I missed my flight. Yes, 10 minutes really does make a difference. Yes, it was all my fault, no matter how many times people try to reassure me that it wasn't. No, I didn't wake up late, I never went to sleep.
Lets put it this way: 24 hours, 2 flights, 3 airports, 200$, and lots and lots of prayers later, here I am in Los Angles, California. The city of angels. Yes, it was a day of miracles for me. It seemed like G-d REALLY didn't want me to get here, and I never prayed so hard in my life as I did my mincha on Thusday, in an airport lounge. But He heard me, and had lots of pity for me. So I made it.
Camp starts on Monday. Theres still a lot of preparation going into it. I'm nervous, stressed out, unsure, tired, and so many other things.
But I'm also determined, excited, enthusiastic, ready, and willing. I know it will work out. It has to.
Wish me luck
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Contemplation at 4 am
I will not write about Gimmel Tamuz. It is not an easy topic for me to talk about. Those things are off limits for me. I think about it, but when it comes to talking, I don't see a point. Talking won't get you very far anyway. So I just don't talk about it, and hope it will go away. Fat chance of that happening.
I am leaving to the airport in 2 hours. I have not packed yet. I have not slept yet. I'm not ready to go. So why am I sitting here, waisting time, instead of getting things done? Your guess is as good as mine.
I have such a big conscience. Sometimes, I can't sleep at night because of it. Anytime I do something 'wrong', it is there, whispering in my ear, no Altie, not good, stop, go back. It is very annoying. I hate hearing voices in my head. I wish I could lose it, kick it out, destroy it. I wish, for once I could do something without regretting it, feeling like a bad person. I wish I could do, without thinking so much.
But then I remember those times my conscience saved me from myself, from doing something I would forever regret, and never be able to forgive, even to myself. And then I'm happy for this little thing we have called a conscience.
Sometimes.
I am leaving to the airport in 2 hours. I have not packed yet. I have not slept yet. I'm not ready to go. So why am I sitting here, waisting time, instead of getting things done? Your guess is as good as mine.
I have such a big conscience. Sometimes, I can't sleep at night because of it. Anytime I do something 'wrong', it is there, whispering in my ear, no Altie, not good, stop, go back. It is very annoying. I hate hearing voices in my head. I wish I could lose it, kick it out, destroy it. I wish, for once I could do something without regretting it, feeling like a bad person. I wish I could do, without thinking so much.
But then I remember those times my conscience saved me from myself, from doing something I would forever regret, and never be able to forgive, even to myself. And then I'm happy for this little thing we have called a conscience.
Sometimes.
Just forget
Scared of how people will judge me,
but more scared of myself.
Scared of what I do,
but scared of what I don't do.
Scared to try,
and scared of failure.
Scared of looking in the mirror,
and not liking what I see.
Scared of disappointing friends,
having them lose faith in me.
Scared of letting myself go,
and finding out how far I could.
Scared of holding back,
and never really experiencing.
Scared of having fun,
but then realizing regrets.
Scared of going far,
and finding out I can never turn back.
But then again...
If I never try,
I'll never know.
If I never do,
I'll never feel.
So forget about people.
Forget about failure.
Forget about the mirror.
Forget about holding back.
Forget about regrets.
Forget about turning back.
If not now, when? Go, do, learn, try, experience, experiment, have fun, let loose, live, be yourself.
Because if not, you'll always regret it, and be left wondering, what if?
but more scared of myself.
Scared of what I do,
but scared of what I don't do.
Scared to try,
and scared of failure.
Scared of looking in the mirror,
and not liking what I see.
Scared of disappointing friends,
having them lose faith in me.
Scared of letting myself go,
and finding out how far I could.
Scared of holding back,
and never really experiencing.
Scared of having fun,
but then realizing regrets.
Scared of going far,
and finding out I can never turn back.
But then again...
If I never try,
I'll never know.
If I never do,
I'll never feel.
So forget about people.
Forget about failure.
Forget about the mirror.
Forget about holding back.
Forget about regrets.
Forget about turning back.
If not now, when? Go, do, learn, try, experience, experiment, have fun, let loose, live, be yourself.
Because if not, you'll always regret it, and be left wondering, what if?
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Gotta find my own way
Now it's the calm before the storm. Peaceful. Waiting. Soon, soon, it will fill up, become packed to maximum capacity, squishy, claustrophobic, shoving, chaos, confusion. But now, it's serene, empty.
I stand there, wondering why I came. I don't even know anymore. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better if I just didn't come at all. I feel like a faker, an impostor. What is my business here? If I came here to ask for something, why come? How can you ask without offering something in exchange? If I came here to say something, why come? What have I to say? Hi?
And yet I come. I grit my teeth, I force myself to write, to go, to pray. My heart hammers as I walk down the path, feeling out of place here, a stranger. Entering the doorway, not sure what to do, knowing the customs, but not comfortable with it. It is not mine. Standing near the stone, so much confusion, so many thoughts, too many outer influences. Warring emotions, sadness, love, pain, anger. How can I explain?
I close the book. The words just don't talk to me. I don't feel that they are mine. I close my eyes, lean my head against the stone, and let my heart do the talking. My thoughts run. I am praying, in my own language. All rules aside, don't let anyone tell me how to do this, it is my connection. Got to find my own way.
Suddenly, don't want to leave, but can't stay here any longer. I've said it all. Don't feel any better. Walk down the road, doesn't feel real. Don't know when I'll be back. Not sure if I want to. Not sure about much at all.
They told me to come. They told me to do it this way, not that. They told me what to write, what to say, what to think. How to dress, how to act. But no more. Can't follow them anymore. Otherwise, I won't come at all. Now its up to me.
I come. Not sure why. I write whatever I feel. I say what I want to say. I dress how I want to. I think my thoughts. Now I don't care. The main thing is, I still come, though it's hard, and makes no sense to me.
Don't want to, but I come. Don't know what to say, but I come. Not sure how to feel, but I come. Now it's gonna be on my own terms. Cuz I gotta find my own way.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Is there really a G-d
I needed money. A letter came in the mail. Card from Grandma. Late b-day present. $50. Yay, I'm rich. Thanks G-d.
Maybe there is, and maybe there isn't. It's a perspective. Is the cup half empty, or is it really half full? It's however you choose to look at it. That's the main thing. Choice. G-d gave us free choice. And now you can choose to believe that G-d exists, or believe that He does not. It is entirely up to you.
I choose to believe in the existence of G-d. Is there a reason for it? Is it because I was brought up believing that, and I'm too lazy, or scared to change my way of thinking now? Or.... consider this. Maybe, maybe, I actually believe there is a G-d because I thought about it, considered it, and found there to be no other possibility.
There is coincidence. There is nature. There are things that just 'happen'. But in the world we live in, I find it easier to live when you are living for someone, for something. When you have a defined purpose here. Otherwise, why bother? Indeed.
To argue is pointless, as I have frustratingly found out. An opinion is an opinion, even on a matter of such importance as this. But then, the matter contains only as much import as you give it, doesn't it?
To me it's important. To me, G-d is G-d. He exists. He is an enigma, and I don't try to understand Him. My conduct is between me and Him, it is no one else's business. If I choose to sin, I have but One to answer to.
Does it bother me that not all believe as I do? A little. Should it? Maybe not, depends why it bothers me. But to try to change someones point of view is useless. What bothers me is when someone calls me closed minded. That, I am not.
So believe what you want to, because at the end of the day, YOU are the one that has to live with yourself. Not me. And if we disagree... then so be it.
As someone pointed out, we can sit down and have chollent, (or anything, I'm open to suggestions,) and discuss baseball, the economy, President Obama, or any other topic that may come up. G-d doesn't have to be taboo (a word I recently learned is avoda zara) but He need not be in the forefront of our conversation.
Because me, I know He is there, lurking in the shadows. And you, well, You just don't see Him. And that is your choice.
p.s. feel free to check out this link, in which non- Jewish students try to justify G-d's existance.
Maybe there is, and maybe there isn't. It's a perspective. Is the cup half empty, or is it really half full? It's however you choose to look at it. That's the main thing. Choice. G-d gave us free choice. And now you can choose to believe that G-d exists, or believe that He does not. It is entirely up to you.
I choose to believe in the existence of G-d. Is there a reason for it? Is it because I was brought up believing that, and I'm too lazy, or scared to change my way of thinking now? Or.... consider this. Maybe, maybe, I actually believe there is a G-d because I thought about it, considered it, and found there to be no other possibility.
There is coincidence. There is nature. There are things that just 'happen'. But in the world we live in, I find it easier to live when you are living for someone, for something. When you have a defined purpose here. Otherwise, why bother? Indeed.
To argue is pointless, as I have frustratingly found out. An opinion is an opinion, even on a matter of such importance as this. But then, the matter contains only as much import as you give it, doesn't it?
To me it's important. To me, G-d is G-d. He exists. He is an enigma, and I don't try to understand Him. My conduct is between me and Him, it is no one else's business. If I choose to sin, I have but One to answer to.
Does it bother me that not all believe as I do? A little. Should it? Maybe not, depends why it bothers me. But to try to change someones point of view is useless. What bothers me is when someone calls me closed minded. That, I am not.
So believe what you want to, because at the end of the day, YOU are the one that has to live with yourself. Not me. And if we disagree... then so be it.
As someone pointed out, we can sit down and have chollent, (or anything, I'm open to suggestions,) and discuss baseball, the economy, President Obama, or any other topic that may come up. G-d doesn't have to be taboo (a word I recently learned is avoda zara) but He need not be in the forefront of our conversation.
Because me, I know He is there, lurking in the shadows. And you, well, You just don't see Him. And that is your choice.
p.s. feel free to check out this link, in which non- Jewish students try to justify G-d's existance.
How I met a blogger
Our very own Cheerio invited me to this poetry group Motzei Shabbos, in the local flower shop. I thought it was very fitting, as poetry and flowers just go together. So I eagerly agreed to come, and even read one of my poems. Little did I know who was going to be in attendance...
