Matisyahu and the Chanukah Story

I know I haven't been writing all that much recently. It is an amazing experience when you feel time contract and look at your watch wondering if you missed opportunity. I am currently working on a few blogs (one that is taking some time and another that needs more research). But what prompted me to write today was some interesting news: Matisyahu shaved off his beard.

The month of Kislev is the month of Orion, for you astrology fans, and of the tribe Binyamin. At the Sea of Reeds leaving Egypt, both Yehudah and Binyamin (with a strong sense of mesirus nefesh "self sacrifice") awaited a miracle from Hashem. Yehudah, however, preferred Hashem's presence to be displayed in a natural manner, while Binyamin wanted to extol Hashem's glory by having Hashem preform open miracles which transcended nature (Ryzman, The Wisdom in the Hebrew Months). But, this month is named after Binyamin, why? Hashem "moved the sea with a strong eastern wind and the entire night" (Shemos 14:21). With the open miracle taking precedence, so too does the rest of the month where the celebration of Chanukah occurs.

Matisyahu and his sons had the same type of mesirus nefesh as Binyamin, and declared a war beyond the physical battle. Hellenism was more or less today's version of "secular society." Or if you prefer something that doesn't touch too close to the American home, Communism of the early 1900s. The whole idea of these three types of society, is that it eradicates Torah [read: the fundamentals of Judaism] and institutes a nationalistic pride of Judaism, if you are lucky. But unlike the more recent influences, the Hellenistic battle was fought and won by none other than the famous Matisyahu (no, this time I'm not talking about the reggae rock star). When I speak about the battle of conserving Judaism, I mean the Judaism that has kept us Jews thus-far. Many Jews Hellenized and their descendants are still living, I'm assuming, however who can tell? They are now goyim, of the other nations. And of these other nations that have risen and fallen, Judaism is still here. It was saved during the era of Matisyahu because of Hashem, his will, and mesirus nefesh. And is celebrated because of the open miracles.

Speaking about miracles, Matisyahu, and Hellenism, the reggae rock star shaved his beard. I know, I know, I mentioned it before. But why do I bring it up in a blog about me, a Baalat Teshuva, and on a post that deals with Chanukah? To the non-frum viewers I guess I can explain the fight for Judaism in a different light (Chanukah pun). The physical battle against the Greeks was grand, and the spiritual battle over Hellenism was marvelous. Yet, just because we survived didn't mean everything was over. Over the centuries Jews have been maintaining their identity by internal cultural influences. If these cultures outside of us are trying to take away our beliefs, our Torah, then we fight by making our own culture. Nu? Following? So, we had our own language Hebrew, but on the streets Yiddish, Ladino, and the entire list of Judeo-*insert other language that surrounded the Jews here* were spoken. A certain dress style was adapted and the yummy cholent and lahoh followed (depending on country of origin). Judaism isn't an ethnic group or a culture. We are a nation united under Torah who created a variation of cultures to keep our identity.

However you choose to practice is quite frankly none of my business, but the things a Jews does effects the entire community. Way back in the day I went to a Reform summer camp called Eisner. When we went on field trips, I wondered why my notorious... friend (the camp director) got up and said we cannot do anything stupid. Not only illegal, immoral, and unpolitically correct, but stupid. He made a point even as Reform Jews, we were wearing a Magen David (Jewish Star) on our shirts. If we are Jews, despite none of us practicing halacha (let alone knowing what it was) or "looking like a Jew," we were responsible for the negative associations with "our people." It was either, "look at those nice, polite kids" or "those Jews can't raise their children right."

As a Reform Jew of thirteen I was asking myself why I had to act a certain way if I wasn't one of them. I knew who them were. I knew they were the ones that my friends compared me to when I said I was Jewish. They were the ones my school friends joked around about when they "woopty-dood" their fingers next to their ears. The black-hats and the Chassidism, they were all the same to me, they were simply them. So why did I need to act proper for the sake of "us" what ever that was. Because as far as I was concerned, I didn't dress like them, I didn't eat the same foods as them, I didn't throw in the "oy's" and "kinderlach's" around like they did, and half the time if they spoke I wasn't even sure if it was English! I. Am. Not. One. Of. Them!!!

Well, I got over it. I became proud to be a Jew. I was rockin' out to Matisyahu on my new Ipod in sixth grade, enjoying the beat boxing and reggae with the Jewish infusion. Mann, was I proud to be a Jew! This dude became religious (I mean, did you SEE his peyos and beard?!). Next time my friends joked around about me being Jewish, BAM, I had THIS GUY backing me up. He was cool, well versed, and his music was right up my ally. Well, Hashem loves a good laugh. My baggy guy-shorts have been replaced by skirts and his verses such as

"You're a slave to yourself and you don't even know, 

You want to live the fast life but your brain moves slow, 

If you're trying to stay high then you're bound to stay low, 

You want God but you can't deflate your ego (King Without a Crown)" 

and  

"In the ancient days, we will return with no delay, 

Picking up the bounty and the spoils on our way, 

We've been traveling from state to state, 

And them don't understand what they say, 

3,000 years with no place to be, 

And they want me to give up my milk and honey, 

Don't you see, it's not about the land or the sea, 

Not the country but the dwelling of His majesty (Jerusalem)" 

are now understood. I mean, rocking out to them in sixth grade was nice... but it's seven years later. I'm religious now. I am no longer a slave to myself. I'm out of the fast lane. I'm struggling with my ego. Israel is my home. From Russia to America, traveling state-to-state, my fathers have been conforming to the societies for 3,000 years, forgetting why they fled. And now, after my El-Al flight watching my plane's shadow cast over the Mediterranean Sea approaching Israel, I realize it isn't about the country... it's about the shechina, the dwelling of His majesty! I listened to Matisyahu on the plane here... and I opened my eyes. The words I was spewing along with were no longer meaningless, they were POWERFUL and true. 


Matisyahu's music had become my gage in religiosity. It started off as music and became my expression. Now that he has shaven off his beard for a more "modern" look, I look back on the journey I have undertaken. I still wear my eleven piercings proud. They represent so much more than the rebellious look, they symbolize my internal struggle between the secular and religious cultures. I blatantly dislike both. The religious and secular lifestyles are two opposite ends, extreme in their own manner. My secular parents hate my piercings and so does my Haredi brother. But, ironically I love them because they are exactly in the center. My tznious (modest) clothing expresses my desire to follow Hashem and his ways [read: NOT live in the secular world which is sold on sex]. My piercings express my desire to remain an individual and to keep what little of my past that hasn't already vanished [read: NOT the yeshivishe world where girls are judged based on the thickness of their stockings and any mistakes becoming a chillul Hashem (Desecrating G-d's name)]. I straddling the fine line every BT walks. And though Matisyahu has ten years on me, I think he walks that same line. But as my facebook status says so concisely, "I'm curious to see if he is breaking free from the cultural standards of the orthodox community, or breaking from the community itself... (...DON'T LEAVE ME!!!)"

Secularism, Science, and Sinai

          The article "Jews Survived Thanks to Brit Milah and Niddah" (featured on Ynetnews.com on today, 23/11/11) gave me that slight pang of frustration and anger at secularism. Now, I feel the strong need to preface this post with the inner-most truths of my mind: I am not anti-secular. I am merely "anti-the-secular-scholars-who-keep-trying-to-prove-Gd-or-Jewish-nationhood/survival-with-science-that-is-irrelevant-but-people-believe-because-it-has-the-words-"science"-or-"study"-attached-to-it-even-though-science-is-Gd's-creation-and-doesn't-prove-or-disprove-him-and/or-his-master-plan." And I believe that with some of my strong criticism of the Reform and secular Jewish movements people may have me pinned as "anti-secular," "anti-reform," or anti-what-have-you. Which, in truth, I am not. (In fact, I apologize for the excessive (possibly constructive) criticism on the secular movements in addition to my excessive this-ing-with-the-dashes). My point however remains, more simply put, as a question: What is with this constant "disproof" of Gd with science?

