A Few Farewells

With school ending, I figured it wasn't such a big deal. I have started and ended so many programs (7 summers at camp, NFTY-EIE, two dozen NFTY/SMOOCHY kallahs, UMC, High School, and more) I figured I was pro at saying goodbye. But as my friends start trickling out of the Neve dorms and back to America, I realized how each single individual shaped my year... even the ones I never talked to much. To some I say goodbye forever, and some only for now, I laugh at the unexpected places time takes you.

In Jerusalem, this year, I have run into people I never thought I would see again! Just this week, I ran into a friend from UMC (urban mitzvah corp) from the summer of 2009. She lived in Florida, so I figured when I said goodbye it was forever. There was another friend from Florida, who made alyiah. I thought when we said goodbye at camp in 2007 it was also forever. But I guess not; I ran into her in NYC two years in a row and now in Israel. I thought I may never see one of my roommates from EIE, originally from Indiana, but now we often skype. Another girl from EIE ended up coming to Neve and I have been living with her, once again, for the last 8 months! And there is a girl I have known from 2002 and on the 22nd of every month, we reach out to each other to say hi. With all these people from all these different places, I have learned goodbye isn't always forever. And I have also realized, you can never become pro at it... with every individual it's a new and unique experience having to tell them you'll see them soon.

My West Bank Story

No, there were no competing falafel stands, however there was still a love story. This time, though, it was between Gd and the Jewish people.

Two years ago, today, on Shavuos, I walked into Chabad for the first time. Two years ago I started a journey that I would never expected to lead me here. On the day the Gd gave the Jewish people the Torah, the symbolic ring in the marriage between Gd and His people, I too stood at Sinai to receive that very same gift.

Shavuos is the holiday we received Torah. But why is it named Shavuos? "Shavuah" means "week," "shavuos" being the plural for "weeks." Why is does the greatest day of the Jewish peoples' lives called weeks? If anything it should be "THE day" or something commemorating the momentous event. We have an idea that Shabbos (the weekend) was given to us to transcend the physical and connect to the spiritual. But what about the rest of the week? Torah is our guidebook for living a spiritual life through the mundane week. The day we commemorate receiving Torah we also celebrate getting the ability to transcend the physical during everyday life. This limitless idea of Torah is also said to explain why Hashem had to "wake up" the Jewish people.

Beyond the pashut (simple) of Hashem waking us up so that we, the Jewish people, could hear his lightning and see his thunder and accept his Torah forever, we realize sleeping comes with the idea of limitlessness as well. We not only got Shabbos and the ability to transcend physicality during the week, but additionally, we got the ability to do so while awake. Before recieveing Torah the Jewish nation went to sleep to let their minds slip into a limitless reality. After matan Torah (the giving of he Torah), we could do so while awake.

The ideas of our souls standing on Mt. Sinai, but having first, to be awoken, sit particularly well with me. And not because I have a nice image in my head of Hashem gently waking us up and giving us a gift. In fact, it must of been terrifying to here the word of Gd (apparently we died a few times after hearing him speak)! The reason I so strongly identify with this imagery, of every Jewish soul (was and will be) being awoken to receive Torah, is because I literally was given Torah on Shavuos half-asleep.

On Shavuos, I walked into Chabad, for my very first time, and received this Torah "half-asleep." I was yearning to learn about my people and heritage, but I had no idea what I was doing. On that very same day, two thousand years prior, my people found themselves in that very same predicament: needing to be awoken.

Woah. Two years, ten months, and ten days. Woah. 

Two years ago, I walked into Chabad the first time. Ten months ago, I came to Israel to awaken my soul and learn all I could about my Judaism. Today, on Shavuos, I was in the West Bank on a settlement learning all night preparing to receive Torah while awake and alert. And in ten days, I go back to America to see what has happened to me since I first heard of the story of Gd and the Jewish people falling in love.

Last Day of School

I haven't a single regret.

I can't say I didn't get what I came for. I can't say "I wish I did," "I wish I didn't," "Why couldn't I have," or the likes. I did what I came here to do: I found Truth. More specifically, I found out just how little I know. Better still, I found out what I have to look forward to learning for the rest of my life!

I'm sure you're all familiar with my "becoming religious story" and even if not, at least you will know this piece.  I first came to Michlelet Esther in September with no idea of anything. I knew I was on a righteous quest to find Truth and commit myself to what ever it was. And over the last year, I have transformed from the "Unorthroprax Baalat Teshuva" into an orthodox Jew. I am as unique as my person, but I am no longer "unorthroprax" (fully believing but not practicing). I am no longer the flaming Baalat Teshuva fighting for independence as my real test and having religion as my cause. I no longer feel in the dark about my Jewish past, either, no longer having to censor what I can ask about Torah for fear of not getting a suitable answer. I can ask any Rabbi and they will find me an answer that sits well with me, even if they have to come back a few days later or try ten different ideas.

This year has provided me with a solid foundation for my Jewish studies in the coming years, but as I have previously mentioned in a prior blog, this year has adjusted my glasses prescription. I see the world through clearer, blue-and-white stained eyes. While I don't feel like I have really changed, I do know I see the world in a different way. This is what motivates me to prioritize my life a bit differently and reevaluate where I once stood. I'm not sure what I will be up to for the next couple of weeks I have left in Israel, however I know that now classes have ended, I am ready to start living my life the best way I now know how.