So nervous was I to walk in the door, my friend had to drag me in there. (Thanks friend.) Who will be in this illustrious poetry group? Who will I be baring my soul to in there? So I walked in, head held high, trying to look without staring.
I immediately noticed faces I recognized, but these were not people I have ever met. No, not in real life. (Who can call blog sphere real life?) These were people I interacted with online, in the dead of night. Arguing, sparring, agreeing, disagreeing, foolishly saying things I would later regret. And how do you introduce yourself to these people? Just walk up and say, hi I'm Altie, I don't really know you, you don't know me, but we spent hours online commenting, bashing, emailing, chatting? So, it's nice to meet you? Ya, I guess that's how you say it.
Cheerio was so nice, she introduced me to the gang. It was so funny to see the looks on these peoples faces as it registered to them that I was Altie. They kind of sort of know me. Weird. Freaky. E, and TRS, and LE7, and Sarrabon. They all knew each other, and I, fellow blogger, an outsider. But this is something I aim to change. No, it can't stay like that.
We sat down to hear poems be recited. My memory may fail me, so those who were there are welcome to help. There was Sarrabon, who read a poem from her blog. As did TRS. (He read the sappy one he wrote the night before he proposed, which earned him many awwwws from the audience. Yes, awww, it was nice.) A guy Mathew performed twice. He was amazing, animated, lively, caught your attention from the first. A girl who read 2 moving poems, another guy who read 3 beautiful poems, (cheerio help me with names please!) A guy sang a song with a guitar. Another guy read a poem he wrote just then. Really nice.
When it was my turn, I got up there, nervous. Not sure how to introduce it, I kind of mumbled an introduction. Then I started. All were quiet. They listened. I read. It was just like I practiced over and over in the privacy of my room. Suddenly, my nervousness went away. It was just me, reading a poem I had written. And after, when I heard the applause, that was the most rewarding. To hear that they liked it, that it was a success. I smiled. It made me happy.
We mingled, I met some nice people. A new blogger I've only heard of, but never had the pleasure of interacting with, Heshy from Frum Satire. I had fun. It was cool, it was new, it was different. And I'm sorry to say I'm leaving, and I won't be here for the next one. But IY''H I'll be back, and maybe I'll have a better poem to share next time.
Thank you Cheerio for inviting me! It was lots of fun. (Oh, and friend, I don't even remember what I was so nervous about.)
p.s. so now that makes it 9 bloggers I've met in real life. E, TRS, Cheerio, Sarrabon, LE7, Chanalia, Frum Satire, chanie, and C. And counting.
So nervous was I to walk in the door, my friend had to drag me in there. (Thanks friend.) Who will be in this illustrious poetry group? Who will I be baring my soul to in there? So I walked in, head held high, trying to look without staring.
I immediately noticed faces I recognized, but these were not people I have ever met. No, not in real life. (Who can call blog sphere real life?) These were people I interacted with online, in the dead of night. Arguing, sparring, agreeing, disagreeing, foolishly saying things I would later regret. And how do you introduce yourself to these people? Just walk up and say, hi I'm Altie, I don't really know you, you don't know me, but we spent hours online commenting, bashing, emailing, chatting? So, it's nice to meet you? Ya, I guess that's how you say it.
Cheerio was so nice, she introduced me to the gang. It was so funny to see the looks on these peoples faces as it registered to them that I was Altie. They kind of sort of know me. Weird. Freaky. E, and TRS, and LE7, and Sarrabon. They all knew each other, and I, fellow blogger, an outsider. But this is something I aim to change. No, it can't stay like that.
We sat down to hear poems be recited. My memory may fail me, so those who were there are welcome to help. There was Sarrabon, who read a poem from her blog. As did TRS. (He read the sappy one he wrote the night before he proposed, which earned him many awwwws from the audience. Yes, awww, it was nice.) A guy Mathew performed twice. He was amazing, animated, lively, caught your attention from the first. A girl who read 2 moving poems, another guy who read 3 beautiful poems, (cheerio help me with names please!) A guy sang a song with a guitar. Another guy read a poem he wrote just then. Really nice.
When it was my turn, I got up there, nervous. Not sure how to introduce it, I kind of mumbled an introduction. Then I started. All were quiet. They listened. I read. It was just like I practiced over and over in the privacy of my room. Suddenly, my nervousness went away. It was just me, reading a poem I had written. And after, when I heard the applause, that was the most rewarding. To hear that they liked it, that it was a success. I smiled. It made me happy.
We mingled, I met some nice people. A new blogger I've only heard of, but never had the pleasure of interacting with, Heshy from Frum Satire. I had fun. It was cool, it was new, it was different. And I'm sorry to say I'm leaving, and I won't be here for the next one. But IY''H I'll be back, and maybe I'll have a better poem to share next time.
Thank you Cheerio for inviting me! It was lots of fun. (Oh, and friend, I don't even remember what I was so nervous about.)
p.s. so now that makes it 9 bloggers I've met in real life. E, TRS, Cheerio, Sarrabon, LE7, Chanalia, Frum Satire, chanie, and C. And counting.
Shabbos in the rain!!!!!
As a p.s. to my last post, I'll tell you about my shabbos, and how I danced in the rain. It was AWESOME! Me and a friend went to botanical gardens, right near the museum of art on Eastern Parkway. We got in for free when she politely asked, 'it's my sabbath and I can't pay, so can we just go in?' And the guy said, ya sure go ahead.
It was pretty empty (perhaps the reason he let us in) because it was rainy. Do not mistake rainy with raining, as you can see, they are spelled differently, and have different meanings. Rainy is when it has rained, it is wet, and might possibly rain again soon. Raining... I hope you all know that one.
We visited the rose gardens, walked around, saw a wedding in progress, spied on the bride while she took pictures, visited the gift shop (yes I know, not so shabbosdik. Don't worry, I didn't buy anything. ) Enjoyed the not-so-sunny day out. And then it started raining. Rain, rain, glorious rain, oh how I love thee.
We stood under a tree trying not to get drenched. Laugh of all laughs, we got wet anyway. I'll save you the trouble of trying it- no, trees don't offer much protection from rain. It seeps through the gaps in the leaves.... down on our unsuspecting (or suspecting but can't do much about it) heads.
Along came a nice security guard, to tell us they were locking up and our presence was no longer welcome. Then he kindly offered us a ride, to which I very regretfully had to turn down. 'Thank you so much, but it's our Sabbath, we can't ride in a car.' Sad to disappoint him. But he told us he wasn't allowed to offer us a ride anyway, against the rules. Which made me feel all the more grateful, and regretful that I couldn't take it. He apologized, drove off, then reversed, to offer us an umbrella. I laughingly told him that it wasn't allowed either. He said Shalom, and drove away.
We were offered a second ride from a guy in a golf cart, who's seats were all wet. But we were wet anyway... Again I had to turn him down. So sad, since I love seeing people doing favors out of the goodness of their hearts. But you know, G-d, Sabbath, that kind of over rules.
I said, hey, we are getting wet anyway, standing under this here tree, so we might as well run for it. So we ran. And ran. And the rain poured down, and my wellies (British for rain boots) sloshed through the puddles, keeping my feet dry. (Thanks sis for lending them.) Making me very happy that I decided to wear them, though I think they are dorky, and not stylish. But in this case, my sandals would have done nothing for my feet, so wellies it was.
We got soaking wet, my hair was plastered to my face, jacket cold and making me shiver, but I loved it. I loved the rain, I loved the stormy clouds, I loved the freedom I felt, running, dancing, singing in the rain. (OK I didn't sing, but wish I had. Maybe next time.) Enjoying it. Soaking it up (literally and figuratively.) I felt refreshed, like a car after a good car wash, or the ground after a good rainfall. (Oh come on, like you could think of a better comparison to rain, then rain itself.)
So as much as those little kids sing, 'rain rain go away', and 'Mr. sun, sun, Mr. golden sun,' I will forever love the rain. It is my faithful friend, I can always count on it to be out when I'm in a bad mood, or really in the need of a storm. So don't go away. Stay for a while.
But promise me one thing: on my wedding day, please be sunny.
It was pretty empty (perhaps the reason he let us in) because it was rainy. Do not mistake rainy with raining, as you can see, they are spelled differently, and have different meanings. Rainy is when it has rained, it is wet, and might possibly rain again soon. Raining... I hope you all know that one.
We visited the rose gardens, walked around, saw a wedding in progress, spied on the bride while she took pictures, visited the gift shop (yes I know, not so shabbosdik. Don't worry, I didn't buy anything. ) Enjoyed the not-so-sunny day out. And then it started raining. Rain, rain, glorious rain, oh how I love thee.
We stood under a tree trying not to get drenched. Laugh of all laughs, we got wet anyway. I'll save you the trouble of trying it- no, trees don't offer much protection from rain. It seeps through the gaps in the leaves.... down on our unsuspecting (or suspecting but can't do much about it) heads.
Along came a nice security guard, to tell us they were locking up and our presence was no longer welcome. Then he kindly offered us a ride, to which I very regretfully had to turn down. 'Thank you so much, but it's our Sabbath, we can't ride in a car.' Sad to disappoint him. But he told us he wasn't allowed to offer us a ride anyway, against the rules. Which made me feel all the more grateful, and regretful that I couldn't take it. He apologized, drove off, then reversed, to offer us an umbrella. I laughingly told him that it wasn't allowed either. He said Shalom, and drove away.
We were offered a second ride from a guy in a golf cart, who's seats were all wet. But we were wet anyway... Again I had to turn him down. So sad, since I love seeing people doing favors out of the goodness of their hearts. But you know, G-d, Sabbath, that kind of over rules.
I said, hey, we are getting wet anyway, standing under this here tree, so we might as well run for it. So we ran. And ran. And the rain poured down, and my wellies (British for rain boots) sloshed through the puddles, keeping my feet dry. (Thanks sis for lending them.) Making me very happy that I decided to wear them, though I think they are dorky, and not stylish. But in this case, my sandals would have done nothing for my feet, so wellies it was.