           Having suffered over a decade of public school, I have seen the vast majority of Atheists back-up their claim of a Gdless world by crying "science." Once I came to seminary all the teachers prove Gd with science and probability. Interestingly enough, I have learned more science (for better or for worse) here than I have in the last twelve years of public school (... don't get me started on the American public eduction system). However, I question the validity of science being the big call to Atheism, secularism, and doubt. Transitioning from the article's scientific angle to a more subjective style, by the author, this part in particular caught me off guard:

          "In Israel today you can be completely secular without affecting your Jewish identity. In the Diaspora there is no such thing. In recent generations, secular Judaism has been a way out of Judaism. But three things have allowed the existence of the Jewish people in the past, and in the future: The people, Torah and Gd."

          I was a little more than shocked to read this at the end of the article seeing as the man proving Jewish survival by science, Melvin Konner, had formally introduced himself as a man who grew up religious and went "off the derech." Which was even more shocking because he started off his findings by framing Jewish-survival on the premiss of Darwinism. Konner previously mentioned his distaste for extremism of any kind, which also had me questioning his polar stances from start to finish. Opening up with scientific research seemingly to disprove a relationship between Hashem and the Jewish nation's survival, his last quote ends off the article by claiming the people, Torah and, most interestingly enough, Gd as the reason for Jewish existence. Now, the author of the article, Tzofia Hirschfeld, merely introduced Konner's findings, but the way she worked her way from science to Gd, by quoting Konner, got my mind turning.

          One of my favorite classes taught by Rabbi Kelemen, a Harvard educated teacher and author, uses science and physics and math and probability to prove the rational in believing in Gd. Believing in Gd is rational? I was relived to hear that! I thought I was just "following my gut feeling." Anywho, the way he proves the rationality in living a life of belief and Gd is astounding, but I won't give his shiurim-secrets here. When science proves Gd exists, I wonder what the people who use it to deny Gd's existence thinks. I'll have to debate this with one of my well-versed friends sometime. But, I have crossed a certain line recently. I won't try to preach Gd or religion to people who are not interested. Because you can prove the mathematicians wrong; you can prove the scientists wrong; you can prove the whole world wrong; In the end you can only hope your following what's right if you've proven it to yourself. But hey, since this is my blog and you've decided to read it I can stand on my soapbox and yell and scream what ever I want. So to that I say, the people, the Torah, and Gd are all what keeps my nation alive. And I'm proud of it. If you want to be apart of this nation, go ahead and do what you'd like. But if you want your children to be apart of it, remember what has been keeping it alive for so long. 

Struggling With The Past

"Everyone follows someone, the question is who."

          I day dream a lot. I suppose this is not the biggest news flash. I'd describe myself as with my feet on the ground, but my head in the clouds (Matisyahu anyone?). But, I sit in class often wondering how I ended up here. It's a struggle everyday to reconcile my past and the future I'm walking into. While, I couldn't have ever dreamed of a brighter future after becoming religious, I still feel the negative effects of how I was raised creep up into the corners of my mind. 

         I wonder what I would say if I would sit face to face of the Reform movement Rabbis that I grew up with. This seems like an odd thing to ponder, but as I skim the web, I see a lot of anti-orthodox sentiment. Especially about the kiruv movement and how they "get you." I remember all the things I heard about the Orthodox movement and a lot of it bothers me. I sit here, now, keeping kosher and shabbos. I am a proud Jewish woman, with strong values, morals, and ideals having been instilled to me by both my parents and my new community, even though the specifics may vary and cross. But if I saw myself five, even ten years ago, when I was more influenced by what my parents and the leaders of my camps and shuls said, I would have been astonished to see me in a long skirt and keeping mitzvos. Why? I cannot claim that the rhetoric of the Reform movement was particularly neutral to the other movements. Choice through education, was their slogan, but what choice did I have if there was no Gd (well... maybe, there is, some said) and there was no Torah. I didn't open a chumash until I was thirteen years old, and pounding out the D'var Torah I gave at my Bas Mitzvah was the closest thing to learning Torah I ever did. How can thirteen years of being Jewish, and never knowing Torah outside a few Pirke Avos quotes be knowledge? And as I say this, I question what else they said about the Orthodox community. Love your neighbor, but not your fellow Jew? 

          The Orthodox Jews, they said, are oppressive and backwards and everything in between. While I stand to prove them wrong, as my life style choice is neither oppressive nor backwards, I still can't stand to see such a huge portion of them so judgmental. None of this is in malice towards my past or the Reform movement, but I keep day dreaming in class, what if I was thirteen, or even eight, looking at myself now? I'd hate me. And this negative feeling that had been instilled in me at these ages were from communities that have never walked these shoes. It hurts to know the people from my past wouldn't accept me or even understand where I am, because they outright reject the life style I have chosen. Now, as many people tell me, I shouldn't be explaining myself to others, as I have no need to. But I can't help but wondering what I would of thought of MYSELF way back when. And I'm sure every one does this from time to time. 

          Luckily, one of the Rabbis substituting for one of my classes put an end to these negative thoughts by saying, "Everyone follows someone, the question is who." This statement put my mind at ease for an interesting reason. I was thinking that people wouldn't accept me for who I am today because I follow Hashem and try to do his will. I don't just believe, I do what I believe. Many people follow things that are of a much more destructive nature. Whether it be pop-culture (who has to look like whom) or a political figure (only human) or a number of other things, I have the benefit of telling people from my childhood that I follow Gd. This is the creator of the entire universe I'm talking about! Even if they think I'm being misled by following an "imaginary friend" I found so much comfort in the idea that even if they don't believe in my Gd, they are following something. And the fact I am following something that I think is so marvelous, so grand, so incredible, and so true, I am doing what is right. What is right by myself, by my culture, by what have you, I feel like I am being more honest with myself now, than I ever could of been without Gd. So, now when I look back and wonder what I would of said about myself currently, I know I would say I am happy and fulfilled. But hey, I'll deflect the question to the people who think that I may be backwards or wrong, or am being misled by a sly Kiruv movement. I ask of them, who or what do you follow? And is it making you happy and fulfilled in every aspect of your life? 

Diminishing Lights

Rebbetzin Kanievsky- miracle worker died Oct 15.

Rabbi Koppelman- one of the oldest rosh yeshivas (Switzerland) died June 17.

Rabbi Elazar Abuhatzeira- kabbalah teacher, died July 29, stabbed. 

and

Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel- Rosh Yeshiva of Mir Yeshiva, died November 8. 

The greatest people of our generation have been dying and all of Klal Yisroel is suffering. I attended the Levaya, where we escort the dead for burial, of Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel. 100,000 people showed up to escort him to the cemetery. To see 100,000 orthodox Jews is an incredible, unbelievable testament of our survival, but also a testament to the value we see in preforming the mitzvah of accompanying our dead. 

With the greatest lights of the Jewish Nation burning out, I wonder who will rise to take their places. 

The Levaya

Sunrise Over Gaza

          He was talking about the sunrise over Gaza, while I imagined the sunset over Jerusalem, while we all watched the glistening stars in Tel-Aviv. The four of us were standing there- what a funny sight! Me, sitting on the balcony railing, dressed all tznious, in a skirt that they could of never imagined me wearing. Ben, our Israeli solider, had finally gotten out of his navy uniform and joined me on the balcony. Sim, whose still trying to save the world, pulled up a seat next to us as he offered Heather his jacket.  Look at us. We all went to EIE together three years ago. Together we were a group of great friends, in America we were scattered. And now, here we sit. We all came from the same place and are now in different worlds. I'm a baalat teshuva in seminary. Heather is in seminary too, but to figure out what she believes because her entire family became frum after she went to college. Ben, who we all knew would go to Tzahal, is sitting with us straight off the boat from gaza telling stories of his journeys. And Simcha, he's volunteering in Tel-Aviv working with Sudanese refugees and children. We all came from the same place, we are all on different paths, and we are all going to very different places. We are not the people we all were two-three years ago. But, boy, look at us all together now! And nonetheless in Israel, where we first met.

