Wrapping up Shana Bet

This last shabbos was an amazing realization. Almost three years ago, I signed up to Shabbat.com, where I was welcomed to the most amazing family. Here, I fell in love with a living Judaism; An honest Judaism; A beautiful and colourful Judaism. I have always been a connected Jew, living for my Reform Jewish sleep away camp, youth group, Hebrew school, and Israel. But this family let me see a world of Judaism that was more than a Friday-night hobby. Through the help of this Rabbi, my brother, my family, my friends, my teachers, schools, and all the incredible people I have met along the way, I have made my Judaism a relationship between myself, my family and friends, and Hashem.

The speech given at the shabbos table, closely resembled the first speech I ever heard from my Rabbi. Ironically, my journey has now come full circle because this was the speech that made me reevaluate what Judaism meant to me and is what led me down a path of observance in 2010. While the speech used the same stories and had the same theme, I could not begin to explain the perfect and awesome power it cast over me this shabbos, once again. As a speaker from Ohr Naava once put it, "I don't come to hear something new; I come to hear something true." The emes [Truth] emitting from my Rabbi took on a whole new meaning now the person listening had dramatically evolved. It may have not been "new" per say, but it was most definitely emes. It definitely reached into the core of my being and made me realize why I had come so far in the first place: I want a relationship with Gd.

My school year at Ateres Naava had ended a few weeks ago. I finished a long school year, unsure if I was happy or sad. The classes were nice but not at my intellectual level (can anyone ever really beat Neve Yerushalayim?). But the teachers were in an incredible league of their own and the girls at my school were sweet as sugar and as interesting and diverse as could be. Once my school was over, I left Brooklyn pretty quickly. I regretfully quit my job in Boro Park (amusingly, the same place that sent me running from all the "crazy religious people" only months before). I also started and completed a beautiful mural in one of my teacher's backyards.

Brooklyn was not exactly my scene, but I am sure it was a great blessing. It enabled me to travel all over the place, especially home to Jersey. I stayed connected to my closest friends from high school and have a whole new appreciating for where I grew up. One day, I was walking down the dew-laden street at six am to catch the train to school. The air was warm and sticky and the sunrise was sweeping the sky, turning the leaves on treetops golden and the horizon pink. A stork flew over the sky and, like a kite, gracefully floated down into the river. I'm not sure any other moment captured my appreciation for the beautiful area I had grown up in, more, than that moment. Yesterday, my best friend from third grade came for a visit. We traversed our old stomping grounds (the park and apartment complex where he lived). We swung on the swings remembering the stories of more adventurous days. We inspected the trees we used to climb and the branches we broke. I envisioned the stick wars in the parking lot and the annual biking trip to "Death Hill". Names were rolling off my tongue that haven't been mentioned in years. Some, in half a decade or more. We had a beautiful childhood. We had an absolutely beautiful childhood.

This week, I have come to appreciate so many things that I sometimes do not take adequate time to reflect on. I have had a wonderful childhood in a wonderful area. I had an amazing and varied education in public school, high school in Israel, and two years of seminary. I have forged new and strong relationships and fixed old ones. I have also explored my relationship with Gd and myself. All in all, this year came with many, many personal challenges. I made it through all of them and appreciate every nisayon (challenge) and hurdle that has come to me thus far. This next year, I am going to another year of seminary in Jerusalem and really cannot wait to get back to Israel.

After taking a real hard look around me this week, I am not running away from anything. I am not going to Israel to run off to join the army, to escape my life, or hide my identity. I am going to Israel to undertake an intense year of learning to enhance my knowledge and prepare me for a bright and beautiful future. I end this blog with a blessing for everyone who has been kind enough to follow me through my journey:

I pray that you find direction and meaning in everything you do. I pray that you recognize what you have and what you've accomplished, as well as who you are and what you're capable of achieving. May Gd bless you with goodness and may He help you in your struggles. Lastly, I pray that you search and find Truth in everything.

L.I.V.E.

