly saying  "Why? How? I just don't understand how someone could say something like that..."

What is the value of a life?

Killings, shootings, stabbings, bombings, tornadoes, hurricanes. The list goes on and on. Every time I check the news I hear about another death.

Just today:

"9 people killed, 36 wounded in Iraq's violence"

"Chicago man charged in slaying of 6-month-old girl"

"Man shoots daughters with 3 grandkids in home"

And on, and on. Every day.

Death is a part of life. But ultimately a person should die at a ripe old age at home in bed surrounded by family, having accomplished all they could in their lifetime. Not killed because of someone else's act of terror.

Unfortunately, it is so easy to become desensitized when you hear about death tolls every day. It is hard to cry or feel sad every time you hear of someone who was killed.

So it comes down to how much did that person mean to you, if at all, and how much does it affect you? Will you miss them? Did you even know them? Will it make any difference in your life now that they are gone?

If you feel nothing, does that mean you don't value life?

Can you really put a value on a life?

As time goes on you become more and more numb to the pain and emotion. Death becomes another topic of current events to sigh over, and then change the channel. You don't want to hear about it, you don't want it to ruin your day. So you think how sad that is, and maybe somewhere someone is mourning the death of a loved one, but how could it possibly affect you.

Until one day you feel nothing at all.

Or has that already happened? 

Are they really out to get us?

There was an article recently regarding one of the Boston Bombers, Tamerlan Tsarnaev who was killed in a shootout with the police. The FBI were investigating whether his widow was involved, and they stated that they were able to retroactively access telephone conversations between Tsarnaev and his wife from before the bombing. As in, they were not prerecorded, they were not recorded as they were taking place. There was no surveillance set up, but the FBI was able to get ahold of those conversations.

In an interview with Tim Clemente, a former FBI counterterrorism agent, Clemente stated that "welcome to America. All of that stuff is being captured as we speak whether we know it or like it or not."

So it seems that all digital communication, such as emails, phone calls, texts and chat are recorded as they happen, then stored and are accessible to the government at any time.

Naturally, this has many people freaked out. Why should the government be able to track every word we say or write to someone in private? It is a violation of our rights to privacy.

I discussed this with a knowledgeable smart well-informed individual who informed me that privacy is not our right and it is not stated anywhere in the Constitution. We are protected from illegal search and seizure, which means that a warrant and probable cause is needed to enter and search a home without permission. However, if the government is monitoring our communication without our knowledge and never has any need to use it against us, that is not illegal.

It still bothers me. Seemingly, the government can tap into any cell phone GPS and know where a person it at all times.

As my mother put it, "That makes me feel safe because if I ever need them they will be able to find me."

I guess it is all about perspective.

Tomorrow will come soon enough

Against my better judgement, I find myself awake well past 3 am. I tried to sleep, I really did, and the twisted sheets and blankets reflect that. For some reason most of my apartment mates are also awake. I go join my friend on her bed, and watch a cute video hoping to distract myself into sleep. But a part of me is refusing to shut my eyes.

Why does it seem that whenever things are going well I find some sort of way to turn it around? Things are great lately, Baruch Hashem. This is supposed to be my week break in between semesters. I am supposed to relax and wind down and refresh for a new semester. I already got back two final grades and got A+ and another A.

So why do I feel cold and shaky, seemingly out of nerves, but maybe also fear. Why does it seem that every time I see my future opening wide and bright, my past bumps into me from behind, as if to remind me that it can be forgotten but never erased.

No, nothing bad has happened, merely reflections. Sometimes reflections are not healthy. When a chapter is over you turn the page and move on. When a book is done you close the book and put it away and never take it off the shelf again. Yet I find myself feeling sad for a time, a place, a person that is long gone now. Not sad for myself, because I have nothing to be sad about. But sad for someone whom I cannot help, who may not even be able to help themselves. And as much as I feel like being the hero and saving the world and solving everyone's problems, sometimes there's really nothing I can do. Not my place to help, anyway.

Just a bit sad, and bewildered at how things turned out the way they did. Oh, G-d does have His funny funny ways....

I have a carefully wrapped birthday present for my one year old niece whose birthday party I am attending tomorrow. Tomorrow will come soon enough, the sadness will pass the festivities will begin, and G-d willing everything will work out in good revealed ways.

Eating disorders

Mom puts 7 year old on diet


Later in life she becomes anorexic:

"Fat people have better personalities"

Untitled

Mirrors surround me every day

from the second I wake up in the morning.

There is my own face staring back at me. 

Do I like what I see?

They talk about people all the time,

Wondering how they got to be the way they are,

as if there is some method to this 'disgrace',

as if this was done purposely.

People stare at you wherever you go,

and judge you by what they immediately see.

Like they understand it,

like they wouldn't make the same 'mistakes'. 

You may be a smoker,

or you may be dumb,

or you may be sick inside,

but your clothing hide your faults.

But she, whenever she puts food in her mouth,

they all nod their heads sagely and say,

"oh, so that is why she is so big.

If only she could control herself."

Lucky you get to hide your faults,

while my "defects" are glaring and obvious,

and exposed for the world to see

and judge every day.

So you think you can draw?

No, not really. But my professor does:

(Note: this class was an Art History and Appreciation course. We were not taught how to draw. The professor lectured each week, and we were told to do a mandatory sketchbook on our own time and hand it in at the end of the semester.) 

In the beginning of the semester he told us that he was grading the sketchbooks out of 25 points, 25 being the most you can get. But I got a 44. (To be fair, I did hear that some students in the past got 50 if he thought they were really good.) I don't consider myself an artist and don't know if I will ever pursue this "talent", but I did enjoy drawing. I hope you enjoy it too.

(Below is the collage done entirely out of tape which we were assigned to do 

that my professor chose to display.)

