We are very different, you and I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My little flame

It wavers,
unsure which way to go.

Starts out small,

than begins to grow.

It gathers strength,

goes steady now.

Despite the cold,

it lives somehow.

Amongst the storms,

and rain filled night,

the wind will blow,

but this one fights.

It is brave,

to live it must,

or it will die,

go back to dust.

The day will come,

but never the same,

without my time,

with my little flame.

Im standing here,

my eyes shut tight,

blocking out,

this little light.

Behind my hands,

the tears will fall.

My broken heart,

to G-d does call.

This special time,

with G-d I share.

The world is gone,

just we are here.

I feel at peace,

in G-d's embrace.

With Him right here,

I know I'm safe.

I ask of Him,

so many things.

Appreciate,

the good He brings.

At the flame I gaze,

so strong and bright.

This little act,

brings so much light.

Shabbos had come,

the week goes away.

Nothing can taint,

this special day.

As I whisper the bracha,

and G-d's holy name,

I cherish this time,

with my little flame.

I glance at the candle,

on the window sill.

The light has gone out,

but my eternal flame, burns still.

I 'love' you (not)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wish

I wish that life were simpler,

and that I wasn't so confused.

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

and my brains I'd actually use.

I wish that I could speak my thoughts,

and not worry what people would say.

I wish tomorrow wouldn't come so soon,

and erase all my efforts of today.

I wish the world was a better place,

and that everyone here was good.

I wish people were more honest,

and did things the way they should.

I wish people didn't do drugs,

and hurt themselves so bad.

I wish there wasn't any pain,

and no one would be sad.

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

and lose their naivete.

I wish I could place my trust in people,

and not worry that they'd betray me.

I wish there would be no suffering,

and that things would be black and white.

I wish there were no dreary days,

and all darkness would turn to light.

I wish that love wasn't so painful,

and you could tell someone how you feel.

I wish that hearts weren't so breakable,

and that pain would quickly heal.

I wish I could find that special someone,

who would make my life complete.

I wish I were more motivated,

and didn't easily admit defeat.

I wish that I could turn back the clocks,

and do things differently.

I wish I had a second chance,

to become a much better me.

I wish people fulfilled their dreams,

and actually reached for the moon.

I wish that goals were attainable,

and people didn't give up so soon.

I wish there was a point in wishing,

and your dreams would actually come true.

I wish a genie would come along,

and grant me a wish or two.

I wish I could see the future,

and know everything will be ok.

I wish G-d wouldd help me more,

and make all my problems go away.

I wish so many things. But above all,

I wish that I could fulfill my purpose here,

and make G-d proud of me.

I wish I could change someone's life around,

and give them the chance to wish too.

Because without hope, and wishes,

where would we all be?

When I am alone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheat Sheet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was never there

This article has been published in N'shei Chabad Magazine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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