         

The Flood Gates

         They say if you open your heart to Hashem the size of a pin-hole, He will open flood gates for you. This concept was taught to us at the very beginning of school. I guess because it relays the message of willingness. If you are willing to let Gd into your life, however small, he will enter and open your eyes wide, as long as your willing to see. I think my pin-hole was returning to Jerusalem and Succos was the gate.

          The intermediate days of Succos, Chol Hamoed, were relaxing. I mulled around town and campus just enjoying being in my bed. But what was really awesome was the Shemfest concert that took place in Beit Shemesh. I was front row for one of the bands, Moshav, which I have been listening to for years. It was pretty sweet to see them live in Israel. While there, I also ran into more of those "becoming religious faux pas" moments. As we got there, I was confused by the tarps dividing the area in front of the stage. After realizing all I saw were boys dancing, singing, jumping, and moving about, I realized it was a mechitza (a mechitza divides the men and women's side)! I have never seen a mechitza at a concert, but it was a cool experience being able to dance and jump around in public, despite the religious demographic. Another moment was when Yehuda Solomon (the lead vocalist) jumped off of the stage, maybe a meter away from me. I've been to concerts before... why wasn't he slapping hands? He runs over to the other side and starts high fiveing the guys. OH, shomer niggiah! Haha. Silly things like this made it not only a ballin' concert but a cool experience.

          For the last days of Succos, I had a wonderful time. I not only stayed by Rabbi Refson for the first days and slept by the wonderful women I had previously posted about, but for the last days of hag I was sleeping in the Old City! This great family let me come for two of the meals at their apartment, which overlooked the main square in the Old City. It's one thing to be in beautiful NYC overlooking the Hudson and Manhattan. It's another thing entirely to be in a city carved of stone, 4,000 years old, and holier than any other place in the world. Then, I slept down stairs at a Rabbi's house. I ended up chatting with him over breakfast/kiddush and we swapped stories. I was telling him about the stuff I particularly find interesting to read... kabbalah concepts, chassidus, and moral aspects. He ended up being the author of books like the ones I find enjoyable to read! He handed me a book and gave it to me as long as I passed it around. I finished it (it was really good!) and now there's a list of girls waiting for it. Just when you think things can't get better...

          During the last days of Chol Hamoed, Shmini Atzeres, and Simchas Torah (the last days of Succos) I davened (prayed) at the Kotel. I even decided to walk from where I live, an hour and a half away, to the Old City the day after hag- just because it was so powerful. When I first approached the Kotel, two years ago, it was a fascinating piece of history. But now, as a religious Jew, it is a symbol of the future and hope. I never understood the people who davened there with such great intensity. The ones who cried bewildered me. By the third day davening there, tears welled up. I finally felt like this place represented a yearning I personally have for the rebuilding of the Beis Hamikdash. The hope that one day my children will see peace and prosperity and Truth in the world. And the day after I left the Old City (on my Simchas Torah) I had the weirdest dream; I was at the Kotel. So the next day, despite my apprehension for walking there a fifth time, I went. While I was there nothing particularly interesting struck me. That is, until I got to the middle of the Amidah (the central prayer in Judaism). A young woman had made it to the Wall next to me. She started crying, profusely. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her kissing the wall, touching it, running her fingers over the cracks and dips. And in her hand was a smaller one. She leaned in so her young baby could feel the wall, kiss it too. I couldn't help but watch as she cried and held her baby. I think she also wishes her child will see the day when the Temple stands and when there is peace, tranquility, and Truth in the world.

           The last meals I had were a mix between at the school and at two of the school "mothers." My Rebbetzin, the one who set up my amazing Succos, had me for dinner on Shabbos. And our Rakezet had us for the last meal. By Havdallah, which recognized the end of Shabbos and the last of Succos and three-day hagim, I realized this was the most amazing experience I could have asked for. The floodgates are open.

Welcome Home Our Son & Solider!!!

Gilad Shalit

"We will have peace with the Arabs when they love their children more than they hate us."

Golda Meir

Today, Israel proved we love our children more than we hate the Palestinian enemy. We released over 1,000 of them, who have murdered and slain us, in order to get our Israeli son and soldier, Gildad Shalit, back. Tell the U.N. and the rest of the world, we are waiting for peace... but are the Arabs ready for it?

InTents Hag

          I sat down and explained to her why I didn't know where I was going for Sukkos. It was because I had no idea how the holiday worked. How many days? Which days are observed like shabbos? What do you mean by meals? So after a long chat, my Rebbetzin set me up to stay by a woman with two kids and  to eat all my meals by the dean of Neve, Rabbi Refson. Not only was I completely honored to have been invited to all the meals with Rabbi Refson and his wife, but I was also in for a big surprise for the woman I stayed with.

          She was a convert, a divorcee, an oleh (someone who has immigrated to Israel), and one of her sons has leukemia. I couldn't believe her story but she has had a fascinating life and is one of the kindest people I have met. And in light of this, we both misunderstood the set-up, and since I observe two days of hagim (you only observe one if you are Israeli), I ended up staying there three days longer than she expected. Not only that, but she was going somewhere for shabbos so she simply trusted me and gave me the key. It's not typical of the Jewish community to be this open and trusting, however this woman was wonderful in every way. But so, too, were the Refsons. I was blessed to eat at the Refsons' because I was able to ask questions and see how the meals in a Sukkah worked, what blessings to recite, and got great food from wonderful people. It's one thing to learn about Judaism, it's another entirely to actually live it. And with that I feel to have been blessed to have had an incredible experience during the first days of Sukkos. 

          But, with growth, comes many mistakes. I went to Tel Aviv right before sukkos and kind of had a "blast from the past," so to speak. I felt like I was walking the streets of New York back in my old setting. But it's one thing to go back to where you have gone, and another to go back as you were. I was in such a completely different mindset I felt it had been a mistake returning to Tel Aviv. And not because I didn't have fun, not because it isn't beautiful, and not because I don't love the city. It was because I was looking at the way people dressed and the things people were doing and the way the whole society worked as opposed to Jerusalem. It was so familiar. It felt like America. It was completely (in) my past. I'm not sure I liked re-walking through all of my mistakes. 

She Followed Me Home...

I have (re)named her: Shwarma

Asleep in my arms 

Black Board

          I feel like those ancient black boards where at the start of every class we wiped the board clean, with dust still shimmering in the air. Nothing is forgotten entirely, just pushed aside for more room to grow and move forward. Forgiven. Yom Kippur.

          Viduy, with true kavana, breached my lips and heart. I am embarrassed and regretful for sins and transgressions that I have done. It's very hard to accept wrong doing, it's a strike against my pride. But more so, against the humanity within me that recognizes that I may have hurt other people. And with that I felt a deep sense of connection to Yom Kippur this year, when I am at the point of my life where I am trying to grow the most. Being in seminary with big aspirations to learn and grow as a Jew, I can attest to the humility shown by sincere conviction which screams, "I can change. I can become better. There is always better. I will move forward." And I am grateful for this. Yom Kippur, despite the hungry stomachs and depressing atmosphere, has a true and subtle happiness knowing we are allowed to start clean.

           There may still be chalk and dust in the air, but I believe the remnants of the black bored adds a kind of beauty. It shows nothing is forgotten, only forgiven. It shows we all came from someplace and are going somewhere.

My Siddur

Overwhelmed and Struggling

HAPPY NEW YEAR! L'SHANA TOVA! It's officially 5772, and I'm already wiped out.

          I spent Rosh Hashana back in Armon Hanatziv with Noa and her family. I love being with them, like in the past. They are warm and open and welcoming. But I can't say that it was so easy this time around. I didn't know on hagim (holidays) it's like a mini-shabbos, so here I was with four days and difficult decisions. Do I go with them here and there for meals even though they drive? Do I do this or that? Am I allowed to do such and so? I mean they taught us all this wonderful stuff about Rosh Hashanah but they kind of left out the important things. So, in the backwards world of irony, I ended up feeling most comfortable in shul. Something that had never struck me as particularly comfortable growing up.

