Jolted

Ever had that feeling of falling, when you are sleeping sitting up, or resting your head on your hand leaning your elbow against something? Something happens, either in your dream or your arm is jostled and suddenly you are falling forward, jolted into sudden wakefulness.

I hate that feeling. Here I am sleeping peacefully, or fitfully but sleeping nonetheless, and I am rudely awakened. It is especially hard to sleep in a moving car when you are awakened with every turn.

Jolt:  
1.to jar, shake, or cause to move by or as if by a sudden rough thrust; shake up roughly: The bus jolted its passengers as it went down the rocky road.
2.to knock sharply so as to dislodge: He jolted the nail free with a stone.
3.to stun with a blow, especially in boxing.
4.to shock emotionally or psychologically: His sudden death jolted us all.
5.to bring to a desired state sharply or abruptly: to jolt a person into awareness.

The definition of jolt is something startling and sudden. It is meant to surprise you, stun you, push you into action.

We all need a little push once in awhile, someone to tell us nu, learn a little, get up and go to minyan, take stock of your life and start making decisions, get on the right path now rather than later.

Like a wise woman once told me, "No one is an island, and no one can do it on their own."

Wake up yidden! Ton a mitzva, ton a yid a toiva, do something to bring Moshiach, or to further your personal growth.

If you are in such a good place in life that you can disregard this message, I am jealous of you.

Here is my wake-up call to you, my little push to get you moving. Utilize it.

Dear mom and dad,

I'm having a great time in the country. Besides for the rain. Oh it rained ALL day. We sat on the porch and watched it come down dripping, in buckets, slow and steady. But it wouldn't let up. It was kind of dreary, yet somehow beautiful at the same time. I wanted to walk to the lake but I didn't have rain boots. So we ate and read and slept and had a shabbos party and tried to pass the time.

I watched little girls riding bikes in the pouring rain with their hair stuck to their faces and I thought how cute but also where are their mothers.

And the BUGS. They were everywhere. Daddy long legs, ants, big bugs and small. They invade our space. Or are we invading their space?

The mosquitoes were relentless. I tried not to scratch but boy did those things itch.

All in all I had a great time. I got to hold a 3 week old baby. She is so tiny! It's weird to think that 3 weeks ago she wasn't even here. She has tiny little fingers and she weighs nothing. I was a little nervous that I was holding her the wrong way but I was reassured when her mother let the older kids hold her. I mean I can't be any worse than a 11 year old right?

I have a recollection of someone jumping up and down on my bed as I tried to sleep. Some kid licked my phone. They fought, they cried, they touched my stuff. To say I love these kids is an understatement. But when their Bubby came to take over I gladly gave over the reigns and said good riddance. A kiss on the head and I was out of there.

I always wonder if the way I treat kids I babysit will reflect the type of mother I will be. Will I be so strict about not standing atop the monkey bars that they will hate me? Is it normal that everyone let's their little kids run wild but I have to know where they are at all times? Or that I force them to sit down and eat a snack? Or take a nap? Or scrub their faces clean even when they are squirming in protest?

Is it okay to be more strict with the kids you babysit than their mother is with them?

I worry cuz I want to be a good mother and I don't want my kids to hate me.

Anyway I had a great time and it was nice to meet the newest addition to the family.

On my way back now. Looking forward to some R&R from my vacation. Yup you read that right.

Hope to have a good week.

All the best,

Altie.

P.S. I made it to my new month with 2 minutes to spare. Mostly because my phone didn't have reception in the country and also cuz I forgot my charger so it died. Feel free to call for a 2 minute conversation ;)

Don’t say lashon harah don’t, even if you want to then you won’t

But unfortunately, we DO. We are taught to watch our words but do we? Most of us say things we shouldn’t at least once a day. Sometimes it can have severe repercussions.

It was the classic case of sending a text to the wrong person by accident. Not a big deal, it happens to all of us at some point. But what if the text that was sent was about the person who it was accidentally sent to? It wasn’t so negative, but it had connotations that wouldn’t be mistaken as anything else.

I felt really bad and stupid, but I couldn’t take it back.

What is that, you say? Normal friends would understand that people make mistakes, and that some things were intended differently than they sound? But when something is already in a rough place, some things can tip it in the wrong way.

A setback. What will happen now? I don’t know. I guess time will tell. I made a mistake, not by sending the text to the wrong person, but by sending it at all. I shouldn’t have said what I did, and the worst part about it is that as I was sending it I was thinking I shouldn’t be saying this, it’s wrong. But I did it anyway. I guess I learned my lesson.

In contrast, I called the wrong person yesterday. But it was a simple hi sorry wrong number bye. So why the difference? Well for one thing, there was nothing negative about it. And additionally, if a friendship is stable and standing on firm ground it can withstand anything.

This is not just about friendship. This is about taking responsibility for your actions and being able to say, I was wrong. This is about listening to your yetzer tov over your yetzer harah. This is about trusting your instincts when they tell you not to listen to someone and to do the right thing instead. This is about trusting yourself and making the right choice when it seems like everyone else thinks differently.

I hate messy situations. I would think most people do. Sometimes I just want to walk away and not deal with it, even if I’m the one who got myself into it. But one must take responsibility for ones actions.

And so I will stay and try to do the right thing, and possibly save a friendship in the process.
Checking out- I’m going to the country for Shabbos, so I’d like to wish everyone a great one. And please remember in general, and especially in these days right before Tisha Ba’av, to watch your words carefully, and to not say anything that might hurt someone.

So it seems

Trying to remember all the good times instead of bad.
Trying to stay positive when you make me mad.

Trying to communicate and make you understand.
Trying to keep the peace with all your demands.

When one door closes another opens is what they say,
I have yet to see this happen in my day.

"He said she said", I can't keep up.
Farvust darfstu dreit mir a kup?

Sometimes I can't adequately express in words.
That doesn't mean I don't want to be heard.

The world just swirls and nothing makes sense.
Seem to be always one leg over the fence.

Out the door and gone today.
Here for now but not to stay.

Sweet and rosy, black as night.
It may not seem so but I hate to fight.

Pack my bag and be on my way.
Finally done, now what have you to say?

Whatever you have- I don't want it

Yes, it is annoying when people shove things in your face as you walk by. I don't want to read it, and whatever it is- I don't want it.

I can't multi-task. My brain does this thing where if there is too much happening at once it goes into overdrive and stops. My buddy in the office said, I thought all girls can multi-task. Well, you thought wrong.

I don't have a lot of patience. I try to, but some days, like today, I have none. People are talking to me and I try to listen, I really do, but sometimes I don't really care what they are saying, and I'm busy, and I have important things to do, more important than watching a 'funny' video of four guys who do stupid stunts and hurt themselves on purpose. I think it's a guy thing to find that funny. I don't laugh at others misfortunes.

And I'm not snobby, I'm really not. So don't stick your face into mine and ask me why I'm ignoring you. Yes, I'm listen to music- I can't hear you.

I had to write an article and the world was spinning. Too many people coming in and out, too many phone calls, too much to do. So I took tylonal, listened to music, and shut the world out. It worked, until they called to tell me my ride was leaving. Day over, thank G-d.

I was told I make very good chocolate milk. Thank you. If you ask me what I did today I can't tell you. I really don't remember.

I was invited to the country for shabbos, for those of you who are familiar with the Catskills and the bungalow colony phenomenon. I'm looking forward to some R&R, along with 7 little kids and a new born. Yay... (that was a weak yay as in, yay can it get any better than this?)

My cell phone month is about to expire. I only have 5 minutes left. Should I refill now, or wait until the month ends on Sunday? That depends how many people call me for no reason from now until then.

Today is just not my day.

Poker face

I've started it so many times,
but I've never finished it.

Because I haven't found one person
worth telling the whole thing to.

So I tell you a little.
Maybe you feel privileged that I've shared this with you.

But this is just a fragment, one tiny particle,
of the story of my life.

Maybe I'd tell you all of it.
If you cared to sit and listen awhile.

But then again,
in poker you must keep your cards close to your chest.

And what is life, really,
if not one big game of poker?