Calamity: Part Two

On Wednesday, February 18, 2009 I walked into Yad Vashem for the first time. After leaving, I realized I would never see the building, jutting out of the mountainside, the same way again. Last week, on Monday, May 14, 2012 I walked through those doors for a second time. As opposed to my first visit, I became quickly distraught... hyper sensitive after my experiences at the camps and at Yad Vashem my first time. But this hyper-sensitivity didn't come about in the way I expected. At first I thought I was over reacting, and then after much consideration... I think I was right. "Why was I so distraught?" I asked my self again, "Those stupid headphones just ruin everything!"

After arriving at the main desk in the museum, we received  headsets that transmitted what the tour guide softly whispered into his microphone. "Has anyone learned anything?!" I cried to myself! Now, I hope laughter doesn't ensue my honest request for perspective, but I sincerely wonder why we have to take out the human element in EVERYTHING! We have cell phones, ipods, ipads, portable computers, and electronics for our electronics... why, may I ask, in a museum about how Nazi's stripped us of our human identity, do we, Jews, have to follow in the like: take out the human element? I was infuriated, upset, distraught, and disappointed. I took off my headphones and stood by the tour guide. When I heard his voice... it was not through those damn earphones! But, I resign, I may have over reacted. But before I move away from this topic, I implore you to listen to one last point: I could of understood the use of them for the elderly or handicapped, but with thirty young women closely packed in, tight, I dread the thought of loosing the human element.

After drifting off from the group and wandering the halls of my mind. I think I understood why the Holocaust makes me hyper sensitive. After all, I was in it.

As an advanced reader (testing at an eleventh grade reading level in second grade) I had a wide range of books available to me.Sadly. however, this made the books available to me void of age-appropriate censorship. One Holocaust book after another, I had a perfect picture of what the Shoah looked like by age ten. May I ask you if you know what the ridges of bones look like in a living skeleton? At around thirteen years of age, I was constantly having nightmares about the Holocaust. Some dreams I luckily died in, shooting me awake. Others, I watched my entire family die time after time. And others, I watched as friends and people I had once known betray me. B"H they were only nightmares and I eventually woke up. But after being horrified night after night I realized something utterly depressing: I woke up. Real Holocaust survivors, the people who had physically been through the trauma died asleep. They never woke up from their nightmares. I go to these Holocaust memorial sites and shutter to think if I was born in another generation, I may have not awoken from my many nightmares.

After I had settled on this notion, some of the "holocaust survivors dying while asleep," I decided to go find the group I had wandered away from. "Stupid headphones," I mumbled to myself. As I weaved in and out of the displays I looked up and I shuttered.

She was standing there like usual. Her long hair was flowing in the wind, like the edge of her long skirt. Her baby was pressed against her chest, while she whispered softly into her ear. That baby hasn't grown one bit, since I saw them both last. I take a deep breath and I walk up to them.


Hi. It's been a while, I'm sorry. Here, let me take her for you. No? Well, at least let me cry for you. I'm sorry. Why? Well, because you are much stronger than I. Wait what? No, no... I'm not being modest. Sincerely, you have much more strength than I. I have a question for you: are you tired of just standing there? What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean are you tired of just standing there? Why didn't you turn around? Why didn't you try to run? Weren't you tired of just standing there?! I suppose your right. Sorry, for getting upset at you. But I hate it. Hate what?! I hate how he just stood behind you like that. I DON'T CARE he was only doing his JOB! He was SIX FEET AWAY! You're too forgiving, I would of asked Hashem that he'd rot in hell. Don't "Chas V'shalom" me! Can't you look at yourself! He held a rifle to your head six feet away! You had your sweet baby in your arms! Her feet dangled above your shallow grave! ... If I can't change any of this, at least let me cry for you. 

I walked away from the black and white photograph feeling empty inside. I wanted to cry for her and her baby like I nearly did three years ago when I first met them. That picture is the cornerstone of my Holocaust education. I will meet that woman every time I step into that museum. That single picture was my calamity.

As I moved to the heroes of war. I ran into my friends and I was ready to leave. I had seen who I had come to see. Now, my group walked outside and moved onto Har Herzel, the cemetery for fallen soldiers.With numerous friends in the army and Yad Vashem lingering behind me, I looked at the graves and realized what it meant. The Holocaust led to the founding of Eretz Yisroel. These men and women are what made it real. In fact, they are what MAKE Israel real. My sadness slowly melted away as I thought of my goofy friends in the army and now I found myself smiling. I am in Israel today. I am in Eretz Yisroel. Oh my gosh, I live here. When did I start living the dream? My entire past vanished and I became excited for the future.

One day none of any of this is going to matter. One day the Beis Hamikdash will stand, the moshiach will be here, and we will once again be connected to our Source. I laugh again, when did I get here?