          The machzorim were all in Hebrew. In fact, if it wasn't for learning my aleph-beis (Hebrew alphabet), I wouldn't even know which siddur-looking book WAS the machzor. And the women sat up in the top balcony. This neither worried me or made me uncomfortable, except for the fact there were only a handful of women and dozens of men. In fact, it was only the scarcity of women is what made me uncomfortable. But all-in-all, this was the place out of all Rosh Hashanah I felt most comfortable. No worrying about if I was dressed properly, no need to wonder if I was breaking halacha. Just me in a room with Hashem. Mano y Mano as I joked around with my Israeli friends coming out of shul.

          I tried praying by the book, though my Hebrew is quite timid. And as the short one-hour-or-so service seemed to drone on, with me in the dust, I just decided to talk to Gd. So there I stood. Black long sleeves to my wrists, a purple and black dress dropping off below my waste to below my knees. Uncomfortable, unfamiliar, stockings hugging my legs. Black, sued shoes protecting my feet. I fit in pretty well (well, aside from the pierceings and short hair). But, what made me stick out this time, was none of that. It was the fact I was in my own little bubble talking to Gd, in English, under my breath as my face contorted with regret and hope and a vast closet of emotions that normally don't come out with prayer. Eyes shut tight, I wonder what a King would think of such rambling. After all, Hashem Hamelech, The King. And there I stood on his coronation day, asking for my Gd to be my King, while simultaneously admitting confusion and blindness, and asking for light. It was an extremely meaningful day to me, but I can't say it wasn't difficult or confusing.

          Shabbos, that followed, came in and out. I was tired of trying to figure out halacha I had no idea about. And I was just tired of holidays. I made it through, not in grace, but in struggle and on Saturday night I went home to my bed. Sitting there, waiting for my roommates, reflecting on the experience, one of my madrichot (counselor/dorm-mother/helper/friend) came into my room to see what was up. I told her I had a nice break (because being with people I love and know is always pleasant despite typical struggles). Here, she informed me of half day classes on the next day because of the Fast of Gedaliah. You want to make a Baalat Teshuva cry? Put two hagim and a fast day in a row. Especially when she is new to shabbos to begin with. I was basically mortified. Way too much for me. Overwhelming. But, I made it through the fast in one piece and am sitting writing this alive and well B"H. I suppose Hashem doesn't give you more than you can deal with... but boy can someone's breaking point be centimeters away from where they are pushed.

           After saying that, this may come as a crazy surprise: I'm also having a hard time with school because I don't find it challenging enough. Here's my reasoning: life is hard, school is not. Let me explain... the only way I can deal with life is if I'm well prepaired in school and other forms of education. I feel like I'm having such a hard time living a Jewish life is because I have yet to learn how to do it. Luckily, B"H, I ran into a wonderful girl who shares a class with me and also thinks a lot like me. We are both very intellectual and when it comes to classes we want straight up truth. We are emotional, love gushy stuff, adore kittens and boys... but when it comes to our education we want to learn solid fact and truth and don't want teacher's biases blocking us from learning material. In better words, we are analytical and want text-and-source-based curriculum. She is a year older than me, with a much stronger Jewish background than me, and is in a completely different type of program. But to meet someone who has the same independent academic learning style I was extremely impressed and pleased to have picked up some good learning habits from her. And this also helped perpetuate an idea I couldn't previously express during another class.

          As I was describing my opinions about they type of learning we were doing, all the other girls said what I viewed as a negative (less text-based learning) as their reason for going to Michlelet Esther in the first place. But, I was frustrated because they could of chose a multitude of seminaries where I got two main choices coming from no Jewish background: Neve Yerushalayim or Mayanot. Since my brother is yeshivish and the Rabbi who was helping me preferred Never I decided to attend Neve. But, because of my age, I could only really be put into M.E. for being 18 and only post-high school. So I was a little disappointed to realize I may be one of very few people in my school who is really motivated and yearning to grow leaps and bounds in Jewish halacha and lifestyle. I'm going to go talk to one of my Rabbi's soon, but I still am wondering what do I say? I mean, I'm here because I want to learn, but how do I tell them I want to learn, but I don't know what exactly I'm looking to learn, and their classes just aren't what I'm looking for... Luckily, I have a tutor, so we'll go over Shabbos halacha, and from there I'll  branch out. But I am still extremely unsure. It's like walking through a pitch black tunnel, knowing at the end there is light... but in the meanwhile your still blind so you keep walking.

          Being Jewish is not easy. And as I said to a few friends: Israel is neither the country for sleep nor comforts.

A Lost Dog Can Always Find Their Way Home

Take the eight, get off at the last stop. 

          Not sure where the last stop was, I saw the market overlooking a huge quarry. As I got off the bus, backpack slung low on my right shoulder, my complacent face turned into a huge grin. I recognized where I was. I walked up the hill, to a bridge with yellow hand-rails. I know my way! I walk down the slope and approach Noa's apartment buildings which I haven't been to in two years. My step-by-step quickly turned into a strut. Unsure which identical apartment complex it was, I approached the most likely one. As I looked at the doorbells, I saw no last-name markers. However, the last one on the left was broken. Still? It's been two years, I'd figure they would of fixed it by now! I walked up the stairs. One set, two set, three. Knock. Knock. Knock. Bar, Noa's younger sister opened the door. "A lost dog can always find their way home," I said. It was met by a quick and happy yell and hug. I was home.

          Y'know, it takes that feeling of complete and utter relaxation to feel at home. Familiarity helps, too. Once Noa got back, we went around the old neighborhood as it all came back to me. That's the park we once hung out at. There's where the old zula (lounge) once was. Here is where I met up with her once, and over there Rachel and I met her friends. Two years older, her friends have scatter among the army and community service. But luckily, a few were home this weekend. We sat and laughed and talked about the army, music, politics, religion... like always. Told stories, shared anecdotes, funny things that came to mind. Better yet, by the second night, I was understanding most of their conversations in Hebrew. It came back to me much quicker than I expected, but of course with the sprinkling of "Ma ze __, b'ivrit"s. Coming back to the dorm was nice. To put my things down, to write this all up, but to go to Noa's and feel at home, while even so changed, made me realize I truly feel at home in Eretz Yisroel. And I mean beyond the over-all connection to the people and land and Jewish people.

You Don't Need Therapy, You Need Yeshiva.

          After having a brief discussion with my brother (he was getting bored in classes and wanted me to tell him about what I've been learning), I basically wove all my classes into a coherent blob. It made logical and flowing sense, but as usual, I was so excited to tell him everything I learned I spent an hour typing out all the most interesting things and connections that had no real direction. Now, as I was typing out all of this information, I was really trying to get across the point that I was changing, growing. And I don't mean I have been getting any taller, or am becoming a conservative anytime soon, or taking out all my piercings (sorry, Ima). What I mean is I have been striking the balance I have been looking for. I'm figuring out what I stand for and believe. Who I am. All the therapy in the world couldn't help me figure this stuff out... but two weeks in seminary and I'm all mentally unraveling and rebuilding. As my brother, Josh, said to me about two/three days ago, "Who needs therapy when you have Yeshiva?" I laughed so hard I nearly cried, because that is the saddest thing I ever heard! Who needs to pay to hear advice a friend is willing to give for free? Now, I went to a great therapist for a while because I needed an adult's advice for some sticky-situations. However, in the "real world" of adulthood, the reason everyone I have ever met goes to a therapist is because the world is falling apart when it comes to relationships. Don't get me started about texting, tweeting, and facebook! And then, we have the magazines and television ads which help all of us put on the glossy-coat of facade, in where we can all loose ourselves. The point is, Yeshiva (seminary for the girls) is a wonderful place to get brain-washed. Yeup, I said it. Brain. Washed. As in, washing our brains from the mindless t.v., terrible advertisements, desensitizing movies and video games. Entering a Yeshiva or Seminary helps people get rid of all the filth from the world (although I confess I still listen to some music with cussing in it), and build a foundation where we understand ourselves and from here can reach out to other people and form true and lasting relationships that don't deteriorate with the newest fashion or the latest social-media outlet. Now, I'm not saying I'm never going to watch t.v. or use my facebook (I'm as addicted as anyone else!). What I mean to say is I'm washing myself down, and am going to slowly re-introduce things I like (such as music and t.v.). But, when I do, these things are not going to be my identity, like it is for so many people. I'm not going to be the biggest Scrubs fan who ever lived, I'm going to be a person who likes to watch Scrubs when I'm bored and need to relax. I'm not going to be this huge Dead-Head or Dispatch groupy, but instead, a person who likes to blare my music when I'm cleaning my room or trying to fall asleep. The things I do from day-to-day will be the things I do and not the person I am. So, when I reiterate, "you don't need therapy, you need yeshiva," I'm agreeing that the best kind of therapy comes from the relationships you build. But in order to make these relationships, you first need to figure out who you are... Welcome to Yeshiva.