Peace

Like water,
you flow through my fingers,
and run over me like a balm to my soul.

You are like an oasis,
in a dessert,
like a cold drink on a hot sunny day.

Refreshing,
and calming,
with a cooling effect.

You are strong when I am weak,
and funny
when I am morbid.

You are smooth when I am prickly,
and sweet,
when I am bitter.

Your words are reassuring,
you say what I need to hear,
somehow you just know.

You don't flinch
by the things I say,
no matter how upsetting they may be.

You are positive when I am negative,
white when I am black,
day when I am night.

Confident, when I am shaky,
sure when I am doubtful,
and all this with a smile.

You know what it means
to be a friend
and for that I am forever grateful.

Panic button

I think everyone should have a panic button in their life. An SOS, a lifeline, a sign, some way to call for help.

For those times when life is a slippery slope and the only direction you can go is down.

For those times when you can't figure yourself out, and everything is not making sense.

For those times when you are so mad you want to hit something.

For those times when you are so depressed you can't move.

For those times when if you were in a car you might crash.

For those times when tears blind you.

For those times when you think that if you would just disappear no one would notice.

For those times when you are so tense you can't sleep.

For those times when you wish you were anywhere but here. And yet there is no escape.

For those times when you just want to get away from yourself, and no matter how far you run- there you are.

For all those times and more, I wish there was a way to say, help me, I'm drowning.

(A picture comes to mind. When my sister was little her class had to do a project for fall, connected to leaves. They had to make a collage, and they were all put on display in the hallway. One girl made a really cute one. It was a whole bunch of leaves, with a hand sticking out, and a talk bubble saying, "help me, I'm drowning!". I thought it was so cute and original.)

And someone would come running. Sometimes you just need an encouraging word, or a hug, or some sort of validation that there are people who care about you, who want you here and would notice if you were gone.

Family is far away. And sometimes family just doesn't cut it. Thank G-d for good friends.

I think if I had a panic button I'd have to be sure not to abuse it. I wouldn't want to become the boy who cried wolf. But for those rare times, those times when you can barely hold it together- it would be nice to know that there is someone on the other end of the line, listening and caring.

And reassuring you that everything will be okay.

Struggle

It is so annoying.

All over the place.

There is so much of it.

I can't stand it.

I like it.

But I hate it.

So many things one can do with it.

But on a hot day I just want to

destroy it.

I want it gone.

So I take a rubber band.

Lift my hands slowly.

So as not to startle it.

I strangle it in one fell swoop.

Tie it tight in a knot.

And put it up high.

It struggles but I won't let it go.

I sit back and relax.

I have won.

And my face is no longer

Surrounded by

All my hair.

Impostor

I am an impostor.

I play the part.
Act the part.
I try to be the part.

But it is not me.

I sit when I need to go.
I crawl when I need to run.
I keep silent when I need to scream.

I am an impostor.

I say I'm okay when I'm not.
I eat when I'm not hungry.
And refrain when I am starving.

I get scared by things you wouldn't think of.
Yet I can kill a bug with my hand,
when everyone else runs screaming.

I am an impostor.

I do so much for you.
But for myself,
I do nothing at all.

I would never tell you when I am scared.
I do not want to appear weak.
I do not want you to have that power over me.

I am an impostor.

You offer me your hand.
I say no at all costs.
Even if this pit is too deep even for me.

I lie to you, and to myself.
I say I can do it.
When I know that I cannot.

I am an impostor.

I hate to need you.
But I hate even more
When I need you but will never admit it.

I am an impostor.

I grit my teeth and do it, when I say I can.
Because I cannot admit to you
that I can't.

Somehow everyone has learned it.
But these skills evade me.
And so I must pretend, at all costs.

I am an impostor.

I can go on pretending, faking it.
Maybe I'll convince you.
Maybe one day I'll convince me too.

Am I an impostor because I try to be
the person who I think I should be,
who everyone expects me to be?

But inside
I am an impostor.
And maybe
I will never be
the "real" me.

Accidental

I came upon it quite by accident.
I think it was something I was not meant to see.
But now that I've discovered the mystery,
maybe it was already destined to be.

A name is not something we choose,
it is something given by our parents.
Accidental? I would not call it.
Rather, divine providence.

A wrong turn might be accidental,
at least it may seem that way.
But few accidents in this world do occur,
on any given day.

I talk and it seems like you don't listen,
yet you can repeat my words back to me.
Sometimes I don't know why I bother,
when things don't turn out perfectly.

They say it takes two to tango,
but I like flying solo better.
Independent I've always been,
I'm not sure how this has occurred.

Accidental is a funny word,
kids use it to say "I'm sorry".
Sometimes sorry won't cut it.
Even if you feel badly.

I came upon it quite by accident,
I could not explain to you how.
Maybe, just maybe it was meant to be.
I think I'll hold on to it, at least for now.

Timing

Timing is everything. Ask the person who missed his flight only to later hear that it crashed, with no survivors.

Or the person who stayed home sick on 9-11, instead of going to work at the twin towers.

Sometimes, most times, we never find out why things turn out the way they do. It is rare that we are aware of a car swerving and missing us by a second, or a tree branch falling right after we walk by. These little things are miracles that we may never know about. It is called nature. And that is why we say that everything that happens is Hashgacha Pratis. Divine providence. Because even if we don't know why things happen, G-d always does.

I left my apartment for the sole purpose of walking down the block to give someone something. I saw my friend across the street whom I haven't seen in a long time. Random occurrence? I think not.

I leave my house every day at approximately the same time. I generally don't notice people around me. In the morning I usually listen to music as I walk. But somehow I noticed a mother walking her child to camp. He was wearing the bright orange t-shirt from the day camp that my brothers went to as kids. And that was it.

Then I noticed her the next day. And the day after that. I wondered if she ever noticed me too. It seemed like I could sort of measure my time by her. We passed the same corner at pretty much the same time every day.

And then the other day, I didn't see her. For a few blocks. And then there she was. Was I early? Was she late? I don't know. I find it interesting that you can measure things by time. And routine.

I see the same orange car parked in the same spot every day. And the same yellow car. Sometimes I notice the same people whom I saw pass by the day before. I see the same mother waiting with her two daughters for the bus every day.

Routine. I used to think it was synonymous with boring, and predictable. But now, it is familiar and comfortable. I like being on time, I like having a schedule, I like the fact that people are expecting me to show up and do a good job.

Maybe one day I will say hi to the lady walking her son to camp. Maybe we will become friends of sorts.

And maybe I will remain a silent observer, watching things around me occur seemingly on their own. But I will look up and wink, cuz I will know who is making it all happen.

"Home"

Things I like about being 'home':

1) REAL INTERNET!

2) How cute it is to find cut up pieces of shnitzel in the fridge, a high-chair, a stroller, kids toys. It's the take-over of the niece! She is so cute ka''h poo poo poo and it's nice having a kid around again.

3) The mess is not my mess.

4) Air conditioners.

5) Having a car to use. I missed driving.

6) The quiet. But not too quiet, if you know what I mean.

7) Convenience. Food, laundry, other people around. The first thing I did when I got here was pop my head into my sister's room and say, "honey, I'm hooome!" Now, she screamed at me to 'get out' and some other not nice stuff. But hey it's my family and I only got one.

8) It is nice to 'get away' from the city.

9) I'm taking off work tomorrow! Nice relaxing day to shop and chill.

10) WALMART!!!

I am 'home' for Shabbat. Hope y'all have a good one.

Sorry, wrong train

For anyone familiar with the New York Subway system, particularly in Crown Heights, you would know the difference between the 3 and the 4 trains.

The 3 train stops right outside 770, in the heart of Crown Heights, while the 4 train is an express train, it does not stop there, and it goes all the way to Schenectady, which is convenient for us Jews who do not live in a 'prime location'.

I would always take the 4 train to get home. It is more modern than the 3, it is express and it takes me closer to my house. The 3 also goes to that stop, but it takes longer to get there.

Now that my family has moved, and myself as well, I take the 3 train to get home, cuz the 4 train does not stop where I need to get off.