Lag B'Omer

Have you ever seen half a million Jews? On Lag B'Omer I did! I got to Meron at 23:00 and stayed until 6:00 and had quite the night. I saw thousands of people dancing, thousands camping out, hundreds of thousands mulling about.  While there was a fair share of crazy pushing I was so thrilled to see so many Jews in one place. I have to say is was awesome. I plan to camp out there next time I'm in Israel for Lag B'omer! =D

Nineteen

If someone asked me my age, I don't know what I'd say. Biologically, I just turned nineteen. Experience wise, I'd say I'm a solid twenty-five. Emotionally, I feel like I'm three. Just lovely.

In all honesty, I was pretty upset about turning nineteen. I think I nearly had a panic attack until I realized I should take a rain-check on the mid-life crisis. But, to get you on my mind set: I am living on my own and I don't have a job, I don't know what I want to do and I'm a wreck... At least my hair isn't turning grey. Point is, I feel like I'm nineteen going on forty and I don't handle stress well. So I took a deep breath and thought about the last year of my life. Let's start with my eighteenth birthday...

I lied. I don't remember it (GAH I'm already loosing my memory!). Just kidding... but seriously, I sadly don't remember it. A month after, I graduated from high school. I started keeping the laws of Tznius.  I had an amazing summer with the most amazing people doing crazy things. I worked at a farm, a mall, and a a local Hebrew School. I went to California on Heritage Retreats to learn Torah. I met Rabbi Refson and two-three weeks later I ended up moving to Israel to attend seminary. I started keeping Shabbos. I started to pray. I learned the brochos over my food. I learned how to read Rashi. I traveled and hiked Israel. I re-fell in love with my yiddishkeit. I committed myself to a life of Torah. I decided I wanted to serve Hashem. I grew up just a little more. I turned nineteen.

Once I took a deep breath and looked back at my year. I decided turning nineteen wasn't the end of the world. Eighteen was full of surprises and plot twists, but I see what I have accomplished and how I have grown. I literally see a Cinderella-worthy transformation and I am grateful to everyone who has helped me and encouraged me to grow.

In contrast to my foggy eighteenth birthday, I spent my nineteenth birthday in a completely different way. On both days, I had spent with close friends. But this year, I was in Eretz Yisroel. This year, I was religious. And ironically, this year, my English and Hebrew birthday fell on the same day signifying my transformation.

I went out with friends at night and woke up early the next morning to go to the Kotel. I spent my day in a blissful, spiritual state enjoying giving blessings and tzaddakah, in hopes of changing the world just a little bit. I talked to my friends and family and enjoyed all the facebook "congrats" while I cleaned up my room in preparation for Shabbos. My friends surprised me with a beautiful white Artscroll Tehillim book (to match my Siddur) with the most heartfelt inscription on the inside and my English/Hebrew name printed on the cover ("Rivkah Zissel Aviva"). Then, as the day got later, my seminary left to go to Moshav Matitiyahu where we welcomed in Shabbat, and I said goodbye to my birthday.

My nineteenth birthday was a mix of my spiritual and religious lives; and for some reason, I can't help but think that it represents what the next year will be for me: intertwining the two separate worlds I have created. I plan on trying to integrate my religious life with my secular one, instead of walking on the fine line between both worlds. And I guess I knew that line-walking had to come to an end eventually anyway. I'm just happy this year has provided me the foundation to do it in a sane and feasible way.

I have been blessed with so much this last year. I have had incredible people both come and, sadly, leave this year. I have had wonderful times and eye-opening experiences. I have journeyed miles and, Thank Gd, found Truth. I am so grateful for everything in my life, and I wish that you all, too, make the most out of your year and find direction and what your looking for!

Be Strong -יום הזכרון; Be Happy - יום העצמאות‎

 I know this is an interesting topic to approach post-becoming religious, but taboo seems to be my forte: Israel the State.

I may be a Torah-observant Jew living in a Haraedi neighborhood, called Har Nof, but I am still an avid supporter of the State of Israel. While my allegiance is to Hashem and I will always, always put Ertetz Yisroel above the state, I do not keep it a secret I wish to make political and religious Aliyah. I would like to be an Israeli Jew, not an American one. What does this mean, and why do I bring it up? 

As my dad always told me, "Don't forget America is the greatest country in the world." And to him, I have always replied, "I know." Because, in fact, I believe America is the greatest country in the world for civil liberties, human rights, and standard of living (see, this even PROVES I was born and bred American, haha). However, I am a Jew.  I am a Torah-observant Jew. I don't belong in America and, frankly, I believe too many people have become comfortable with their dusty suitcases by the door. Their grandchildren come to the house asking what the suitcase is for, while the owners of the bag have long forgotten what "exile" means. And while the dream is to return to Eretz Yisroel in the time of the Moshiach, I don't like pushing things off. I am a procrastinator. Maybe means no, and soon means never. I will not "maybe" go when the Moshiach comes knocking at my door. I will not tell him, "give me a minute, I'll be there soon." I'll be waiting for him at his house... knocking on his door. In the meanwhile, I will live in Israel the State enjoying my protection, benefits, and democracy. Eretz Yisroel is great, and I believe the State of Israel is the next best thing (right now) to the Moshiach... but why bring this all up? I will not only enjoy benefiting from living in Israel, I will enjoy serving it too. 

