Why?

If your own life is so miserable that you see no way out, if you are so depressed that there seems to be no other solution, if no one understands you, and you are locked in a prison of misery and pain, then go ahead, and take the easy way out. Pick up the gun and shoot yourself. That is your own choice to make, though it is a stupid and cowardly one. But of course, no one said we must do the right and honorary thing in this world.

But to take someone else's life as well- that is just plain selfish. Who gave you the right to kill? To murder innocent children, teachers, students? Who told you that it is ok, in your anger, to pick up a gun and shoot, to run and hunt, to search until there is no one left but you? And in the end, you finish your own life too. So why? Why must you be so selfish?

Let them live. What have they done to you? Looked at you in the wrong way? Sneered when you walked by? Or worse, looked through you as if you were not there at all. No one likes to be ignored, least of all you. It hurts, yes. And you have this need for revenge. For that ultimately satisfying feeling of making someone else share your pain. You do not want to be alone in your suffering. So you force others to feel it too. To hurt so bad that they have blood pouring out of them. To kneel on the floor in excruciating pain, till the life drains out of them. And that makes you feel better?? To watch someone else suffer, as you have?

For you it is already too late. If you do not want to get help, to stretch out a hand and let someone know that you are in pain, then that is your decision. You must account for your own actions, and no one can help you but yourself.

But to take someone else's life too- who gave you that right??

As Sundays go

I find it funny, and slightly annoying, how there are more Crown Heightsers here than there are in Crown Heights. And here I thought I was gonna get away from them for the summer. But no, apparently they followed me.

So camps over. The Rabbi gave me a bracha to be married by next summer (amen) and I said maybe I'll bring my husband back and we will do camp together.

For those of you who know what Munchies is (the ice cream store here in LA, on Pico, which incidentally is also a major hang out for guys and girls) I went there last night, and asked the owner for the 2nd time if I could work there. He said no. Again. I told him I'm free now that camp is over. He told me to get married. I pointed to all the guys in the store, and asked him which one to choose. He said he doesn't get involved in that stuff, and if I wanted to screw up my life, then I could go ahead. I told him I'm smarter than that.

Then I asked him if I could have a cool Munchies t-shirt (they are orange, the coolest color) he said no. Again. What is with grumpy owners and saying no? And they won't give you free stuff either. Go figure.

The place is slowly emptying out. Going home tomorrow. I'm sure California will miss me.

That's it. It's all over.

The end.

Homeward bound

So that's it. I lasted 6 weeks. Tomorrow shall be the last day of camp! And then I'm going home.

People keep asking me, are you sad that camp is over. Am I a horrible person that I answer, no, I'm actually happy I'm done? I'll miss the campers, yes. I'll miss the experience. I will be sad it's over once I'm home, and it has hit me that another summer is over and done with, that this is probably the last time I will be doing camp, that I don't have a job for next year, that I miss my friends, etc. etc. etc.

The good part is, I don't have to work anymore, at least for the rest of the summer. It was a good experience, sure, but it was a lot of work, and very stressful at times. And I'm gonna be home. But guess what folks? I'm not even sure where that is anymore!

Mama wants to move to Monsey. In a few short months, I could be rudely stripped of that title I hate, the one where everyone calls me a Crown Heightser. Nay, for a Crown Heightser I am not, nor have I ever been one. And now, I shall no longer live there. If Mama has her way. I'll have a new title.

So goodbye dear friends. It was nice knowing you. I guess it's a good thing my blog was never called, 'blogging from Crown Heights, Kan Tziva Hashem es HaBracha'.

Still being written

You think you are finished with all of that. Petty fights? Who has time for it? Tears, emotions, all those things you think you have left behind in your youth.

But apparently, there is always room for that. A child shall forever remain a child, just as a parent will always be a parent.

Each day is a new page, each fight is a new draft. You can tear it out, rip it up, throw it all away- but you can never get rid of it.

If life is a story- then mine is still being written.

Footsteps in the sand

There were so many of them, these little imprints in the sand. Big, and small, and of medium variety. I could not tell from which persons they came. I had no idea who was here before me, who ruined the beautiful smoothness of the sand, before I had the chance to make my own imprints.

Then I saw it. A wave. Stormy, and rolling, and crashing, and moving. And it came closer, and closer, as I just stood there, not wanting to move, hoping, just hoping, that it wouldn't touch me. But it came to me anyway, and it rolled over my feet, up my legs, even drenched my skirt. And then it receded, went back where it came from.

And in it's wake, the sand was now smooth again. There was nothing to show from before. I took my first few steps, and there was only me, as if there had never been anyone else. As if I was the first.

Because the slate is always wiped clean. You always have a fresh start, to make your own impact. And after you, it will be clean once again.

Be you

I feel like a stalker, but what am I doing wrong? Is it a crime to look through a window?