Sometimes people switch from the 3 to the 4 or vice versa, if they need the express or local train. I was on the 3 train and the 4 train was right there across the platform. Had I still lived in my old house I would have ran across the platform to get it. Or I would have already been on it. But the 3 train was what I needed.

How many times do we look at the 'goyishe velt' (secular world) and want what is out there, or desire to act or dress like them, or be like them? How many times have you stayed up late when you knew you should go to sleep early? How many times have you eaten candy when you know junk food is not good for you? (If you answered 'no' to all of the above, then congratulations, you are a tzaddik).

Many times in life we look out instead of looking in. The Frierdike Rebbe said, "It is better to be on the outside looking in, than on the inside looking out."

We have to say, what is not for me is not for me. It may be okay for someone else, but it is not good enough for me. Don't sit here with the guise of a frum person, while craving things that are not allowed. Rather, look inward, look towards your religion for the answers, because that is where you will find them.

I stayed on the 3 train, because that was the train I needed to take me to my destination. And the 4 train? I let it pass me by because after all, it will not take me where I need to go.

Really?

I don't like rude people. I don't like walking into a store and being treated badly. I don't think anyone does.

Today I went into two stores and had two very different experiences. One, a very pleasant one, and the other not so much.

Bath and body works caught my eye as I was leaving the mall so I decided to stop and see if there was anything I liked. They were all so friendly to me, offering me free samples of lotion, asking me if I needed assistence, or a shopping bag. I could tell it was genuine. I picked out a few items and when the cashier was ringing up my purchases he made sure to tell me that I could get a few more items and it would make everything cheaper. 3 for $10, 5 for $5. Yes, I ended up spending more than I initially planned, but I left the store with a smile on my face, and quite happy with my purchases.

The second store was a frum store in Crown Heights. I am not trying to bad-mouth Crown Heights, or make generalizations in any way. But in my opinion, it seems that frum people think they can get away with being rude and unmannerly, solely because they are frum. Whoever said frum people don't need manners? I was always taught to be polite and respectful.

I walked into a store to buy candy. I had $3.00 to spend. (Yes that sounds like a child, but that way you only buy 3 dollars worth of candy, as opposed to whatever you have in your wallet.) I looked around trying to decide what to get. My friend pointed to a sign that said there was a sale on organic candies. "Wow they are so cheap, only 89 cents." I took a closer look. No, that can't be right. The sign is wrong. Upon closer inspection this is what it said: (And ya I can take pictures now from my super cool phone.)

$.089. That does not mean 89 cents. For anyone who knows math, it means 8 cents, or rather 9 cents if you round it up. So I thought, hey an opportunity to make a statement and play a joke.

I walked up to the counter with the candy ready to pay and said to the cashier, this is 8 cents. She said no it's 89 cents. I said look at the sign. She looks and says, it's a mistake. (And yes looking at it now I see it says 'not responsible for typographical errors'. It's a good thing they put that disclaimer.) She said wait I'll get my manager.

By this time my friends were laughing and saying really, you are not gonna let this go? But I was having too much fun.

The 'manager' comes. (It's in quotes cuz I'm not sure he was really the manager.) He says what is the problem. I explain to him that the sign says 8 cents, and he should give me the candy for 8 cents. I thought he would recognize the joke for what it was. He says, it was a mistake. I said if this was Target they would have given it to me for 8 cents. (They advertise right when you walk into the store that if there is an error in price they will give it to you for the lower price.) He says, and I quote, "I thought you were smarter than that."

I'm thinking, that's rude, and you don't know me. He tells me he's not giving it to me for 8 cents, and maybe I can make a hobby of this. (And he had the nerve to try to tell me that .089 was not even a number and meant it was zero. ME. I know my math. If it was .0089 then yes he would have a point.) He said good night. And that was it.

I walk out of the store annoyed. I didn't buy anything. I hadn't wanted the candy in the first place, I was just trying to make a point, and thought it would get a good laugh. But some people can't take a joke.

If you were the manager, how would you have reacted? I figure he could have humored me and given it for 8 cents. It's only an 81 cent difference. Or he could have politely said, sorry ma'am that was our mistake, but we can't give it to you for that price. Anything, other than sarcastically telling me I am 'smarter than that'. There is a way to talk to a customer, and then there is not.

It just strikes me in general the professional demeanor found in the 'secular world', and the lack of it here in the frum community. It bothers me a lot. I like and would rather shop at non-Jewish stores, even go out of my way because I feel more comfortable there, more like a person, and treated much nicer.

And like I said, maybe I am generalizing though I am trying not to. But 'frum' should not be synonymous with 'rude' and 'do whatever you want because we are protected by our frumkeit'.

Cynical?

So cynical
so critical
so involved with all the physical.

So practical
pragmatical
no need for all political.

UN-typical.
So logical.
Me, no I'm not hypocritical.

It's comical
YOU
so distrustful
fanatical.

I'm quizzical
analytical
you are just stereotypical.

Question?
No that was rhetorical.
You talk and it's all just nonsensical.

You don't believe in magical.
No room for hypothetical.
so cold and clinical. Mechanical.

So egotistical
think you are the pinnacle
of everything epical.

Your ideals are so radical
to the point of diabolical.
Scheduled, never erratical.

Me? I may be skeptical
even cynical
and critical.

But hey at least my brain is vertical
symmetrical.
AND grammatical.

Never whimsical
Unequivocal.
No need for the illogical.

Don't need your vocals.
Unethical
Heretical.

You are after all physical.
Typical.
Degradable.

Talking statistical?
Or mystical?
Anthropological?

Cynical-
it is reciprocal
almost satirical.

You can be rabbinical
and I'll just keep my cynical.
at least I am juridical.

Ironical.

Family picture

We used to take a family picture every year to send to my grandparents. Not a professional picture, my mother didn't believe in those. She said we should all look natural. No, it was the sit-outside-on-the--steps-and-jostle-till-we-are-all-sitting kind of picture, and we had a neighbor snap a few pics. They usually came out nice.

I was going through a box and I found one. From my old old old old house. We were all so little. My youngest brother was a baby.

It was a moment frozen in time. The house in the background is not there anymore, We are all grown up and gone our separate ways, we have 3 new additions to our family now.

But the picture, that moment will remain forever.

I smile and slip it into my pocket. Cuz this is one memory I want to keep.

Someone's watching

Recently an inspector came to camp. Everyone was forewarned. Do not speak to the inspector. Be on your best behavior. Tell the camp director if he shows up. Needless to say everyone was on edge and nervous. If we failed inspection they could shut down the camp.

I was in the hallway and a bunk was walking down the hall in a line. One kid was walking in a zigzag and not properly aligned with the rest of the bunk. Another child turned to him and said, "you have to walk nicely the inspector's here!" To which the first child replied, "ya but the inspector is not watching us right now."

Hearing that made me smile. And it made me think. Are we only on our best behavior when the 'inspector' is watching? Are we lax in our observance of the mitzvos when we forget that Someone above is watching our every move?

Maybe we should have an inspector in camp every day. It makes people step up their game. Everyone is aware that they are being observed and it insures that they work in their best capacity.

But then people would become immune to it and it would mean nothing.

Are we so immune to G-d and His Torah and our purpose in this world that it takes a visitor from an 'inspector', G-d forbid a tragedy or disaster for us to step up to the plate and do what we are supposed to
do?

The 'inspector' is always watching. G-d is there in the morning when we wake up and at night when we go to sleep. He is there when we do something good and when we mess up terribly. He is always there and He is always watching.

We must make sure to 'walk in a straight line' always and not just when we remember that Someone is watching us.

Thank G-d we passed inspection. May we all 'pass the ultimate inspection' and greet Moshiach speedily in our days.

Empty

I walk inside and the ac hits me hard after the broiling day outside. I just want to stay inside and chill all day. But I dont live here anymore. I dont have a bed here or clothes or a toothbrush. There is no food in the fridge. The cabinets are empty. The walls are bare. There is nothing left, no way to prove that we once lived here.

It is so empty. The floor creaks under my feet. It always creaked. But now it just sounds so hollow.