While my life has been uneventful, hence a lack of blogs, I had an exciting opportunity to go to the Ohr Naava shabbaton in Stamford, Massachusetts. There, I attended shiurim and a beautiful shabbos with classmates and women from all around. Luckily, I ran into a friend whom I had met at my first orthdox shabbos! I also ran into a friend from my seminary from last year. What a small world.

Over the last few weeks, I have felt an internal struggle with stagnation. When your new to anything it is exciting and fresh. But now I have been religious about a two years, I feel boredom and lackadaisical. It is a constant battle to keep myself enthused and motivated to continue forward. It also doesn't help that I have been struggling with personal matters in addition to religious ones. When the world feels like it's getting too small and too dark, it only takes a little Torah to light up the way. The shabbaton and fascinating conversations were the answer to my prayers. I feel refreshed and ready to continue.

Surprisingly, however, was the inspiration I found within myself. A friend who is big into emunah (faith) and inspirational stories asked to share my "story" with a few of her friends. What started as a small crew of two or three quickly ended up a massive group of 25 women! While I can't say I find my story particularly interesting among the fascinating "ba'al teshuva stories", I can understand how someone seeking out an observant life is cool to hear. But, lucky for me, I felt like I made an impact on some of the listeners. In fact, I ended up with a handful of questions. Later, a few girls approached me to tell me they loved my story and said I should become a professional speaker. Flattered, I wondered about what my story really involved and how people perceived the coincidence and luck.

The hand of Gd (what I attribute my constant luck and coincidence) is quite a strong force. I also recognized the people who helped me along the way (some completely behind the scenes and others, comically, pushing and shoving me along the way). Additionally, I remembered the amazing opportunities I was presented with growing up. Through the telling of my own story, I was refamiliarized with the important people in my life. I also became aware of how far I have come. Looking into the future has been a frightening undertaking for me as of recent, but I see the road I am going down and I am so pumped to continue! This last weekend felt like getting pulled out of the mud and sent into the future on eagles' wings.

Two Decades and Counting...

I guess I've been 20 now for a week or so (seeing as I follow my Hebrew birthday, the 13 of Iyar). Luckily for me, though, I had two birthdays to celebrate this year, the second being my legal/Gregorian birth date: May 4th. So, what does being twenty years of age mean to me? Where to begin?

Well, for starters: I AM NO LONGER A TEENAGER. Thank Gd. I have nothing very pleasant to say about my teenage years. Middle school was a slew of growing pains and high school was a party I'd rather forget. The mangled middle-years were a time for growth, exploration, and goal-setting which were tough and both literally and figuratively filled with zits and black and blues. I am very aware the "real-world" is tougher and scarier, but at least I have forged my identity in the heart of the furnace and am ready to be tested.

My identity, which I had just mentioned, is the product of the last twenty years. I feel it is completely heavy-handed to suggest the totality of the last two decades were frost-bitten. In truth, I had a beautiful childhood. I remember smile-laden vacations with my family, sticky sap-patched hands and mud covered clothing at camp with friends, refreshing swims in warm summer rains and chilly winter lake-dips. I gleefully remember stargazing in the Birkshires, in the hills of Israel, in the waters of the south Atlantic Ocean, in the mountains of California, over the mists of Niagra Falls, and on the chilly, stone driveway with my dog, Lady, at my parents' house in New Jersey. Each were incredible sights to be seen. However, what is most noteworthy about my collective experiences is the person who I have become because of and despite the experiences.

Most notably I have, in short, rejected much of my upbringing. I was brought up in a wealthy American-middle class, suburban, Reform-Jewish home attending mixed summer camps and public schools. Now, I am an orthodox Jew who ideally lives in the "urban" heart of the universe: Jerusalem, and will probably never value or obtain the vastness of material wealth my parents have luckily had. This incomplete dichotomy does little justice to the true vastness of differences between my current lifestyle and upbringing. But this "rejection" I speak of is not really a rejection at all, and instead, the physical manifestation of ideals my parents have been trying to instill in me this whole time. Namely, to question what I know in the pursuit of truth and to help others. While the context of "truth" and "helping" have changed, in reality, these are the pillars core to my identity and have never and will never change. I will always value Truth and helping others, despite the various trimmings they come in.