The cars are passing by, in a blur, and I stare, as one by one, a piece of someones life is merging with mine. For a second, a minute. I will never know who they are, what their name is, or anything about them. I may know what kind of car they drive. That says a lot about a person. It can tell me whether they are rich, or poor. Flashy, or conservative. Or, it may not tell me anything at all.

I may know what kind of dog they have. Or what they chose to wear today. I can tell stuff about a person by what they are carrying. A purse, or shopping bag. I can tell which store it is from.

But then again, I don't know much about them at all.

And I sit, and watch, as they pass by, one by one. And I wonder what it would be like if that were me, driving that flashy sports car, or walking that pretty dog. If I was the one walking with friends, laughing, and licking ice cream cones. My mind wanders, and wounds, making up stories of people, and places.

And then I return to this room, and my reality. I am me again. And that's just fine.

My happily ever after

I don't know. And still I don't know.

And you ask me if I know, and the answer is, no. Cuz how can I decide, really?

Decisions, they bother me. I can't decide. This way, or that. Who knows. Who cares? Will it really matter in the end?

'In the end, everything will be alright. If it's not alright, it's not the end.'

Really. And are things ever really right? Is it ever the end?

When do we get to close the book, after the final chapter, and say, 'and they lived happily ever after. The End.'

Is there really a happily ever after? Or is it all just a fluke?

Where did you come from?

Where do you come from? Where are you headed? How did you get here?

Do you have any memories at all? Do you remember being in a pink bundle, or maybe blue? Do you recall strong arms holding you, loving you, caring for you? Do you remember the scent of your mother's favorite shampoo, the way her hair smelled when she kissed you good night? Do you remember her soft voice as she sang to you a lullaby, and rocked you gently to sleep?

Can you taste the cherry flavored lolly pop that you sucked, while riding your bike? Can you still see the shiny red paint of your first one, with training wheels? Does it still hurt where you fell, and skinned your knee time and time again?

If you close your eyes, do you still see your favorite book in front of you? Can you recite it word for word, as you did back then? Do you still laugh, when you remember the words to your favorite TV show? And when you see snow flakes, do you still smile, and recall the snowmen you used to build, and the snow ball fights you had?

Do you remember squabbling with siblings, fighting over toys? Can you feel the soft fleece of your favorite blanky, which you dragged with you everywhere? Does your belly still ache from all the cookies you ate, which Mama warned you about? Can you still hear her voice echoing, as she called you in for supper, after a long day playing outside?

Or have you since forgotten it all. Has the cold become too bitter, and the heat, unbearable, that you forget from where you came. Do you wake up every day, in this hell hole, and feel like you just appeared there? With no past at all? Are your memories long gone, replaced with bitter ones of your new reality? Or worse, do you have no memories at all?

Were you born here? Did you never even get a chance? Did your belly never know fullness? Were your lips never touched by a smile, and your heart, never lifted in happiness? Did you never know the feel of a loving embrace? Did you ever sleep in one place for more than a night at a time? When you feel the cold snow flakes on your skin, does it only bring to mind winter, cold, and the need to seek cover? When you walk barefoot in the summer grass, does it remind you that you have no shoes?

Do you have any happy memories at all?

Where did you come from? Where are you headed? How did you get here? Do you even know the answers?

A bissel Dvar Torah

New Blog in the house! Check it out here http://yeshiva-togo.blogspot.com/

And now for the dvar torah...
(From Rabbi Akiva Wagner)

The following true story is related about more than one chosid, with minor variations, this is what I remember (additional details welcome:)

The three Chassidim were traveling together, pursuing an urgent matter of askonus haklal. One of them was the celebrated chossid R’ Itche der masmid, who was renown for his refinement.

During there travels, they had to meet in a hotel. In this hotel, one wall of the lobby was adorned with a large and beautiful floor to ceiling mirror. In the middle of their meeting, R’ Itche suddenly jumped up, and ran towards the mirror. Then, as he was about to reach it, he – just as abruptly – turned around, and returned abashedly to his place.

When his colleagues asked him for an explanation, R’ Itche, who had never had reason or inclination to observe his own reflection, and thus had no way of knowing what he looked like, clarified as follows: “Ich hob gezehn a Yid mit a hadras ponim, bin ich gleich tzugegangen geben em sholom: [I saw a dignified-looking Jew, so I immediately went to greet him].

The fact of the matter is, in most cases, the biggest obstacle to our own self-betterment is our self-doubt. Many of us will say or think:

‘Of course it would be wonderful to be a chassidisher Yid; I admire them and I respect them, but it’s not gonna happen anyways. I’m just not cut out for it. I’m a lost case, I’ll never know how to learn, I’ll never be able to daven. It’s too late for me.
I can’t be a chassidisher Yid any more. I’m too much of a shin-vov-vov. I made as well at least enjoy olam hazeh (and not remain a “kireach mikan umikan)’
If we truly believed that we have the ability to achieve the same levels of davening and chassidishkeit as those who we look up to, then most of us would have no question about it being worth any amount of effort or sacrifice. But it seems unrealistic and out of reach.