Shul down the Street

There's a shul down the street,
In that little hipster house,
With exposed brick that's so 'in style' now,
Bare bulbs hanging from the cealing,
Gives the feeling of a club, not a House of Worship. 

It is the talk of the town,
Oh, everyone has something to say about THAT shul,
"You go there?", "You go there??"
"I hear they wear micro skirts, I mean, shorter than mini skirts".
"The word is that the women dance around the Torah."

I was dragged there, given no choice.
And so there I was on a Friday night
To pass my own judgement.
Oh, how plain I feel next to these runway models,
In mile high heels in their glitz and their glamor.

Oh how uncomfortable I feel,
Like I just don't belong here.
And now everyone will know that I went to that shul
And they will judge me too.
But I am not like them.

Then the singing starts,
The men sing loudly, and louder still,
And they clap their hands and bang the Bima,
Au Contraire to the gossip, the women do not join in,
But stand in prayer and sway with the beat.

And I stand stiffly, so out of place,
Looking around and observing, an outsider,
Watching that woman with a turban on her head,
Eyes closed, body jerking to the singing,
Like the song inside of her is straining to be free.

I admire her free, unreserved spirit,
Like she can burst out dancing at any minute,
Unaware of the people around her,
Because she is immersed in prayer
With G-d.

And the girl beside me is jumping,
Literally, her toes leaving the ground,
And she is clapping furiously, enjoying the song,
The experience, the atmosphere,
And I try not to be embarrassed for her.

There are women wearing shaitels and short sleeves,
An inconsistency in our community,
Another one wearing pants, so out of place in a shul,
But alas, here they are, in shul,
Davening together with a minyan, as one.

There's a shul down the street from me,
It is large, and spacious, with fancy chandeliers,
And the women are upstairs, far away from the men,
I don't belong here, and they can tell,
Because I am not one of them.

They daven with concentration,
There is no chitchat or talking,
Here is a House of Prayer,
And that is what they do,
Reserved and modestly.

I've been to that little shul,
And this foreign shul,
Where the davening is different and the words don't sound the same,
And I may feel out of place,
But at least I am here.

You call yourself a Stoliner,
While I am a Lubavitcher,
Yet we are all Jews,
In the eyes of G-d we are One and the same,
And we are here to pray.

Teach me, Teach Me

Teach me what you know,
because I seem to be lacking,
I'm not quite sure how it happened,
but somewhere along the way
all they taught me was forgotten,
and I am left empty, and wondering why.

Fill the silence,
because I won't dare to speak in your presence,
You, who knows so much more than me,
about life, and people, and places.
The books that you've read can fill libraries all over the world,
while I am grasping to find common ground.

I make up answers that seem hollow even to my own ears,
I listen to your words but they don't register,
I try, I do,
But my answer stays at "I don't know" perpatually.
And it pains me to admit my ignorance,
in the face of your knowledge.

I can spend my whole life trying to fill this empty space inside of me,
And still I will know nothing.
"Know what you know, and what you don't know".
Clever.
I know that I know nothing.
And that's where it stops.

Dichotomy

It's been like this forever, really,
as long as I can remember.
Fun, breezy and sweet
would turn dark and sinister quickly,
like two halves of one crazy whole.

We've tried, oh we've tried,
and it's gotten better lately.
Better as in, I'm hardly ever around,
better as in, we don't talk much anymore,
better as in, love from far far away.

I don't want to understand it.
I don't want to question it
and take it apart
and get to the bottom of it.
Because I fear that I won't be happy with the answer.

So I pack it up
in a neat little box with a label
and file it away in a deep dark place
and try not to think about it,
"Let's pretend this never happened".

And suddenly you want to be my best friend,
You tell me things like "Proud" and "Wonderful",
all the things I've always wanted to hear,
Which you should have told me years ago,
But now I find them hard to believe.

So I put the singing card in the closet,
and try to think about it never,
Why you signed your name differently this time,
as if we could erase all the bad times,
and start over fresh.

But I'm just not sure I have the strength for that anymore.
Cuz every time you smile at me,
inside I'm tense and uneasy,
waiting for the other shoe to drop,
As if I can't really believe you've changed.

Ain't Nobody Got time for that

I'm thinking of starting a new diet, and calling it "Ain't Nobody Got Time For That" (patent pending.) I am very methodical when it comes to my meals. I prepare a lunch every night to take to work the next day, because if I don't then my whole day is thrown off. There are no Kosher restaurants near my office and even if there were, I hate take-out. Even when I'm really tired I force myself to cut up a salad and prepare snacks for my day.

These days I've been so busy that I find myself barely eating any food. I forget to eat lunch and then it is such a bother to stop what I'm doing and eat. I make smoothies for breakfast because besides for tasting good they are much quicker to ingest than eating a bowl of cereal and milk.

There is an episode in How I Met Your Mother where Marshal is training for a big race and he is so busy that he tries to turn all his food into smoothies. He puts eggs and toast and sausages in the blender... I'm sure you can imagine the result.

My mind is moving a mile a minute, and when I remember about something I need to do I must write it down otherwise I will forget about it.

My semester is over in 2 weeks, then I have a week break and then.... dun dun dun, I'm taking Summer semester. Yay. (Sort of.)

It is nice to have Shabbos when I feel like I can get off the treadmill and slow down and just breath. Everything will be waiting for me afterwards but for 25 hours I get some respite.

Have a good Shabbos, and make sure to find the time for the little things in life.

High Five

You know that feeling you get when your presentation went well and everyone loved it and you were so nervous that you were barely paying attention to people's reactions, but some people made a point to come over to you after and tell you how awesome it was and how much they loved it and how well your group worked together and you know it's true and it feels so good and when the professor says that 'one group went above and beyond' and you bashfully know that everyone is looking at your group and you are smiling from ear to ear cuz you know that it is true and you just want to hug your group and 'high five' to your awesomeness....