Admitting these central themes to my identity, I can show you I am both a product of my upbringing and choices. Nevertheless, I have so much to say on the identity I have forged for myself for the next (Gd-willing) 100 years. Pirke Avos (Wisdom Of our Fathers, a tractate in Talmud) recounts:

Five years is the age for the study of Scripture. Ten, for the study of Mishnah. Thirteen, for [obligation in] mizvot. Fifteen, for the study of Talmud. Eighteen, for marriage. Twenty, to pursue. Thirty, for power, Forty, for understanding. Fifty, for counsel. Sixty, for sagacity. Seventy, for elderliness. Eighty, for gevura. Ninety, to stoop. A hundred-year-old is as one who has died and passed away and has been negated from the world. (Avot 5:21). 

While much is to be said for all these ages, 20 is a milestone for pursuing. While many say that "pursuing" relates to pursuing a livelihood (boy, is college tough!), I also like to see it as, now, I am no longer a child. Now that I know who I am, I can look in the mirror and ask myself: "What can Gd, my family, and the world expect of me? What can I contribute? What are my goals and aspirations?"

Twenty is a time of action. This is the time where my dreams will be brought out into this world, if only I pursue them! And... well... I can't wait!

The Grand Finale

I have not posted as of recent. Sadly, I missed the opportunity to share great insight for Pesach; as in, I feel what I wanted to share may be no longer relevant. Nevertheless, I found a connection among Pesach (our festival of freedom), the mourning period, called the Omer, we are currently in, and the next holiday, Shavuos.

The Omer starts the second day of Pesach and counts forty-nine days. The following day, on the fiftieth, is when Gd gave us the Torah and is called Shavuos. Shavuos is known by a few names, none, though, as strange as Atzeres. The name "Atzeres" is shared with the last day of Sukkos (the Harvest Festival) called Shmini Atzeres. These holidays are both a week long and commemorate Hashem taking us out of Egypt. Additionally, these holidays are riddled with symbols that are juxtaposed in their nature.

During Pesach we eat flat cracker-like bread called matzah. It symbolizes lechem l'oni (the bread of poverty/affliction) and, conversely, matzah represents freedom. Sukkos, too, has its various symbols, but the Sukkah (booth) takes precedence. It symbolizes Gd's protection over us during the forty years spent wandering the desert. These week-long festivals are momentous times for growth and connection and end with days named "Atzeres".

Now the parallels between Pesach and Sukkos have been drawn, I wonder why  Atzeres has a connection to both these two week-long holidays? "Atzeres" literally means to stop. Funny enough, however, it also means to congregate. While the two terms have little to do with one another on the surface, theoretically, when people stop they congregate! Ta-dah!

The beautiful point I'd like to infer, though, only rests on these concepts. The core of Judaism is to be kind to one another. But as I am not the sum of my parts, nor is my heritage. Judaism works as a system to draw Gd in THIS world and to accomplish this feat we need to integrate our Torah values with our reality. This, no doubt, takes a lot of hard work strewn with failures. The Omer demonstrates this process of change.

For every week of the Omer, there is one of the seven middos (attributes) of Hashem we take upon ourself  to work on. For every day of that week, the seven middos are recycled so that in the week we get all seven as a sort of sub-middah. These weeks are built for growth and integration of what we learned on Pesach.
Sukkos is a weeklong journey with Gd's shechina (presence) resting in our mists. We learn this world is transitionatory and rests in Gd's hands. When Sukkos comes to a close, we celebrate Simchas Torah on Shmini Atzeres, in which we dance and sing for joy about receiving our Torah. On Pesach, we learn how we became a nation and why Gd freed us! To give us the Torah on Atzeres/Shavuos! The process of growth, to rise from the level of slaves in Egypt to receiving the Torah, is the process during the time of the Omer. That's precisely why we call Shavuos "Atzeres". Because Shavuos is the grand finale [read: to stop and gather] and culmination of what we learned on Pesach and how we've integrated it into our lives during the Omer!

