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.

Spiritual Cleansing

Cleaning for Pesach means little to me these days. My cleaning consists of trying to decide if I should sell my chometz or throw it away, which cabinets in my apartment to sell, whether I should use this opportunity to thoroughly clean my room, or enjoy the fact that I don't need to.

I always enjoy introspection, to a degree. The best places to think are sitting by the water, or on a mountaintop, reveling in the beauty that G-d created. But I will not be waking up every morning at 3 am, to climb a mountain, to reach it by Sunrise, to sit there and take in the view, and meditate on my life. As tempting as that sounds.

We have many opportunities for cleansing and introspection, most importantly Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. But we learn that as we are physically cleaning our homes for Pesach, it is a good time to clean our souls as well.

Tonight and tomorrow is Yud Aleph Nissan, the birthday of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. It has even become a noteworthy day by the US government:

Education and Sharing Day USA (1978-Current)

 

To emphasize the vital role of education in society, the United States annually marks "Education and Sharing Day U.S.A."

Established in 1978 by a joint Congressional resolution, Education Day U.S.A. focuses on the very foundation of meaningful education: instructing our youth in the ways of morality and ethics, and teaching them an appreciation for divine inviolable values.

The Presidents designate annually Education and Sharing Day U.S.A. on the anniversary of the birth of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, of righteous memory, who dedicated his life to the cause of education.

The Rebbe is the one who implemented special Mivtzahs for ones birthday, and he taught us to celebrate it and use in as a special day of prayer and introspection.

As the Rebbe is a Nasi Klali (general leader) and contains a part of every Jew, we celebrate his birthday in a fitting way. It is also a time to give a 'gift' to the Rebbe, and the things that were most important to him were working on our avodas Hashem, and most importantly, Ahavas Yisroel.

How can I make the Rebbe proud of me?
How can I better my Avodas Hashem?
What am I not doing now that I should be doing?
What am I doing now that I should not be doing?
How can I become a better person, a better Jew, a better friend, a better daughter, a more helpful member of society?

Being that this is not a diary, I will not answer these questions here. I find that I have little time, or rather little opportunity to look inwards and think about change. But if you never change you will always remain the same. If you are not constantly growing, you will fall. I have learned this the hard way.

I will not be home in time to physically help clean for Pesach, but I know my soul can use some scrubbing.  

I may not have a mountaintop, but I know that if I 'close my eyes and take a ride inside', I will remember what it felt like.

(Real Picture taken with my camera in Eilat)

Paranoia

Conspiracy theories,
With truths right under our noses,
But we don't see them,
Because they hide it from us.

They want to control us,
They want to destroy us.
Population reduction,
Workers camps.
All this right on our soil.

Or so They say.

Looking around furtively,
Not sure who to trust,
Who is real,
And who is part of the lies.

And who created these lies?
And who is trying to feed you the truth?
Because they try to control your thoughts too.
So many theys,
That trust becomes hard to give.

Everywhere you look you start to see things,
People that are not as they seem.
Is that simply a man in a suit,
Or is he someone sent to watch you?
Are They listening right now?

You say the Holocaust can never happen again,
Will never happen again,
But They tell a different story.
Open up your eyes, look around you.
This place is not safe.

And so, the doubts start creeping in,
And with it, the fears,
So many fears.
And reality starts to blur,
With what They say is lurking out there.

But somehow, no one else has heard of this.
Or only a small group.
Is it because no one cares,
No one fights back,
No one knows.
Or simply because none of it is true.

 Paranoia sets in.

And as they take you away,
White white walls surrounding you,
'I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy!'
But nobody hears you,
They don't hear you
Because they won't listen to what you say.

I huddle on the Subway,
Let it rock me into a false sense of security,
Is that a homeless man,
Or an agent in disguise?

I close my eyes,
And try to block out the images,
And the words,
The words that just keep coming.

And I look inwards,
And try to remember what I believe in,
Who I believe in.

I hate it when They make me doubt everything,
Because sometimes I'm just not sure what I believe.

It's official!

Today is the first official day of Spring!

Ironically, it snowed this week.

I am sick with a cold.

It doesn't feel anything like Spring.

It is 34 degrees F outside.

Last year I was in sunny Orlando for Pesach, and this year... Not in Jerusalem.

I still can't decide if I like Spring or Summer better.

With Pesach a few days away, I wish everyone an easy time cleaning, cooking, preparing, shopping, worrying, stressing, freaking.

I can't wait for the day when I can switch from a coat to a sweater, when the sun will shine down and the air will smell sweet and fresh and I can inhale deeply and say, "Ahhh, I can feel Summer coming."

Happy Spring!

They got me too

What gets me out of bed at 9 am on a Sunday? Not much.

Ping. My phone tells me I got an email from my bank. I get these every day. Usually they just tell me my daily available balance.

This one said: "We detected irregular activity on your debit card".

Oh, B of A. I thought you had my back. I thought I was exempt from fraud. It was happening to everyone else lately, but no, it could never happen to me.

Dragging myself out of bed, I call the fraud department. They go through each transaction that I did not make, and put a stop to the card.

"Did you make a purchase for World of Warcraft?". No sir, I did not. I don't really know what it is. Some video game?

This reminds me of an episode in F.R.I.E.N.D.S where someone stole Monica's identity. Instead of pressing charges, she joined the same tap dancing class that the woman/thief used her card to purchase. Monica decided that the 'Fake Monica' was living her life better than she did. So she lied about her name, befriended the thief and went to all these fun exciting places with her. (She was probably fitting the bill for both of them.)
In the end, the thief gets apprehended, Monica is sad and returns to her own boring life.

These days, credit card fraud is so intricate it is very hard to trace it. I always assumed I would feel more violated and upset if I ever got credit card fraud. (This is called impact bias for any psych majors.) But I'm actually a little sad for the person who feels they have to stoop so low in order to get what they want.

I'll get my money back, and I hope it never happens again. You can't exactly stop using a credit card in the fear that it may be stolen. Then again, if you only had cash and it was stolen, it is very unlikely that you'd ever see it again. At least credit cards have some measure of security.

I have some weird desire to try out World of Warcraft.