No? Well, it is a great feeling. And despite the other members of my group saying 'we should totally keep in touch' it probably won't happen, because I am not even majoring in the same thing and we all have different schedules. And that makes me a tad bit sad because I really enjoyed working with them.

And it felt so good to be included, to be a part of something. I don't want that feeling to end but I know it will cuz the semester is over and we all say goodbye and move on...

But it was more than just a group project. It was fun. And when we were told we would need to work in groups I groaned because I hardly ever work well in a group. And yes, maybe I'm not the easiest person to work with, but we all did good.

It's funny how the only thing we had in common was where our last names fell in the alphabet which is why we got lumped together. But little did we know that we had the best group out there.

High Five to us, we were awesome!

Looking forward to our A (+ + + + + +)

The World revolves around Me

 
My mother always said, "The world does not revolve around Altie", when she wanted me to stop acting selfishly. (The next sentence would be that it actually revolves around my sister). Maybe it backfired. I don't consider myself a selfish person, but I do enjoy time dedicated to me alone.

My birthday is always my special day. Someone commented on something I wrote once that I am a "three times a year Jew". While I don't believe that to be true, my spiritual connection does seem to be lacking at times.

But then my birthday comes and I feel this push, this pull, this energy inside of me, a desire to do better, to BE better, to make the day the most it could be, to make resolutions for the coming year (which rarely last). My spiritual awakening.

This year I don't feel the pressure. Maybe that is a good thing and maybe not. I made a list of things I want to accomplish on my birthday and I hope to get through all of them. My family is coming in to take me out for a birthday dinner (which I am sharing with my niece whose birthday is two days later and she is turning one, so it's okay.)

I like my birthday Hayom Yom:

"My father related that he heard from his father quoting his father (the Tzemach Tzedek), who heard the Alter Rebbe refer to himself as the son of the Maggid (his Rebbe), and as the grandson of the Baal Shem Tov."

I like it because my family doesn't have any 'yichus'. And while this never actually mattered to me, there was subconsciously a feeling of who is vouching for me, who do I belong to. My mother would jokingly tell people that we are nothing from nothing. But that's not true. Because we come from someone and something and we are making something of ourselves.

The Alter Rebbe was not related to the Mazritcher Maggid or the Baal Shem Tov. But he considered them to be his father and grandfather. I AM a part of something, and yichus or not, I came from somewhere and I am going somewhere as well.

I believe that I was created for a purpose, and although I may never know what that purpose is, I know that I am special and there are things down here that only I and no one else can accomplish. I feel like on my birthday I come full circle.

It has Baruch Hashem been a good year, and I feel like this is the first year in awhile when I can look back with hardly any regrets or uneasiness. G-d willing this coming year will be good as well.

It is my sincerest wish for all of you that Hashem bestow upon you many brachos in all areas you may need it, be it health, parnasah, Shidduchim, children, shalom bayis. May you all find only happiness in all that you do, and your paths should be clear, free of obstacles and filled with wisdom.  

G-d willing may this be our very last year in Galus, and we should all see Moshiach Now!

Back to the basics

Sometimes you just need to
bring it BACK to the beginning
where your story first started,
and remember why you are doing this
who you are doing this for,
and what THIS really is.

Laying on the grass
under the sun,
I open my eyes just a bit,
and see blue, so much blue
and I wonder if I'm looking at the sky
or if I will see that blue every time I close my eyes.

Smiling, smiling,
standing this way and that
pictures, pictures,
kallah and friends,
and heels and dress
and feeling good.

Happy and radiant she stands,
dimples and blue headband and long flowy dress
and all of us together again,
the COOL ones,
the FAB four,
we rock the party,
we ARE the party.

And I miss those days,
the ones we left behind,
but I also feel a contentment,
a peace with myself and my past.
Because the present is good
and the future is bright.

And I will always have my girlys to face it with.

So I smile, and I stand,
this way and that,
and I put my feet through torture to look pretty,
and I feel pretty, oh so pretty,
and I want to capture THIS moment
in my mind forever.

So that every time I close my eyes,
I will see us all together again,
laughing and talking like old times,
except these are NEW times,
and I want to drink a lechaim to us,
and to our Futures.

Because the past is fading as we speak,
thank G-d for that.
Thank G-d we get to leave the bad behind us,
and that every time I close my eyes
I will see that bright blue clear sky,
And I will no longer ever see you.

Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but you can never hurt me.

I'm different

Hello world. I'm still alive. Just busy. Very busy. But I did miss you. Every time a great idea for a post popped into my head I was so tempted to stop everything and sit down and write. But I'm busy. Oh so busy. Thank G-d.

Boredom breeds negative behavior, so keeping busy is a good thing. At work they added new tasks to my workload, which is fine once I get used to it. But it takes awhile to juggle a normal workload and the extra stuff.

At school I am really busy with end of term papers. I was up last night until 3 am editing a paper which was written as a group, and given my seal of approval. Not to be pretentious, but I am good at editing. So I had the final say and everyone loved it and I am looking forward to my A for effort.

I don't have enough time in my day to sleep, so (shrug), oh well.

My friend got engaged (Mazal tov!) and I am helping bake stuff for the lechaim. My roommate named herself my official taste-tester.

I'm so tired. I'm tired of grammar and punctuation and paragraphs and citations and papers and grades and tests and quizzes. I'm tired of traveling every day, to work and back and school and back, and then do it all over again. I'm tired of doing laundry and cooking food, and buying food, and eating food. Sometimes when I'm tired I think I should really not talk cuz who knows what will come out of my mouth.

My art teacher showed us a painting of Moses with horns. We all know that he didn't have horns, but still people think Jews are hiding something under their Yalmukas. So my teacher said, does anyone here know why Moses has horns? Anyone wearing a Yalmuka? No one raised their hand. So he started making something up, and then I raised my hand, and then he laughed and said he was joking, he knew the real story.

