I am so proud of Lubavitch right now. This is exactly what we need, and I am so glad somebody finally took a stand! If you are in CH this Shabbos, you have no excuse for not attending!!!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Amazing, amazing, amazing!!
I am so proud of Lubavitch right now. This is exactly what we need, and I am so glad somebody finally took a stand! If you are in CH this Shabbos, you have no excuse for not attending!!!
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Kislev
Kislev brings thoughts of happiness, love, warmth coming from the soul, light, freedom, geula, joy, song, dance, chocolate, giving. Yet here we are-Rosh Chodesh Kislev, and I take a look around:
First Yartzeit of Gabi and Rivki-people I have never met but that doesn’t stop me from being on first-name-basis; two holy Jews, shluchim, murdered because they were doing what the Rebbe asked from us all to do.
The shloshim of Shula Swerdlow, and innocent and adorable little girl killed just because.
Sholom Rubashkin facing a very dark and bleak future.
The shomrim 6: Jews betraying other Jews and what’s worse; Lubavitchers betraying Lubavitchers. Claiming to be the Rebbe’s Chassidim, we are acting out against basic Torah values.
And yet, we just had an amazing kinnus of 4000 shluchim. It’s Rosh Chodesh Kislev, we are wearing Yom Tov clothes, celebrating Rebbe and what that even means to us. Next week is chag Hageula, and the week after as well. Then in three weeks-Chanuka-another geula.
How does this all make sense? Where is the logic in all of this? What is happening to Lubavitch? Shall I laugh or shall I cry? Shall I get up and dance or stay in bed hugging my pillow and crying tears of sadness and helplessness?
Or should I ignore all of it? Shall I go on living my life, not letting any of this affect me? Ignore it all; the negative, the positive, the sense of community?
What the hell is going on?
First Yartzeit of Gabi and Rivki-people I have never met but that doesn’t stop me from being on first-name-basis; two holy Jews, shluchim, murdered because they were doing what the Rebbe asked from us all to do.
The shloshim of Shula Swerdlow, and innocent and adorable little girl killed just because.
Sholom Rubashkin facing a very dark and bleak future.
The shomrim 6: Jews betraying other Jews and what’s worse; Lubavitchers betraying Lubavitchers. Claiming to be the Rebbe’s Chassidim, we are acting out against basic Torah values.
And yet, we just had an amazing kinnus of 4000 shluchim. It’s Rosh Chodesh Kislev, we are wearing Yom Tov clothes, celebrating Rebbe and what that even means to us. Next week is chag Hageula, and the week after as well. Then in three weeks-Chanuka-another geula.
How does this all make sense? Where is the logic in all of this? What is happening to Lubavitch? Shall I laugh or shall I cry? Shall I get up and dance or stay in bed hugging my pillow and crying tears of sadness and helplessness?
Or should I ignore all of it? Shall I go on living my life, not letting any of this affect me? Ignore it all; the negative, the positive, the sense of community?
What the hell is going on?
One of my closest friends got married a year ago. At her wedding, in middle of dancing, someone made an announcement on the mike about shluchim being held hostage in India. I didn’t really understand what was being said and, I am ashamed to admit, I continued dancing. This was my friend’s wedding!! I wasn’t gonna anything ruin this for us.
Over the next day or two, the story began to take shape. Shluchim in India were being held hostage in their own Chabad House by terrorists. I felt bad, and might have mumbled a perek of tehillim or something, but didn’t do anything major. After all, they were in India, I was in New Jersey, and what do we have in common?
Things became a little more real when I came home and overheard my shliach making phone calls. He had found a translator and was anxiously trying to get in touch with somebody who knew something. What, you knew Gabi? He is real and connected? I started feeling something.
Then that fateful day came. It embarrasses me to say this, but I cannot remember where I was when I heard the news. The Holtzbergs didn’t make it. I remember the vigil at Princeton University-we lit candles and walked in a procession through the dark campus, finishing with a program; a student from Mumbai speaking, the Dean of Religious Life talking, the shliach on campus explaining who Gabi and Rivki were, some religious student groups leading a prayer, and a student playing “Rochamona” on the piano. We also saw a slideshow of what Mumbai is all about. The tragic events were starting to sink in.
On Friday we held a short memorial service, followed by candle-lighting for the women, and mincha. The shlucha stood up to speak. Her voice broke, and tears fell down her cheeks when she said, “It could have been my Chabad House.” That is the moment the enormity of what happened hit me like a slap on the cheek. Gabi and Rivki were killed because they had a Chabad House. They were brutally murdered because they were shluchim of the Rebbe, doing the holiest work of all. And what are we? Lubavitchers, Chassidim, shluchim, Jews-part of the same family. It was then that I felt it-they were one of us.
This is my sad tale. The story I am mortified to tell, because I did not do everything possible, I did not stop everything for them, and I was not broken. But now I am. Now I look back at this year, at what Lubavitch has been through, is going through, and all I can think is Ad Mosai?!?!?!