[Once, during a meeting with parents, I had to defend the policy of the Yeshiva of limiting the opportunities the bochurim have to go home for Shabbos. I related the story with R’ Akiva, how after 12 years he didn’t even go into his house to greet his family, but returned for an additional 12 years. I observed, as the meforshim point out, that he not spent 24 uninterrupted years in Yeshiva, it would not have been the same experience, and the achievement would have been lost.

At this point, one mother stage-whispered to the mother sitting next to her: ‘If at least I could expect to see a R’ Akiva at the end, then the hardships would be easier to bear . . .’
It was a very revealing moment for me, and a very painful one. This mother had written off her child before even giving him a chance. She had already decided that he wouldn’t amount to anything special (whether it’s a R’ Akiva or R’ Itche der masmid or etc.),
and while she has to put him through the “system” of Yeshiva, there was no expected benefit from it that would justify giving up the opportunity to personally serve him cholent every Shabbos.

Unfortunately, this is the outlook of many bochurim as well. They perceive Yeshiva as the unavoidable part of the “system” that bridges that gap between cheder and when they can go on shlichus and actually do something constructive with their lives. If the bochur felt that through learning in Yeshiva he can become a genuine Tomim, just like all of the T’mimim that h read about or heard about, then he would view the time spent in Yeshiva as the most important investment he could ever make].

The Rebbe, year after year, emphasized and elaborated on the vort and moshol of the Bertichever that on Shabbos Chazon we are shown the 3rd Beis Hamikdosh. The Beis Hamikdosh (as mentioned earlier) is not merely a geographical location or a physical structure.The Beis Hamikdosh is the experience of perceiving G-dliness, The state of every individual’s Beis Hamikdosh being built is living a life of G-dliness, of holiness, of spirituality, of a genuine chossid.It’s the way every individual is meant to live.

But when we gaze at our reflection in the mirror, chances are that we see a churban. We see destruction and chaos, with no trace of the beauty and splendor and holiness that the Beis Hamikdosh represents to us.We see ourselves as being as distant as can be from a rebuilt beis HaMikdosh (as did R’ Itche der masmid as well, who complained the Rebbe Rashab about the fact that he has a guf megusham).
It appears out of reach, an unrealistic goal.But on Shabbos Chazon, the Eibishter shows us the 3rd Beis Hamikdash in all of its’ glory.This is surely true in a personal level as well. On Shabbos Chazon we look into the mirror, and we see a fdignified chossid gazing back at us. And we’re told: “this is you, the way you really are”.

It’s not ch”v out of reach. It’s there already, you can see it, you can almost touch it. And this vision convinces that it is practical and realistic, that it is worth putting in any necessary effort to rebuild and reveal our personal Beis haMikdosh. We can and we will change our lives, and increase our awareness of and connection to the Eibishter.
Any one of us strives for this and yearns for this. When we perceive that it’s within our reach, that is the best motivation to get back on track and redouble our efforts to realize it.
If Torah tells that on Shabbos Chazon we’re shown the Bais haMikdosh, then we can be certain that this is true. It is a time when we have the ability to see ourselves for who we really are.

But even when being shown something, it is up to us to decide whether to look at what we’re being shown, or ch”v look away. We have to take advantage of this opportunity of Shabbos Chazon to actually see and focus on the BHMK in its’ rebuilt state, both in the collective sense and in the personal sense.
And this will be sufficient motivation for us to do the last bit of work, to be able to actually see the BHMK in its’ physical and tangible state – MAMOSH!L’chaim! May we all take advantage of the vision of Shabbos Chazon to better our conduct, and may Hashem in turn provide with the true and ultimate showing of the 3rd BHMK, with the hisgalus of Moshiach Tzidkeinu TUMYM!!!

Hatzlocho Rabo!! Rabbi Akiva Wagner

A shout out to PETA!!

Can anyone say maggots?

Wait, here's a trick question. Let's see who can answer it: what happens when you neglect to take out the garbage for quite a few days? (I did not read this on the back of a laffy taffy wrapper, though we have plenty of those lying around.)

DING DING DING!!! That man with the funny nose has got it correct!! You get maggots! Tons of them! Creepy, crawly, blood sucking maggots! (Ok, the blood sucking part was added for effect, I believe they don't eat humans, but for all I care, they just might.)

Does Lysol kill them? Does deodorant kill them? Does ammonia kill them? NO! Cuz they are indestructible. Just a tip: after putting down ammonia, wait awhile before putting down anything else, unless you want an explosion.

So what do you do? You sweep them up, step on them, hear them crunch, as all the other girls cower in fear, staring from the window of their apartment. Chicken.