Yom Hazikaron was a very moving day for me. It took a lot of strength not to cry during a Masa presentation at the Latrun, where the families of soldiers and victims of terror were telling the stories of their lost love ones. It brought back a very familiar situation for me two years ago, when I was last in Israel for my first Yom Hazikaron. I have excerpt my blog post from that experience below, but first I'd like to preface it.

I want to bring in my blog from two... has it already been three years? Three years ago, because my views on personal loss have not changed. When I had written this blog, I had just lost a close friend from America, and connected my personal loss to the families of fallen soldiers and terror. But, I not only wished to express my shared pain in loss. I also wanted to share my envy of the soldiers' sacrifice for what they believed in. I suppose I had been reading too many romantic novels at the time... about dying for what you love. But even now, I believe when you are willing to live in Eretz and Medinat Israel... and serve Am Israel... and even die for it... you had truly lived for your ideals. And that is the something I respect and envy.

     I wouldn't call it the happiest day out of the year, although we should be celebrating life of soldiers that we knew,  or we wish we knew. The feeling of mourning still hanging in the stale air, no matter how many years has past since independence, and how many tears have been passed through our eyes...       The night was filled with tears and sorrow. John came back to me today. His death hadn't yet become a reality for me, but at the graves of the fallen, his smile came flooding back to me. His life had become a memory. These tekesim might have been about fallen soldiers, but I couldn't stop crying for my own personal loss. I held back tears thinking about John. I held them back as best I could.     I thought about the envy I felt for Israelis during this day. They all know someone who has died fighting for their country. This makes their connection with Israel written in blood. Those who lost a family member (son, brother, daughter, sister, husband, wife) buried their roots in the ground. How, how, how can I envy them? I have just lost a dear friend, and I cannot fathom even this loss, and to imagine... Envy? This is a very twisted reality in which we live, but it is true. I feel such deep sorrow for the lives lost, and for the family members. Can sense be made out of what I am saying?      I used to wish that I knew what loss felt like, that way I knew how to appreciate and understand when someone else goes through the same. So I could help comfort. I now know loss and I hate it. I hate the feeling of nothingness in your stomach, the lightness of my head, the heavy weight on my shoulders, the screaming inside my mind, the whimpers streaming our of my eyes accompanied by tears. Envy? Do I envy this feeling, so I can understand what it means to be physically tied with the land? Yes, yes I do. But, at the same time, when will I be able to share with you that a lost friend, a lost family member, is loosing a piece of yourself? A piece never to be replaced, damned to stay empty forever.      I can see myself serving my country. I can see myself loosing friends, and Gd forbid my family. I can see it. I can see me in a parallel dimension. These services might have not meant so much to the other kids on EIE, but for sure it meant the world to me. I know loss. He wasn't a soldier, but he was a friend. I thought about him during the service, and cried for him too. I have a mission to accomplish in Israel. I really believe I do. This felt like phase one. Only the beginning.     The importance of serving in the army has infiltrated my mind. From gadna, instilling my pride, and Jewish History, instilling my knowledge and history, today was a day for the dark underbelly of reality. What was the cost of my country? These soldiers, who were children. What, two, three, some four years older than I? The last 18 days have had me consistently thinking, what if I died? It's not a scary thought, because everyone does eventually... but it came down to the, "So what? It's one life out of many." I want to make a difference. An impact, and share my message. I don't care if I'm forgotten, I just want to live life, not let it pass by. Does that mean to do the normal things people do? Go to college, partying it up, forgetting that there is more life outside my window? Does it mean working mindlessly in an office to support a family that may or may not hold through years of wear and tear? What is life about? It's a question up for opinion... but it has been ringing in my ears with death larking behind, in the shadows of my mind. What is MY opinion, on how MY life should be led? I think I know what I want to do. I think I know how I want to help. But at the same time, I don't want to be one life out of many. I'd sacrifice my life for my country... but the question is would I be loosing a life of value, or of absent mindlessness? What does true sacrifice mean? What am I willing to risk?     Be strong, was the words of Yom Hazikaron, and be happy are the words of tonight. Sunset ended Memorial Day, and started Independence Day. Yom Ha'tzmeut, the day we got our country. 61 years ago, I got a homeland, other than the one I was born into. My country, my home. I will probably talk more about it tomorrow night, but for right now all I can think about is what was this day worth? Were the lives lost worth it? I believe so, but at the same time I always thought the people made the land holy, not the land making the people as such. When will Israel stop sacrificing its children's blood for survival? When?

I am looking at this, reading and rereading it again. I silently laugh, realizing that this is a peice of the puzzle that led me to end up where I am now: religious in Jerusalem. I now have a few friends in the Israeli Army, who are living my words, sharing my thoughts from the quoted blog.  But after a lot of thinking, I answered my very own question and decided I won't let my life pass me by. I won't be another kid "partying it up" in college and "forgetting life outside my window." I will live my life to the fullest and have the most meaning. However... man plans and Gd laughs. I did not make alyiah (though I still plan on doing so) and did not join the Israeli Army. I became religious and came back to Israel to go to seminary...