Essentially, we climb beautiful mountains. As we trek upwards, we are often faced with scary obstacles. We occasionally hurdle over them, but mostly, we stumble and fall. Nonetheless, at one point, we stop and take a look around. We take a deep breathe and admire the vast world we live in. We see the sun setting and the horizon widen. We see our family and friends trail alongside us. We notice the beauty that we couldn't see while in transit up the mountain. This moment is Atzeres.

The Non-Glamorous Side of Things

I'd like to say that the overwhelming bustling and hustling of the last few weeks has been enjoyable. Sadly, however, not all things in life are. I volunteered to help out a school for a week or two, which turned into a few days shy of a month. During that time, I got pulled in an undertow of politics and chaos where it took all my strength not to have conniption (which I may have had anyway). I also, during this time, started a new job that I like. I just wish the hours were more favorable.

The reason I'm sharing the not so glamorous life of yours-truely, is because I often feel that once I became religious everything would magically work out. Sadly, politics in the Jewish world are insufferable and sometimes the people are no better. However, in a strange way, all these mishaps have strengthened my connection to what it means to be human and, more importantly for me, what it means to be Jewish.

I had mentioned in a previous post that the worst representation of Judaism is the Jew. I'd like to stress that this is because Torah and Gd (and whatever else makes up Judaism) are perfect. Jews are human, therefore fallible and imperfect- including myself. I am still constantly battling my identity, trying to figure out which me is me, and trying to stop contradicting my actions with my beliefs!

Purim: Unmasking My True Identities

There are many things I'd like to share about Purim in itself. Nothing more important, though, then how it can transform us as individuals. However, to begin, I'd like to explain a little about a very misunderstood holiday. 

Superficially, I've always explained Purim as the Jew's St. Patrick's day and Halloween. In reality, there is nothing further from the truth. I'll admit there are costumes and people who go overboard and get themselves stone-cold drunk. Nevertheless, this is not the essence of the holiday. 

Purim, in short, is a typical history lesson where a tyrannical Persian king tries to get rid of his cruel, but beautiful, wife (the granddaughter of Nebachnezzer), while the top official is planning his own coupe d'eta. So how do the Jews fit in? The top official was petitioning to wipe out our people (how original). The king, serendipitously for us, married a Jewess after killing his first wife, who had made him king. No Gd is mentioned and no open miracles were preformed. This holiday, though, is used as a comparison for our holiest day of the year: Yom kippur. 

Our day of atonement, Yom Kippur (יום כיפור), is only LIKE Purim (פורים). We see this by looking at the names alone. If you split up the name for our day of atonement is says, "יום כי פור" lit. "A day like Purim" (the plural of פור is פורים). Why is our holiest day really Purim and not Yom Kippur? And how does Gd fit in? 

For the sake of brevity (which I've been working on) I'll hop right to it. Purim is Gd helping us, the Jews, in the diaspora in which we currently reside. He doesn't split seas or call out to us in a booming voice. Gd helps us by setting everything into place. You could simply call the events of Purim luck, chance, or destiny. I call it Gd's hand. Purim is holier then even Yom Kippur and the rest of the holidays because whereas Gd signs his name in all those occurrences, on Purim he signs "Love Anonymous" and the Jews understood. 

If anyone was still wondering where the costumes and booze fit in, here is where my narrative begins...

What is a costume? To most of us, costumes are a facade to hide our identities. On Purim, it's a day to get rid of the facade we wear everyday! We unmask our inner selves. We let down our "walls" simply because we changed our surroundings and external output. Similarly, alcohol does the same!   "A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts." It's not about dressing up or getting drunk, Purim is all about unmasking our true identity! This is, sadly, often the identity we try to cover or deny the most. 

During the Purim chagigah (party) at my school I had an amazing insight to my own identity. I came dressed up as myself from high school. I wore a thin hoodie layered with a black teeshirt pulled over, jeans, a red wig, flat-brim, converse, and all my facial piercing in. Getting dressed I felt "liberated" from my religious "facade." But, a few minutes after getting dressed, I realized my jeans felt awkward. My shirt felt too boyish. The hat didn't feel normal. I looked in the mirror and my red wig looked too attention-grabbing and so did all my piercings. I got on the subway and no one looked twice! Was this "normal"? 