In other news- there's a flu going around camp, and apparently I caught it. What do you do? Nothing. Carry on with daily activities, as is expected of you. If campers comment on how sick you look? You force a smile and say, no, that's just an act.

4 words for y'all: Thank G-d For Shabbat!!!!!!!

The little (important) things

I recieved a candy gram at the carnival today. It said: "I love you Altie, so much! Love, Rivka."

This is from a camper, who's 6 years old. She is a difficult camper. i.e. she hardly ever listens, she does what she wants when she wants to, she doesnt join her bunk for line up, or any activity that she doesn't like. She complains every day about a 'stomach ache' when she doesn't want to participate. But when it comes to swimming, or a fun trip, she's instantly all better. Know who I'm talking about? I'm sure all counselors have encountered a camper like this at least once.

I had a camper like this last summer. He never listened. He made my day heck. And then at the end of the day, he's throw his small arms around me, and tell me he had a great day. And I would almost cry, at the irony of it.

It got me thinking. I can't remember most of my campers names from last summer. Their faces are blurry. I'm sure I have the pictures stored somewhere, if I bothered to look for them. But I don't bother. It was a good summer, you say goodbye, and it's over. I was never good with keeping in touch, and it's all the more harder when your camper is 6, and forgets who you are when you're not there.

So what have I really accomplished? After the summers over, and the kids are back in school, and the memories from summer slowly begin to fade, what will be left from this summer? I always wonder if they will remember my name next summer. If they will tell the new head counselor, 'Altie did it differently. We liked her way better.' Or will they tell her, 'You are so much prettier and nicer than our head counselor from last summer." (Like they told me.) Does it matter, though? I think not.

I don't care if they remember me, just like I won't necessarily remember them. Is that bad? No. Imagine if you went through life shlepping around all the contacts that you've ever met. That would be quite a load. So I try to keep up with the closest ones.

But that- 'I love you Altie." That will stay with me, long after this summer. Whether or not she'll remember me, it meant a lot to me to hear after a long day in camp. They will remember the important things, just like I will.

And thats what makes all the difference.

Chabad cars are just so... normal!

Ever saw a Chinese fire drill? The Nachman guys do it all the time. Us counselors tried it a few times too. It's fun. You stop at a traffic light, get out of the car, run around a few times, and jump back in. Voila! That's all there is too it. Fun, no?

How bout this? You drive to camp in the morning, all bleary eyed and half asleep, late getting into the car cuz people decide to make lunch in the morning instead of the night before. So the car stops. You are NOT at a traffic light, you are NOT at the side of the road. You are in the middle of the street, with traffic streaming by around you. Fun, no? NO! Car stalled again. Oh don't worry, we know what to do, we've done it many times before.

Jump out of the car, open the hood, press some thingamajigs (a real word!), get back into the car, and voila! Engine as good as new! And drive off, and hey, we are even at camp on time!! Just a typical day in Chabad. So... normal.

What do you do when the replacement van, which you got cuz the other car isn't working, stalls again and again? Well, you sit on the side of the road, awaiting help, trying to act like this is so normal. People stop and ask if you need help. Na, we're good, we know what we're doing.

Then you stand up and pray REAL hard. It's just so NORMAL. It's just so TYPICAL. But a little help is always welcome.

A trip down memory lane

I used to know the smell of markers very well. I used to try so hard to color in the lines. I used to love cutting and pasting, drawing, and stapling. And then I grew up. And I forgot.

Now I'm forced to remember. But it's one of those things you never actually forget. This week, so far, I've made a Rosh Hashana card, I drew a Chanuka Menorah, made a mask for purim, and an edible sukka with marsh mellow fluff, paper slippers for yom kippur.

As I lay on the floor, tongue between my teeth, concentrating very hard on my menorah, inhaling the fumes of a permanent marker, and getting on an accidental high, I realized I missed that part of being a kid. That simplicity. It was so much fun, just enjoying it again.

Make sure to do one thing every day that makes you happy. And if that means going to the park, and swinging on the swings, then do it. It's always good to revisit your childhood.

Redefining cool

A place is only as cool as the people in it. So if a cool person is in a place, then that place becomes cool. Or does it?

I used to see only cool places. Then I would get there and realize, the place was boring, I wasn't cool, and I was all alone.

Then I shlepped my friends with me. Now I'm in a really cool place, with super cool friends, and life is all good!

Shabbat Shalom!

Midnight Musings

You're walking somewhere, but you are not really going anywhere. Destination in mind? Sort of. Know it when I see it. But do I want to get there? Maybe. Not really. When you get to the end, you must question, is it really the end. And if it is, decision time. And if not, then you made a wrong turn somewhere along the way, and it's time to go back. But you can never really go back. Only forward. So you are stuck. Where to go. Who knows.