Skipping Stones (Not Throwing Rocks)

          I finally understand how shabbos is the "clinch" of my week. Because now, today, Sunday, is a fresh start. However, this Shabbat, I did something all too familiar, but, now, all too foreign.
          Thursday, I went to Nariah, where I got to the kibbutz, Beit HaEmeq, where I was met by my friend, Ben. He went on NFTY-EIE with me. EIE is the semester abroad program I participated in, in tenth grade, where I lived on Kibbutz Tzuba (by Zova Beit Zayit, 20 minutes from Jerusalem) with 120 other Reform teenagers in 2009. Here, we learned Jewish History from the land and explored the deep connection to our people. And here, Ben and I sit in a familiar setting, two years later. He is in the Tzahal, serving Israel. I am in seminary, serving Hashem. How can two teens from the same background, uproot their entire lives and end up so different? In Eretz Yisroel, nonetheless...
         So, I came to the conclusion NFTY, the Reform movement's youth program has a certain... air, if that's how you will say it. That's it! The Reform movement, with no malice intended, is full of air. It has this beautiful platform of social justice and choice, but lack a solid Jewish base. They give us a choice to choose how we want to practice our Judaism, but it gives us no education. How many times can I hear the Pirkei Avos (or Pirkei AvoT) quote, "It is not your obligation to complete the task, but neither are you at liberty to desist from it entirely… (2:16)." Sure, it's nice advice, but why should I listen to it? What is it's validation? I JUST learned five days ago Pirke Avos is from Mishna. In the Reform movement we are hardly taught Torah, why would they think Mishna is of any relevance? After all... Mishna is the written down collaboration of Oral Torah, which the Reform movement already deems unimportant. And what gives me this solid expertise in what the Reform deems important and unimportant? I have gone to six and a half years of URJ (Union of Reform Judaism, formally UAHC) summer camps. I have gone though ten years of formal Reform Hebrew School (excluding pre-first grade classes). I have gone to approximately 30-50 NFTY programs and Kallahs (shabbatons), maybe 100 if you count the Temple Youth Group at my local shul, which I helped run on the leadership board. I have done a six-week Reform Jewish volunteer program during the summer. And, finally, I studied at HUC (Hebrew Union College, the Reform movement's Rabbinical college) on a high school program for an entire year. I get nauseous at the thousands of dollars my parents have spent on my "Jewish Education." I can tell you what I had learned from it: to be a good person. If I followed all the laws, I would be a good person. If my parents raised me at the bare-minimum of decent, I would be a good person. If I valued education and intellect, I would be a good person. So, Gd help me, I am extremely angry with the Reform movement in America. I have such a soft and special place in my heart for them, even still, because after all they reminded me I was Jewish. But, after reading the parts of Pirkei Avos they forgot to teach me, I learned, "On three things the world stands. On Torah. On Service of Gd. And acts of human kindness." And here I am to learn Torah and the Service of Gd. And if then, I decide to pick and choose, it will be out of knowledge and not out of ignorance. But, here, I let myself be swept away by frustration and sadness. I mention this idea of the Reform movement in America because I'd like to now contrast it to Israel.
          In Israel I have plenty of friends who are secular and categorize themselves with the Reform movement of Israel. But, in Israel, they learn Tanakh (Torah, Prophets, Writings) and traditions. I know plenty of secular Jews in Israel who have Shabbos dinners and don't keep Shabbat. They all celebrate Lag Ba'Omer and Tu B'shvat. I know more American Jews who have a Christmas tree... I mean Channukah Bush.... in their house than even KNOW what these holidays are. And this is why the URJ's  EIE is such a success. It is a Reform movement program that got messed up on boarders. The Reform movement in Israel teaches Jewish teenagers Judaism in a traditional and educated setting, rather than a "keep the masses ignorant" sort-of-way. This may not be the American-Reform movement's intent, but by teaching feel-good quotes and prayers instead of sit-there-and-learn-your-own-history-and-religion-whether-you-choose-to-follow-it-or-not, the Reform movement is saying it's okay to be dumb about your identity. Or even better: it doesn't matter. However, I have met the most lovely and considerate and beautifully-minded people in the Reform movement who just want their kids to "love Judaism." And in that case I ask if the Reform movement is some kind of Kiruv? Is that why I know so many Reform Jews who have wandered into the Chabad?
          So, back to EIE and this Shabbos, I sat with Ben, my Israeli Soldier, and with myself, the Unorthroprax Baalat Teshuvah. From EIE, I can name dozens upon dozens who found the love of the land and immigrated to Israel and joined the army. From EIE, I can name dozens upon dozens who found Judaism in a new light and became the leaders of the Reform movement. From EIE, I can name dozens upon dozens of who were unhappy with the depth of knowledge, sought more, and are now Orthodox. From EIE, I know dozens upon dozens who left with no inspiration and desire to learn more and stayed exactly the same. From EIE, the Reform movement finally made a great program: one that teaches and let's us choose our own path with knowledge.
          And there I sat. On a kibbutz, with my close friend, two years later. It was all so familiar, and all so foreign. Shabbos was entering, so I made my way down to Haifa, to meet my secular-Israeli friend.
          On her commune, or at least that's what they call the socialist house of 13 teenagers, the sun set. I did not keep Shabbos. And this, this felt foreign. I have NOT kept a total of 18 years of my life, times 52 weeks in a year, minus three Shabbatot in my life (933 un-celebrated Shabbatot, if you were curious). I have only kept a whooping total of three (0.3215434083601286%). Why did breaking Shabbos this time feel so foreign? Because, now, I know what feels right and how build my relationship to Hashem. I did not keep Shabbos because I'm still struggling. I'm honest about this because becoming religious is not an easy walk in the park. It is hard. But B"H it is worth every last struggle. And one of these struggles are my secular friends.
          When Noa, my friend from the URJ camp I attended, told her friends I was religious, I got all kind of weird and shocked looks. Mind you, I may have been dressed tzniusly, but a three-quarter shirt and a 50's style-house dress isn't your run-of-the-mill Charedi. Not to mention my many piercings. After talking to one of the better-English speaking Israelis for about two hours, we came to a beautiful understanding. The reason I was taught to hate (yeah... they do preach hate) Charedim in the Reform and secular movement was because they tell us we're less Jewish and they throw rocks and eggs at us. OH, and they subject their women to having 10 kids and covering their hair and being kept in the kitchen and sex through sheets and... yeah, the whole nine and a half yards of spew. But, the truth is, there is some truth. Some ultra-charedim put women down, and subject and abuse their wives. I've watched one particular nasty group, the Neturei Karta, spit at my brother during an Israeli Day Parade in New York City. Back then I just labeled them as Charedi... how would I know the difference? Now, the sex-through-a-sheet rumor is completely false, but the fact is, when we see examples (no matter how-rare) of the other rumors, what stops us from believing this too? Now, in my community, woman are treated much better than in the secular world. We are respected and have value. Our spiritual and physical value is based on our strengths and not false-sameness as men. Equal, not sameness. My brother, who was spit on by the Neturei Karta is "Black Hat" now, and has found a beautiful life in the world he was once taught to hate because of extremists. I explained to Noa's friends, I am in seminary to find my balance. I want to become religious and become moral. I want morals that are not subjective. I want a guide book to live life called Torah. I want a relationship with Gd. But, I don't throw rocks. I'm not a missionary here to tell them I'm right and they are wrong. I am a lost 18 year-old trying to improve my life and self-worth and identity by returning to my religion and culture that had been lost in my family for two generations. Best of all, I am here because I love. I love my religion and people and nation. I love Israel the State and Eretz Yisroel. I love the Torah and Hashem. I love shwarma and falafel and American TV. I love the beautiful tunes of prayer and Hadag Nachash. I have decided I want to be a different kind of Kiruv Teacher. I want to teach secular kids Torah, with love and devotion, with out telling them they need to do this and that. I want to educate Jewish Youth and tell them no matter how you practice Judiasm, Torah is your platform, you can grown and choose what ever you like. And for the love of Gd, I skip stones, I do not throw rocks.