I whipped out my Ipod and started to daven birkas hashachar (morning blessings). Woah, did Gd see me like this? A wave of uneasiness befell me. I looked around and saw a religious lady looking at me. Did she know this was a costume? Did I?

After arriving at school I got a lot of "woahhhhs." Someone asked me if I was dressed like a punk/tomboy. When I explained this was how I dressed in high school, a girl said, "I can't believe how much you've changed!" That's when I realized how much I've changed too...

That wasn't the end of my costume experience though. Later, I did a costume switch-up. I was supposed to be a uber-religious Beis Yaakov girl going to her fourth year of seminary for th school Purim shpiel! Pleated skirt mid-calf, blue button-up blouse to my neck, black stockings, flats, hair pulled back into a pony, and piercings removed. It was a switch-up indeed! 

I got compliments from the staff (they thought now this is what I should look like!). I was tugging at my collar and skirt. Were these shoes too tight? Who wears shoes with out socks? They felt funny. My hair felt unnaturally tame. Why was this skirt awkwardly hitting my legs? I looked in the mirror. Who was this girl?! Not me, that's for sure!

As I ran into the bathroom to change back to my high school getup, I realized neither of the costumes were "me." I'm not pious or punk. I'm not a rebel or religious. I'm not frum or fitting-in. I'm not a "Rebekah" and I'm not an "Aviva". I guess I'm a messy, beautiful product of my diverse exposure and choices. Nothing said this more then how I spent my actual Purim. 

While at my parents' house for Shabbos, I was making sure the tape on the refrigerator light wasn't slipping and there was enough food out for seudat shlishi if it did. As shabbos left, I was doing Havdalah as my dad had already started the car. On our way to Chabad (to listen to the megillah reading), I was wondering if my father would regret not going to the Reform synagogue he habitually attends. Sitting in the Chabad, I enjoyed seeing all the costumes and colours. The Rabbayim and their Rebbetzins were hilarious alongside their made-up kids! I had a very nice time and following the event, I headed to my friend's house for our bi-weekly game of D&D. All my high school friends were already sitting around the dining room table and I jumped in. I was NOT going to let my pixie die in combat! After a long night casting spells and learning skills, I went to sleep on the couch. The next morning we got coffee and I walked to Chabad for the next megillah reading. The children were wall-to-wall! After sticking around for a bit, I floated to my best friend's house where I spent the rest of the morning enjoying coffee and getting ready for the trip to Lakewood. Around two, my mom picked me up and we drove to Lakewood for the seuda (meal) at my friend's house. Her kids were adorable in their jungle-themed costumes! People were coming in and out with mishloach manos (bags of treats) and greetings of a "Freilichin Purim!" I think it was the most enjoyable seudah I've ever had. Afterward, I got on a bus Brooklyn-bound where I got home and went straight to bed. But after I had said the shma, ready to fall into a deep sleep, I decided to take the opportunity to say a word to my creator. 

What did I have to say on one of the busiest and varied day of my life? Thank you. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to spend Shabbos with my family, even though they aren't religious and it is often extremely difficult. Thanks for letting me remain friends with people who respect my "crazy" religious transformation, despite the fact it is so different from the high school me. Thanks for the Chabad that bridged these two worlds, even though I'm not there so often. Thanks for my best friend who has done nothing but support and cheer me on, while keeping my spirits high and my mind grounded. Thanks for my amazing friends in Lakewood for not just inviting me, but my mom too! Thanks for everything. Thank you for my life. Thank you for my journey. But, I also asked Him, "if you could, give me clarity!" In a world full of facades, I asked for clarity. I want to make the right choices and do the right thing, but I don't want to loose who I am... who ever that is underneath the costume.