Mushrooms like rocket ships. So many hills, up and down. What goes up, must come down. What goes down, must come up. Or it can stay down. Interchangeable.

Twists and turns, backwards and forwards, left and right, all around, till you are dizzy. Till you are ready to drop. Till you are confused as to where you are going, and if you are actually going anywhere at all. Or just chasing your tail. Following a bubble, airless, and light.

Music blasting in your ears. Trying to drown out the sound. Ironic. The sound of the music is louder than the sound you are trying to block. Which makes the music sound on it's own. And what can drown out the music? And what can stop you from thinking so much?

The good news is, it all ends sometimes. The bad news? You don't know when. Or is that so bad. Maybe there's no bad news at all. Is that so hard to believe?

Thank G-d for shluchim! (and firemen, and other people)

I got into the car on Friday afternoon, soaking wet, with dough in my hair. A flour fight, AND water fight both on the same day is NOT a good idea. Don't try it.

We were headed to San Diego for Shabbos, all 8 counselors of us, in our little 7 seater van. Don't ask how we fit, it magically expands for all of us. G-d helps.

So there we were, on our way, excited to be going to S. Diego for Shabbos. It was supposed to take about 3 hours, and Shabbos started at 7, so if we got there at 6, there would be plenty of time to shower, and get settled where we were staying. We were fine with time. Or so we thought.

5 minutes into the trip, we were all fast asleep, besides for the driver, B"H, and me, who was happily snapping pictures of all the sleeping girls, out of boredom. Our Rabbi called us like every 5 minutes, to make sure we were ok, and that we were in the carpool lane, and that we were going as fast as we could. He told us to take the toll road, it would go faster. Bad idea.

I finally fell asleep. I woke up, and smelled a bad smell in the car, and immediately checked my cabbage salad which I brought for lunch, but forgot to eat. Maybe it went bad in the heat. But no, it smelled ok. Ok so not that. Then I realized I smelled burning rubber. In my woozy sleepy state, I couldn't figure out what was happening, but I noticed the driver sounded anxious. I thought she was driving off the road, and rolled my eyes in annoyance. But then I saw smoke billowing out of the hood, and thought, nope, we are in much bigger trouble.

We pulled the car over. Everyone was screaming out instructions. We got out of the car, I told them we should walk away from the car as far as we could go, in case it blew up or something. So that's what we did. Imagine 8 girls, in camp t-shirts, standing on the side of the highway, near a car billowing out with smoke. Would you stop for us, and make sure we were ok? Ya, I thought so. Well, funny, cuz no one stopped. One guy honked his horn at us, one guy screamed at us, someone else laughed at us. But they all drove by, and didn't stop. How rude.

(Ok one guy stopped. A frum guy. Asked us if we were ok, and where we were headed. We said we would figure it out, and we were going to S. Diego, but didn't look like we'd actually get there. So, thank you, mystery man. If you are reading this, know that we got home ok.)

So Then a fire truck pulled up. And the fun began. 2 of the girls were going to the car to get their luggage out. Really. I think I'd rather they were whole and safe, then have luggage, and go near a smoking car.

The firemen approached the car, checked under the hood, looked around, then came over to us. So I asked, do you know what's wrong with it? And he said, no, but you can't drive it. I laughed. Really. That much I figured out all by myself!

I called the Rabbi, and for once, he didn't answer! I called the other Rabbi, and told him we have an intsy bintsy problem, that we are stuck on the side of the highway, and what did he think we should do. Oh boy. So my Rabbi called me back, spoke to the fireman, spoke to me, and we still didn't know what we were gonna do about shabbos. By that time, we didn't have enough time to get to S. Diego before shabbos. Rabbi said he'll call around, and let me know.

Meanwhile, a tow truck pulled up. The fireman said they'd tow our car off the highway, to a parking lot, and we could decide from there what to do. Oh, and in middle of all this, we were snapping picture after picture, of us near the car, the firetruck, us near the firetruck, ya you get my drift. When there's trouble... pull out your camera, and document it! The fireman asked us if this was cooler than where we were headed. Definitely! Who else can say they got stuck on the side of a highway, and had a firetruck come help? Wait. It gets better.

So 2 girls went in the tow truck, and the rest of us, (6 girls, if you were counting) squished into the firetruck. My 1st time in a firetruck. It was cool. They drove us to a parking lot, and then let us off, with our car. They made sure we were ok, gave us the number of the fire station just in case, then were gonna drive off.

But they heard we were planning on going to Mexico on Sunday. Ya, that was only if we got to S. Diego, and since we obviously were not gonna get there, Mexico was off too. But they were worried, apparently it's not safe for 8 girls to go alone to Mexico, especially now, theres more violence there. They asked if we were bringing guys with us. Um, no. Not exactly. He said he didn't want it on his conscience if we went, and then he found out later that 8 girls got kidnapped, or worse, in Mexico. So we thanked him for his concern, and assured him we weren't going to go.