The floor is littered with stuff. Garbage, stuff we don't need or want. Im not sure if I want to go upstairs. It looks so different, so devoid of US. I don't want to cry because well, big girls don't cry. And I keep saying how I dont care, I have no attachment to this place, it means nothing to me. But it means something.

I can see my little brothers on the computer playing games and watching movies. I can see my mama sitting at the kitchen table at 2 am talking to me while drinking her tea. I can see myself making pop corn. My niece scooting across the floor. My brother's wine fridge. I can see my father walking through the door after a long day of work. And my sister coming in with groceries. I can see my mom's friend stopping by to say hi. I see the grape juice stains on the walls from our food fight on pesach. Backyard barbecues.

I see it all. And it means something to me. More than I thought it would.

There is so much dust and I can't stop sneezing. I walk through the house slowly, a little creeped out being there by myself. I know that no one is going to jump out at me and say boo. But it feels weird nevertheless.

I find two boxes of my stuff. Stuff I didn't know existed. There's a booklet of cards my classmates made me when I was 6. A picture of me and my little sister, I look to be around 5. A book I wrote for a book report when I was 10. Poetry I wrote. Everything. It is my memories, my mementos, it is ME.

There is a quilt my grandmother made me when I was born. She sewed my name and birthday onto it. It is as old as me. I don't remember seeing it before. I found my mom's wedding dress. She thought she threw it out.

I call home cuz I am confused. Why was all this left behind? My family is not very organized. They packed and ran. No one realized that all this important stuff was left behind. And yes it is important. It's important to me.

They are busy. No one wants to deal with this right now, on a Friday afternoon hours before shabbos. I hang up, and I stand there, unsure of what to do next.

And then I cry.

Somehow I dial my friend's number, and she picks up in a happy cheery mood. I blubber on the phone and she doesn't understand what I'm saying. So she tells me she's coming over. Cuz that's what friend's do. I wait, I go upstairs, I look around and I feel lost. This is not my house anymore. Now it belongs to someone else.

My friend comes and we spend 2 hours going through my boxes, looking around the basement, trying to figure out who all this stuff belongs to. I am scared that if I don't rescue it now, it'll get thrown out. And no one seems to care.

But it is Friday after all, and I have to go. Shabbos is coming.

I will go back Motzei Shabbos to finish packing whatever I can. But the clock is ticking. Soon, soon we will hand over the key for the final time. And that will be it.

I feel like my childhood is finally over. I moved 4 times with my parents, and now I'm done. Even though I only lived in this house for like 5 years, those were the last 5 years of my childhood, the last time I will have lived at home. I am an adult now, I am on my own.

And as I walk through that door for the last time, I feel like I am saying goodbye to more than just a house. I am saying goodbye to my childhood, to a big chapter of my life.

And I feel so empty inside.

A million miles away

Isn't it ironic that you can be physically close to someone, and yet millions of miles apart?

What's your name, girl what's your number

What is a name? A way to refer to someone? Does it have any meaning? Is a nickname more meaningful than a given name if it is the one used most? Is a name a personal thing, or a separate entity from the person?

It's funny how I deal with campers names all day in the office, and yet I have no idea who these kids are. Once in awhile I will discover that this face matches that name and then it will be an 'aha' moment, like I know you. But do I really know you just because I know your name?

It is a common question when meeting a new acquaintance to play 'Jewish Geography' and ask 'do you know so-and-so?'. Sometimes I will say, yes I know her, I've heard her name before. Or, she was in my grade in elementary school, I'm sure if I looked in the year book I'd recognize her, ya I know her name.

But do I really know her? Not at all.

Sometimes I find it strange when a total stranger calls me by name. When I answer the phone in the office I think that my name is irrelevant, so I only give it out when asked for it. And to hear it on the lips of a stranger- well it kind of feels like my name is a personal item of mine, and you can only use it with permission. So why are you using it when I don't really know you and haven't given you permission to enter my 'space' yet?

A name is something close to my heart. I feel that my name is unique, and it makes me who I am. I try to refrain from calling people by name unless they are a friend of mine or someone I know well. That is not to say that I am rude or refer to people as 'yo'. But to use a stranger's name feels weird to me.

I have a hard time remembering names. Maybe because it is so impersonal to me. I've heard that a good way to remember someone's name is when they introduce their self you look and them and say, 'hello ________ (fill in name here.) It is so nice to meet you.' That way, you are from the start connecting this name to this person, and the next time you see them you should be able to remember their name.

Try it. Let me know if it works.

So when you ask me my name and I tell it to you and you say "hello Altie nice to meet you", there may be a second where I pause and wonder, how do you know my name and why are you saying it like it is so familiar to you?

Maybe one day I will remember your name too. And when I say it, it won't feel so strange. And maybe it'll actually mean something to me.

In the meantime, hello stranger #1, stranger #2, yo, and you, and whatsyourface, and heyyouoverthere, and personwiththemostcommonnameicaneverrememberit. It is so nice to meet you.

A little birdy in the concrete

Have you left your footprint on the world? This little birdy did. He walked right through that wet cement, and his little birdy feet will forever be embedded on the pavement.

Isn't it cute when you see a baby's footprint on the sidewalk? You wonder who that little child is who didn't know better and walked where they weren't supposed to.

What if you could really leave something of yourself behind? Physical things don't last. One day everything will crumble and burn, even those side walks with the footprints left behind.

So what will you leave of yourself for the world to remember you by? Will they remember you at all?

I look at those birdy prints and I think how funny. But where is that birdy now? I wonder, does his feet still have bits of cement stuck to them?

I don't think I have made an impact on the world. On a list of 'what can I do to make a difference in the world' people might list: solve world hunger, make a medical discovery, win a Nobel prize, discover a cure for cancer, etc. I have done none of the above, nor do I care to.

I do not need my name on everyone's lips, I do not need my picture in the newspaper, I do not need to be recognized wherever I go. I do not need to be publicly acknowledged for anything, though it might feel nice.

I want to do something that I will know in my heart that I made a difference, that G-d will know, and the people who matter will know.

When I figure it out, I guess I will jump on that bandwagon.

In the meantime, I will ponder where that little birdy has wandered off to.

Frustration

I squeeze it in my hands tightly,
deforming it, misshaping it.

The company that made it would not recognize it.
They wouldn't want it back.

It is not worth the plastic it is made of,
nor of the drink it contains.

Shaken and stirred, all bubbles gone,
it is not fit to be sold, nor to be drunk.

I clench my fists
pass it from hand to hand.

I wish to throw it far.
As far as it may go.

I want it to hit something.
I want to hear a thud.

I want to squeeze it until it is no more,
and hurl it into oblivion.

I want to be rid of this
and I want it to be gone from me.

And somehow when I get home I realize
it is still clenched in my hand.

So tight, it has made an indent on my palm.
I cannot throw it.
I cannot hurl it.
I cannot destroy it.

So I clench my teeth
I twist it some more hoping that it will explode
before I do.

Fresh air, green grass, and all the cuteness you can take

It's a cute little house. I stress the word 'little'. I don't see how they can fit in here. From the outside it looks like a doll house. Seriously.

It's weird seeing all our furniture in a new place, like it doesn't really belong here. I keep referring to home as the house in Crown Heights. This place, well it's not home to me. And soon 'my house' will have new occupants.

It's funny to see how each one adapts to a new environment. This one is cooking, it's like her natural habitat. I get nervous in chaos, I can't cook unless everything is organized and neatly in its place. But she goes straight to the kitchen and cooks up a storm for Shabbos.

This one is straightening her hair. One brother is hogging my niece. I say hogging cuz he won't let me hold her. I finally got some quality time with her and pushed her on the swing. I think it'll be nice for my mother to be near them now.

My baby brother is wandering around like he's lost. I thing everyone is a bit unsettled, and unsure of what to do. I wonder how long it'll take to get everything unpacked.

This place is smaller than we're used to. Everything is just smaller in size. The bathroom is tiny. But it's a nice place. Plus, since we are renting it they won't necessarily stay long-term. I mean c'mon, we cannot break our "no more than 5 years in one house" rule. That'll be blasphemy.

One day my parents (or rather my mother) plan on living in a motor home and driving around the country. She thinks it'll be easier to see all of her married kids and grandkids that way.