Today, my Main goal is to serve Gd. Yet, I would still like to serve Israel the State. The army is no longer a suitable environment for me, however, I plan on serving the country in other ways. I intend to participate in Sheruit Leumi (NAtional Service) and help the country of Israel by working with the people of Israel. But to put my plans aside... the reason I bring up my love for GD and my love for the State od Israel, is because of Yom Hazikaron, Rememberance Day. On this day I remember why I am proud to have a home in Eretz Yisroel. On this day, I am proud to have a home in the State of Israel, where my brothers and sisters are proud and willing to protect our nation. I am proud on this day to be apart of this nation. On this day, I am proud to be a Jew. And one day, I will be proud to be an Israeli Orthodox Jew living in my homeland, serving my Gd and my people. 

Piece of Mind Peace of Heart

The Tzfat bug bite, and I've been in this peaceful wave since Pesach. I was lucky enough to hike right after my Pesach in Tfat, then return to school for two days before they took us to none other than... Tzfat. I have been drawn to the serene city nestled in the mountaintops overlooking the Kineret. I find a lot of beautiful spirituality here. Not to mention, I love the art. I think I'd like to live here...

Yeah, I'd love to live here.

A Theoretical Conversation With My Father

I'm standing in my Neve dorm room, pacing back at forth. Now, I am downstairs in my family's kitchen sitting with my family and it's the middle of June 2012, eight weeks from now. My parent's are eager to hear about what I learned this year... I'm still pacing.

Mother: It's so good to have you home, Rebekah! I missed you so much!

I cringe. When was the last time someone called me by that name? I have gotten so used to Aviva...

Father: So, did they brainwash you? He laughs a tremendous, half-serious laugh. How was it? What did you learn?

I'll take a moment to think... or at least pretend to think, after all I have been preparing for this moment the moment I stepped off the plane in Israel, ten months back.

Me: What did I learn? Well... I learned a whole bunch of things...

And that's the moment I realize that sounds no good. I try again.

Me: I mean... I learned Torah, Mishna, Pirke Avos, Halacha, Chassidus and some Kabbalah.

I pause again, I'm not sure they have any idea what half that stuff means. If they have even heard of it, I'm not sure they understand what it's all about.


I can see my mom nodding with a polite smile and return to what ever work she was doing upstairs. 


Me: Well, I guess what I really learned was... Hm. I didn't really learn.. Well...


Again I pause... I can't BELIEVE I have been preparing for this moment for ten months and am still caught without an answer!


I close my eyes in a brief moment of meditation. I open them. 

Me: Dad, it was a very interesting year. I'm sure you think that they brainwashed me, or that I joined a cult... 

Those two terms, yuck! "Brainwash" and "cult" have swirled around in in my parents vernacular ever since my brother became religious, and then when I was soon to follow. Apparently a lot of secular Jews and non-Jews honestly believe that we all have been "brainwashed" to join a "cult" with the rise of the Baalei Teshuva movement... there is no point arguing semantics *sigh* a 4,000 year-old religion is not a cult. 

Me: I mean, you may think that I've joined a cult and been brainwashed... but I think I've figured it out.

He is wearing an amused look.

Me: You know when you get a headache and you know something is just not right? Then you take off your glasses and stop straining your eyes. Finally, you realize your glasses no longer work right? That you may be seeing the world a little fuzzy? 


Father: Yea?


Me: Well, you go to Moshe!

Ironically, Moshe was the first Orthodox Jew I came in "contact" with (teehee). He is my family's ophthalmologist...

Me: Moshe will put that big thing in front of your face and ask, "one, two or three, four?" until you can see the world clearer. That was this year for me. I haven't changed... not really anyway. The only thing I have done was fix my prescription. I fixed some of my near-sightedness. I know I may do a lot of things that are different from when I left, but it's not because I was brainwashed. I just started to see the world a little more clearly. 

Not bad, I think to my self. Uh-oh... he's giving me that look. That you-are-out-of-your-mind look. This is my chance, if not now... never. What do I do? Panic mode! 

Me: You know... I have been struggling with a lot of things about becoming religious... It's not easy one bit. Yea, I know there are a lot of laws and things that I now keep, that I didn't last year... but it has nothing to do with that, per say. It's not keeping the Torah and it's laws that is hard.

He's raising his eyebrows... is he interested or is he mocking me? Oh, I don't know! Deep breath! 

Me: The fuzzy line I once stood on, during high school, is now clear to me, and I realized I'm not on it, I have actually crossed it. This line is my morals and ethics. The hard part about this journey is realizing I may have been wrong. In fact, I was wrong! Once I thought I was alright to do stupid things, like be condescending and disrespectful to you and Mom, however justified I felt. But, this also goes for keeping Shabbos. At one point I thought it didn't matter and now I realized it does! All of this matters a lot! I need to do both...

Alright, Viv's, VivaLaVida (as my roommate calls me), Aviva, Bek, Bekah, Rebekah... make this a conversation he will remember. Try and take away as many doubts as possible. Show him your not any more out of your mind then when you left....