Now we were stuck with a car, that we couldn't figure out what to do with, and no place to go for Shabbos. I asked the tow truck driver where we were, he said, 'San Juan Capistrano'. I repeated it 5 times, and even wrote it down, so I'd remember it. Interesting name.

Called the Rabbi, called him back. What do you do in times of crisis? Call in the troops!! Calling all forces, calling all forces. Rabbi called the nearest shluchim, they wanted to have us, but wife was out of town, so not gonna work. Next. He found the nearest shluchim in the next town over, a place called Mission Viejo. Ya, this place is just filled with weird sounding names. They were happy to have us. Now, how to get there.

Tow truck guy said we could drive the car, but be careful, take the side roads, yadayada. Get directions, get into the car, drive to the entrance of parking lot, and... car won't go. Ask driver what's wrong, she says, the lights blinking for accelerator, it doesn't work. Not sure what the accelerator does, but pretty sure it makes the car go. Put it in reverse, try to back into parking lot. Ya, that don't work either. Uh oh. Call the shluchim. B''h, kind people that they are, he gets into 15 passenger van to come and get us.

We get out. Time to push the car!! Yay! 1st time for that too. This shabbos was a lot of firsts. Call Rabbi. What to do with car. He doesn't want to leave it in parking lot, lest it gets towed overnight. Funny, I thought we wanted it to get towed. Ok. Push the car into a parking space, (more pictures!!) ask a person in a car for a number of towing company. No help there. Run to find a phonebook. 1st store doesn't have fun. Who doesn't have a phone book?? Ok. They say liquer store has one. Run to there. No, they say. Oh, but theres one outside, by the pay phone. Ok, we are going somewhere! Get the phone book, find number for tow truck. Call it.

me:Hi, I need a tow truck please.
guy: ok, where are you?
me (give cross streets. Thank G-d I knew THAT much.)
guy: ok, what's the make of the car?
me: (hesitant silence.) Oh, um, I'm not sure.
guy: ok....where do you need to take it to?
me: (more silence.) Um, I don't know.
guy: who's car is it?
me: my bosses. I'm not near the car, and I don't drive it, so I really don't know much about it.
guy: (almost laughing.) Do you know the COLOR of the car?
me: (yay! one thing I DO know!) ya, beige. (friend is frantically whispering, no no, it's gold!) ok, no, don't know that either.
guy: really.
me: ya. so, um, would you be able to give us an estimate of how much it will be?
guy: (laughing for real.) If you can tell me the MAKE of the car, and WHERE you need to take it, then maybe I can give you an estimate!
me: ok, thank you, I'll call you back then.
guy: (laughing.) you do that!

Help full guy.

Ok, now, the shliach is here to pick us up. Call back Rabbi. Almost Shabbos for him. What to do. He says, worry about it after shabbos, just get in the car and go! Ok, what about the car? He says, leave a note saying, 'car broken, be back Saturday night.' Really. You think the car will be here then? Other girls think I'm nuts, but Rabbi always right. We leave the note, get in the car, and drive to Mission Viejo for shabbat. Half hour to go!.

Going to stay in counselors apartment. What a small world. My friends are the head counselors there for camp, but ha, they went away for shabbos. They call us, and say, we heard there were girls coming for shabbos, not too happy about it, but then we found out it was you. So have fun, enjoy, too bad we can't be there! Oh well. Too bad indeed. Definitely picked the wrong shabbos to stay here!

Call Rabbi. He's starting shabbos. B''h we now have a place for shabbos, thanks to the shluchim, Rabbi and Mrs Kantor, and Rabbi and Mrs Marcus. Thank G-d for Shluchim!

After all that, Shabbos was uneventful. A meal with the shluchim. A walk to shul in the hot sun. A bar miztva with a lime green color scheme, and good food. No, we didn't get to S. Diego for shabbos, (or to Mexico for that matter) but G-d had other plans for us. And hopefully, we fulfilled whatever we needed to, in a little town called, Mission Viejo.

After shabbos, Rabbi came to pick us up. Went to the parking lot, hesitantly, not sure if we would see the car there, or if anyone stole it, to sell for parts, or maybe we'd just find the note there, minus the car, with a thank you for the car. But low and behold!! The car was there, in one piece! Yay!

Call triple A. Towed the car. Drive back to LA. Now, counselors have no car. Drive the 15 passenger to camp? We can try. Or take the bus to camp. Or walk. We shall see. When the car will be repaired is unknown, as of now. And we are STILL not sure what's wrong with it. But it all started when we took the toll road, which was all up hill, and our little car, with all 8 girls in it, couldn't manage the load. oh well. Now we shall pray.