So far three neighbors have brought over welcoming cakes. I think it's so nice. In Crown Heights I doubt anyone would have noticed if we moved in next-door to them.

I like the fresh air. It is pleasant and much easier to breath in than the city air. And it is naturally cooler here. And there are trees. And even though the houses are not so spaced apart, it feels more spaced out than the city. And more private. We have a little front garden that is blocked from the street by hedges.

When I was little if we were in a fight we would say to one another: "get off my property." I don't think we really knew what the word property meant. But we knew it insinuated, this is mine and not yours, and since we are in a fight you can't be here.

This is my property. Well, not mine per se, but it is nice to have an open backyard with dirt and trees and an old swing set.

The house is right across the street from the fire station and the hatzalah. My family claims the siren in the fire station is really loud. Though I for one don't mind noise.

I don't see my parents ever 'settling down', though this is a nice temporary abode.

I made it here for Shabbos, despite a mishap with the bus. I am looking forward to sleeping and relaxing and enjoying the fresh air, and more importantly, bonding with my niece and getting her to smile at me rather than regarding me as a stranger.

Have a good Shabbos everyone!

The Munchies

How do I somehow manage to mess up so many things in one week? Is there something wrong with me? I always felt that despite everything, communication is the key. And yet somehow the more i talk the more i ruin things. So should i stop talking?

There are swirl patterns on the floor moving closer towards me. But the second i try to step on one it moves away. Sand on the floor? What the heck?

My voice sounds extremely loud even to my own ears. WHY AM I SHOUTING? I try lowering the volume but it doesnt work.

Im laughing so hard but Im not sure about what.

My eye lids are heavy, my throat hurts, my eyes are tiny slits.

And when i get home, everything is exactly as i left it.

So what changed? Nothing much. Besides for me buying out the whole junk food section of the grocery store.

And i may have fewer friends than i used to have.

So all in all- a very productive week.

Now can I cry?

The details were vague, and I wasn't sure I understood it properly. First I thought that they were a camp in the same building as us. Then I heard they had gone swimming in our building that day. They passed me by on the stairs. Maybe I saw him.

Missing. That word can mean so many things. So I mumbled a prayer and thought, how relieved everyone will be when they find him safe and sound.

Except that's not what happened.

I got into the car this morning. Two of the counselors told me they had been out all night aiding in the search for the missing boy. I thought, that is nice of them, and I briefly wondered if there were any updates. Then the head counselor shook his head and said, 'Boruch Dayan Haemes. They found his body.'

I was shocked. The details kept pouring in, the rumors were flying, everyone was passing around information, and I wanted to cry. Can I cry? This tragedy has touched so many people, way beyond the immediate family members. Because Leiby is a Jew, he is family to us all.

I have no words to express my anger and hatred for the sick man who did this to him. The question WHY???? has no answer.

They are going to have someone talking to the campers about safety. We were told it is very important to not say that 'this is what G-d wanted.' HOW can you justify that to a child, let alone yourself?

I am still in shock, I wish we could turn back the clock and stop that horrible thing from happening. It makes no sense to me.

We are one in this tragedy, united, one heart and one soul. And when one soul is hurt, we all bleed. I think tonight everyone will be bleeding tears, and praying for a speedy redemption from this horrible Golus.

Leiby, I hope you are praying for us. May you rest in peace.

Baby please don't go, when I wake up tomorrow will you still be here

You called to ask me if I was okay, cuz I didn't come home for dinner tonight. I told you, of course I'm okay. I made, my own dinner. I'm living on my own now. I'm pretty sure girls living on their own are not supposed to come home for dinner.

I laugh because you started packing on motzei shabbos and you think you will be moving by Wednesday. I scoff, and yet I don't help. I watch, I observe. The house is getting packed around me and still I don't believe it.

Are you okay? Everyone keeps asking me that. Of course I'm okay. I'm not even moving with them. Why would it bother me. All I have to do is pack up my few boxes and make sure it gets sent with them and that it has a place in the new house. And sure I'll go visit for shabbos. I've moved four times in my life, 5 now that I have my own place. And I'm not going with them, so really, I'm fine.

Are you okay? Well let's see, tomorrow is moving day. So if I forget to go home for dinner tomorrow night, will they leave without saying goodbye? Will I show up to do my laundry and the house will be dark and empty, and locked for the first time? Will there be a big 'sold' sign out front, and no one around? Will they just forget about me cuz I am not going with them?

Are you okay? I ask myself that. And I'm not sure. For the first time in my life, I will be truly on my own. If I forget to buy food for dinner, I will starve. If I forget to do laundry, I will have no clean clothes. If I fall apart and never leave my room, no one will ever know. I made my friend promise me she won't let that happen to me.

Am I okay? I think I'm okay. I say I'm okay. I try to be okay. But I think I am not as okay as I'd like to think. And that scares me more than i care to admit.

The beginning of the end

There is no light at the end of the tunnel.
No fork in the road.
No distinguishing sign at all.

Just me.
And the wilderness.
In all its fine glory.

The dirt path stretches on.
No end in sight.
Nothing to break up the monotony.

No bear jumps out.
No lion roars.
No leaf flutters.

In the silence I wonder aloud.
What comes next.
Where does this road lead.

Do I want to find out?
Can I turn back now?
Or is there no turning back.

No refund.
No exchange.
I am stuck.

My only choice
is to do
the only thing I've ever known how.

And so I pick up the match.
And destroy.

The dirt road
it is no more.

Musings

Why is there no one out? It's only 10:30 PM. Okay granted, it's summertime, everyone is probably in the country. But only 3 people out this time of night? Weird.

No people, no cars. This place is creepy.

What am I gonna do when my family moves? Ya I know people here who I can eat by, but still it's easier and more convenient to just go home. Am I gonna go to Monsey every shabbos? Is that even considered my 'home'? When I tell people I am going to Monsey for shabbos and they say, who do you know there, I will say my parents. Which leads to more questions.

So where is my 'home' now? This is not home, this is a temporary abode until I find a better place. And then maybe that will be a temporary place. So when do you actually settle down and call a place 'home'?

Seriously, where are all the people?

Why is there a bus parked in someone's driveway? Do they own it? Can you even own a bus?

These streets are crazy, why do they do so much construction? Are they actually doing anything, or just trying to make traffic horrible and give the workers something to do? So many bumps and cracks.

Fudge! Just stepped into a puddle. My foot it all wet. Oy. Looking down at the ground, making sure there are no more puddles.

Still nobody, it's like a ghost town.

Not looking where I'm going. Oh no, watch out for that... tree!

Precious

She had an L for a nose, exes for hands, her hair was kind of stringy and it looked like she was going bald. Her feet looked like potatoes. Her head was disproportional to her body.

The sign said "mommys awfiss" on it. It was just the cutest thing that only a child could make.

So what does it mean to YOU?

I'm sitting here on the floor. Literally. I'm so tired I can't move. I'm hungry but too lazy to make dinner. I'm happy that I didn't have to take care of kids all day. No, I sat in the office and worked on the computer, watching the counselors shepherd around their herd. Okay, I also ran to and fro setting stuff up for camp. It was a lot of work and it's still not all done. But not having to deal with kids all day- I call that a good job.

I need to go shopping, I need to toivel some dishes, I need help bringing something over from my house, I need to do laundry. I have to do all of this on my own. I want to give in to self-pity, I really do. But for some reason I can't. I'm better than that. So I sit here on the floor and don't do anything I have to do. Great.

Today is Gimel Tamuz. If you were to ask me what that means to me I'd say, well firstly it is my little brother's birthday. He turned 14 today. He is not so little anymore. But he is still my baby :)

Gimel Tamuz is such a conflicting Yom Tov. Ask ten different people and you'll get ten different answers. Some people would not dare to mention the Rebbe's "histalkus". I don't know what they think happened on Gimel Tamuz, but apparently the Rebbe never left. Then I ask, so why do you go to the ohel? What is there? They have no answer.