Me: This year has been about seeing the world more clearly. And I have been struggling to change accordingly. I'm not any more perfect than when I left... as in, I'll never be. But, I'm trying my best now. This year, I didn't learn Torah, Mishna, Pirke Avos, Halacha, Chassidus and some Kabbalah... I learned a new way of thinking... a new way of problem solving. I have gained a new skill in critical thinking and analyzing and asking the right questions. I learned what I believe to be moral and ethical behavior, as well as what is appropriate and further, what is appropriate as a Jew. I know we disagree on what the Universal Truth is... but that's okay. You should be proud of me... I'm doing the best I can... Im trying... I'm growing... I'm living my dreams... I'm living the best way I know how...

Deep breath. I suck the air in through my mouth and exhale through my nose. Repeat. My eyes are shut tight. Repeat, in... out. In, out.

I stop pacing. I open my eyes. My legs are sore, I must of been pacing my Neve dorm room for at least 45 minutes. I wonder what time it is, but I have no clocks in my room. I can't check my phone for the time, it's still Shabbos. I wonder what my mom and dad are doing. I make a mental note to call them after Havdalah. 

I wonder how my father would of taken that conversation. I mean... I wasn't really talking to him. Well, maybe just a little bit. As I paced around my room his image wasn't the only one I was talking to. I saw my closest friends back from Eisner (the Reform Summer camp I attended). I saw all my old buddies from NFTY. I saw the various people I may run into from EIE (my semester in Israel program). I saw the Rabbis of the various Reform and Conservative shuls I once attended. I saw my high school friends. I saw myself at sixteen. I was talking to all of them... all of them theoretically, of course...

My Spiritual Spring Break

I don't know if cities have souls- for every city has their own character. Jerusalem is the grandfather of cities, intense and powerful. Sometimes I feel swallowed by the the expansive Jerusalem stone and lost in Har Nof's conformity. Recently, this powerful intensity had been bothering me- I feel the stones melt into Iron. B"H, Pesach couldn't have come quick enough! I needed to breathe and starting on the 23 of March (Rosh Chodesh Nissan) I was free from school to choose what ever it is I would like to do.

I winded down my first week of vacation, just getting out of school mode, and relaxing. The second week, I went on a hike with a few girls from my school to a bat cave by Beit Shemesh, which unsurprisingly turned into a beautiful two-three hour exploration (aka: getting lost in the woods). Then, a few days later, I took two friends to Kibbutz Tzuba! I got to visit my old home and BOY was I surprised! A few factories popped up at the entrance, but more importantly, once on the kibbutz, I realized this was my home three years ago! Three years?! Wow. But, more than that, it felt like Paradise! It looked like paradise with all of the foliage and flowers abloom. Then, I took my friends to Tel Tzuba, the archeological site, and then hiked down and up the next mountain to Sataf. In Sataf, we trailed through some of the oldest agricultural findings in Judea & Samaria to three beautiful fresh water springs, one of which I took them inside to see the water drip from the limestone. If that was all I did, I would of been happy enough. But then, Pesach and Chol Hamoed came. Still one week left of exploration.

For the first Seder and Shabbat, I went to the Art Colony in Tzfat and enjoyed spending it with this great family. The mother was a wonderful artist and the very cheerful father helped run the business downstairs, both Baalei Teshuva. They had five beautiful children running around. I can say that this was the highlight of my month. While in Har Nof, I see the Yeshivish-Haredi families and how they work, what it's like and all of that... I don't often enough get a chance to see how OTHER types of Orthodox families work. Like, how they celebrate Shabbos, what kind of minhagnim they are doing, and how they go about teaching their children Torah. In this family, I got a feeling I don't normally get. They spoke about Torah, like a secular teenager would talk about their crush: they had overwhelming affection in their eyes. I really enjoyed the way the father shared mussar from Reb Shlomo Carlebach as well as from other well-known rebbeim with a sense of great joy and faith. It was... a very, very positive experience for me.

Once I came back to Jerusalem, I was feeling such a new and positive energy that I couldn't sit still. I wasn't yet ready to stay stagnant in Jerusalem, like I had been for the last few months. A day later a friend and I took off to the woods and spent all of Chol Hamoed camping with a group of people among the fresh and beautiful valleys and woods outside of the greater Beit Shemesh area. Not exactly sure where I was, no electronics, and more matzah than I would of ever wanted... I celebrated the most liberating Pesach I've had yet.

Back in civilization for the last days of Hag, I walked to the Kotel to finish off my journey. In the heart of Jerusalem, where the Shechina still rests, the Iron walls faded back to gold Jerusalem stone. I am rejuvenated and excited to return to my studies with eagerness of a curious mind and an open heart.

I Remember

I was sitting at a bench, reminiscing with my friend, who has been one of my closest friends since we came to Israel together in high school. Since then, I have become religious and am now studying at seminary... while he joined Tzahal and became a real kibbutznik. As we chatted, I told him about the rough month I have been having. It's honestly been one of the worst months for me, feeling like the sky had fallen down. 


I had a really bad experience at the beginning of the month, followed by a few deaths and a lot of painful soul-searching and "Pesach cleaning," trying to rid myself of some Mitzrayim. He was sympathetic and then we changed subjects. 