Shadows are Cast by Light

          On the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, I began my first ever formal Jewish-religious education. I open this passage with the shadows of 2,000 lost lives, to proclaim a valid point: Hitler tried wiping us out. We made a state and now thrive. Terrorism rages in this country of Jewish warriors and victims. And as we are bombed and bombarded by a constant state of fear by these terrorists, we stand strong. I was in third grade when the towers fell. I remember the atmosphere. The fear in my father's eyes. The worry in my mother's. Now, in the heart of the Middle East, I'm fighting terrorism by living, and living in Jerusalem, and living as a Jew, and as living as an American with ideals of democracy and freedom. In the shadows cast by 9/11, the dust has settled, and the light shines through. I start my religious education in the face of terrorism and fear. The Jewish people have made it through all these things, after all, America was attacked because they supported the State of Israel and held democratic ideals. Now, in the dawn of my religious education, I am excited to say I have been captured by beautiful words of peace and self-worth, self-improvement and responsibility.

     As I'd like to get to sleep so I'm not drifting off during class tomorrow, I have one additional point I heard today that may very well sum up the rest of my year. Hashem wanted to give us everything he could, like chessed (kindness), and created us for his malchus (Kingship). But instead of being created in B'tzelem Elohim (in Gd's image) we are created merely in his likeness, because the one thing he couldn't create us with, was self-creation (like Hashem's self-creation). However, he wanted to give us all his qualities so badly, he has created our potential godliness. As in, we can never create ourselves, but we have the potential to elevate ourselves and "re-create" ourselves giving us everything Gd had wanted for us, including potential B'tzelem Elohim. This may be an extremely confusing religious concept, and many of my friends and family reading this may be neither Jewish, nor Religious, nor interested in this concept, but the reason I mention this after one of my first days in class is to point out the month of Elul is where the Jewish New Year falls and the beginning of my classes take place. This month (if your Jewish or not) is simply one more month you can elevate yourself and re-create yourself to heights and levels which you may have never reached before. This month is the beginning of much-to-come growth and change, but it is also another month for my friends and family to take opportunities they may have never thought of taking, or reforming themselves in ways that will make them a more conscience person.

Connectedness

     Shabbos was absolutely incredible! Friday night one of the madrichot, two other girls, and I walked to shul in Har Nof and davened mincha and maariv for Shabbos. As we bowed down to welcome the sabbath bride during L'Cha Dodi we turned around to face the door. I was met by the window with the skyline pastel pinks and baby blues. Oranges wove in and out of the sky. I couldn't believe my eyes! I walk through Har Nof every day and can't beleive how beautiful Jerusalem is. After a delicious dinner and oneg, I fell fast asleep. I awoke in the early morning, with just enough time to see the sun return over the same horizon I had previously seen it set. I walked around the vacant campus admiring the flowers and cold, due-soaked grass. The grass has a much different texture than the grass in America. You can feel the water-soaked ground beneath it. I walked up the stairs, leaving wet-foot prints on the concrete. I waited for my roomate to get ready, and we went to shachris. After the Amidah, sleep overwhelmed me. I returned to my dorm and fell back asleep until lunch.

     With all the meals and sleep on shabbos, one would think it was a day of rest. In reality, however, it is a day with conectedness to Hashem. This is why two friends and I walked an hour and a half to the Kotel to daven. After saying the supplication for being at the Kotel in English, and painstakingly slow in Hebrew, I finished with the Shma and a personal bracha. It felt right to be there. Here I was truely keeping Shabbos for the first time, and I stood at the Kotel to fully experience the conectedness with my God and my people. We ran into my friend's friends from NCSY (this seems to happen alot!), so the afternoon in the Old City was full of cheerful laughter and musings. Once, a long time later, we were back at the dorms we literally had to leave to go to our rochezet (a young married women who we informally learn things with), Adar. Here we had the third meal and watched the sunset with the same pastel pinks and baby blues, with oranges scattered across a soon star-lit sky. Once we saw enough of the stars we held a short havdallah service. With fire Shabbos enetered, and with fire it exited.

Up with the Sun

            Yesterday I awoke at 5:55 to witness the sun rising over Israel from my bedroom window. I have one incredible view from my window facing the west, and the window which faces north has a building blocking the horizon-view, but at night, has a beautiful vantage of stars. After walking around the vacant campus, I returned to my room where we all got ready to go to the Old City. Walking around the city we were given helpful information and history lessons by Rabbi M. I felt so at home in the Old City, recognizing all the stores and yeshivot (including my brother’s yeshiva, Aish HaTorah).

However, winding between the pasty yellow Jerusalem stone buildings I couldn’t explain my state of mind. I was so happy to be home, but also a little perplexed. I wasn’t in the same Old City as last time. Last time I was a tourist, I was secular. I felt this vast, deep connection with my history, but now, coming as apart of a seminary, I realized it’s no longer my past. The Old City now represents my present commitment to my people and religion. It’s my future, not past. We eventually made our way to the Kotel where I davened and put my prayer for family and friends in the cracks of the wall. As I was the first one done, I drifted out of the woman’s section and wandered. I didn’t want to be there for too long because I feel like the Kotel is a mirror. You walk up to it and reflect. I couldn’t stand to be in the holiest place in the world and have to consider my entire past and future in such depth. I’m ready to work everything out.

As sundown approached, my friends and I wandered into Geulah, which is like the religious community’s shuk. Then we walked to Ben Yahudah, which I suppose is equivalent to  St. Marks Street in Manhattan. I purchased a few shells (which are tznius long sleeve shirts) and my first siddur! I chose the Women’s Artscroll siddur (סדוד אהל שרה) because while on Heritage Retreats (my religious adventure to Lake Tahoe) I used it and loved it. It has a lot of information specifically for women and is easy to use, with both English and Hebrew. I’m excited to daven shachris with it. Then, after all the walking, I came home and passed out around ten.

Waking up this morning was extremely easy. I watched the sunrise as two of my friends and I ran/jogged/walked through Har Nof. It was the most spectacular view. The pinks and oranges spilled across the hills of Jerusalem. While running, I took a quick pause because in the distance I saw the Hadassah Hospital and gold-domed Russian Church. The reason I was so elated to see both is because I knew my kibbutz, Kibbutz Tzuba, where I spent my first four months in Israel, lay on the other side of that mountain. I couldn’t contain my happiness to be so close with the beginning of my journey.

Back Home With New Expectations

      I arrived home in Eretz Yisroel at seven a.m.! The flight was easy, B”H, and the jam-packed slightly-concerning shuttle ride to Jerusalem was survivable. After about 40 minutes of watching the beautiful hills rolling, topped with buildings, I hit the campus of Neve. I was met by warm faces and helpful women, while being dropped off with all my luggage. Luckily, they were more than happy to help me to my dorm. But, as I entered my dorm, I became a little unsettled.

     Michlelet Esther seems to be populated with girls going in the opposite direction of me. I wasn’t really sure what to think. I came here to learn and become religious, while the first girl I met seemed to have very different motives. Once I got most of my room in order I left to the orientation. This is when I was asking myself, is this right for me? The rabbis were extremely nice and well spoken, but the goal of this program seemed to differ from my expectations. For example, Rabbi Winter mentioned if you’d like to daven in the morning than it’s your choice to do it alone, but they aren’t “going to force you to.” I was sitting there thinking to myself what are you talking about?! I came here to learn how to daven, not to be told to do it alone if I wanted to do it. This made me question if I could reach my potential during the year here.