When they talk about Jews I feel like everyone is looking at me even if they are not. When they talk about Israel I feel like everyone expects me to jump up wearing an Israeli flag and protest. When they talk about Jewish holidays they look at me for approval to make sure they are pronouncing it right. Today a guy said his coworker gave him Matzah, ("Is that how you say it?"), and it was great.

Hey everyone! I'm Jewish! I AM JEWISH!

I used to be so tired of being lumped together with everyone else. I spent my whole childhood trying to "discover myself" and separate myself from the masses, and be different. I wanted to be different because everyone was the same and I wasn't like everyone, so what was I.

I protested the box, the cookie cutter mold, the stereotypes. I vowed to take my own path, to do my own thing, to be my own person, to be different.

When my brother was dating, my mother would tell people that he needed a different kind of girl. So people tried to set him up with girls who were weird, or funky, or not religious. My mother had a hard time explaining that my brother was different, but not that kind of different. Yes, there are many types of different.

Instead of being part of the masses I broke away and did my own thing and no one bothered me and life was good.

Then I entered the real world. And my differences were glaringly obvious. I tried to pretend that they didn't exist, that I was 'just one of you'. Suddenly, I hate being different. I hate standing out. I hate having to explain why I can't shake hands, why I wear skirts all the time, why I can't take an exam because it's our holiday, ("What holiday? Shavuot? What's it about?" I have no idea, we eat cheesecake.) Why we live in Israel despite the fact that the Palestinians think it is theirs. Why women wear wigs. Suddenly, I just want to be they same.

I want to be recognized as a person, because I am smart, and articulate, and skilled. I want people to know that I have what to add to a group discussion and class presentations and that I am not just different because I am Jewish, but because I am me and I am not you.

I do realize that years ago I may not even have had the opportunities I do now. People would taunt and hurt Jews, not look at them like interesting creatures under a microscope to be studied and questioned. Should I encourage questions? Probably. Do I have all the answers? No. Sometimes they ask me questions that even I question. What do you say then?

Some people might tell me that this is a beautiful opportunity to enlighten the world and be a good example, etc. Yes. I know. But when we talk about stereotypes and they say that some people say Jews are rich, it feels weird that they are singling ME out, and I laugh along with everyone else, but I keep quiet because I am hoping no one is looking my way.

No, I'm not ashamed. Not in any way. I admire frum guys for wearing tzitzis and yalmukas on campus and I would proudly do so if I were a guy. And yes it is less obvious just by the way I dress that I am a religious Jew.

I'm different. I know I'm different. I'm different because when my professor brings Italian cannolis for everyone and asks if there is anyone who can't have and I say me, and it's not because I'm allergic and then he offers to bring me a 'rugale', I laugh and say no thanks.

But sometimes I just wish I could eat that cannoli with everyone else and not feel so out of place.

Why should I believe you?

I'm so used to all the lies, that when you tell me the truth I'm not sure if I should believe you.

You ask me how things are going, and I try to gauge if you are really interested or just trying to make polite conversation. After all, isn't that your job? To pretend to care, to resolve issues as they come up, to keep things running smoothly? Do you really want suggestions, or do they go in one ear and out the other?

But I give it a try, and I tell you how I'm feeling. You speak to me like an equal, even though we both know that's not how it is. You listen, or pretend to, and you respond in kind. Part of me feels a burden lifting, a bad energy dissipating, but the cynical part of me holds on to it for later. You know, just in case this feel-good situation does not work out.

You address my concerns, and apologize, and say all the words you are supposed to say. I smile, we laugh, things are better now, we are on good terms. I'm no longer mad and upset at you, because after all, as you explained it is not your fault.

Why should I believe you? Because you sound so sincere. Because I feel myself deflating like a balloon losing air, and it feels so nice to have someone listening to me finally. Because the things you are saying make sense.

Will this resolution last? I hope so. Only time will tell.

You tell me that suggestions are always welcome and I want to believe you.

I have to believe you, because it helps me get through another day.

Maybe things will be better now, because you tried to understand.

If nothing else, I believe that you tried. And that's something.

Sparks

I watch the fire longingly,
Yearning for something beyond myself,
Wishing to be free of this body,
Sparks flying in the air,
Going higher and higher,
I watch as they disappear into oblivion
Forever.

Tilting my head I see an airplane passing over us,
I wonder what we look like from up there.
Do they notice the fire blazing down here,
Or are we just a pinprick of light
In this dark world?
I stare into the fire wishing to BE it,
Wanting it to wrap me in its warmth.

I watch you, too.
But you don't notice me.
You never do.
And suddenly, my good mood dissipates,
As fantasy takes over,
And reality disappears,
All reason gone with it.

I need to get away from here,
I want to be a spark
And soar high above the crowd,
Pass you by
And keep on going forever,
And never come back,
Because it hurts.

I laugh at myself mockingly,
The things we go through to be noticed,
But alas, if only I were Her,
Or her, or her,
And not plain ole me.
Maybe I will never be good enough,
Or maybe you never thought about me at all.

I see myself as an observer would,
Laughing, talking, trying to impress the world,
I notice him noticing me,
Or maybe that is my imagination,
As I see him standing there,
Looking like Mr. Perfect,
But maybe not perfect for me.

I spin it in my head,
Until I have my whole life planned out
With the stranger who glanced my way.
He sits down, and I wish to be like that spark,
Brazen and bold,
I want to sit and say "Hi, is this seat taken,
Maybe we can talk awhile".

But instead, I get out of there as fast as I can,
Because I am invisible.
My spark has died out long ago,
Way up high in the atmosphere,
And this is no place for me to be,
When I can't seem to separate Fantasy from
Reality.