We got soaking wet, my hair was plastered to my face, jacket cold and making me shiver, but I loved it. I loved the rain, I loved the stormy clouds, I loved the freedom I felt, running, dancing, singing in the rain. (OK I didn't sing, but wish I had. Maybe next time.) Enjoying it. Soaking it up (literally and figuratively.) I felt refreshed, like a car after a good car wash, or the ground after a good rainfall. (Oh come on, like you could think of a better comparison to rain, then rain itself.)
So as much as those little kids sing, 'rain rain go away', and 'Mr. sun, sun, Mr. golden sun,' I will forever love the rain. It is my faithful friend, I can always count on it to be out when I'm in a bad mood, or really in the need of a storm. So don't go away. Stay for a while.
But promise me one thing: on my wedding day, please be sunny.
Friday, June 19, 2009
So how bad is bad?
I used to think that if you wanted to be bad, just don't be good. But apparently, it takes more than that. You actually have to DO bad things to get a reputation as a 'bad' person. Is it worth it to go down that road?
I'm sitting here, it's 6 am, I'm listening to music. Not the Jewish Variety. I can't stand Jewish music, it is so cliche. Plus they take a lot of tunes from the non Jewish Artists, so in the end its all the same. Just, one kind sounds way better.
Chris Brown. Akon. Saun Kingston. Rhiana. Enrique Iglesias. N sync. Celine Dion. Jessie McCartney. Gwen Steffani. R. Kelly. Lady Gaga.
Glorious, heartrending, intoxicating music. Should I be listening to this? Do I really care? Am I a 'bad' girl for listening to the forbidden? But who is really the judge of that?
Sometimes I have the urge to do bad things. Anything. Everything. I want to rebel, I want to do all the things I despise, and said I would never do. I want people to look at me in disgust, and wonder what made me snap.
Yes, sometimes I really want to go down 'that' road. Play with fire. Push the limits. Feel the thrill of doing something naughty, and know there's the chance I may get caught for it. Test the waters, see how far I can go.
Experiment, see what it's like. Step back and look at everything from a different perspective. CONSIDER why I'm doing things, and not just do them because I'm told to. Throw it all away, start from scratch, and find my own route back. Or not come back at all.
So what's stopping me? Many things. But mainly, it's 7 am, and I haven't gone to sleep yet. Oh well. Guess I'll have to put off rebelling until tomorrow. Very fittingly, tomorrow is Shabbos.
Connection? I think not.
I'm sitting here, it's 6 am, I'm listening to music. Not the Jewish Variety. I can't stand Jewish music, it is so cliche. Plus they take a lot of tunes from the non Jewish Artists, so in the end its all the same. Just, one kind sounds way better.
Chris Brown. Akon. Saun Kingston. Rhiana. Enrique Iglesias. N sync. Celine Dion. Jessie McCartney. Gwen Steffani. R. Kelly. Lady Gaga.
Glorious, heartrending, intoxicating music. Should I be listening to this? Do I really care? Am I a 'bad' girl for listening to the forbidden? But who is really the judge of that?
Sometimes I have the urge to do bad things. Anything. Everything. I want to rebel, I want to do all the things I despise, and said I would never do. I want people to look at me in disgust, and wonder what made me snap.
Yes, sometimes I really want to go down 'that' road. Play with fire. Push the limits. Feel the thrill of doing something naughty, and know there's the chance I may get caught for it. Test the waters, see how far I can go.
Experiment, see what it's like. Step back and look at everything from a different perspective. CONSIDER why I'm doing things, and not just do them because I'm told to. Throw it all away, start from scratch, and find my own route back. Or not come back at all.
So what's stopping me? Many things. But mainly, it's 7 am, and I haven't gone to sleep yet. Oh well. Guess I'll have to put off rebelling until tomorrow. Very fittingly, tomorrow is Shabbos.
Connection? I think not.
Thoughts from a quiet observer in 'the Heights'
The Heights are full of such diverse kinds of people. There's the mainstream ones, hat, jacket, beard, the works. There's the extremist, who wouldn't be caught dead without a moshiach flag pin on their lapel. There are the rebels in jeans and t-shirts. There's the ones that think they are cool, in corduroy, and pink button downs, and brown suede jackets.
Good chassidish girls, who actually believe all that they are taught, and in what they do. They are too scared to question.
The ones who are a little daring, wearing their green Bais Rivka uniform skirt slightly above their knees, with a jean jacket. Scandalous.
Theres the shlumps, long skirts, hoodies, messy buns, with bumps.
Theres the preppy ones, with leggings and wellies, short jean skirts. So cute.
Theres the fancy ones, post sem, black pleated skirts, stockings, patent leather shoes. Straight hair. It's a rule if you want to join that club. No curls.
And where do I fit in? I don't.
I've practically walked the whole Crown Heights today. Starting out from my house, going down Schenectady till Lefforts, up Troy, over till New York, up till Eastern Parkway, till the museum, (k almost, but then I turned back) down Kingston, back through Empire, up Albany, down Montgomery, back up New York, down Crown, up Kingston, and down my humble block again.
Why did I do this, you may ask? (I wouldn't ask, but I must consider my faithful readers queer train of thoughts.) Cuz I was sitting here in frustrating contemplation, trying for all I was worth to put together camp schedules, and I simply needed a break. A breather.
It was an intoxicatingly refreshing walk, what with all the rain, and wind and all. I walked so fast it almost felt like I was flying! Exhilarating.
In Parshat Lech Lecha, it said Avraham traversed the Land of Israel, so it would be considered his. But I walk the streets of the Heights, and it doesn't feel like mine. I am a stranger here.
I looked around, at this place I call 'the Heights'. Not my home, no. Just a stopover, till the next stage. They ask me where I'm from. I cringe as I regretfully say, the Heights. Yes, that's where I'm from. Thankfully, most of them say, 'noooooo way! You are like totally NOT a Crown Heightser!' I know, thanks. I've worked hard over the years to detach myself from that title. I'm just me. I am not a Crown Heightser, no.
I look around as I walk. There are many people walking by me. Mothers with strollers, little kids, teenagers, bochurim of all ages, yungerman, fathers, etc.I smile, but they don't know me, they don't see me. It's like I'm invisible, like I don't even exist.
It's like being in a hotel where the bell boy and maids are very rude to you. Would you want to return there? No. You'd report them, and make sure that all your friends knew not to ever go there.
Am I a guest here? Am I a resident? I'm not sure. I think I'm just floating by. But one thing is for sure: if I ever wanted to get a job in stalking, this place has ample opportunity to do it. I can watch, and they would never know, cuz they just don't see me.
I do understand all the OTD's now. (A little bit, anyway.) No one gives you a chance, so why bother? My advice to everyone in Crown Heights? Get out of this hell hole as fast as you can.
Good chassidish girls, who actually believe all that they are taught, and in what they do. They are too scared to question.
The ones who are a little daring, wearing their green Bais Rivka uniform skirt slightly above their knees, with a jean jacket. Scandalous.
Theres the shlumps, long skirts, hoodies, messy buns, with bumps.
Theres the preppy ones, with leggings and wellies, short jean skirts. So cute.
Theres the fancy ones, post sem, black pleated skirts, stockings, patent leather shoes. Straight hair. It's a rule if you want to join that club. No curls.
And where do I fit in? I don't.
I've practically walked the whole Crown Heights today. Starting out from my house, going down Schenectady till Lefforts, up Troy, over till New York, up till Eastern Parkway, till the museum, (k almost, but then I turned back) down Kingston, back through Empire, up Albany, down Montgomery, back up New York, down Crown, up Kingston, and down my humble block again.
Why did I do this, you may ask? (I wouldn't ask, but I must consider my faithful readers queer train of thoughts.) Cuz I was sitting here in frustrating contemplation, trying for all I was worth to put together camp schedules, and I simply needed a break. A breather.
It was an intoxicatingly refreshing walk, what with all the rain, and wind and all. I walked so fast it almost felt like I was flying! Exhilarating.
In Parshat Lech Lecha, it said Avraham traversed the Land of Israel, so it would be considered his. But I walk the streets of the Heights, and it doesn't feel like mine. I am a stranger here.
I looked around, at this place I call 'the Heights'. Not my home, no. Just a stopover, till the next stage. They ask me where I'm from. I cringe as I regretfully say, the Heights. Yes, that's where I'm from. Thankfully, most of them say, 'noooooo way! You are like totally NOT a Crown Heightser!' I know, thanks. I've worked hard over the years to detach myself from that title. I'm just me. I am not a Crown Heightser, no.
I look around as I walk. There are many people walking by me. Mothers with strollers, little kids, teenagers, bochurim of all ages, yungerman, fathers, etc.I smile, but they don't know me, they don't see me. It's like I'm invisible, like I don't even exist.
It's like being in a hotel where the bell boy and maids are very rude to you. Would you want to return there? No. You'd report them, and make sure that all your friends knew not to ever go there.
Am I a guest here? Am I a resident? I'm not sure. I think I'm just floating by. But one thing is for sure: if I ever wanted to get a job in stalking, this place has ample opportunity to do it. I can watch, and they would never know, cuz they just don't see me.
I do understand all the OTD's now. (A little bit, anyway.) No one gives you a chance, so why bother? My advice to everyone in Crown Heights? Get out of this hell hole as fast as you can.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
It's raining, it's pouring
No, the old man is not snoring. It's a good thing, cuz in my apartment in Tel Aviv, the guy next store snored really loud, and he sceamed at me when I would talk on the phone outside at 1 am. Sheesh. Can't talk inside, disturb the girls sleeping. Can't talk outside, disturb the neighbors who sleep with the wondows open. Solution? Talk in the park, where the dogs run wild. Oh they are cute, I made some friends there on my nightly phonecalls.
For those who live in the New York area, you can look outside and see that it is, indeed, pouring out. For me, it is a miracle, since it hardly ever rained in Israel, and its a glorious sound to hear. The downside? My basement is flooding, and I stepped into a foot of water when I got down the steps.