     Luckily, as I came back to my dorm, I met my roommates and felt a lot more at ease. I got my tie-die Coexsist tapestry up on one wall, and my 70-some-what photos on the adjacent one. Meanwhile, mingling with my roommates I realized one of them had the exact same concern. She came from a modern-orthodox background and was interested in the academics because she’d grown up going to public school. Score! We quickly promised to get a tutor and study together. Then, our other roommate who had just switched in had really put us at an advantage. She grew up religious and detested it. But she said as she graduated from high school, she decided to attend seminary because she wanted to discover pride for her people. We are a very mixed three, but with very similar and compatible goals, I have a feeling this year may be exactly what I need.

    …Oh, and it helps all three of us like metal and punk rock… 

אין לי ארץ אחרת

     Ein Li Eretz Acheret: I have no other land. I left Israel two years and three months ago, and here I am, sitting at my gate ready to return. I can't express my gratitude for this opportunity but I sit here with mixed feelings. Do snakes feel like they're dying every time they shed their skin? I'm excited and happy to be going home, but I want to finally admit: this isn't easy. I'm leaving my family behind, and the family I have made for myself (my friends). My heart is hurting because this isn't a step into my future it is an endless leap. I pray Hashem grants me and my family and friends a safe year. As well as an easy transition into our adult lives.

Starshine: The very short story of a unorthoprax Baalat Teshuva

Starshine:

The very short story of a unorthoprax Baalat Teshuva

I’m eighteen. I have no idea how to start this literary piece. In fact, at eighteen years old there are a lot of things I don’t know (contrary to what my parents think I believe). For starters, I don’t even know my own name. And before you make any presumptions, yes, I am educated and literate. In fact, I’m a white Jewish girl from an upper-middle class family during a time of modernity and technology. But the simple fact I don’t even know my own name is why I am writing down my story. You see I am a firm believer that every individual’s life is a tale in of itself. You have the short stories and epic poems, the stories caught up in fiction and others’ on a quest for truth. My story falls into the later category: a search for truth. However, in reality, it is about a white Jewish girl from an upper-middle class family in the suburbs who wasn’t happy where she was. And, here, I admit, I follow the crowd of every other suburban teen. But my discomfort was not with the lack of excitement. I lived in Israel on my own when I was fifteen. I have been to South America, the Caribbean, and Canada. I have crazy friends who keep me on my toes. I am not someone who lacks excitement, enthrallment, and the every day-to-day adventures which keep most suburban teens at a constant beat. However, with even the most exciting and out-there schemes, something never seemed right. There were countless mornings where I woke up and said what the hell am I doing? Every day seemed even more pointless than the morning before.

But, here, let me not be rude and introduce myself. I know I told you my ethnicity, my nationality, my sex, my economic standings, and where I grew up. But that has nothing to do with the person typing this. I am an artist. A bit odd perhaps, but I am in love with colors and words and cameras. Any expression of the soul is a fascination of mine. I grew up going to “Jew-camp” where I spent my summers learning about tikkun olam, repairing the world, and how not to get caught doing stupid stuff like sneaking out to meet boyfriends and raiding the haunted basements. These were my first memories of freedom. I went to public school in a really wealthy town. I was a bit dorky, in a loveable sort of tom-boyishness way. All my friends have always been guys (accept for the occasional one-other-female-for-a-short-while friend) and my favorite past time was rough housing with them. Yet, the person who is typing this has grown up from these measly descriptions. You define yourself one way for so long, you forget that you’ve grown up. Now, I still have mostly guy-friends and am an odd character through and through, but I dress tznius now. A far cry from the baggy ripped jeans and flannels I would never part with. I don’t swim or play hockey and football with my bros anymore. I’m the kid who would rough house and pick fights, which now has mellowed out. Additionally, I’m no longer the NFTY-Jew-Camp kid, as I was raised.

For clarification, the “NFTY-Jew-Camp Kid” is your average American-secular/Reform Jew. And after rereading that sentence, and editing it, it has been my observation that the Reform movement stresses so much on being a good person, they forgot the whole being Jewish thing. This really frustrated me because I was taught to have such a deep love for my religion. Then, I found out Judaism isn’t even a religion in whole! I felt duped because my pride for Judaism was for naught. I knew nothing about my tribe, about my people, about my history; I was raised in the dark, blinded by illusions. I still feel upset and deprived of knowledge. I can openly admit I have never read the Torah but I have read thousands of books. I didn’t even know what the Shma (which is the Jewish declaration of a singular God) meant until this year. Sure I canted it, but what is ONE god if half my Rabbis don’t even believe in a real and living God? I tread on thin ice, so I will not proceed, but I, who was once the typical NFY-Jew-Camp Kid, who was your average American-secular/Reform Jew, is no more. Who am I now? I’m a unorthoprax Jewish baalat teshuva.

As those words exited my fingertips, I take a moment to ask myself what in the world is a unorthoprax Jewish baalat teshuva? Well, let’s describe me for starters. I have my long skirts and three-quarter shirts. We have my two sets of dishes for milk and meat, and a hechsher on all my foodstuffs. As I get ready in the morning, I grab a skirt and shirt and throw it on as I make my way into the bathroom half-mumbling the modeh ani while looking for my toothbrush and scarlet lipstick. As I brush down my two inches of spiky hair, that I’m contemplating about dying red again, I apply my lipstick careful not to get it on my lip ring or hit my septum piercing (the one that makes me look like a bull). As I straighten and gel my bed-head, I also take note not to graze any of the nine piercing on my ears. As I finish, I manage to get down stairs where I’ll make some Osem’s Turkish Coffee, that strong stuff that flavors the Israeli-morning air. As I mumble a bracha, if and when I can remember to do so, I run out the door and get into my car. I turn up 89.5 Seaton Hall’s Pirate Radio where metal and hard rock blast through my speakers. If I’m lucky, no one is screaming about Jesus in his or her hardcore band. I make it a twenty-minute drive where I am welcomed by my second family, who I have had the pleasure of living with on and off for the last few months. They support me in my quest for seeking truth, or emes, as my brother says. I wonder what my black hat baal teshuva brother would say if I revealed my second family is pagan: the anti-thesis of my people.

If you took a look at me walking through Monsey or in the Five Towns, I look like a kid going off the derech, but more or less orthoprax (following the ways, but not beliefs). However, if you’d find me in some obscure location, lets say my hometown, Warren, NJ, I’d look oddly conservative in my modest behavior and clothing. In fact I believe more than I follow, making me un-orthoprax, but coming from a completely secular background I suppose that makes me a Baalat Teshuvah… not necessarily orthodox yet. You see I am in this unforgiving limbo of truth, religion, and story telling. I don’t even know the main character’s name, let alone her beliefs and adherences.

Now you got a flavor for who I was and who I am I’ll tell you how I got here. I went on a North Federation Temple Youth (NFTY) program called EIE. It was a semester abroad in Israel during high school. In four months we covered four thousand years of Jewish History, using the land as our textbooks. It inspired me to learn more as I came back to America, all the meanwhile wondering which Hebrew School teacher forgot to teach me all of that important stuff. I came home and decided to keep kashrus, because I felt alienated from Israel, I wanted my Jewish brotherhood back. As time progressed I started going to shul more and more. Why don’t I know these prayers?! I’d sit and read the English instead. “Come welcome the Sabbath bride.” Sabbath bride? I don’t keep Shabbos. “With the rebuilding of the Beis Hamikdash.” Beis Hamikdash? You mean the temple that stood where the Kotel rests it’s tired and emaciated body? I thought as a Reform Jew we don’t want that big building back… something about sacrifices. Something did not sit well with me. I could not fathom a belief system that denies me of the opportunity to learn core minhagim but is all for bagels and lox. Honestly, I felt betrayed. My parents provided so much Jewish education, and my teachers taught me love with out knowledge. So I sat there like Swiss cheese: mild on flavor, left to age, and holes everywhere. To fill in these “holes” I walked into the Chabad.