When Everything Goes Wrong

It is currently motzei shabbos (saturday night) and I am utterly exhausted! This shabbos was a horrible series of misfortunate events.   On my way to Monsey, my friends and I got stuck in two hours of traffic. When candle lighting time came, we were essentially in the "hood." Eighteen minutes until shabbos to go, the guy driving decided to polymorph into a race car driver. 120 mph, five run red lights, and a panic attack later we made it into Monsey territory. During that car ride I said tehillim, did teshuva, and prayed harder then I ever had before. I must of said the shma a hundred times. Who said yom kippur only comes once a year??

Thank Gd, we made it into the eruv so we could carry our belongings, which we did for about a half-an-hour until we got to the house we were eating by. Luckily, we made it during the middle of the meal. Here, I figured the hardships had ended. Only if! I had some amazing chicken soup, but that was when my head started to spin. Was it from the panic attack from before? Maybe some left over anxiety, I told myself. Uh-oh. I started to feel nauseous... and that was the dreadful moment when I recalled I had just been taking care of a friend with a stomach virus two days prior. 

I politely left and went to the house I was sleeping at and laid down. As I got into bed I felt my body say, "nope!" I ran to the bathroom on right on time. For the rest of the night I was figuratively "praying to the porcelain gd". Luckily, however,  I managed to get two hours of sleep in between every dash to the bathroom to throw-up. Lets not call it a very pleasant night. In the morning, I was achey, tired, and still nauseous. I definitely had a fever.  By then, my extremely amazing friend had woken up and was taking care of me. She was a life saver! Coming in and out of conscious, I finally woke up at four in the afternoon with no fever. On getting out of bed, I decided to go to sudat shlishi (the third meal) and get some hot tea to sooth my woes.

Once at the meal, I felt a gazillion times better. I was in very good company. Many people walked over to see how I was or just to introduce themselves. People I've seen before stuck around to play Jewish geography (to see where we had last met). In fact, one of the men there recognized me. We used to attend the same conservative synagogue in NJ about five years ago! Talk about coincidences! I have to say during shabbos, just about everything that could go wrong did. We almost didn't make it, we nearly died in the car ride there, and I got a stomach virus. Nevertheless, on the flip side, we made it, we didn't die, and I only got a fraction of the stomach virus (which lasted a quarter of the time) that my friend had had. My amazing friend, who was taking care of me, had been saying all shabbos long, "Gd is greater then we give him credit for." Boy do I agree!

Epilogue: On our way to the Brooklyn bound bus, we were running late (could anything go more wrong?!). When we finally got there a congregation of people slowly amassed. Turns out the bus was running late too! Eventually it got there, but it was filled! No more misery, I cant handle it! I was telling myself. I could have not possibly waited for the 12:30 bus in one piece. Well, lo and behold, my prayers were answered! An empty bus was following the full one by ten/fifteen minutes. Not only did we get a bus, but we got an empty one so I could lay down on the seats! What was even better then even that, though, was the offer we got at the bus stop. A girl, who had been staying at the same house as us, had her car at the bus stop. She offered to drive us from Boro Park to where we lived in Flatbush. What a miracle! 

When everything goes wrong, you start to realize how much and how often everything goes right. Gd is truly greater then we give him credit for!

The Middos Market

I love working in the fringes of society. From the crack-in-the-wall jobs, like my recent job as a cashier at a kosher supermarket, you get to see the every day  life of the society your working. Also, it's these small fringe jobs that can give you the power to change someone's mood. How many times has the nice cashier put you in a better mood or the mean taxi driver set you off? I loved making people smile and put them in a good mood, despite my actual job description: ring up items.

I saw the people who were rushing, upset, or annoyed and turned their frown upside down into a wide grin because of a little kindness. How many mothers appreciated someone trying to help them! How many people on food stamps appreciating the effort to keep their EBT cards out of sight from the people behind them in line! I love the power I had as a lowly cashier to make someone's day.

But there were also some downsides. For example, because I dealt with people from all the corners of the earth, I came across people who were not so nice. Whether they spoke to me disrespectfully instigated by my piercings (I'm still human) or just because they were in a grumpy mood, I found that the NYC pace is not good for middos (lit. attributes, someone's virtues).

Some religious people really surprised me and not in a good way either. I expect a much higher level of conduct from the religious community. Sadly, though, it took working at a market to realize that people are still people no matter in what garb.