I'm trying to make schedules for camp. It's not as easy as I thought it would be. I keep telling myself, breath Altie, it will be fine, you'll get them done in time. Then I'm wondering why I ever agreed to do this job. Then I'm wondering why I'm sitting here staring at my inbox, willing it to pop up with 1 new message in inbox. Waiting to hear about jobs for next year is so frustrating.
Despite numerous nudging and cajoling, I will say it one more time: I am not changing my blog name right now, so stop trying to convince me to! I think it is fine the way it is. But as you can see, my blog description now says, 'where ever I am, you are with me'. It was a suggestion by our very own Childish, and I liked it enough to use it. Thank you. You can take it how you want it, but I think the meaning is obvious.
Yesterday I didn't leave the house at all. Today I was gonna go to the ohel, but since its raining, my plans were put on hold. Now I'm going shopping, so wish me luck with my reentry into the world.
Chanalia asked me if I was going to blog about after the fact, being home and all. Since she seemed to be mocking me, cuz she thinks I'm so predictable, my first reaction was ha! I purposely am NOT going to, just to spite her. But then I decided that was a bit juvenile, and I really did want to say a little something on that topic.
I miss Israel. I read on Esser Agaroth blog about Tel Aviv beach, and I felt like I was there. It's weird to think that I won't be walking the streets of Ramat Aviv anytime soon. It's weird being home, my head feels like it's gonna fall off somewhere. I'm so confused as to what to do next. It's like I need to be reprogramed just to remember to do the simplest things.
All I keep saying is, I'm going to Cali next week, I'm going to Cali next week. And despite that little niggle in my head that keeps asking, ok, cool, Cali, but what next? I tell myself, don't worry, one step at a time. Life is so much easier if you live it day by day.
Ok so today it's raining. Now I need to get off the computer before I go crazy. Tomorrow? I don't know, I'll figure it out then.
P.S. if you were cool enough to recieve a mention in this post, AND have me do you the favor of linking to your blog, then you must be kind and leave me a nice comment. If you want me to mention you in the future, let me know. If I'm ever bored enough, I may just write up a whacky story with all the bloggers I know of. Hmmm, wouldn't you all like to know what I have to say about you?
P.P.S the picture reminds me of teardrops. How fitting. Oh I do love the rain.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I'm hoooome!
So are you gonna blog about it? Are you? Are you gonna comment?
No. Facebook is not a topic that interests me, and I don't care what people think, so I am not gonna talk about facebook anymore, and how I accedentally reopened my account. If you want to add me, email me.
I'm home. I'm tired, haven't slept in over 48 hours, almost 62 I think. I'm not keeping track. Slept a little on the plane, but can never sleep properly on planes. Mu back is killing me and my neck is stiff.
Last thoughts when I left Israel- oh shucks, I'm really leaving. I should feel sad, I should be crying, but I'm not. Oh well. Goodbye, I'll be back.
First thoughts when I got to USA- oh boy I'm back. Bed, sleep, camp, schedules, stuff to do, ugh. Lets go back to Israel.
Don't know what you were all expecting. I'm usually more intense/deep/trying-to-find-meaning-in-everything-as-chanalia-loves-to-point-out (choose one or all) but I'm too tired now. Ask me later.
To all my friends out there- I still haven't cried yet. Am I normal?
No. Facebook is not a topic that interests me, and I don't care what people think, so I am not gonna talk about facebook anymore, and how I accedentally reopened my account. If you want to add me, email me.
I'm home. I'm tired, haven't slept in over 48 hours, almost 62 I think. I'm not keeping track. Slept a little on the plane, but can never sleep properly on planes. Mu back is killing me and my neck is stiff.
Last thoughts when I left Israel- oh shucks, I'm really leaving. I should feel sad, I should be crying, but I'm not. Oh well. Goodbye, I'll be back.
First thoughts when I got to USA- oh boy I'm back. Bed, sleep, camp, schedules, stuff to do, ugh. Lets go back to Israel.
Don't know what you were all expecting. I'm usually more intense/deep/trying-to-find-meaning-in-everything-as-chanalia-loves-to-point-out (choose one or all) but I'm too tired now. Ask me later.
To all my friends out there- I still haven't cried yet. Am I normal?
Monday, June 15, 2009
Untitled
Do all posts have to be happy? Or meaningful? This is my one post a day as per TRS's instructions.
We just graduated. It's not an end, or a begining, just a middle. This is not a goodbye, but a graduation to newer and better things. Bla bla bla I've heard it all before, and I still think a sem graduation is pointless.
Yesterday my skirt got stuck in the escalater in the mall. What can I say? It was my shlumpy day, so I was wearing a long shlepy skirt. I was talking on the phone with my mother when suddenly I feel a tug, and look down to see my skirt being sucked into the dark recesses of the escalater stairs. Then theres a big noise, and the whole thing jammed. How cool is that, I jammed an escalater.
My reaction? I laughed. A group of people gathererd around me, talking and gesturing in hebrew. I asked my mother what to do, she said find a security guard. Ya, can't really move right now I'm stuck.
Some nice guy came over and tried to yank it out, while I frantically held on so it wouldnt fall down. No need for a bigger commotion. He asked me in hebrew if it was ok to cut the skirt. I said ya sure, as long as it meant I'd be free to go. Someone threw a scissor down the stairs, the guy snipped away, and me and my now shorter and slightly jagged skirt walked away, as the security guard stood there scratching his head, trying to figure out how to fix the damn thing. I left a wad of material still jammed in the escalater. And it was still broken a few hours later.... And to think that I did that. Cool.
Moral of the story? Don't wear shlumpy skirts, their not lady like. Don't talk on phone while operating machinery. Or just pick up your skirt and run down the stairs. Solves it all.
If all goes well, this will be my last blog post from the holy land (well for this year at least.) As I sit here in my principal's oh so comfy chair (sure hope she's not reading this) I don't want to leave. But I gotta go finish packing, go to a goodbye party, take some last pics, psyche myself up physically and emotionally for the flight.
So thats all for now folks. Hopefully will write tomorrow night, when I'm back in your time zone.
p.s. too lazy to put up a poll, but who thinks it's a good idea for me to re open my facebook account? Read this and tell me if I'm being hypocritical.
We just graduated. It's not an end, or a begining, just a middle. This is not a goodbye, but a graduation to newer and better things. Bla bla bla I've heard it all before, and I still think a sem graduation is pointless.
Yesterday my skirt got stuck in the escalater in the mall. What can I say? It was my shlumpy day, so I was wearing a long shlepy skirt. I was talking on the phone with my mother when suddenly I feel a tug, and look down to see my skirt being sucked into the dark recesses of the escalater stairs. Then theres a big noise, and the whole thing jammed. How cool is that, I jammed an escalater.
My reaction? I laughed. A group of people gathererd around me, talking and gesturing in hebrew. I asked my mother what to do, she said find a security guard. Ya, can't really move right now I'm stuck.
Some nice guy came over and tried to yank it out, while I frantically held on so it wouldnt fall down. No need for a bigger commotion. He asked me in hebrew if it was ok to cut the skirt. I said ya sure, as long as it meant I'd be free to go. Someone threw a scissor down the stairs, the guy snipped away, and me and my now shorter and slightly jagged skirt walked away, as the security guard stood there scratching his head, trying to figure out how to fix the damn thing. I left a wad of material still jammed in the escalater. And it was still broken a few hours later.... And to think that I did that. Cool.
Moral of the story? Don't wear shlumpy skirts, their not lady like. Don't talk on phone while operating machinery. Or just pick up your skirt and run down the stairs. Solves it all.
If all goes well, this will be my last blog post from the holy land (well for this year at least.) As I sit here in my principal's oh so comfy chair (sure hope she's not reading this) I don't want to leave. But I gotta go finish packing, go to a goodbye party, take some last pics, psyche myself up physically and emotionally for the flight.
So thats all for now folks. Hopefully will write tomorrow night, when I'm back in your time zone.
p.s. too lazy to put up a poll, but who thinks it's a good idea for me to re open my facebook account? Read this and tell me if I'm being hypocritical.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
An even 100!!!
Though it has taken me about 7 months since I started this blog, I have now reached 100 posts!!!! And this is the 101st!!!! Yaaaay!!!!! Lets celebrate! Open a bottle of... diet coke, and drink up!
Heres to many more lovely posts from me. Cheers!
Respect
The bus was pulling away from the stop, when a little old guy started walking reeeeeaaaally slooooowly towards the bus. Some people on and off the bus tried gesturing and shouting at the driver to wait. He hesitated for a second, then drove away, leaving the old guy standing there.
It is sad how this generation has no values, no respect for elders. It would have taken a few more seconds for the old man to get on the bus, and everyone would have waited patiently. So why was the driver in such a hurry? Why couldn't he have been considerate, and waited?
Cuz they lost that value, that rule, that you respect your elders. I don't want to think of how the world will be when he gets old. How he will be treated by the new little punks running around in the streets.
What has the world come to? Where is it going to?
It is sad how this generation has no values, no respect for elders. It would have taken a few more seconds for the old man to get on the bus, and everyone would have waited patiently. So why was the driver in such a hurry? Why couldn't he have been considerate, and waited?
Cuz they lost that value, that rule, that you respect your elders. I don't want to think of how the world will be when he gets old. How he will be treated by the new little punks running around in the streets.
What has the world come to? Where is it going to?
Blog name
A name is just a name, right? Then why am I having such a hard time changing it?
My blog name, blogging from the holy land, was chosen one night out of frustration. I started the blog, and couldn't think of a good name, and as it happened to be, this was my year in Israel, and I was blogging, so it seemed fitting to call it that.
And now I'm leaving. And I don't want to change it. My logic is like this: though I won't physically be in Israel next year, and I'll (hopefully, iy''h) still be glorifying y'all with my words of wisdom, I feel like I'm taking Israel, and all the holiness, with me in my heart.