Moral of the story: a mentch tracht, un gut lacht. Man plans, and G-d laughs. Our story was way more fun then if we ended up in S. Diego. And of course, SHLUCHIM ARE THE BEST!!! Thank you, we can always count on you.

So that was our fun for the summer. And what did I do the whole time? I laughed. Really, what else can you do?

When I see you

When I see you, I don't know what to say.
When I think about you, I want this ache to go away.

Your smile makes me warm inside,
but it also makes me want to hide.

To run away from the things I do,
to run, and never return to you.

Does it hurt you to see me this way?
Will things ever again be the same?

Where is that point of no return?
How do I silence my heart, that yearns?

Can you fix something which has broke?
Can you take back the words you spoke?

I want for you to hold my hand,
And walk with me in the sand.

I want to go back, but can't find the way.
Don't want to be stuck in this place I stay.

Is it too much too ask of you?
To come get me, and show me the way through?

Do I even deserve it?
Or must I earn it?

When I see you, I don't know what to say.
Maybe, just maybe, I never really went away.

Summer, smiles, and other stuff

Blogger is slow these days. Everything is slow these days. Summer just slows things down, makes you want to be lazy, and not do work. But what can you do when you have lots of work to do, and no one but you can get it done? That's right, you do it anyway.

Every time I open my gmail inbox, I have tons of mail. And before I start to feel liked, and popular, I skim down and all I see is, facebook facebook facebook. I kind of regret getting facebook again, if only because I get my hopes up about getting mail, and then there's really nothing there.

It is all a waiting game. I hate games, and I hate waiting even more. I hate miscommunication, and I hate long, drawn out conversations, that go no where. If you have something to say, then say it. If not, then keep quiet, and let me get on with life.

I just realized it is a fast day on Thursday. I should have known, but I didn't. Or I forgot. Either way. Fast days are hungry, melancholy, sad, confusing. I try to mourn, to feel something, but I never really do.

On the subject of death and dying. I think it is healthy to think about it. Speculate. Write down the things that scare you, your questions. Why not? Did you ever try to take an emotion, and put yourself into it? Take a charecter from a story, and try to feel like them, to be that charecter? It's called role play, and its healthy and helpful. Try it.

Wishing everyone a happy, healthy, fun fulfilling summer. With lots of clarity, chassidishkeit, good stuff, and success. And don't forget to smile, because a smile makes everything 10 times brighter.

P.S. I wrote a short story. Some of you may have already read it. But I am hesitant to post it here, because people are so harsh with comments. If you would like to read it, (and you should, cuz if it gets published, or when I become famous someday, believe me, you'll want to say that you knew me, and you saw it first.) Email me, or leave a comment here _______________.

Nothing lasts forever

Life is a funny thing. It comes, and then it goes. You can't control it. No one knows when it will come, and no one knows when it will end. And that is the beauty of it. The element of surprise.

If a teacher gives you an assignment, and tells you that it's due in two weeks, then you know that from now until then, you can space it out, give yourself time, be organized, and you will get it done.

If you are on a debate team, and they do not tell you about what you are debating, or even when, then you are unprepared. You must be ready at any second to jump up and go, to get the topic, and just start debating on that subject. It is harder, but more thrilling. More fulfilling, knowing that you could accomplish so much, on such short notice.

There is a saying, 'live your life as if each day is your last'. This does not mean to mourn and be sad all the time. This means to do as much as you can, to be all you want to be, to make the most impact on people, and the world, because you never know if you will get a second chance.

Death is a funny thing too. For some reason, some people are scared of dying. A lot of non Jews live with myths about the after life, about heaven and hell. They are scared to face what is to come. We know that the more you are prepared for something, the easier it is to do, and the calmer you will feel about it. But how can you really know about death? I've never experienced it, at least not in this lifetime. So how can we know that it isn't a terrible thing, that we should be afraid of?

We don't know. You can't know, until you are there. Until you go through it. But we hope that all we learned about death is true. That your soul goes to a better place, that there is heaven, and rewards after death. That there is something, and not just a huge abyss, where your soul sits and waits.

I am not scared of dying. I've thought about it. Not in a suicidal way, just out of curiosity. How will it feel? How will I die? Will I miss being alive? Will I remember it at all?

It is just something that happens. Just like birth. The only difference is, birth is a happy occasion, it is celebrated. Whereas death is sad, mournful, regretful. But why is it so? They are both an ending of sorts, and a new beginning.

We as humans miss the dead, when they leave us. Is it a selfish emotion? Perhaps. Why are we so sad, when they are in a better place now? Why do we miss them, when they are not suffering anymore? Why do we wish them to come back, when they don't want to return?

I've never had a close encounter with death, thank G-d for that. I've read books in which people die. I know a fictional character dying is not the same as a realistic one. And in a book, you can always flip back the pages, and there they are again, still alive. In life, there is no going back. There is no 'undo' button. You can't make them reappear.