Over the next day or two, the story began to take shape. Shluchim in India were being held hostage in their own Chabad House by terrorists. I felt bad, and might have mumbled a perek of tehillim or something, but didn’t do anything major. After all, they were in India, I was in New Jersey, and what do we have in common?
Things became a little more real when I came home and overheard my shliach making phone calls. He had found a translator and was anxiously trying to get in touch with somebody who knew something. What, you knew Gabi? He is real and connected? I started feeling something.
Then that fateful day came. It embarrasses me to say this, but I cannot remember where I was when I heard the news. The Holtzbergs didn’t make it. I remember the vigil at Princeton University-we lit candles and walked in a procession through the dark campus, finishing with a program; a student from Mumbai speaking, the Dean of Religious Life talking, the shliach on campus explaining who Gabi and Rivki were, some religious student groups leading a prayer, and a student playing “Rochamona” on the piano. We also saw a slideshow of what Mumbai is all about. The tragic events were starting to sink in.
On Friday we held a short memorial service, followed by candle-lighting for the women, and mincha. The shlucha stood up to speak. Her voice broke, and tears fell down her cheeks when she said, “It could have been my Chabad House.” That is the moment the enormity of what happened hit me like a slap on the cheek. Gabi and Rivki were killed because they had a Chabad House. They were brutally murdered because they were shluchim of the Rebbe, doing the holiest work of all. And what are we? Lubavitchers, Chassidim, shluchim, Jews-part of the same family. It was then that I felt it-they were one of us.
This is my sad tale. The story I am mortified to tell, because I did not do everything possible, I did not stop everything for them, and I was not broken. But now I am. Now I look back at this year, at what Lubavitch has been through, is going through, and all I can think is Ad Mosai?!?!?!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
The Time is Now
I always wondered when I would grow up. I asked my mom recently, “When am I going to grow up?” She answered, “I don’t know. I still haven’t grown up!”
Yeah, I know, my mom is cute.
Back to my musings: Something happened today that made me recall this story. I was involved in an accident today. I was driving down Nostrand Ave to Flatbush for a meeting. I was driving in the relatively empty right lane (only a lane from 4pm-7pm, otherwise a parking lane), when I noticed a car from the middle lane trying to make a right turn. I beeped, but it was too late, CRUNCH!! I was hit.
I pull over, the other driver pulls over. I get out of the car; she gets out (along with her male companion). She looks at me kind of nervously, not knowing what to say. I start, “We should exchange registration, insurance and contact information.”
“Yeah, I want yours too.”
“I think we can both agree that this was your fault.” I go back to the car to get a pen and look for the pertinent information. I come back,
“Well this is really a parking lane (she points to the right lane).”
“Actually, there are no standing from 4pm-7pm signs everywhere, indicating that is a through lane now.”
“Oh.”
I write down a bunch of information and numbers, not really knowing which I will need. She takes my license number. I tell her to take my phone number as well. I call my date, telling her I’m running a bit late, but should be there soon.
Once everything settles, I return to my car and drive off. I feel confident and in control; independent. I call the shlucha who owns the car to let her know what happened. Then go to me meeting. Life moves on.
My reaction was so different from last time. Last time I cried for hours, hating myself and feeling so alone and unloved. I craved a connection, needed reassurance and the feeling that someone cared and was glad I was OK. Today, it was just another thing in my day to deal with. Just like driving to Flatbush to meet this person, just like assigning 40 girls and 2 staff to an upcoming trip. Just like emailing those 40 girls, calling them, and replacing a staff member who waited until today to back out. Just like teaching the “tes” sound, and breaking up fights in school. Just like davening Mincha as soon as I got back because the days are so short. The accident was just another issue that came up that required my attention.
And just like after my erev sukkos experience, it felt great!
Thursday, November 05, 2009
PSA
Dedicated to CBYZ
I'd like to start by congratulating the Yankees. But as you know I am Canadian so baseball really isn't my thing... Moving on.
I went to a bridal shower this evening and somehow, while I was there, made plans to host Shabbos lunch at my place (women are invited-Cheerio, Altie, CBYZ, Sarabonne... text me for an official invite). Later, as I walked back to my place, I stopped at Empire Kosher to buy an apple. As if.
Twenty minutes and a full shopping cart later, I had most of what I needed for Shabbos (very good food on the menu). I gathered the bags and braced myself for the walk. Had I known I was gonna buy all these things, I would have arranged a car. As it was, I considered calling for help. But I'm me, and I don't ask for help... so there went that idea :).
So I'm walking down Sterling St. when a pleasant-looking couple walks past me (coming from the other direction). She notices my bags, stops, and asks, "Can we help you with those?"
"No thanks, I'm OK. I'm almost home."
"How much further do you have?"
"Just a block."
"We're taking you bags. They look heavy."
"I'n really OK. Thanks so much for the offer, but I can handle it."
She doesn't take "no" for an answer. She turns to her husband, "Take those bags from her."