Wherever I'll end up next year, (pray for me people, I have no idea what I'm doing next year!) I plan on blogging, and it doesn't really matter what the name is, and I hate change, and it'll be more complicated to change the name, sooooooooo......
even though I'm leaving, the name shall stay the same. If you have any suggestions, let me know.
It's crazy to think that in a few days, I will no longer be standing in this apple store (which we are forbidden to be in, btw) agonizingly typing away on this blog, rushing to get to class, hoping no one will find reason to kick me out of the store. Soon, I'll be peacefully sitting by a computer in my house, wishing I was back here, wishing for the noise. (Sigh).
Bare with me, people. I know I'm getting all sappy on you, and as my friend, Chanalia likes to say, I'm too deep for her, and I try to find meaning in everything (like how I'm contemplating reopening my facebook account, so I can keep in touch with my friends, but I can't decide. She says, just do it!!! It's not that big of a decision!!!! But isn't it?)
So help me G-d, you people are nice if you are still reading this. Sometimes I write, and forget what I wanted to say, so I just write and write about everything. Sometimes I forget why I started this blog. Remind me. Write me something nice in the comment box, so I can go, awwwww, thats so nice. And then I'll cry.
Blogging from the holy land is gonna stay, for now. If I ever decide to change it, I'll need help deciding, since I am horrible at making decisions. So for now, goodbye people.
Forever.
Na, nothing is forever.
My blog name, blogging from the holy land, was chosen one night out of frustration. I started the blog, and couldn't think of a good name, and as it happened to be, this was my year in Israel, and I was blogging, so it seemed fitting to call it that.
And now I'm leaving. And I don't want to change it. My logic is like this: though I won't physically be in Israel next year, and I'll (hopefully, iy''h) still be glorifying y'all with my words of wisdom, I feel like I'm taking Israel, and all the holiness, with me in my heart.
Wherever I'll end up next year, (pray for me people, I have no idea what I'm doing next year!) I plan on blogging, and it doesn't really matter what the name is, and I hate change, and it'll be more complicated to change the name, sooooooooo......
even though I'm leaving, the name shall stay the same. If you have any suggestions, let me know.
It's crazy to think that in a few days, I will no longer be standing in this apple store (which we are forbidden to be in, btw) agonizingly typing away on this blog, rushing to get to class, hoping no one will find reason to kick me out of the store. Soon, I'll be peacefully sitting by a computer in my house, wishing I was back here, wishing for the noise. (Sigh).
Bare with me, people. I know I'm getting all sappy on you, and as my friend, Chanalia likes to say, I'm too deep for her, and I try to find meaning in everything (like how I'm contemplating reopening my facebook account, so I can keep in touch with my friends, but I can't decide. She says, just do it!!! It's not that big of a decision!!!! But isn't it?)
So help me G-d, you people are nice if you are still reading this. Sometimes I write, and forget what I wanted to say, so I just write and write about everything. Sometimes I forget why I started this blog. Remind me. Write me something nice in the comment box, so I can go, awwwww, thats so nice. And then I'll cry.
Blogging from the holy land is gonna stay, for now. If I ever decide to change it, I'll need help deciding, since I am horrible at making decisions. So for now, goodbye people.
Forever.
Na, nothing is forever.
I hate goodbyes
The time is just ticking away, and soon it'll be time to say goodbye. To this year, to Israel, to my friends. It feels like everything I do now is a last, and I want to make sure that I have the best last moments.
Last night we had a goodbye party. My dorm counselor wrote this cute thing about how there are different kinds of endings, but every ending is a new beginning. And they wished us luck in our new beginning. I almost cried, because I don't want to leave, I'm not ready yet. One of my friends left last night, and we all said goodbye to her, knowing that I'll see her in a few days in New York. So why was I sad? Because it signifies the end. I hate goodbyes.
How can you say goodbye to one of the most important years in your life? How can you say goodbye to Israel, our land, the holiest land? How can you say goodbye to your friends, these girls that you have spent every waking moment with for the past 10 months? How can you just leave, and say goodbye to all the fun, the laughs shared, the tears cried, the time spent together, the trips, the beach, the parties at 2 am, the fights, the programs, the hateful words, the food, the teachers, the classes, the farbies, b-day parties, and shabbos, and ALL of it.
The answer is, you can't. There's no way to say goodbye. And all of it, the important things, the memories, the pictures, they will all stay in your heart forever. That's the cool thing about memories, they never go away. And the friends, well I know I made lasting friendships this year, and like everyone says, your sem friends are your friends for life. And I hope that it's true.
As I enjoy my last Sunday here, and last Monday, and finally Tuesday, the day I leave, I'll enjoy every moment of it. And yes, I'll cry when I leave, cuz that's what I do, and it's ok to cry.
But if there's one thing I won't do, I won't say goodbye. Yes, maybe I'll verbalize it, but I know that it's really not a goodbye, it's farewell, see you around.
And Israel- I know I'll be back. We always come back.
So, farewell my friends. See you around!
Last night we had a goodbye party. My dorm counselor wrote this cute thing about how there are different kinds of endings, but every ending is a new beginning. And they wished us luck in our new beginning. I almost cried, because I don't want to leave, I'm not ready yet. One of my friends left last night, and we all said goodbye to her, knowing that I'll see her in a few days in New York. So why was I sad? Because it signifies the end. I hate goodbyes.
How can you say goodbye to one of the most important years in your life? How can you say goodbye to Israel, our land, the holiest land? How can you say goodbye to your friends, these girls that you have spent every waking moment with for the past 10 months? How can you just leave, and say goodbye to all the fun, the laughs shared, the tears cried, the time spent together, the trips, the beach, the parties at 2 am, the fights, the programs, the hateful words, the food, the teachers, the classes, the farbies, b-day parties, and shabbos, and ALL of it.
The answer is, you can't. There's no way to say goodbye. And all of it, the important things, the memories, the pictures, they will all stay in your heart forever. That's the cool thing about memories, they never go away. And the friends, well I know I made lasting friendships this year, and like everyone says, your sem friends are your friends for life. And I hope that it's true.
As I enjoy my last Sunday here, and last Monday, and finally Tuesday, the day I leave, I'll enjoy every moment of it. And yes, I'll cry when I leave, cuz that's what I do, and it's ok to cry.
But if there's one thing I won't do, I won't say goodbye. Yes, maybe I'll verbalize it, but I know that it's really not a goodbye, it's farewell, see you around.
And Israel- I know I'll be back. We always come back.
So, farewell my friends. See you around!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Doubts and questions- what to answer
The whole world thinks I'm naive. Yay, it's a great feeling.
We had 2 speakers today. One was Gila Menolsen, I already wrote about her book on shomer negia. I will not repeat what she said, though I liked her style, and she brought up good points. But apparently, since I've never touched a guy before (and proud to be able to say that) it makes me naive, and unable to state an opinion on the matter. So I won't bore you with what I think. I'm sure you can guess it anyway.
The 2nd speaker was a Rabbi, Doron Kornbluth who wrote a book called, why marry Jewish, and speaks about intermarriage. Another sore topic. I have a cousin and an uncle who both intermarried, and my grandparents are quite proud of them. And what can you do about it? Nothing at all, except try to keep them close to the family.
If someone goes OTD (the 'hip' way for saying, off the derech, a commen trend these days) what do you say to them? Or do you say anything at all? Will they resent you for trying to convince them that they are wrong? Or are you the wrong one?
Faith is a very delicate matter. Either you believe, or you don't. It can't be taught, but it can be gained, or acquired.
I don't know why people make the decisions that they do. I can't fathom how a person who was brought up religious can suddenly turn their backs on it, and deny that G-d even exists. How do you go from one extreme to the other?
The saddest thing is, there is nothing you can do about it. A lot of them are bitter and don't want to listen at all, or don't care. Even if they do want to listen, how much of it actually helps?
It makes me sad, and yes, even a bit mad when I see someone denying G-d. Does that make me just like the Christians, who try to force people to take on their faith? Tell me, dear readers, does it make me naive to want to change something, to change someone?
Maybe it is a selfish reaction. Maybe I do have it all wrong. But maybe, just maybe, I know what I'm talking about, and I'm not as naive as so many make me out to be.
We had 2 speakers today. One was Gila Menolsen, I already wrote about her book on shomer negia. I will not repeat what she said, though I liked her style, and she brought up good points. But apparently, since I've never touched a guy before (and proud to be able to say that) it makes me naive, and unable to state an opinion on the matter. So I won't bore you with what I think. I'm sure you can guess it anyway.
The 2nd speaker was a Rabbi, Doron Kornbluth who wrote a book called, why marry Jewish, and speaks about intermarriage. Another sore topic. I have a cousin and an uncle who both intermarried, and my grandparents are quite proud of them. And what can you do about it? Nothing at all, except try to keep them close to the family.
If someone goes OTD (the 'hip' way for saying, off the derech, a commen trend these days) what do you say to them? Or do you say anything at all? Will they resent you for trying to convince them that they are wrong? Or are you the wrong one?
Faith is a very delicate matter. Either you believe, or you don't. It can't be taught, but it can be gained, or acquired.
I don't know why people make the decisions that they do. I can't fathom how a person who was brought up religious can suddenly turn their backs on it, and deny that G-d even exists. How do you go from one extreme to the other?
The saddest thing is, there is nothing you can do about it. A lot of them are bitter and don't want to listen at all, or don't care. Even if they do want to listen, how much of it actually helps?
It makes me sad, and yes, even a bit mad when I see someone denying G-d. Does that make me just like the Christians, who try to force people to take on their faith? Tell me, dear readers, does it make me naive to want to change something, to change someone?
Maybe it is a selfish reaction. Maybe I do have it all wrong. But maybe, just maybe, I know what I'm talking about, and I'm not as naive as so many make me out to be.
Noach and the flood
Yes, I know it's the wrong parsha. I just liked the title.
My apartment flooded last night. And who stayed up till 3 am sponga-ing it up? Moi. Well, technically I caused it, though the clogged drain is not my fault.