Helpless

Pressure building inside of me,
threatening to explode,
like a pressure cooker,
ill timing though that sounds.

Pressure waves pushing in on me,
suffocating me, crushing me,
under its weight.
My limbs feel paralyzed.

Want to put my head down,
and hide from those around me,
But they hold my head up,
and make me listen.

Force me to focus,
force me to write,
to speak, to say,
When I just want to be silent.

Feeling like I'm bound to fail,
failure frightening me,
scaring me into immobilization.
Can't even hide it.

They look at me pityingly,
knowing that I'm full of lies,
knowing that I'm dumb,
that I just can't "bring it".

Maybe it's all in my head.
Maybe I am my own saboteur.
Maybe I'm not as good as I thought I am.
Maybe I'm nothing at all.

So comes a time,
when I whisper for help,
and no on hears me,
and no one comes.

So comes a time,
when I ask for help,
and no on hears me,
and no one comes.

So comes a time,
when I beg for help,
and no on hears me,
and no one comes.

So comes a time,
when I scream for help till my voice is hoarse,
and no on hears me,
and no one comes.

So comes a time,
when tears well up in my eyes,
and I try to hide it
but also wishing someone will notice.

Until I realize that
My mouth never opened,
and no one can hear
the pleas in my head.

So comes a time
when it becomes evident
that I may just need someone
to save me from myself.

But no one hears me.
And no one comes.
Cuz I couldn't open my mouth
To ask.




Post Script: this was written last night, and the situation is now resolved.
Wishing everyone a good Shabbos :)

Save Your Breath

Save your breath
For those times when you will really need to speak.

Don't waste your time
Sparring with the enemy.

Don't waste your words on
Those people who hurt you.

Don't waste your words on
The haters, the ones who want to see you fail.

The lovers who think they know what's best for you
But try to keep you in the very shell you tried so hard to break out of.

The ones who try to help you
And insist on it
When you say you don't need help.

Are they trying to help you
Or are they glorifying their own need
To have and to hold?

Do you want me to want you?
Do you need me to need you?

Can you honestly not believe that I've changed?
I've grown. I'm all better now.

Maybe that means I don't need you any more.
And maybe that bothers you.

So you lash out at me.

What do I owe you?
Do I owe you an apology?
Have I wronged you In any way?

Do I owe you an explanation?
When I feel like you are invading my thoughts
My feelings my personal space
And planting things there that are false.

There was a time when I needed you.
Unhealthy as it was.
That time is gone now.

Friends for a reason.
But I know when it's worth it to keep talking-
And when its best to just save my breath.

So I hit delete
And I silently say goodbye to you
And that time in my life.

Stop trying to protect me.
When I say I'm fine and you choose not to believe it-
I know its time to let you go.

Don't stand so close to me

I saw his
Bright orange jacket
Through the train window.

He, friendly that he is
Nudges me with his elbow
In greeting.

He who offers me
Trail mix, and asks to
Borrow my book.

He who grows on me
While discussing class
And our nutty professor.

He who's name
Ends with a z
And is not very Jewish at all.

What harm can come from
Sitting and laughing
And discussing literature.

He who sits
too close to me
And holds out his hand to shake mine.

I pass by the train window
And find a different car to sit in,
One that is far away from him.

Better to be safe than sorry.

What are you good at?

“Find a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life”.

Do you love what you do? Do you do what you love?

I don't know how many people my age even know what they want to do with their lives. Many people switch jobs often because they are not happy with what they do.

Do you have a job, or do you have a career? 

This is a hard question for me to answer. I have a job, one which I enjoy and try to do my best at. In addition, I am working towards a career in a field that I am good at. I feel it is hard to plan ahead, because you can never know what will happen. I try to avoid answering questions that people ask me, "What do you want to do?". Even if I want to, it may not happen.

At my current job, my employers try to change things up every once in awhile, so people don't get too used to the job and slack off. I think this is a good thing for the company, but it is hard for me because I like my comfort zone, and I don't like trying new things once I get one thing down pat.

Last night I had a weird dream in which my boss made me try out child care, (teaching), and then he fired me because I did a horrible job with the children. (I will probably resent my boss tomorrow, and he will have no idea why.)

I know a lot of people who teach, or are assistant teachers, or work with children. I always said, I don't want to be a teacher. I am not one of those weirdos who are uncomfortable around kids and hold them like a football because they've never held a child before.

I like some kids, same way I like some adults but not all. Some kids are cute and easygoing, and some children get on my nerves. Some kids are like mini adults, and they say "I'm tired, I'm going to sleep now" (kids I babysat). Some kids make me smile, and some kids make me say things like "I'm never having kids".

I don't enjoy working with kids on a constant basis. They are exhausting, require a lot of attention and patience, which I have very little of.

How will I ever be a mother, you ask? I think I will just grow into the role, and hopefully learn to love it. My nieces are adorable. But I don't need to feed them or change their diaper or comfort them when they cry. I pass them off to my sister.

Once you know what you are capable of and what you are good at, it is important not to force yourself into a role that is not for you, lest you end up failing because you are not cut out for it.

I know what I'm good at. I just have to figure out how I can make a career out of it, and still enjoy it.

Everybody's got a dark side

Dark and twisted
Are my forte.
Hello Darkness,
and 3 AM,
My best friend,
where have you been,
haven't seen you in awhile.

Is this what they call being normal,
and sane,
what gain comes from sadness
and pain.
If only we can choose
our moods
And our baggage.

They say that everyone comes with baggage,
you need to learn to look past it,
and see the person hiding behind.
But what if the baggage
is a whole carousel,
What if you pay extra
for the excess weight?

You pay for it every single day,
when you wake up sad
and you can't explain why.
When your life seems pretty okay,
but you are mad for no reason,
and everything seems bleak
like you are looking at the world with dark glasses.