Sometimes it makes no sense to me how people talk about the Rebbe, or rather lack of talking. People beat around the bush, they mumble, they tell themselves whatever they have to in order to keep on going. And those are only the quiet ones. Then you have the ones who throw benches, who beat up grown men, who besmirch the Rebbe's holy name, and all in the spirit of what they claim is right.

Do you say yechi? Do you not say yechi? Are you meshichist? Are you anti? Are you a closeted mishichist? Do you wave a yellow flag? And on and on.

It is all so stupid. What's it any of your business what anyone else does. I say live and let live. And when people fight, especially claiming it's in the name of the Rebbe, I am pretty sure it makes the Rebbe sad, not proud.

What does Gimel Tamuz mean to me? I don't know. I walk down the street and see signs that say, make a hachlata for Gimel Tamuz- get a mashpia. Well, I already have a mashpia, she just never answers her phone. Hey, at least I could check that off on my shidduch resume.

When it boils down to it, to me it is all on the inside. I can't explain it to you because it is a feeling. Yes, I can learn the Rebbe's teachings, I can follow his horaos and hope that in that way I can make a difference, or connect to the Rebbe, or fulfill my spiritual "duty".

And admittedly, I don't even do any of that. So does that make me a 'bad' person? Or not a chossid of the Rebbe? I'd hope not. And then again, who are you to tell me whether or not I am a chossid? That is up to the Rebbe.

Someone asked me if I'm going to go to the ohel tonight. My response: "well it is going to be so packed....". That may not be a reason to not go. But I like going at night when it is secluded and I can feel like I am actually having a private moment, without being pushed or shoved or feeling like people are staring at me.

What does Gimel Tamuz mean to me? It means that despite everything we've been through in the past 17 years, we are still standing. We are still going strong. It means that even though there are 'tznius' problems, and people hurting each other, we are still Chabad, and as well known as Coca Cola. It means that the wellsprings have finally spread out to the farthest corners of the Earth. It means that I see a black hat and I think, my people.

Where was I 17 years ago? For awhile I was confused about that. We moved to Crown Heights when I was 3. Gimel Tamuz happened when I was 4. So where did that whole year go? Then I figured it out. The Rebbe was sick and not in 770. My mother tells me I got a dollar when I wasa  baby. But I don't remember.

To me, the Rebbe 'lives' in a video machine. He is alive on the pages of a sicha. He is in 770, he is at the ohel, he is inside of me, and next to me, and surrounding me. I go to the ohel and sometimes I cry. Sometimes my eyes are blurred ad I can't even read my pan. I don't usually read my pan, I figured the Rebbe knows what I have to say. He knows me better than I know myself. Sometimes I feel like I am made of glass, like I am see-through and the Rebbe sees it all. You can't hide it from him.

If the Rebbe were here with us, would I be running to farbrengins? Waiting on line every Sunday for a dollar? Dressing and acting more tznius and being aware of my behavior? I'd like to think so. But I don't know how it would be.

You can say whatever you want about Gimel Tamuz. But make no mistake. The Rebbe is very much alive. He is not just a picture on your wall. He is not just a possession, 'my Rebbe', he is not just a very well-known 'holy man from Brooklyn'.

My relationship with the Rebbe is 'complicated'. People say you have to work on your relationship, you have to put in effort and maintain it. While that may be true, the connection is always there. The Rebbe doesn't get 'insulted' if you don't write. I believe that the Rebbe knows who I am, and that he cares about me, the way only a Rebbe could. And I know that even if I don't go, and even if I don't write, and even if I don't learn- I know that my Rebbe isnt going anywhere.

So what does Gimel Tamuz mean to me? It means everything. It means a heart and soul connection that can never be broken.

It means that I am proud to be Lubavitch, that my connection to the Rebbe is only my business. That you don't need to understand it, just feel it. And it means that you can never take that connection away from me.

"You can take a girl out of 'Lubavitch', but you can't take Lubavitch out of the girl."

Happy spiritual Gimel Tamuz.

An ethical question

If someone hires me to type something up, but I don't type so fast, and it takes me X amount of hours to finish it, should I log less hours than it actually took me, since it might have taken someone else half the amount of time it took me? Or perhaps should I charge less per hour than originally discussed?

Irony

It's funny how
you told me
but I didn't listen.

Because
it wasn't
what I was looking for.

I brushed you off.
Said "no thanks"
to your suggestion.

I didn't even
really listen
when you spoke.

Because
it wasn't
what I was looking for.

And I said
That's nice of you
to think of me.

But I stopped listening
when you said
summer job.

Because
it wasn't
what I was looking for.

And it's ironic
that I saw you
two days later.

And I got the job
the one you told me about
the one I didn't even listen to.

And I think
I got my sign
after all.

To hug or not to hug

There is a split-second awkward moment whenever I see a friend of mine I haven't seen in awhile. Or rather a friendly 'acquaintance.' In those few seconds before we are face to face I think, hug or no hug?

Are we close enough that this reunion warrants a hug? Or maybe a simple 'hello' will do? What if I lean in to hug her but she wasn't planning to hug me? That would be awkward for me. Or perhaps the opposite, and then I will feel bad for not opening my arms.

And then there is the question, when I lean in to hug do I go to the right or the left? How do I know which way she will go? I don't want to end up in an awkward embrace, or worse, with a mouthful of someone else's hair.

Someone I know does not hug as a rule. She shakes people's hands. Which I find a bit unusual, but I guess that solves the problem.

So the question remains, to hug or not to hug?

A sign

I wish it were as simple as that. "G-d, please give me a sign if I should go ahead with this or not." And thunk, there is a glowing neon sign in front of me that says YES.

Or a super magic 8 ball. Just ask a question, shake it, and you get your answer.

But life doesn't work like that. I say, "Please G-d send me a sign." And then I wait. And wait. I hold out my arms, like He will actually drop something right into them. And yet that has never happened. So I wait some more, and then I sigh and walk away.

But then I wonder, what if that waving tree branch was my sign? Or that flashy red car that drove by? What if the phone call I got was the clear answer I was waiting for? How do I know that my sign didn't come, and I just missed it? Or misinterpreted it, or didn't see it.

G-d has many ways to tell us what we need to hear. Sometimes it comes from a parent or a friend. Sometimes it is a voice whispering from inside of ourselves. We don't know when or where it'll come from.

So I say, "Listen, G-d, I think this is the decision I'm supposed to make. But I'm not sure. So if it is wrong, please place a root in front of me that I will trip over."

I haven't tripped yet. And generally I look back and say, that was the right decision.

Little man

He was wearing sweats and a wife beater.
He looked good for his age.

A little pudgy around the middle,
but that is to be expected.

He had some baby fat around his cheeks.
And he was kind of bald.

He smiled at me.
I smiled at him.

Then I sat down with him in my lap.
He leaned back against me.

I nestled my chin against his head,
and breathed in the smell of his shampoo.

I wrapped a blanket around his bare shoulders.
He lay there contentedly.

I watched him fall asleep.
And placed him gently in his crib.

He is so cute,
my little man.

No status

Now that I have Facebook, my life seems to revolve around my status. The ability to be able to say in 420 characters or less how I'm feeling. Sometimes it just doesn't seem enough. Facebook gives the option of writing it as a note instead, if it exceeds the 420 characters. But who wants to write a note about how they are feeling?

And sometimes, like tonight, my status remains empty. 420 characters is way too much for what I want to say. I don't want to say anything. Nothing of significance comes to mind.

And so I sit and stare at the screen, and I contemplate writing a 'fluff' status. But really, why write empty words? So I don't write anything.

And it is hard to describe what I am feeling, and I also don't know if you will understand. But tonight, my status remains blank.

Not because I have nothing to say. But because my insides are mute, my brain remains frozen, and I don't want to think tonight.

Tonight, I want to forget.

Friends

There's tension inside me
Something bursting to come out.

I can't explain it.
A rush of anxiety.

Teeth clenched.
Moving fast.

Part anger.
Part desperation.

Why did I go.
I hate going.

But it wasn't for me.
Some things we do for other people.
For the sake of doing it.

But now I'm wound up tight.
Like a rubber band about to snap.

I need to put distance between me.
I need to get away from there.

I'm moving fast.
My feet pound the pavement, mirroring my anger.