2 am, I waltzed into the shower. Peace at last, free bathroom, yay. Start shower. Literally, no more than 10 minutes. I have no guilty conscience. Step out of the shower, and lo and behold, I'm standing ankle deep in water. Funny, I thought I turned the shower off.
Whole apartment flooded, running around grabbing stuff off the floor, trying to salvage laundry and shoes. Ugh. Not fun. Since the bathroom sponga whole was clogged, had to move all the suitcases covering up the one in the kitchen, (don't know who stupidly covered the whole, it wasn't me). Found 5 dead cockerroaches, tried not to scream, swept them up, tried to get all the water from the bathroom, through the living room, all the way to the kitchen... disaster.
Called my mother almost crying, it was nice to hear, 'it's not your fault, go to sleep, they'll fix it in the morning'. Thanks Ma. But if I didn't clean it up I'd have quite a few pissed off apt mates. Which happened anyway, even though I stayed up all night mopping...
3 hours of sleep, today we had a trip to Ir Dovid (city of david). Tunnels, more water, like knee deep. Definitely some de ja vue moments. Was lots of fun.
Moral of the story: try not to clog the sponga whole, get more sleep, don't cover the 2nd whole with suitcases. Going home in less than a week. Thank G-d for normal American houses.
My apartment flooded last night. And who stayed up till 3 am sponga-ing it up? Moi. Well, technically I caused it, though the clogged drain is not my fault.
2 am, I waltzed into the shower. Peace at last, free bathroom, yay. Start shower. Literally, no more than 10 minutes. I have no guilty conscience. Step out of the shower, and lo and behold, I'm standing ankle deep in water. Funny, I thought I turned the shower off.
Whole apartment flooded, running around grabbing stuff off the floor, trying to salvage laundry and shoes. Ugh. Not fun. Since the bathroom sponga whole was clogged, had to move all the suitcases covering up the one in the kitchen, (don't know who stupidly covered the whole, it wasn't me). Found 5 dead cockerroaches, tried not to scream, swept them up, tried to get all the water from the bathroom, through the living room, all the way to the kitchen... disaster.
Called my mother almost crying, it was nice to hear, 'it's not your fault, go to sleep, they'll fix it in the morning'. Thanks Ma. But if I didn't clean it up I'd have quite a few pissed off apt mates. Which happened anyway, even though I stayed up all night mopping...
3 hours of sleep, today we had a trip to Ir Dovid (city of david). Tunnels, more water, like knee deep. Definitely some de ja vue moments. Was lots of fun.
Moral of the story: try not to clog the sponga whole, get more sleep, don't cover the 2nd whole with suitcases. Going home in less than a week. Thank G-d for normal American houses.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Stop complaining!!!
There was once a group of girls, about 40 of them. Now these girls had a problem. It was quite a big problem, if I do say so myself. As for the solution- there either was none, or no one could find it. What was their problem, you ask? Aaaah, well, these 40 girls loved to complain.
They didn't just complain once in a while. They didn't just complain when it was warranted. They complained ALL OF THE TIME! Now you get my drift? It was quite annoying to listen to.
They complained about going to class, and about the food they got for supper. They complained about people staying in their apartments, they complained about what time they had to come back after shabbos. In short, thats all they loved to do, all the time.
What to do? Ear plugs? Risk telling them to shut up and grow up, and get evil glares for saying it?
This is not to say that I don't ever complain. But in my humble opinion, I complain about things of much greater importance.
Thank G-d it's all over next week.
Tznius over the internet?
We are learning the laws of yichud. Interestingly enough, there is a law against yichud on the internet. Here's the link www.sichosinenglish.org/books/the-laws-of-yichud/13.htm
The Internet
279. Leading halachic authorities have strongly suggested that one should keep the laws of Yichud when online. Their opinion is that one should only go online in the presence of a shomer or when there is a Pesach Posuach, in which case someone could enter at any moment. The presence of a shomer or having a Pesach Posuach will prevent a person from downloading or viewing forbidden material or visiting a non-kosher website.[390]
I am not going to argue it, I don't question it, because it makes sense. With all the chat sites, porn, and lots of other narishkeit out there these days, being cautious when online is a good thing, a protecting method. Even though many people have met their spouses through the internet, and who am I to judge, but to me it seems just like the relationship Dovid had with Batsheva. It was meant to be, yes, but it didn't have to happen that way. If you are meant to be with that person, than G-d will make it happen. And why would you want the relationship to be tainted, or on a lower level, because it came about in such a way?
I always try not to be hypocritical. And yes, by talking about this, I am being hypocritical. That's not to say that I DO anything, and this is not confession, and you are not my priest, but I know I am not perfect in this department. So why am I talking about this now? Because I think it's something to think about.
The Internet
279. Leading halachic authorities have strongly suggested that one should keep the laws of Yichud when online. Their opinion is that one should only go online in the presence of a shomer or when there is a Pesach Posuach, in which case someone could enter at any moment. The presence of a shomer or having a Pesach Posuach will prevent a person from downloading or viewing forbidden material or visiting a non-kosher website.[390]
I am not going to argue it, I don't question it, because it makes sense. With all the chat sites, porn, and lots of other narishkeit out there these days, being cautious when online is a good thing, a protecting method. Even though many people have met their spouses through the internet, and who am I to judge, but to me it seems just like the relationship Dovid had with Batsheva. It was meant to be, yes, but it didn't have to happen that way. If you are meant to be with that person, than G-d will make it happen. And why would you want the relationship to be tainted, or on a lower level, because it came about in such a way?
I always try not to be hypocritical. And yes, by talking about this, I am being hypocritical. That's not to say that I DO anything, and this is not confession, and you are not my priest, but I know I am not perfect in this department. So why am I talking about this now? Because I think it's something to think about.
Dare I say it?
I'm going to dare, and if y'all try to throw stuff at me through your computer screens, you'll only hurt yourself. And I'll be sitting there going, nanannana.
On our tour in Chevron, (check out last post) as we were passing by all the arabs, I said 'I feel bad for them'. That earned me evil glares from my friends, and others who heard what I said, and a friendly slap from my friend. (Though that is an oxymoron, since when is a slap friendly.)
Let me clarify: if you were ever mugged, or beaten, lets say, by a black guy, or had your bike stolen (a major occurrence in the heights) then you will obviously feel resentment, even anger, towards blacks in general. But if you were honest with yourself, you will be able to separate your feelings and say, I have reason to hate or resent THIS one, but that is not a reason to hate all blacks. And I, for one, am not racist.
Now I understand what my teacher meant when he said that he loves all arabs. I can not make that statement myself, but I can say that I don't hate ALL of them. I hate the terrorists, I hate what they do to us, I hate the fact that they hate us and want us dead. I hate the evil in them, and the fact that they let the evil rule them. I hate that they brainwash their children to hate us too.
But I feel bad for some of them. The ones that are decent. The children, who have potential, and no real choice. As a human being, I look at them, and think what a pity it is that we can't all live in peace and harmony, that there must be constant fighting. I look at the children, and wonder, why can't I think, awww how sweet, that kid is so cute. Why must it be so complicated, why must there be issues?
I feel bad that they live in poverty. I feel bad for the women who are ruled by their husbands. We passed by a shop, and I'm pretty sure they were sitting inside doing drugs. At least thats what all the guys in our group said they were doing. Though I don't know how they would know it was drugs... But I thought it was incredibly rude how some people in our group just stood there, staring through the window at them, until a soldier came and closed the shutters. They may be 'bad', but they are still people, and in my opinion, manners are manners wherever you are. It is rude to stare.
I'm not stupid. I know that in general, arabs are taught to hate Jews, and some don't even have to be taught, they have it built in. I know that given the chance, some of them would take guns, and shoot us in a second, or find some other interesting way to kill us. But I won't generalize and say that ALL of them hate us. Just like I won't say that all blacks are bad. And in a democratic state, I know I have the right to say my opinion, and feel the way I do, and not worry about the strange glances I will receive from people around me.
I was holding a bottle of water, which was becoming a burden anyway, and I was getting tired of lugging it around. A cute arab boy walked up to me, speaking in arabic, pointing to the bottle. I asked him in hebrew if he wanted it. He understood my gestures, and nodded his head yes. So I gave it to him. I didn't need it anyway, and he looked so happy as he walked away, and poured it in the dirt, and played with it. My friend jokingly said, now they'll use it to make a bomb. I didn't find it funny.
Everyone is entitled to an opinion. If you think differently than I do, that's fine. I don't feel like being stoned just because I think and feel the way I do. And in my opinion, some people say things out of hatred, stupidity, or just because everyone else says it. Those are not reasons to form an opinion. But that is just my opinion.
On our tour in Chevron, (check out last post) as we were passing by all the arabs, I said 'I feel bad for them'. That earned me evil glares from my friends, and others who heard what I said, and a friendly slap from my friend. (Though that is an oxymoron, since when is a slap friendly.)
Let me clarify: if you were ever mugged, or beaten, lets say, by a black guy, or had your bike stolen (a major occurrence in the heights) then you will obviously feel resentment, even anger, towards blacks in general. But if you were honest with yourself, you will be able to separate your feelings and say, I have reason to hate or resent THIS one, but that is not a reason to hate all blacks. And I, for one, am not racist.
Now I understand what my teacher meant when he said that he loves all arabs. I can not make that statement myself, but I can say that I don't hate ALL of them. I hate the terrorists, I hate what they do to us, I hate the fact that they hate us and want us dead. I hate the evil in them, and the fact that they let the evil rule them. I hate that they brainwash their children to hate us too.
But I feel bad for some of them. The ones that are decent. The children, who have potential, and no real choice. As a human being, I look at them, and think what a pity it is that we can't all live in peace and harmony, that there must be constant fighting. I look at the children, and wonder, why can't I think, awww how sweet, that kid is so cute. Why must it be so complicated, why must there be issues?