You speak a foreign language
because no one understands you
so you stop trying.
You, who claim to have great communication skills,
clam up and can barely get out the words,
to explain why you are so different.
Different. They say it with disdain.

Oh, that poem you wrote that showed your pain,
and your fear and your doubts,
did you not see the funny looks
on the faces of those who you showed it to,
wondering what is wrong with you,
and you wonder the same thing too,
as you raise your hands to shield yourself.

You want them all to go away,
yet you fear being alone forever.
You want them to ask,
but you feel like a freak.
You think they won't understand,
but maybe you never really tried to explain.
And maybe you are not that different after all.

Hello Darkness, my faithful friend.
You've been there with me through it all,
and every time a smile crossed my face
you stabbed your way through,
covering up the bright gay colors
and reminding me that
happiness was not mine to be had.

Oh, I tried, I tried hard.
But only the weak admit their pain,
and ask for help,
and even as you say that word you feel sick.
You think you are better, greater, smarter.
You think you are invincible.
Funny girl.

Oh pain, pretty pain.
I was disappointed to discover that
you did not attract attention,
nor sympathy.
Everybody's got a dark side,
we all suffer in our own way,
some not at all.

Oh to be happy all the time,
you fake ones.
What is your secret?
Shake them and make them break,
like a child mad at a doll.
Stupid, perhaps.
But then, how can anyone be happy all the time.

But you can't take my darkness,
just as I don't want the burden of your pain.
I wonder what would happen,
were you to discover the depths of my thoughts.
Would you run?
Don't answer that
until you know what you will find there.

Hello, Happiness.
Never expected to see you again.
But then one morning,
the sun streaming in my room,
and summer coming,
I realized that you are around
way more now than ever.

Yes, life happened.
I laugh because you are funny,
I smile because you are nice to me.
But as before,
there are no reasons,
no explanation,
for why everything is suddenly okay.

But hey, never look Darkness in the eye,
Don't ask for something you don't want.
Everybody's got a dark side.
You may take some time to get used to mine.
But I'm discovering that I like the sunshine better.
Contentment,
Fulfillment.

Goodbye Darkness.
Here, we part.
Hopefully for good.

Yay or nay?

Do you think this is helpful, or creepy?

Jew-in-a-box exhibit at Holocaust Museum in Germany.

I like the Chabad Rabbi's quote at the end: "Here Jews will be happy to answer questions without sitting in a glass box,"

We have been answering questions for centuries. Why the need to put us on display?

Propaganda

Whenever a tragedy occurs, The Internet responds swiftly and with heightened emotions, looking for an outlet for their thoughts, prayers and tears. It is understandable. As humans, we have a need to come together in a time of tragedy. We need to understand, we need to mourn, we need to comfort one another.

Unfortunately, in the heat of the moment and the chaos directly following a tragedy, misinformation gets passed around, people don't bother to check their facts, and stories become stilted and distorted.

I noticed on Facebook a picture of this beautiful little girl being shared over and over again, with the headline:

“R.I.P to the 8 year old girl who died in the explosion today. All my thoughts go.. #prayforboston"

Even though I had read in multiple articles that the 8 year old child who had died was a boy. (My father always taught me to verify your facts, and not always believe everything you read. It has served me well many times.)

Yes, a little boy named Martin Richard died yesterday. There is a picture of him looking cute and youthful, with one of his front tooth missing. He was waiting to hug his father at the finish line, and was tragically killed.

I don't usually react the way most people do. Sometimes, I just don't understand grief. Sometimes, I am unable to experience sadness the same way other people do. Maybe I cannot relate to pain on such a global and joint scale.

What bothers me is the way people jump on pain, on tragedy and use it for their own public needs. This little girl did not die. I have no idea who she is. But someone out there felt the need to take a picture and pass it around, even before any names or images of the victims were released.

Why? I don't know. Maybe they wanted to give people a place to say "We are so sad this happened, we are thinking about you and wish we could be there to grieve with you."

Human nature? Probably.

Maybe. Either way, I don't like how people inflate a tragedy, and then in a few weeks time they forget all about it. Is tragedy merely an opportunity for famous people to say things because they know people will be listening? Everyone points and says, looks what he said, look what she said, it is so beautiful and profound, let's quote them until the end of time.

And these famous people, do they mean what they say, or is this a platform for them to cry crocodile tears, give over carefully worded quotes and speeches which they know will be remembered forever after?

And if one does not 'like and share' as Facebook demands, does that mean they don't grief privately?

And if one does not grieve privately, does that make them a callous horrible person, or perhaps cynical, or hardened to pain?

No one should ever have to feel that kind of pain or tragedy firsthand.

Propaganda or not, may this tragedy encourage more good deeds and only help humans become more kind and understanding to each other. And hopefully G-d will see how affected people are by the fate of someone they never knew, and He will banish pain forever.

Oh, to be outside playing catch

Oh, the feel of fresh cut
grass on my bare feet,
tickling, itching, cool damp earth soothing.
Pollin tickling my nose,
Sneezing, breathing in the deep fresh
air, craning my neck to see all around,
So many sights and people to watch.

Oh, to be outside on this cool Spring day,
And not in here, this stuffy, cramped classroom,
with its faint smell of previous occupants.
Plants growing up the wall, tapping
at the window, begging to be let out,
jealously watching the trees outside
spread their branches leisurely,
stretching, thriving in the openness.

Daydreams taking me far away from
here, tittering laughter coming from
the corner, I missed the joke, mind elsewhere.
Watching the game, arm flexing unconsciously as if to
catch the ball, but can't reach through the glass and concrete.
Ball soars through the air, fumbling hands
trying to catch it.
Bounce, and miss, and grab, and arm drawn back
like a sling, forward in motion,
imagining I hear the ball whistling through the
air, but I just can't reach it.
Watch it descend in slow motion,
down...
            down....
                         down......