It's not easy, but it's just something that happens. It's natural. When you are no longer living, you are dead. It is not sad, or happy, or anything. It just is.

And you know what? It is just a stage, until the next one. Cuz nothing lasts forever.

Random stuff

I went to Rodeo drive today. And before you all go thinking, oh wow, you are so lucky! let me tell you, it was not that cool. There were a bunch of tourists, just like me and you, walking around, trying to look cool, wanting to be famous, but just not having it right. There were tons of stores, all posh, and upper class. I would never go in there. They are meant for the rich and famous, and tourists who want to be rich and famous, but don't really have a lot of money.

My friends and I joked about how one of us should make believe she was a famous person, and we would all run up to her and squeal, and ask for her autograph. But we decided against that idea. You never know who might see, and things do get back to the Rabbi. (No, that's not the reason we decided not to, but you have to check all your exits.)

On Shabbos I finished reading the book, 'my sisters keeper'. If you haven't read it, I recommend it. It is a very intense book, with a lot of good lessons. And it has very strong arguments about family dynamics. I really liked it, and I even cried by the end. Ya, I do cry sometimes.

On a different note, I was flipping through a magazine, and came across an ad that said, 'which would you rather?' It had two pictures. One of a regular mattress, with the springs and coils and everything. And the other picture was their mattress, the one they were selling. It's some sort of foam contraption, where you lay on it, and it molds your form, and even remembers your shape! How cool is that?

I thought, hmmm, which one would I rather? Which one is even better, or is this one 'better' only because they are trying to sell it? And above all, which one can I afford?

It bothers me how people use that for advertisement purposes. Don't buy the regular brands, buy Tide. Don't get the cheap one, spend a whole lot of money, and buy ours. Really. you only tell me yours is better because you want me to buy it. Why don't you just lay all your cards on the table, be honest, and if I want to buy it because I like it, then we both walk away happy.

I always go by, honesty is the best policy. And no matter what, you will not get anywhere in life by stepping on the little guys. If you want to raise yourself up, if you want people to buy your product, if you want people to like you as a person, be yourself, and that should count for something. And if it doesn't, then it wouldn't be worth it in the long run.

Success

It's like setting off a pistol. Pulling the trigger, and letting it go. Like launching a rocket. Or shooting a rubber band. You give instructions, watch their excited faces, say the magic words... and they are off, to carry out their mission. So happy. So trusting. So little. So eager to please.

It's like a zebra. One stripe across the nose. Bright red. No tan.

It's like opening your mouth, and no sound emerging. Voice is just gone.

It's like being burried alive. Correction: it IS being burried alive. Watching those eager faces, laughing, as they push you onto the sand. As they shovel and dig, burrying you beneath layers and layers of the fine, grainy stuff. Feeling it seep into places it really shouldn't be. Closing your eyes, and mouth, wishing it is over, but being a good sport nontheless, for their sake.

Now its in my ears. Now my hair is stuck. I can't move. I don't know why, but they love it. The torture your head counselor activities. They thrive on it.

Multiple pictures, and videos later, they are finally done. I'm burried. Getting up is the hard part. Shake out my hair, brush off my clothes, try not to think of what I look like. Coming home, washing my hair 3 times, brushing it out to find more sand lodged in. Trying to feel annoyed, but remembering the campers joyous shouts of glee. I laugh, cuz it's so funny. I would do it again in a second, if it made them happy.

This summer is about them. Not me. If someone were to ask me, do you enjoy being a head counselor, I would laugh. Or smile. How do you answer that? If they are happy, then so am I.

Quotes I did not think up. Too bad, I couldve been famous

Dream as if you'll live forever; live as if you'll die today.

Laugh as much as you breath, and love as long as you live.

Love doesn't make the world go 'round; love is what makes the ride worthwhile.

If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster.

Life's not always fair. Sometimes you can get a splinter even sliding down a rainbow.

I hope life isn't a big joke, because I don't get it.

Avoid hangovers: stay drunk.

I’m knot a blonde! I’m knot, I’m knot, I’m knot!

Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again ?

All people have the right to stupidity but some abuse the privilege.

Untitled

What if you don't get what you bargained for? What if things just don't work out as you expected?

Kids love to ask 'what if'. There's a stage they go through, where they contemplate the world, and everything in it. They love asking questions. The problem is when you don't have the answers.

What if you really really want to write, but you don't have much to say? Or you have too much to say, but no way to put it into words?

What if your voice is so hoarse you can't talk properly, and yet you still need to get up tomorrow and do lineup, and scream for all you are worth?

What if you are not sure what you got yourself into, and despite the many times you are told you are doing a great job, somehow you still doubt?

What if you are scared of failure, of not living up to expectations?

What if you can remain silent, and yet the world would still know what you are trying to say?

Getting started

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

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.