I feel bad that they live in poverty. I feel bad for the women who are ruled by their husbands. We passed by a shop, and I'm pretty sure they were sitting inside doing drugs. At least thats what all the guys in our group said they were doing. Though I don't know how they would know it was drugs... But I thought it was incredibly rude how some people in our group just stood there, staring through the window at them, until a soldier came and closed the shutters. They may be 'bad', but they are still people, and in my opinion, manners are manners wherever you are. It is rude to stare.
I'm not stupid. I know that in general, arabs are taught to hate Jews, and some don't even have to be taught, they have it built in. I know that given the chance, some of them would take guns, and shoot us in a second, or find some other interesting way to kill us. But I won't generalize and say that ALL of them hate us. Just like I won't say that all blacks are bad. And in a democratic state, I know I have the right to say my opinion, and feel the way I do, and not worry about the strange glances I will receive from people around me.
I was holding a bottle of water, which was becoming a burden anyway, and I was getting tired of lugging it around. A cute arab boy walked up to me, speaking in arabic, pointing to the bottle. I asked him in hebrew if he wanted it. He understood my gestures, and nodded his head yes. So I gave it to him. I didn't need it anyway, and he looked so happy as he walked away, and poured it in the dirt, and played with it. My friend jokingly said, now they'll use it to make a bomb. I didn't find it funny.
Everyone is entitled to an opinion. If you think differently than I do, that's fine. I don't feel like being stoned just because I think and feel the way I do. And in my opinion, some people say things out of hatred, stupidity, or just because everyone else says it. Those are not reasons to form an opinion. But that is just my opinion.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Shabbos in Chevron
Is it too late to write about Shabbos if it is already Monday? Maybe not, since you are allowed to say Havdala until Tuesday.
I was in Chevron for Shabbos. I can hear all your minds turning, and for the girls out there, who've been to Chevron for a Shabbos, I can hear you thinking, 'met any cute soldiers?' Nope. I haven't met any. Said hi to some, good shabbos, talked to them, put a smile on their faces, yes. T-shirts, numbers, dog tags, souvenirs, no. There' s a difference.
I find it a little sad that anyone who heard I was going to Chevron for shabbos said to me, 'have fun with the soldiers!' And I thought, why would I? I'm going to have a nice shabbos. They are just doing their job. Why would I hang out with them, why would I go to Chevron for the soldiers?
When I came there, I realized what they were talking about. The place was full of soldiers, all over the place, guarding every corner, street, and doorway. It is necessary, because Chevron is not safe, with the arabs lurking around, waiting to pounce. These soldiers were there to protect. They were doing their job. But there were so many of them, and they were friendly, wanting to talk to us.
I had an amazing Shabbos. the best part was Friday night, davening kabalas shabbos by mearas hamachpela. It was awesome, so many different tunes, that I never heard before. So many different kinds of people, singing together, dancing, putting their heart and soul into the prayers. I enjoyed it immensely.
We also had an organized tour Shabbos afternoon, of the arab quarters, that was the original city of Chevron, before it was moved. We saw doorways that had the imprint of mezuzas on them, and magen dovids carved into the wall. There were soldiers standing with guns, aimed at the many arabs who stood there, staring at us with beady eyes. I can only imagine what thought were going through their heads.
We spoke to the soldiers. Kept them awake when they were bored on the job. One of them laughed so hard when I was rattling off in English, and he didn't understand a word I said. But the main thing I realized is, they are people, just like us. Many of them are 19, like me. And they stand there in bulletproof vests, with guns in their hands, protecting their people, and their land, while I am touring, having a good time, free to do what I want. It is something I can't fathom. Many of them asked me if I would make aliya, and go into the army. I said no, I don't think I'd be able to do it.
I can only hope that I made their job a little easier this shabbos, and put a smile on their faces. I took a picture with a gun after shabbos, got a bullet just cuz i find it cool, wished them all well, and left.
Taking down numbers, giving them mine, asking them to give me their t-shirt off their backs, these are things I don't think I'd ever do, though I've seen it been done by other girls. I asked a soldier if it bothers him that some of these girls just see a cute face in uniform, and not a person. They don't seem to care. Maybe I make a bigger deal out of it, or maybe I gave him something to think about.
That was my shabbos in Chevron.
I was in Chevron for Shabbos. I can hear all your minds turning, and for the girls out there, who've been to Chevron for a Shabbos, I can hear you thinking, 'met any cute soldiers?' Nope. I haven't met any. Said hi to some, good shabbos, talked to them, put a smile on their faces, yes. T-shirts, numbers, dog tags, souvenirs, no. There' s a difference.
I find it a little sad that anyone who heard I was going to Chevron for shabbos said to me, 'have fun with the soldiers!' And I thought, why would I? I'm going to have a nice shabbos. They are just doing their job. Why would I hang out with them, why would I go to Chevron for the soldiers?
When I came there, I realized what they were talking about. The place was full of soldiers, all over the place, guarding every corner, street, and doorway. It is necessary, because Chevron is not safe, with the arabs lurking around, waiting to pounce. These soldiers were there to protect. They were doing their job. But there were so many of them, and they were friendly, wanting to talk to us.
I had an amazing Shabbos. the best part was Friday night, davening kabalas shabbos by mearas hamachpela. It was awesome, so many different tunes, that I never heard before. So many different kinds of people, singing together, dancing, putting their heart and soul into the prayers. I enjoyed it immensely.
We also had an organized tour Shabbos afternoon, of the arab quarters, that was the original city of Chevron, before it was moved. We saw doorways that had the imprint of mezuzas on them, and magen dovids carved into the wall. There were soldiers standing with guns, aimed at the many arabs who stood there, staring at us with beady eyes. I can only imagine what thought were going through their heads.
We spoke to the soldiers. Kept them awake when they were bored on the job. One of them laughed so hard when I was rattling off in English, and he didn't understand a word I said. But the main thing I realized is, they are people, just like us. Many of them are 19, like me. And they stand there in bulletproof vests, with guns in their hands, protecting their people, and their land, while I am touring, having a good time, free to do what I want. It is something I can't fathom. Many of them asked me if I would make aliya, and go into the army. I said no, I don't think I'd be able to do it.
I can only hope that I made their job a little easier this shabbos, and put a smile on their faces. I took a picture with a gun after shabbos, got a bullet just cuz i find it cool, wished them all well, and left.
Taking down numbers, giving them mine, asking them to give me their t-shirt off their backs, these are things I don't think I'd ever do, though I've seen it been done by other girls. I asked a soldier if it bothers him that some of these girls just see a cute face in uniform, and not a person. They don't seem to care. Maybe I make a bigger deal out of it, or maybe I gave him something to think about.
That was my shabbos in Chevron.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
What if that were me?
I saw a friend of mine that I haven't seen in a few years. We were never really friends, more like aquantences. When I saw her, she looked like every other non religious girl walking down the street. Leggings, short sleeved t-shirt, flip flops. All traces that this girl had once been frum, had been in school with me through elementary school, were gone, without a trace. It was as if that other girl disappeared, leaving this new one in her place.
It was a little frightening, really. I mean, I treated her the same. Smiled, asked her about her life, told her how mine was doing. And there were no bad feelings. After all, this was her choice in life, and who am I to question it, or scorn her. But then it hit me: what if that were me?
The only difference between us is choice. I chose one path, and she chose another, very different one. I choose to follow rules that G-d set before us, and she ignores them. What if it were the other way around? What if I completely lost my sensitivity, and just dropped it all, like that?
I tried to see myself a few years down the line, in jeans and a t-shirt, mini skirt, flip flops. Doing whatever I wanted, mocking G-d, or worse, not caring at all. I don't think I can do it.
I know that 'fraying' out isn't 'doing it'. In fact, you don't have to 'do' anything. You just have to not do. And it can't be easy, at first. I imagine there being guilt, and remorse, until it gets easier and easier, and you banish your conscience altogether.
I know I may not do the mitzvos behidur, or keep all the things I should. I know that when they preach about tznius, they are talking to me, as much as to the next girl. I know I lost some sensitivity towards skirt length, elbows, the whole shebang. It is very easy to neglect, to excuse behavior. But to go all the way, to deny G-d and His commandments- don't think I could do it.
The scary part is, you don't have to do anything. And there is a very fine line that stands between right, and wrong. How do I know that I won't inadvertantly cross that line?
It was a little frightening, really. I mean, I treated her the same. Smiled, asked her about her life, told her how mine was doing. And there were no bad feelings. After all, this was her choice in life, and who am I to question it, or scorn her. But then it hit me: what if that were me?
The only difference between us is choice. I chose one path, and she chose another, very different one. I choose to follow rules that G-d set before us, and she ignores them. What if it were the other way around? What if I completely lost my sensitivity, and just dropped it all, like that?
I tried to see myself a few years down the line, in jeans and a t-shirt, mini skirt, flip flops. Doing whatever I wanted, mocking G-d, or worse, not caring at all. I don't think I can do it.
I know that 'fraying' out isn't 'doing it'. In fact, you don't have to 'do' anything. You just have to not do. And it can't be easy, at first. I imagine there being guilt, and remorse, until it gets easier and easier, and you banish your conscience altogether.
I know I may not do the mitzvos behidur, or keep all the things I should. I know that when they preach about tznius, they are talking to me, as much as to the next girl. I know I lost some sensitivity towards skirt length, elbows, the whole shebang. It is very easy to neglect, to excuse behavior. But to go all the way, to deny G-d and His commandments- don't think I could do it.
The scary part is, you don't have to do anything. And there is a very fine line that stands between right, and wrong. How do I know that I won't inadvertantly cross that line?
A poem
A friend sent this to me, and since I love poetry, I couldn't resist. Enjoy it.We all want happiness and dread the thought of rain.
When the sun fails to shine, we worry and complain.
We forget that God above is infinitely wise,
and sometimes our ails are blessings in disguise.
For if we're always happy, filled with sunshine and cheer,
our hearts would hold no mercy for others who shed tears.
So when trouble comes knocking, remember to stay strong.