MISS!
If that were me, I would have caught
the ball.
Heart thumping,
running backwards,
out of breath,
running...
             running...
head tilted at an awkward angle,
everything riding on this,
just one chance...

SMACK!
Into my hand,
a red mark forming on my palm,
staring at it in disbelief,
I caught the ball!

But of course,
That is my imagination talking.
Outside beckons to me, yet here I
sit at a wooden table,
head craning to see out the window,
until people start giving me funny looks,
and I wonder if I missed anything important.

And the ball, the ball has rolled
behind a bush, and the people have all
disperesed.
Quad empty now.
Game Over.

Loser

It was self-sabotage really,
That dropped me from the race.
Starting with the best of intentions,
Planning to make it to the end
This year.

I feel like a cheater,
After a near-miss,
Carrying on as if
Nothing happened, as if
I was trying my best.

When inside I knew
That I was wasting my time,
That I was a fraud.
And so I missed another night
Intentionally.

And I felt bad,
Seeing the time pass,
Day turning to night,
And knowing that this time
I was really through with counting.

"London Bridge is falling down"
Perpetually, until the end of time,
Always falling, but never being rebuilt.
And when I fall, I can't repair.
I need to destroy.

Start again from scratch.
New beginning, new material,
No rips or tears,
No way to repair.
So build anew.

But what if there was no do-over?
What if you had to live with
Your small mistakes forever after,
Knowing that you went wrong
But unable to fix it?

The irritation build and builds,
Until one day you can't take it anymore.
Tear it to shreds,
Destroy it,
And watch the debris settle around you.

Knowing that perhaps
You will be left with
The broken pieces of Humpty Dumpty,
Unable to put it back together
Ever again.

There

Here, I struggle with my words,
Trying to explain,
Getting mad when you just
Don't seem to understand.

So I stop trying.
It is hard enough to speak my mind,
And have you stare back at me blankly,
Or ask me what I meant.

You want me to explain.
But I can't.
That's not how my mind works.
Move with it or you will be left behind.

But there, in that place of intellect,
Their eyes light up when I talk,
They gaze at me with interest,
Because they get it!

I am briiliant.
They understand me.
They praise me for my knowledge.
I leave feeling good, feeling worth something.

But I can't live there forever.
I return to this quiet little world,
Where no one seems to understand,
So I simply stop talking.

But that time,
Of tripping over my words
I can't get them out fast enough
Because I have so much to share.

And to be told that I am articulate.
They make exceptions for me.
That I will have no problem doing a presentation.
'Take it as a compliment'.

There, I am different.
Special. Understood.
Because the mind is a beautiful thing.
And my mind is worth something

There.

Do you really want to live forever?

A twitter app which will record people's personalities based on their tweets, and then continue to tweet for them when they pass on? Does it get any creepier than that?

"The LivesOn application will keep tweeting after you pass on. The service will utilize advanced analysis of your main Twitter feed, to carefully select appropriate subjects, likes, or articles that would have been likely to interest you, posting them on your behalf for your friends to read."

What happened to, once your heart stops beating you are dead?

I always find it a tad bit creepy when people post on deceased members' Facebook pages. Yes, they are no longer alive, so do yo really have to tell them, "So sorry to hear you died"? Will they reach beyond the grave and write back, "Thank you for your condolences"?

We only have one life to live, besides for cats who supposedly have nine lives. We are taught to live life to the fullest, take chances, spend each day like it's your last, etc. And one it's over, it's over.

So why would you want an artificial program continuing your supposed life for you?

There are movies and books like "P.S. I love you" where a dying husband writes letters to his wife and schedules them to be delivered after he dies. It is sweet and poignant and we cry and say how sad he died but how nice it is for the wife that she still has a part of him, like he is there with her.

A person may 'live on' after their death, whether or not they had the foresight to reach beyond the grave and let loved ones know that they are still around.

But keeping up your twitter feed once you pass on- I think that is taking it a little too far.

I think this may fall under 'no extraordinary measures'.

Happy Tweeting.

Woman in a Man's World

Easy camaraderie between friends,
and coworkers.
Just 'one of the guys'.
Except I'll never be a guy and I will never quite get their humor
and their quips,
their insults rolling off me like rain,
because I know they don't mean it,
and I can pack a mean punch too,
or rather, throw a mouse and hope he'll duck.

Their strength is reassuring,
and their laugh reminds me that it is easier to smile than to cry,
that quick wit will get the job done,
and slow on the draw will cause mistakes,
but they will be there to clean it up
as you smile sheepishly
and hope they don't comment.
Don't ask questions if you don't want the answer,
and hardly ever do you want the answer.

It may be hard to be a woman in a man's world,
grow your skin too tough and you will never be you,
but too thin and you will break
at their sniggering and crude humor.
Behind that fake smile, do you want to punch them?
For aiming where it hurts.
Until you realize that they are not laughing at you
but with you, and that they have accepted you
as one of them.

And that is when it is time
to get out of there
lest you turn into
just 'one of the guys'
and they will never again see you
as that elusive,
desirable, mysterious
superior WOman
in a Man's world.