Angry at what? At who?
At no one and nothing.

I see them in the distance.
Two black shadows, with a hint of flesh-colored legs.

I walk faster.
My heart is pumping.

My fists are clenched.
The block shortens.
Almost there.

They are sitting on a bench.
I think they don't see me.

But then they look up.
I tilt my head.
I walk a little jauntier.

They see me.
They stand up.

I am almost there.
And then-
I am in their embrace.

And nothing else matters.
And no one else is there.
And my anger dissipates.

And I sit and talk.
And they get it.
In the way that only friends can.

And my problems don't disappear.
And the world is not magically 'right' again.

But everything is just a little better,
Things seem a bit more bearable,
Because I know my friends care.

And right now, that is all that matters.

Chicken noodle soup

"Xcuse me, do you mind if I sit here? It's really busy today and the whole train is full..."

I mumble a "No problem!", flash a smile and move my purse off the seat next to me. Then I turn my attention back to my phone, emailing, texting, whatever it was that had me so engrossed. The plan was to listen to music and play games on my phone the whole hour and 40-something minute ride.

A few minutes later: "Does it smell like chicken noodle soup?"

I take a sniff. "Hmm you're right it does. Wow. I wonder why someone would bring soup on a train."

"Ya that is kind of weird." We laugh.

"At least it's not tuna," I add, hoping this conversation is winding down. I add something about looking for the person who has the soup, she says something about maybe they would have crackers to go with it.

I look back down at my phone. Then:

"This is a pretty good price for the train. Do you take it often?"

To which I explain that no, I'm just going in for the weekend. Then I politely ask her where she is going and if she lives there.

There went my quiet ride. I had a very pleasant conversation for an hour and a half with a random girl on a train. Which for me is interesting since I always envied those people who can strike up a conversation with their seatmate on a train or plane or wherever, while it never really happened to me.

I learned all about her boyfriend, the new dog they were getting together, how they were finally moving in together after being a couple for two years. I learned how they met, which was a really cute story. She told me where she had gone to college, where she is going for law school, why she is going to law school now as opposed to going to med school which she originally wanted to do.

She told me about her parents, her family, her childhood. Her roommates, her friends. I learned that she was German, I told her that I was Jewish. She said she has a lot of Jewish friends. We spoke about religion, about the danger of intermarriage. We spoke about marriage in general and shared our ideals.

She told me she sees herself marrying her boyfriend but wants to have her life and career set up first. He wants to marry her soon but she says if he's the one then they have their whole lives together so what's the rush.

I told her there are 8 kids in my family, to which she displayed shock. Too bad I didn't tell her I know of families who have 16 kids. I told her a little about my life, my family, where in life I am right now.

It was a very interesting ride, to say the least. I learned so much about a stranger in a short amount of time. She was a nice person, we crossed paths randomly, and I will most likely never see her again.

As the train pulled in and we both got off, ready to part ways I said, "By the way, I never asked you your name."

"My name is Laura."

I think Laura is a pretty name. And thank you for making my trip so interesting.

And to think it all started with a cup of chicken noodle soup...

In memory of my grandmother

How can you miss someone you've never met?

I miss her. It's like I know her. My mother talks about her and she comes alive.

My mother tells me how she loved to shop. She had closets full of clothes she never wore, but she liked to find bargains. She was very chatty. My mother tells me, she didn't say hello when she called you, she just started talking. She was beautiful, and she had a great smile. She was young, and energetic, and vibrant. She would stop people on the street to say hello. Strangers did not remain so for long.

I wish I had met her. I think we would have been great friends.

She is forever frozen in my mind, an image from a photograph I saw of her. I thought about going to the cemetery, but that would be confining her existence to a plot of land. She was so much more than that.

I wish she was around now. I wish she could be at my wedding. She would have loved to meet my niece. And I would have wanted her to meet my children.

It's hard to think of what might have, could have been.

When my mother talks about her, it is like she is really here. But she is not here, and will not be here, until the coming of Moshiach.

Sometimes people talk about loved ones of theirs who passed away. I thank G-d have never been touched by death directly, so I couldn't really understand it.

But now I think I get it.

Today is her 25th yartzeit. Twenty five years ago the world lost a special person.

And even though I never met you, I miss you, Bubby Doris.  

UN-communicative

I just-
...
I don't know, it's like-
...
I can't explain it-
...
My mind has clear thoughts-
...
But my mouth-
...
It's like-
...
It's wired shut.
...
I feel-
...
Defenseless-
...
To your onslaught-
...
Please stop talking-
...
Because-
...
Well-
...
I haven't formulated a comeback-
...
Yet.

Life's lessons

I have so much to learn about life, and I can't even say that I've lived that much till now. But life has taught me some things throughout my short journey here.

1. If you fall, no matter how long you lie there, you will always get back up again.

2. Eventually, someone will offer you a hand, and it is your choice to take it or reject it.

3. It really does all work out in the end.

4. And because it does work out, worrying is just unnecessary.

5. Better to laugh than to cry.

6. No matter how long you cry, you will have to stop long enough to breath. So you might as well stop altogether.

7. A little prayer goes a long way.

8. Look around you, and you will see who in your life really matters, and who is just taking up space.

9. G-d always knows what's best.

10. A week really is a long time, especially when all decisions are made a week before camp/school starts.

11. Wherever you are, that's where you'll be, and wherever you are there is always a Walmart. (Or some equivalent.) So pack light.

12. Talking to friends instead of dealing with things on your own really does make the burden lighter.

13. Some people aren't so bad once you get to know them.

14. Dealing with difficulties makes you a stronger and wiser person.

15. Running away solves nothing. But vacations are nice once in awhile.

16. Never ask G-d to test you, because He will. Be happy with the easy things you have to deal with.

17. No matter what happens today- there will always be a tomorrow.

18. Everything really does look better in the morning.

19. Trust in yourself, because G-d put you here for a reason, and only you can do the job that was assigned to you.

20. Never do a half job, because you will have to do it again, and then you will be doing a job and a half.

21. The only approval you need is your own.

22. Ask not "why me?" but rather, how can I be the best me I can be?

23. Bad hair days will not kill you.

24. Laughter cures all.

25. And lastly, "It's all good", because you know what? It always is in the end.

Feel free to add your own.

The man at the ohel

I don't know him, but he is a dear friend of my mother's. She knows his number by heart. He knows every single detail of our family, everything that we've been through, all of our deepest secrets and requests.

And yet, he has never met us.

He is the man at the ohel. My mother calls up for a bracha all the time. And I mean all the time.

You are flying? Call the ohel. Job interview? Call the ohel. Cut your finger? Call the ohel. Surgery? Ohel. Getting engaged? Okay, we go to the ohel for that.

It is convenient for people who do not live near the ohel, they can call up and ask the Rebbe for a bracha and submit their name, and someone will read it at the kever.

It is a strange concept though, that this man hears everything about people. Details. Names. Things people may not even tell their friends. And yet this man knows it all.

I sure hope he can keep a secret.

My mother said maybe one day she will go to him and say, hey man at the ohel, I'm so-and-so who calls all the time. I can just imagine his eyes lighting up in recognition as he gives my mother a look and says, "So how's the family?"

To kill a mocking bird

I hate driving in New York. I can drive in New York. Since I learned to drive here, I can hold my own pretty well. But I hate it. I hate the congestion, I hate the constant beeping, I hate the swerving cars, and the double parked cars taking up lanes, and the cars turning left that hold up the whole lane. You get my drift. I hate it all. Although I don't mind driving at night or early morning when the streets are empty.

Today I sat on a street for fifteen minutes because there was a hold-up ahead. I couldn't tell what was happening. Neither could anyone behind me. But of course it started. Beeeeeeeeep!!! Beeeeeeeeeeeeep! I wish there was a horn in the back of my car to beep at the driver behind me. Really? Do you think I'm just sitting here because I have nothing better to do and no where else to go? That I want to annoy you? I don't understand what beeping accomplishes when there is no where to go, except to release your annoyance and bother other drivers in the process.

Me? I put the car in park, reclined my seat, and listened to music. No need to stress when you can relax just as well.