Rainbows always follow the storm and dark clouds never stay long.
Mopeds and bikes- Israel vs Americans
This is the definition of a moped. It is like a motercycle, but not quite. Why am I bringing this up now? Because just like cats, Israel is full of them. One of my goals this year was to get a ride on one. Unfortunatly, I have less than 2 weeks to accomplish this goal, and no, it hasn't happened yet.
I found it so funny whenever I saw teenagers, and even people in their 20's, riding bicycles in the streets, to school, and work. It is a form of transportation here in Israel, just like a rickshaw is in Asia. And they have no problem with it. In America, the average teen has a car when they get their license, at the age of 16. But here, it's a new shiny bike, or if they are lucky, a moped, or motercycle.
Imagine this scenario: 'Daddy, I want a caaaaaar!!! And it has to be red and shiny, just like all my friends. No, I can't drive to school in that old, beat up pick-up. Just imagine the embarrasment I would suffer. Like, I would like be an outcast. They would never talk to me again, I wouldn't get a date for the prom... (Sob sob.) Now the Daddy 'totally absolutly' must buy her a car, or she would like diiiiiiie! Oh, the money it would cost.
Now imagine if you substitute car with bike. Ha. Ha ha haha. Ya, I can see it now. 'Daddy, buy me a biiiiiike!!!! And it must have a basket on the back, and pink sparkly flowers, and streamers! I neeeeeed one!'
Ok, I know I'm exagerating, but that's how I imagine it. I think American teens can take a lesson from Israeli's. Yes, I'm making a generalization, but it seems to be true. Yes, most Israelis mature sooner than the average American teenager. They are forced to grow up quickly, having to go into the army at the tender age of 18. (I'm older, and still feel like a child sometimes.)
Back to mopeds. Another thing I find interesting. Here in Israel, it's more accepted for a religious teenager to have a motercycle, than in the states. In America, it is considered 'frayish', out there, daring. You are looked as a 'bad boy' if you have one. Plus, it's expensive. Not that it's cheap here, but cheaper.
I was in Bnei Brak, an ultra chassidish neighborhood, and I saw boys, with long coats, tzitzis, and peyos flying, riding those things. It was definitely a sight to remember. It's normal here. I think it's sort of like smoking. Thats also more accepted here then in America, though it shouldn't be.
It took me this long, but I am finally coming to terms with the differences between Americans, and Israelis. And I'm realizing that they are not so bad, and are in fact, quite good. I am planning on getting to that, when I have time. A post about the pros and cons of Israelis.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
אשרכם ישראל- How lucky I am to be a Jew
You get this feeling sometimes. Maybe it just hits you out of the blue, or it comes from some specific incident that happened.
I felt it today, in the strangest of places. While watching an Arabic soap opera. Where, why, how would I be watching an arab show? Doesn't matter. (Or as my friend so bluntly puts it, 'now your business!')
In the space of 10 minutes, a girl, on her wedding day, was bought by another man, married to him, beaten, then she tried to hang herself, with the same belt that beat her. And they stopped her from killing herself, so they could beat her more later on. Ironic. Another girl was slapped in the face. They cowerd when a guy walks into the room. They cringe, because they are so used to the beatings.
Why would anyone in their right minds want to watch such a show? Beats me. (No pun intended.)
All I thought was, ugh. If you need a reason to hate arabs, do it for this reason. Treating a wife like a possesion, is no way to treat a lady.
Thank you G-d, that I am Jewish, and American.
I felt it today, in the strangest of places. While watching an Arabic soap opera. Where, why, how would I be watching an arab show? Doesn't matter. (Or as my friend so bluntly puts it, 'now your business!')
In the space of 10 minutes, a girl, on her wedding day, was bought by another man, married to him, beaten, then she tried to hang herself, with the same belt that beat her. And they stopped her from killing herself, so they could beat her more later on. Ironic. Another girl was slapped in the face. They cowerd when a guy walks into the room. They cringe, because they are so used to the beatings.
Why would anyone in their right minds want to watch such a show? Beats me. (No pun intended.)
All I thought was, ugh. If you need a reason to hate arabs, do it for this reason. Treating a wife like a possesion, is no way to treat a lady.
Thank you G-d, that I am Jewish, and American.
Fraud...or GIT (girl in training)
I felt like a faker today. I got up in front of my class, 40 girls, and spoke about the topic of reading non Jewish books, why you shouldn't read them, and how they affect you.
Truthfully, I didn't choose this topic. We were each given a topic to prepare, and had to speak about it. But did I have any right to get up there and say what I did, when I myself read non Jewish books? (Though trying to change that.)
You can believe what you want. If you think it's fine to read that stuff, then go ahead. I have a conscience, and it tells me not to. But I do it anyway.
This reminds me of the story, about the chossid that wears street clothes when he works, but when he goes to the Rebbe, he changes to chassidic garb. After awhile, he feels like a faker, so he goes to the Rebbe in street clothes. And the Rebbe said, I thought you were trying to fool the world, by wearing the street clothes, because in essence, you are a chossid. But now I see that you are trying to fool me.
Does that means that if I wear tights or stockings, when I'd really rather wear short skirts and bare legs, I am faking? That I am lying to myself?
I have no idea. I hope that I had an impact on someone today, and yes I feel kind of bad that I don't practice what I preach. Maybe I'll try.
Check this out: it was part of my presentation, and a very nice video. (It's not shtus.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGmWlHfL9aY&eurl=http://www.crownheights.info/
Truthfully, I didn't choose this topic. We were each given a topic to prepare, and had to speak about it. But did I have any right to get up there and say what I did, when I myself read non Jewish books? (Though trying to change that.)
You can believe what you want. If you think it's fine to read that stuff, then go ahead. I have a conscience, and it tells me not to. But I do it anyway.
This reminds me of the story, about the chossid that wears street clothes when he works, but when he goes to the Rebbe, he changes to chassidic garb. After awhile, he feels like a faker, so he goes to the Rebbe in street clothes. And the Rebbe said, I thought you were trying to fool the world, by wearing the street clothes, because in essence, you are a chossid. But now I see that you are trying to fool me.
Does that means that if I wear tights or stockings, when I'd really rather wear short skirts and bare legs, I am faking? That I am lying to myself?
I have no idea. I hope that I had an impact on someone today, and yes I feel kind of bad that I don't practice what I preach. Maybe I'll try.
Check this out: it was part of my presentation, and a very nice video. (It's not shtus.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGmWlHfL9aY&eurl=http://www.crownheights.info/
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
What to say...
I feel like a floater. Lol. I just looked up the definition of a floater, and this is what it says.
1. One that floats or is capable of floating.
2. One who wanders; a drifter.
3. Informal. a person who is continually changing his or her place of abode, employment, etc.
Yup, sounds like me. This one, not so much: 4. Australian. a meat pie served in a plate of gravy or pea soup.
Nope. Never felt the urge to be an Australian meatpie.
Walking through the park today, I felt so out of place. There were the kids, of course. So cute, with pudgy hands and cheeks. On the swings, and slides. Falling down, and laughing, and clapping.
There were the old people, sitting on benches, reading, enjoying the sun.
And then there was me, strolling along. No longer a teen ager, not yet an adult, I don't think I fit into any category. Hmmmm..
We have exams now. I don't feel bad saying that I'm not studying for them. (Ok, I feel a little bad, but I don't think I'll do anything about it.) Seriously, what can you do with a seminary diploma?
Inspiration. Something I don't have right now. Contimplation. 2 more weeks in Israel. Procrastination. Summer schedules to plan... Three excellent English words. If you are bored, look them up in the dictionary.
Job for next year. Decision making. I hate making decisions. Plus, you have to have options first in order to decide. Anyone know of any jobs?
On a brighter note: I made soup today. Yes, I know it's hot out, and soup is for winter. But when you are bored and have nothing better to do, (and learning sichos isn't exactly what I would call 'fun') then you go to the supermarket, buy some veggies, some peas, and barley, cook it up in a pot, and voila! Not only do you have a scrumptios supper, you also just killed a few hours of time. And now I have something to blog about.... cuz unlike TRS, (I hope I get commission for linking to your blog...) I can't pull up some old dvar Torah that I posted long ago, when I have nothing to write, cuz sadly, I never posted dvar Torahs, and I don't even have that many old posts to rerun.
On another note: for my b-day I took on the hachlata to say sefer hamitzvos. No, not Rambam, not shalosh perakim layom, or even perek echad layim, but sefer hamitzvos, the 'girly' version. (If you feel up to doing more, then go ahead, but as a girl I am thankful that we have less to say.)
And would you believe that the day I took it on, I opened up the dvar malchus, and....yup, for those who recall, it was like 7-10 pages long!!!! I laughed, and said, thanks, G-d. The jokes on me. Then I said it anyway.
Today I REALLY didn't want to say sefer hamitzvos. It's not too long, like a page and a half, but you know, tired, lazy. But I made the hachlata, so I decided to keep it. Yes, dear readers, I said my sefer hamitzvos today. I should get a ribbon. (Did you say it? If not, GET OFF THE COMPUTER AND GO SAY IT!) Now, does anyone know the reason why we say it altogether? I'd be interested in knowing.
I'm going to Chevron for shabbos. You should be happy for me, not jealous. Don't worry, I'll have all of you in mind.
Now I can succesfully say that I wrote a post about absolutyly nothing. Something I despise. Oh well. Happy reading!
And for those of you who are online, bored, and have no life (most of you out there. No offense, I would be too if I wasn't in sem, and didn't have restraints about the computer) check out this video: it makes me laugh every time. But beware, it might be what you call 'shtus'.
Yay! Another post. I'm trying to get to 100 before I leave Israel, think I'm only up to 87. Give me some ideas...
p.s. the cat, just found it cute. And for those that know, Israel is swamped with cats. I pass tons every day on my way to school. They stare at me with their beady eyes. And I stare right back, and say, didn't yo mama teach you not to stare? (Ya, I talk to cats.)
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