I spoke to a rebbitzen, whom I adore, because I was upset over disparaging remarks about my Spanish coworkers from some frum employees and customers. That's when she said something interesting about middos in NYC.

Her husband comes from out of town, like myself ("out of town" is a description of anyone who was raised in the middle of "nowhere" [read: outside the Five-Towns/NY region]).  He used to bike ride to friends' houses and sit under apple trees in the spring. On moving to Brooklyn, in high school, he was shocked by the lack of consideration and pushyness devoid of proper middos. He told his wife, like she told me, he suspects that the lack of middos is because of the lack of space.

This made a lot of sense to me. With people fighting over car spaces in front of Eichler's (the Jewish book store) instead of parking in a large New Jersey parking lot, anxiety results. The same with getting your kid into the right school in an overpopulated city with thousands of kids. The same with the small checkout counter at the overpriced kosher supermarket. Without space this overcrowding has created a religious community insensitive to certain middos, especially patience and consideration.

Thank Gd I became religious and know plenty of amazing righteous orthodox Jews. In fact, I believe that they are the majority. However, sadly, there is a discrepancy between Judaism and the Jew. As an old (and somewhat disturbing) adage goes, "The worst representation of Judaism are the Jews." Sadly, it is sometimes true. Especially with middos in the market.

On a happier note, there were more then the people I cheered up. There were plenty of people who surprisingly cheered me up! One day I was going home to Jersey and at the train station platform, by my apartment, there was a women who looked disheveled and, to my assumption, a drug user. I was in a rush but managed to give her a smile as she passed. I thought she looked lonely and a little lost. She smiled back and stopped to tell me she thought I was absolutely beautiful and that she loved the red dye I used for my hair. We parted ways never to cross paths again, or at least that is what I thought.

During the next week at work, I was having a bad few days. A grumpy old Israeli woman yelled at me. She railed on and on that I was "disgusting" for having piercings. She said she wouldn't even look at me because of how disgusting and ugly I was. It took a lot of self-restraint not to tell her off, but I kept my mouth shut and finished her order. Once I finished, I went onto the next order with a fake smile and a greeting. I didn't like my job anymore.

The next day, it was super packed and I kept my head down. I didn't want to be there. I briefly looked up to see a disheveled customer with two bananas politely asking another customer, who had about a hundred items, if she could cut in front. To my elation it was the disheveled woman from the train station from the week before. Now I don't think she recognized me, but I recognized her. She gave me a grin and thanked me for helping her get ahead in line. I liked my job again.

Disheveled drug user, one.
Old religious Israeli, none.

People, like these, can make or break your day. Luckily, I met more good than bad, however, it wasn't just their actions that often intrigued me. Their names (as I took phone numbers, credit cards, and orders) peaked a special interest. One time, a young boy buying more food than an army could eat used his (or more likely his parent's) credit card, which disclosed his last name. What would you know? He was one of my rabbi's nephews! Another time, I found a relative of a friend from Israel. But two names, Wisel and Dryfys, really caught my eye. I didn't ask if they were related to the famous men who share those names, but the realization that Brooklyn is one of the mainstays of the world-wide Jewish community made me also realize that great people live here.

From the great-names to just all around great people and from mean old ladies to pushy teens, I have to say working at this job was an enlightening experience to say the least. Who knew my actual job description wouldn't even be a fraction of the real job description: ringer-upper, cheerer-upper, and observer.

Messages in Music

I came to an interesting realization while listening and flipping through my iPod. In orthodox Judaism non-Jewish music is not recommended because a lot of powerful influence can come from musical expression. Inappropriate lyrics aside, music has an uncanny ability to set your mood.

In Neve a very funny and clever rabbi, Rabbi Katz, went on a rant about the power of music and how that song on the radio, that reminded you of your ex, starts to play. You go, "aw," as you remember when you first heard that song. Then you smile and remember the good times you both had. Then you wonder what happened! That's when you remember how much of a jerk he was. Then, you get upset and angry. But just as the music brought you into this state of mind, it pulls you out and you go, "Oh! this was such a good song!" I remember when I first heard this song... "aw"... and the vicious cycle starts again. This is an example of the power of music.