He told me he visited the Kotel the day before, which, caught me by surprise. I confessed that I hadn't been to the Kotel recently... I was avoiding it at all costs. I was having a lot of trouble praying and I was angry at Gd. To tell you the truth, I was REALLY angry at Gd. I felt like he has put me through a lot of really unfair and hard trials and didn't tell me why. Didn't make it clear what problem I had to fix or what tikkun was needed for a past life. But, what ever it was, I was angry. I felt like that four year old girl who was given a good potch from her mother, and was now sitting in the corner staring, refusing to talk. With her arms folded and mouth pursed, holding the expression of unforgivingness... I felt like that four year old, arms crossed... waiting for the "I'm sorry" from Gd, that I knew was never going to come. 


As ridiculous as I felt, no one had done anything to change my mind until my friend said something I would of NEVER expected: "I don't CARE if you're angry with Gd. That doesn't give you the right to not go to the Wall. Even if you don't pray, you still go there. If not to pray, to remember." To remember?


What he has said startled me. For some reason, I took what he said especially hard and started thinking. Two days later, I walked an hour and a half to the Kotel, unsure what I was doing there. I stood by the large, cold stones on the bright sunny Shabbat afternoon... I slipped into my bag and grabbed my white Artscroll siddur. Before I knew it, I was saying the Amidah. 


Hashem's "sorry" never came, but like four year olds, you just forget. Forget why you're angry at your mom, forget that you're not on speaking terms... And I forgot. I forgave. I moved on. I started praying. And the potch stopped hurting.  


I'm not sure how a soldier giving a seminary girl mussar, on a bench at the end of Ben Yahuda, works... but it worked for me, and I have been remembering ever since.

Forgive Me for my Drunkeness

     Though Purim is two days done, I still wanted to mention an interesting experience I had (and I'm not just talking about partying in Nachlaot). I had this incredible time dressing up and exploring the streets, seeing the religious communities I live in and often visit, in a more colourful light. I was happy to see happiness... something I often get drained from when only seeing black and white. But what made this Purim a truly inspiring event, turned out absent from my all my notebooks.

     After classes upon classes (from dissecting the Megillah to the halachot) and reading books on my own time (I loved The Miracles of Purim Part I and II by Rav Shlomo Brevda based off of commentary by the Vilna Goan), I was catching Rabbis and friends off guard with my new found knowledge. I felt great that in two weeks I had learned SO much about Purim I was teaching OTHER people. Not bad for a new Baalat teshuva. But, honestly, I was missing something. I didn't like how everything was so unilaterally focused on getting smashed, or conversely, the holiness of the day. I felt a disconnection between what I was learning and the festivities. I was told by some Rabbis that it had to be this holy, heightened and semi-normative experience OR by other Rabbis it was supposed to be this drunken chaotic mess. Either way, I was feeling a huge disconnect, and it was only growing the more I learned this day is supposed to be about Jewish unity. 

     And that's when Gd stepped in... and by Gd I mean that's when I serendipitously went to Rabbi Refson Jr.'s class, the last class before Purim break. Rabbi Refson sat down and started speaking about the spirituality of Purim. I was busy organizing my more... solid.... notes, while listing in on his passionate speech. Eventually, I focused my attention on his speech, as opposed to fiddling with my notes, because what he was saying to me started to seep in and resonate. 

     The sun fell, and Purim came in. I dutifully went to hear the entire Megillah, from first word to last, in all of its entirety, like I was taught. Instead of being tested on the ideas, Hebrew, and halcaha that I knew, I was tested in a much more interesting way. Ten minutes into this reading I was getting overwhelmed. I stifled a surprising swell of emotion and tears and had to stand up and pace in the back of the room. I often say the hardest thing about becoming religious is not being able to take back so many of the things I have seen or done. But more specific than that, it is the deep ball of regret that weighs you down. It is in the pit of your stomach, tearing at your insides. Even all the Yom Kippurim in the world can't lighten or relieve this feeling. That's why, when I heard the Megillah, I had to hold back this flood gate of tears. 

     Rabbi Refson had said that Purim is one of the holiest days of the year. In fact, after the Moshiach comes, the only two holidays that will be celebrated are Yom Kippur and Purim. I understand Yom Kippur, our day of repentance, but why Purim? Purim is the day when Hashem looks at us and says he accepts our prayers and loves us no matter how much we screw up (like the intermarrying and idol worship that took place during the time of the Purim story). Gd loves us and wants us to enjoy the world He has created and will save us when we seem unredeemable. So, while listening to our story, I realized even when I mess up pretty badly, and feel like all the Yom Kippurim in the world can't and won't fix my mistakes, I still have Purim to realize Hashem will always love me and THAT made my mistakes and regret a lighter load to carry. 

Shades of Gray

HOW I FEEL RECENTLY:

A Thousand Words

Sometimes I'm not in the mood to write all about what I'm learning, but still want to express it:

"Kotel Cries" 

I was davening at the Kotel, for the fifth day in a row, during Sukkos. I got to the Shmona Esrei, and as I was enunciating the Hebrew at a painstakingly slow rate, a women right next to me began to bawl her eyes out. I was annoyed. I was trying to daven! I couldn't concentrate. Eventually, I took a breath to look up and saw a small, newborn's hand in the crying woman's hand.  She was touching and kissing the wall. She took her baby's hand and put it against the cold stone and brought it to the infant's lips. It was a really beautiful sight, so a few days or weeks later, I found myself drawing the scene. 