When the traffic finally let up, you can bet everyone sped up to catch the light, after being held back for so long.

So there I was driving along, the street was clear so I was trying to cover as much ground as I could before the light turned red. And there in the street were two birds, seemingly unaware that I was about to bear down on them.

I have never hit or killed any animals before, thank G-d. (Nor people.) Oh my G-d! I am about to kill a bird!

So I did the only thing I could: I beeped.

Well guess what? It works as well with birds as with cars. They flew away, the road was clear and I kept on going.

And my track record of never having killed a bird is still clear.

I guess beeping has a purpose after all.

Like it's 5 am

It's 5:30 AM and I am awake. Not because I woke up early, but because I haven't gone to sleep yet. I just drove my little brother to the meeting place for his class trip. They are going to Hershey Park. I guess it's considered a graduation trip, since he's graduating eighth grade this Sunday. (Can I interject an 'awwww' moment here? My little baby is graduating!)

It's a weird feeling to walk outside at 5 am- and be greeted by complete daylight. It could be any time of day out there. But my brain knows it's still night time for me, as is evident from my constant yawning, and my tired eyes.

I went to a friend's lechaim last night, and it was really nice to see my classmates whom I haven't seen since the last wedding. And another friend whom I haven't seen in a few months.

There are a lot of changes happening in the near future. My parents are moving, I'm looking for an apartment, and a job. I'm going to be on my own and independent. Yes, I've been independent since I went away for high school when I was 14. But this is different. Then, I went home every so often. I always had a base to return to. Of course I will still go visit my parents once in awhile, but I don't think it will be 'home'. Once you reach a certain age, home becomes wherever you lie down to sleep.

I don't like change. It makes me nervous. I want to be settled and know where I'm going. I want my future to be clear and certain. But it's not. And that scares me.

But I realized two things.

1) Attitude really does matter. Yes, the situation will turn out however it will, and I don't have full control over that. But what I have full control over is how I react to it. I can freak out and sit on a bench on Eastern Parkway and mope about how my life is falling apart- or I can calm down and say, this too shall pass. Everything will work out. "It's All Good". And you know what, I am happier, calmer, and more at peace when I think that way.

And 2) There is someone much bigger than me who is controlling the world. And as much as I worry about what comes next, what I should do, He knows. Hashem knows that I am here, He knows that I am looking for a job, He knows that I need an apartment. He knows, but I didn't tell Him. I didn't turn to Him, I didn't ask Him. I forgot. I forgot that it's not just me, little Altie who makes the decisions. Hashem runs the world. He knows, He sees, He hears. And He listens when you talk to Him.

And I know that G-d won't let me down.

What next

It's like a wind machine blowing in my face.
I can't breath.
It lifts my hair and tumbles it around my head.

It's like the Big Bad Wolf from the story of the three little pigs.
Who huffs and puffs and blows my house down.
Only now it is down to the ground.

Down in shambles and pieces.
I can't put the pieces back together.
It is like a puzzle that doesn't fit.

A book with a page ripped out.
A street with no signs.
No direction at all.

Standing at the crossroads
in the middle of the night
no idea where to go from here.

And no one prepared me for this moment.

Rain

I couldn't fall asleep. Probably because I was in bed earlier than usual and my body said, no this makes no sense. It was 2 am and my eyes were wide open.

The steady sound of rain reached my ears. I couldn't sleep anyway so I got out of bed, threw something on and went outside. It was raining hard out there and as I stood on my porch in pajamas in middle of the night with rain streaming down on my hair and outstretched arms- I felt at peace. Giddy, even. It was exhilarating.

I watched the rain illuminated in the headlights of passing cars. A part of me felt safe.The street was quiet and empty.  But then I thought, what if a car drives by and starts shooting at me? Unlikely, but then again this is New York, anything is possible.

So I went inside and locked the door hoping not to wake anyone in the house.

I went back to bed but didn't fall asleep till 6 am.

I love rain, it makes me feel so alive.

What is love

Seriously, nobody falls in love in 2 days!!!! That's not how life works.

The way books depict love is so unrealistic. Meet, fall in love (sometimes 'the first time they lay eyes on the person') and live happily ever after.

Gag.

I can't claim to know how love works. But one day when I find out, I'm going to write to Nicholas Sparks to tell him... you got it all wrong.

Shavuos prep

This picture is for illustration purposes only. I did not make this cheesecake, I don't think I would have the patience for something this fancy. Thank you Google for the image. 

Some people prepare by learning. Others, by doing soul-searching or praying.

But this is how I prepare for Shavuos:

Ipod blaring, dancing to my own beat, making cheesecake in the kitchen at 2 in the morning. This is what I call fun.

Perhaps I'll post some pictures of my cheesecakes. One is a no-bake-triangular cheesecake, one which I've been making since I was in sixth grade. Simple, tasty, you can't go wrong. The second is a new recipe I am trying, thanks to The Professor of Lifeonacottonball for the recipe.

A freilechin Shavuos to everyone! May it be meaningful, filled with learning and growing, and may we all be in Eretz Yisroel with Moshiach this year to accept the Torah!

Oh, and enjoy the cheesecake!

Diversity

It had a documentary feel to it. I was an observer in a world that was foreign to me. I was the stranger. They stared at me wondering what I was doing in their world.

We walked until he decided to stop. A good place to take pictures, he said. I was his 'assistant'. He zoomed in and focused his lens. He was taking pictures of letters today. An experiment, he told me.

Williamsburg had lots of Hebrew letters. On the buses, on the storefronts, on the entrance to shuls and yeshivas. People stared at us at they walked by. They had suspicious looks on their faces. And interest. Why was this man taking pictures in their neighborhood?

No one stopped us. No one ran out screaming at us to 'please leave Williamsburg'. I heard Yidish being spoken all around me. I wasn't sure how well they can speak English. I know some yidish, but their accent is different.

We stopped in a park to sit down. I smiled at the kids as they rode past on their bikes. They stared at me, the stranger in their midst, with curiosity and hesitation. Perhaps I was akin to the man whom their parents warned never to take candy from.

We are both Jews, yet we are worlds apart. We come from the same nation, we serve the same G-d. But we dress differently, we talk differently, we act differently. I am not welcome in their world, because I am different than them. I am not so sure how welcome they would be in my world either.

It is an odd feeling. Like brothers who have never met. We feel like strangers. We treat each other like strangers. But at the end of the day, if you strip away the clothes, the speech, the customs, you discover the heart and soul, the neshama. We are both Jews.

So tell me, are we really that different?

Flame

It’s gone now

I don’t know where it went.

First it was there, then

Up to heaven it was sent.

Glowing orange and blue

It clung to the wick.

To its source of life

It had to stick.

The heat

It burned my hand

Had to pull away

The feeling it could not withstand.

Fire so pretty

Yet can cause such grief.

Can end a life

That was so brief.

I stare at the flame

It beckons me

Where there is no light

It helps me see.

Candle, yellow.

Flame so bright

Wax so soft

A beautiful sight.

I stare until

It is no more

The flame is gone

Called to heaven’s door.

That little wick

Is now so bare.

The flame that fought so hard,

It is no longer there.

I watch to see if it will come back, but it doesn’t. 

The last vestiges of the flame died, 

and a wisp of smoke ascended. 

A flame represents so many things. 

Life, a soul, a yearning. 

To me it is mesmerizing. 

But now the flame is gone, and it’s time for me to go to bed. 

People watching

On Eastern Parkway we sat, people watching. Maybe we saw you. You will never know.

We made up stories as they walked by. We tried to guess where they were headed, who was related to whom. We commented on clothing. On how cute little kids are.

We watched the cars as they drove by. Green ones and yellow ones. Cool cars and ones that have seen better days. Music blaring, thumping to the beat. These people were going somewhere.

Everyone was going somewhere. But we sat and stared. We weren't going anywhere.

It started to rain, and still we sat.

It got dark out, and still we sat.

To open your eyes and see the world around you, to observe- it is refreshing.

Shabbos ended and we headed home. Time well spent.

The bench awaits until the next time we decide to sit and watch.

Who knows what we might see.