I loved it there: warm, embracing, understanding. Now, I was the youngest member of all the classes (the other “students” made fun of the Rabbi for being “so young” even though he had twenty years on me!). I felt like I learned a lot there, but not as much as when the Rabbi pulled me aside. He asked me to become a Hebrew School teacher because I was knowledgeable and enthusiastic. It was rather shocking as I came there to learn, not to teach, but I was so flattered and excited to be working with kids I took the job! Now, a year later, and fifteen twelve-year-olds lighter, I realized I learned more in that class than I ever would sitting in their seats. I tried to infuse them with love of Judaism… but also knowledge. I’d throw out tidbits of historical information and get them to do engaging activities so they’d see what customs we do. But, week after week, as I got the pre-made lesson plans, which I then had to cater to my class, I’d spend hours on the Internet googling the “sheva brachos” for weddings and the variations of minhagim for Pesach. Slowly, my “t’s” became “s’s,” and I knew what the Rebbetzin meant by the kinderlach.

As I dove into the mechanical, I wanted to witness what a real Shabbos was like. Serendipitously, I found Shabbat.com. Immediately following my signing-up, this Rabbi, Rabbi Klatzko, coaxed me into coming to his beautiful Monsey home. I was absolutely, one hundred percent, dumfounded to see his beautiful wife and family. Even more so to see him open his home to so many people like me, who took double takes on the tissue toilet paper (pre-ripped) and fumbling over all the brachos. B”H, I was working at the Chabad, which prevented me from one to many faux pas, but all-in-all I met the most amazing people. Though, the thing that surprised me most was this one man on my second Shabbos there. I wish I could tell you his name, for that I even forget, but what he said was really poignant. We swapped a few stories, his much more difficult than mine. He had every single excuse in the book to turn his back and go off the derech, but he stayed. He said Judaism is not a religion; it is a relationship with yourself, people, and Hashem. This is what made me fumble. Growing up, Judaism was an extra-curricular activity and identification. Going to Israel, I had learned Judaism was a nation where no one is more or less Jewish because it is a matrilineal bloodline, a brotherhood with eretz. Now, he tells me the core of it is a relationship. I nearly lost it. I wanted that so desperately! I wanted to wake up every morning feeling like I’m here for a reason. I want to go to sleep every night not staring at the ceiling any longer wishing I wouldn’t wake up, uncomfortable in my own skin. I want to improve my fraying relationship with my family and make friends who are richer than water and as vital as blood. I also wanted to believe Hashem is alive and well, and caring about the world as it stands.

            Rabbi Klatzko, gave a ‘drash that night about what stands at the center of Judaism. In the heart of the holiest land, eretz yisroel, lays the holiest city, Jerusalem. In the heart of Jerusalem there is the Kotel, or the remnants of the Beis Hamikdash (the Holy Temple). In the heart of the Temple was the Holy of Holies, where the original Ten Commandments used to lay. Above it, were two angels, one male and one female. In the center of the Holy of Holies, in Jerusalem, in Israel, in our wonderful world, the two malachim’s eyes met. That is love, said Rabbi Klatzko, and that is what is at the center of Judaism. Speechless, I looked at my life and what I wanted from it. I no longer want to ascribe to a rebellious path, led by the angry and the perpetually unsatisfied. I want to quench my thirst and be happy where I stand. I want to find comfort in life, through countless relationships with people and God… and to love even myself.

            I don’t find my story so magnificent… not even too entertaining. However, I lay here, on my bedroom floor writing this out because it traces my footsteps. I am going to Neve this year, in a smaller school, Michlelet Esther, to fill in the gaps that have been missing. I hope to become a better person, a more complete person, and I hope to finally forge a healthy relationship with myself, others, and Hashem. I never imagined I’d be here. I always thought I’d be in college this year, or for a long while, in the Israeli Army. At least now, as I enter this new, unfolding story, I have a goal for shedding my skin and stepping into the world with new eyes and an open heart. I’ll finally become the person I want to be. But, the most exciting thing about all of this is once I go back home, to eretz yisroel, I’ll be able to look people straight in the eye and say, “Hi, my name is Rebekah, but you can call me Aviva... or what my friends back home called me, Starshine.” 

כלה השבת שלי

     Winter, in her pure majesty, has finally melted away. Rain pitter-patters on my window. I have always related seasons to my own growth, in with one, out with the other... full circle: a new year, a new me. Growth, as spring has almost sprung, makes me think about the growth spurt I have just experienced over a short two days. I have finally kept my first shabbos. Here I say this, not because I didn't mess up (I accidently turned off a light), but because I felt a higher sense of peace. The Kallah finally came.

The Jewish Army

     My heart was pounding; my breathing, heavy. I have been accepted to college. But, my head does not turn. Sure it's alluring, but my heart is still set on one place: Eretz Yisroel. 

     I have thought, no, agonized, over my decision of joining the army. I reluctantly withdrew my application from Garin Tzabar, convinced by my brother to learn Judaism in Seminary for the next year. I'll be in Jersualem (Baruch Hashem!); hopefully in Neve Yerushaliem. Here, I will learn my Jewish roots. But, I scream on the inside because I don't want to sit down behind safe walls. I want to stand up and fight for my protection. Fight for my homeland. Fight for my people. Instead, I'm going to learn. Learn about my people. Learn for the sake of my people. I'm keeping the Jewish conscience fresh in my mind, alive in every breath. 

     Does this mean I'm going to become orthodox, wear a skirt, have six kids, and be essentially a house wife? This is an extremely difficult question to combat. Not only because I'm aware this question is loaded, but because there is no answer. My closest friends call me a hippie "peacenik," but recognize my unyielding passions, which stir rebellion sometimes. So... yeah, I'm a little rebellious (okay... really rebellious), but while my stubbornness gets me into trouble, it has also opened myself up to many opportunities. I fell in love with Israel and have been determined to return (even though it is against my parents wishes.) By returning to my home, I'll be growing into the person I truly want to be... But ORTHODOXY? Really, Bekah? 

     Last night, I was having a... well, a melt-down essentially. I was thinking about my yearning for Israel, my pride for Tzahal, my curiosity for Jewish knowledge, and the reality and practicality of college at this junction in my life. So many options for such an indecisive person! So I called my big brother. I don't like asking him for advice or anything (running to my big brother always seemed slightly cliche and immature), but I needed a clear point of view from someone who has walked in my shoes. He said something of unmeasurable value to me. He said, "What does the Israeli army need another pair of boots for? You'll probably end up being a desk jockey because of your lack of Hebrew skills. And besides do you want to hold a gun?" Maybe not so encouraging in retrospect, but he was trying to give me a reality check before the army could. He went on to talk about how badly he wished to join the Israeli army. How much he wanted to do the same thing as me. But he said, in the end, being essentially forced into college by our parents, he's become a better soldier. He is shomer mitzvos. He is a Jewish student, and a Jewish educator. He is a supporter of Eretz Israel. My brother is a Jewish Soldier.

     Do I want to be a Jewish soldier? Yes. Yes a hundred times over. Maybe a skirt isn't my style... but I want to keep the Jewish conscience alive. And more than that, my image of Israel was never the beach and bars. For some reason, while most people look at Israel for a nice "jewish vacation spot," I saw Israel as the land of my people. I imagined back breaking labourers under the swelling sun, literally, physically, building our land up to Hashem. Trying not to give the false impression of the Tower of Babel, I see the land as a way to elevate ourself. 

     Now, I know being an orthodox woman does not entail my "having six kids and being a house wife," despite my jest. I say that because that's how my other Jewish friends see it. Ironically, none of my non-Jewish friends have that stigma, but that's an enigma to me. But, down to the finite, I just don't know how to go about this all. I am first and foremost trying to be a soldier in the Jewish Army. But does that entail becoming "orthodox?" And, any way, can't I still be a soldier in the Israeli army, too? I know that for the most part, they don't accept religion, but that doesn't deter me from wanting to fight for my land. Maybe I'll stick to studying in my safe building and letting the "boots" defend it... but I'm not sure how long it will take for me to get so restless behind safe walls that I go grab a gun... But, as I think about this more... maybe I will first reach for the plow shed.