"Kiddush Hashem- Rabbi Mintz"

Sometimes you think so hard during the day, your mind wanders off. As this great Tzadik spoke to us on kiddush Hashem, I couldn't concentrate on his words, so instead my notes on the subject ended up being a portrait of him. Close enough,

"Stone Flag"

Doodle of the Israeli flag layered with the kotel, and the prayer you say at the Kotel.

"People are always looking for the city of Happiness, but don't realize it is a state of mind."

-Rav Pam

"Metallic Malach" Oil and sharpie on Canvas. 

Represents an angel with six arms and six (metallic) wings holding a baby and overseeing the world. If your interested in why this picture came to me... in class we were talking about the "creations of Gd." But I began to think... a robot is a creation of man, just like a child is a product of man... robots have no choice, while humans have freewill. So whose stronger, human or robot? This parallels to Gd's servants (the angels). Who runs the world? Man or the Metallic angels?

Eilat

I was at the top of a mountain, looking towards a crystal blue sky, and mountains towering over two cities nestled into the beaches of the Yam Suf (Red Sea). My feet stood in Israel, but I could see Jordan ten miles off to my left and Egypt two miles off to my right. In the distance, where the sky met the sea, I could make out red and brown mountains which were the tail of Saudi Arabia. Four countries in one sweeping panorama. Taken aback from the marvelous view, I glanced toward the sea. Even on the mountain top, I could see the edge of the coral reef, unhindered by the distance and water. The rippling in the water caused vast shades of cerulean blue to mingle until it faded into the same white as the sand underneath the edges of the beach. The hotels and buildings towered over the edges of the beaches, looking like they were going to join their patrons for a swim. As the clouds started to block the late morning sun, we started down the mountain where the borders of all the countries became larger and larger, and I was swimming in a sea of rocks and dust as the view slowly started to fade away.

The Family Wish-Wash

I keep my blog tab open on Safari, but recently (aka: the last two months of my disappearance act) I haven't had much I wanted to publicly say. A huge struggle with becoming religious is the family and friends that you've "left behind."

Not so long after my last blog, I got in a huge argument with my 'rents and siblings. It felt like my world was crashing. It's really hard to be a teenager who is struggling for independence... but also understanding. I even felt alienated from my older brother, who also became religious, because he doesn't get me either. People can look from the outside and have an idea of how you feel and why your doing what you do... but ultimately everybody carries their unique baggage from the past, and is on the walk alone.

Long story short, I got in a fight with my parents over university and independence. Nearly got disowned... religion took the back seat this time. And while we, B"H, fixed everything, it's has been a very "emotional" two months for me, trying to work out my past and get a gage on where I'm headed. The one thing I think people forget to tell the newly religious, is that in the end... it's not the people you can't touch or the food you can or cannot eat in your parents house that causes all the strife. It's the turmoil left inside from your past experiences.

You can never un-see that movie you once saw. You will never be able to take back your first kiss or your last words. You can never change what made you who you were. FFB (frum from birth) kids have an advantage of being sheltered from certain things and experiences (to a degree). And while I CANNOT believe the words "sheltered" and "advantage" just came in the same sentence, out of my own thoughts, I have realized a frustrating truth.

No once becomes religious because everything in their life makes sense or is going perfect. You don't fix what ain't broken. And I think that outside my curiosity, I was looking to fix things with my family. I've always been a truth seeker and quite frankly, all truth seekers are rebels. I had my secrets and mischievous shenanigans going on while growing up, outside of family turmoil. But now, as I have found a solid platform to base my life off of (Judaism) I have been fixing some unresolved consequences of my rebellious nature. But the baggage I buried was never actually "out of sight, out of mind."

A while back I blogged a post called, "You Don't Need Therapy, You Need Yeshiva."Now I'm eating my own words. Torah is all about improving ourselves and humanity. But in order to do any of it, you need to look inside yourself. You can't help your neighbor if you can't help yourself. You can't connect to Hashem, if you can't see His presence within you. So, now, in the month of February, the midpoint of my year, I have come to a place where I am no longer learning for learning's sake... I'm learning to improve the world.

I have been blessed to have made a stronger foundation for my future, and while mapping out and moving all these "building blocks" is a pain, I am so happy I have made it through the dark winter months. Tu B'shvat was today, and in the spiritual nature of the holiday, the lifeline ("sap") of the trees is equivalent to the lifeline and direction where we are headed for the entire year. A good rain during winter, provides a strong sap to get the trees going the rest of the year. And I have had a good wash out of the negative stuff during the winter, and during the month of Shevet (the "whipping rod" month) I'm starting to effectively change what I don't like and improve what I need to.

Hopefully, the last fifteen days of Shevet will also give you the push and shove where you need to go in life to reach your full potential. May this find you all in good health.

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