Round-a-bout

Six feet between us, but worlds apart.
Caused a flutter in my heart.
So I said hey good-looking let's go out sometime...
Except I didn't.
Cuz that would be unacceptable in the world we live in.
Where shadchans rule with an iron fist.
You need space between you when you kiss dance
Except we don't dance cuz that would be like, wrong.
So wrong.
Wrong like your kids will be affected if you touch.
So a look is all you get.
Look but don't touch.
And saying hello?
Hel-no.
Never gonna happen.
No first you must find someone to make the call
That starts it all.
So it's like dun dun dun... hello shadchan?
Guess what? I met a cute guy.
So like, can you set us up?
Then they ask you:
So tell me... are you short? Are you tall?
Are you skinny, or fat, or in between?
Or curvy or muscular or any other way to say
Heavy "Beautiful".
Who's your mother?
Who's your father?
No, like who are they?
Are they a somebody?
Are you related to somebody?
No, I mean like, somebody.
Do you have yichus?
Do you have money?
Curly hair or straight?
Oh you wear a ponytail?
Do you work that ponytail?
Do you own that ponytail?
Did you ever get lower than an A on a test?
So like, are you frum?
No, I mean are you frum?
Do you own a tv?
Oh so you do watch movies.
Uhu. Let me just make a note here...
So how do you spell your name?
With a Y, or IE?
Oh your name is NOT Mushky?
Do you like mike n ikes?
So, like, can I have your number?

We do this dance,
Over and over again.
10 phone calls and 7 continents later...
'He's busy'.
'He's not dating right now'.
He 'His mother doesn't feel it's 'shayach'.
He asked all your friends about you....
He checked you out on Facebook...
He hired a secret investigator to find all the dirt on you...
And he's not interested.
He's busy.
Oh, did I say that already?

So, like, hey good-looking.
'How you doin'?'
No, how are you doing?
Are you mentally stable?
Do you have a job?
Are you smart?
Are you funny?
Not funny-looking.
You want to go get a cup of coffee?
You don't drink coffee?
What is wrong with you?
Oh me neither. How weird.
What is wrong with you?
Do you want to get a cup of tea?
How come no one says, 'let's go get a cup of tea'?
Weird, right?
So, um, listen, umm, I was wonderin’, can I have yo numba?
Oh so you don't give out your number?
Oh, so it's like that.
I see.
It's cool.

Well, stranger across the room...
You and I
May never be 'we'.
I would never shake your hand and say 'nice to meet you'
Cuz we would never shake hands chas veshalem 
Because it may not be nice to meet you.
But this whole 'system',
Let's be honest.
It's kind of exhausting.


Hello, Shadchan?
Oh he said YES???
Oh it was SO worth it.

(Said no one ever.)

Fail

Drumming my fingers,
Nervous energy,
Making me move.
Can they tell?

All eyes on me,
Suddenly,
Speaking fast and tripping up,
What should I say?

How can I prove
That I am worth something,
That I will not mess up.
So much pressure.

Follow the leader,
But I have never led.
And I don't like to follow.
This is not where I excel.

Forced into something
That I was never made for.
Lone wolf,
Thrust into a pack.

On my own,
I will be just fine.
On my own,
I excel.

Announce a "group project",
And my heart speeds up,
I can't sit still,
I'm going to screw up.

But the problem is,
If I fail,
I drag three other people will me.
Unless one person saves us all.

And that would just prove
That I was worth nothing
All along.
...

Bring. It. On.

Creating memories

She giggles as I finish counting to 10 and start 'searching' for her.

I've been playing this game a long time, I'm quite a pro.

"Hmmm, where could she be? Is she in the kitchen?"

I hear a tiny voice say 'No'.

Haha. She does not know how this game works.

"Hmmm... is she under the table?"

'No!'

Big smile on my face.

"Is she upstairs...?"

'Noooo'.

"Ah! Here you are! I found you!!".

She laughs. Her turn to look for me. I make it pretty easy. I hide on my bed with the covers over my head. She finds me right away. She doesn't shriek. She just stares at me.

Wherever I hide, she hides there right after she finds me. Where's the challenge in that?

So, I make it interesting. I pretend that I don't see her, as she follows me around, and keeps saying, "I'm here!". I tap her on the head and say, 'Excuse me little girl, have you seen RL?'. She says, "I'm here!". So I laugh and say, "Ohhhh you hid so well I couldn't find you!"

The best part of the game was when I hid her under the table and told her my brother was going to look for her so she should be very quiet. To which she responded (while in hiding) "Okay!"

We all had a good laugh.

She wanted me to hold her hand when she went down the slide, even though she insists that she is a 'big girl'. My gorgeous niece just turned 3 this Pesach. She doesn't need help putting on her shoes. She doesn't need help feeding herself. She laughs when I push her on the swing and says 'higher, higher!'.

But when I see her scared look as she sits on the top of the slide, and she says to me, "Hold me..." I hold her hand tight and catch her at the bottom.

When she leaves, I give her a big hug even as she squirms to get away. Every time I make a kissy noise she copies me. And when she wanted chocolate, even though she knows her parents will say no, she says, "Maybe someone could give me chocolate?" And we all laugh cuz she is so sneaky. When she wants something and she knows she can't have, she looks at it curiously and says, "What's that?" And my sister tells me, she knows very well what that is, she just had one of them.

Smart kid.

Pesach is all about family, and sometimes I can't stand mine. And sometimes home is the only place I feel comfortable, on a second day of yom tov when my makeup has rubbed off and I don't feel like going outside. When we fight about nothing and everything, and my father has to make shower times so everyone gets a turn, and everyone is screaming, and instead of helping I hide out in my room on the computer and say I'm helping by not getting in the way. And when everyone is eager to have chometz right after pesach and I am perfectly content with fruity pebbles.

When I was in high school and the end of yom tov meant going back to school I would dread it every time. But now it means going back to my own room in my apartment, back to work, back to my busy schedule. I am looking forward to it. Because it's a life I created and one where I belong.

It's 5 am and I have to get up in 4 hours to go back 'to life'. That's how it seems. This is my home, except I'm never here. And that's perfectly fine with me. Except I miss the quiet, I miss 5 am from my old life when it was okay to stay up the whole night because I had no obligations the next day.

But I can't wait to go home and unpack. It'll feel good to get back into a normal routine, and detox. I'm so sick of food.

Goodnight/ Good morning to all.