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.”