To shorten an already long-winded tale, they help lighten my load and turn around to walk me home. We start talking-I don't know them and they don't know me, but I do know that they are sweet, helpful, and menschlich in a way that goes beyond the standard definition.
I was blown away. Sure, I've been tempted to help people I see in the street, but I usually don't. Take the other day, for example: I was walking down the street, minding my own business (to steal Yossi's line) when I noticed a woman unloading groceries from her car. My instinct was to offer to help, but then I decided to keep on minding my own business. I did not help her.
I went to a bridal shower this evening and somehow, while I was there, made plans to host Shabbos lunch at my place (women are invited-Cheerio, Altie, CBYZ, Sarabonne... text me for an official invite). Later, as I walked back to my place, I stopped at Empire Kosher to buy an apple. As if.
Twenty minutes and a full shopping cart later, I had most of what I needed for Shabbos (very good food on the menu). I gathered the bags and braced myself for the walk. Had I known I was gonna buy all these things, I would have arranged a car. As it was, I considered calling for help. But I'm me, and I don't ask for help... so there went that idea :).
So I'm walking down Sterling St. when a pleasant-looking couple walks past me (coming from the other direction). She notices my bags, stops, and asks, "Can we help you with those?"
"No thanks, I'm OK. I'm almost home."
"How much further do you have?"
"Just a block."
"We're taking you bags. They look heavy."
"I'n really OK. Thanks so much for the offer, but I can handle it."
She doesn't take "no" for an answer. She turns to her husband, "Take those bags from her."
To shorten an already long-winded tale, they help lighten my load and turn around to walk me home. We start talking-I don't know them and they don't know me, but I do know that they are sweet, helpful, and menschlich in a way that goes beyond the standard definition.
I was blown away. Sure, I've been tempted to help people I see in the street, but I usually don't. Take the other day, for example: I was walking down the street, minding my own business (to steal Yossi's line) when I noticed a woman unloading groceries from her car. My instinct was to offer to help, but then I decided to keep on minding my own business. I did not help her.
What this woman (and her husband) did for me tonight was an act of pure kindness. An act that shows the world what it means to be a Jew, frum, and a chossid of the Rebbe. We're all connected-and if we tap in to that connection we are driven to help strangers, because in essence we are family.
Chassidim ein mishpacha.
Lechaim!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Beraishis Bara Elokim
She doesn’t recognize herself
This being she has become.
Confusion, emotion, thoughts swirling
Feelings she has never had
Ideas she has never thought.
She used to be so sure-
Confidence her middle name
Now doubts and uncertainty reign
Taking over her mind,
And parking in her soul.
She wants to shout-
There is so much to say
Thoughts stand still at crucial moments
Her tongue glued
Brain frozen.
The forbidden fruit
Stands in all its glory
Taunting, teasing, manipulating
She is drawn to temptation
Feels unexpected urges.
His words are sly-
This slippery snake
Aims to wreak havoc and terror.
History repeats itself.
Will goodness prevail?
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
My Bubby, the Zionist
Sitting with Bubs on her couch. She looks off, seems to be lost in thought. I throw one of her favorite sayings at her, "A penny for your thoughts."
"My babies." She answers, pointing to the wall at the baby pictures of her daughters, my grandmother A"H and her sister, may she live and be well.
I look over at those cute children, and my eyes start roaming over the walls. I notice something that has been there for many years, but I never actually looked at. I thought it might be Bubby's kesuba. I walk over and start reading the beautifully written Hebrew on the document with the detailed, artsy decor. I realize it is a copy of Israel's declaration of Independence in 1948.
When I'm finished looking, I rejoin Bubby on the couch. She points to the frame and asks me what it is. I tell her. "When was that?"
"1948." I realise it seems like a long time ago, but Bubby was already over 40 then.
"What is it now?"
"Over 60 years later."
"It was a big deal then. Everyone moved their biggest piece of furniture to make room for that on their wall. Now you take it for granted, it is so easy now."
Wow. Wow. Wow. So much to say, but I'll let you draw your own conclusions.
"My babies." She answers, pointing to the wall at the baby pictures of her daughters, my grandmother A"H and her sister, may she live and be well.
I look over at those cute children, and my eyes start roaming over the walls. I notice something that has been there for many years, but I never actually looked at. I thought it might be Bubby's kesuba. I walk over and start reading the beautifully written Hebrew on the document with the detailed, artsy decor. I realize it is a copy of Israel's declaration of Independence in 1948.
When I'm finished looking, I rejoin Bubby on the couch. She points to the frame and asks me what it is. I tell her. "When was that?"
"1948." I realise it seems like a long time ago, but Bubby was already over 40 then.
"What is it now?"
"Over 60 years later."
"It was a big deal then. Everyone moved their biggest piece of furniture to make room for that on their wall. Now you take it for granted, it is so easy now."
Wow. Wow. Wow. So much to say, but I'll let you draw your own conclusions.
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