While flipping through my music I wondered what moods and what messages I was subliminally subjecting myself to. What surprised me most was not the content or moods. Generally, I know what the messages of my punk-rock, post-hardcore music are and what profanity they potentially use. That is also precisely why I have been listening to more of my softer "let's change the world" reggae and upbeat and positive folk rock. But when I researched my newer, nicer music artists I was genuinely floored!

I had been listening to Christian rock the last few years. Apparently, the daddy issues these girls were screaming and singing about were were not what I was expecting. Y'know, like their paternal father... Instead, they had been singing and pleading with their father in heaven, Jesus. Then I reevaluated my beloved Bob Marley. "Get up stand don't give up the fight. Most people think that great gd will come from the sky... A mighty being is a living gd..." I whimpered, what about my dear old friend, Ben Harper? "The good lord is a good lord with such a good mother, too, and they have blessed me in the good graces of you. "

Oh boy...
Instead of listening to rough rebellious music I had traded it for uplifting, happy, inspiring..... Christian.... music.

Do I still listen to my friends Bob and Ben? You bet I do. However, I gave up some of their songs and a couple bands that were unavoidable. I also monitor my music more carefully. I don't intend to limit myself to only Jewish music (which I may in the future), nevertheless, I want to be cognizant of what messages I listen to and come to believe. We all know music has a strong power to unite and also to divide. But, I want to be aware of which of these messages I'm getting when it's the 6am train ride to the gym!

Music has an awe inspiring ability to help, motivate, aid, and even create whole communities. But I don't want to be mesmerized by something that essentially seeps into my unconscious. I love the mindfulness about becoming religious. No one or thing, including my music, can affect me without my consent! I wonder if everyone else took the moment to really look at what their listening to and really thought about how they felt after listening to it, would they would change it?

Parshas Va'eira: The Plague of Happiness

I wrote this for my school paper, but I liked it so I decided to share:

The Plague of Happiness

Aviva Morris

I was sitting on the couch with my friend from high school this past weekend and we were talking about motivation in life. Luckily, after becoming religious, I remained close with many friends from high school and one had asked me, going along with my whole new “religious shtick”, what motivated me? I said I was once asked if I was happy being miserable. Happy being miserable may seem like a foreign concept, but many people are content staying the way they are: miserable. When I really took a minute to think about if I was truly happy or if I was just content to be miserable, I underwent an internal search for happiness.

With this new found insight and quest, what really hit me like a brick is when I actually found my happiness! I found it by saying Modeh Ani everyday. When we wake up and thank Gd for everything we have, we focus on the positive and are grateful. Gratefulness, to me, is true happiness.

The same day my friend asked me about my motivations and view on happiness, I sat down to read this week’s parsha, Parshas Va’eira. Reading about the plagues, I found the way some of the plagues were carried out a bit curious. In two instances, with the blood and lice, Hashem said to Moshe “tell Aaron.” Why didn’t Hashem tell Moshe to carry out these plagues but, instead, instruct Moshe to tell Aaron to do it? Here is where the theme of gratefulness popped up again.

The river that protected Moshe as an infant was going to be turned to blood. Instead of Moshe inflicting the plague on the river that once saved him, eighty years prior, Hashem commanded Aaron do it instead. In the instance of the lice, Hashem commanded Moshe tell Aaron to strike the dust of the land so that it may turn into lice. This is the same dust of the earth that once hid the Egyptian man that Moshe had killed in Parshas Shemos. Rashi explains that the Torah is telling us that Moshe should not be the one to carry out these plagues in order to display gratitude. Gratitude, mind you, to an inanimate river and dust. How, then, can we not be grateful to the Gd that created us, took us out of Mitzrayim, gave us Torah, and set us free?

There were many things going on in this parsha, but I found that gratefulness was what I really took to heart. We often know to thank Gd and our parent’s for the “big things” like life and substance, but we really need to focus in on the “rivers and dust” in our lives. Then we will, bizrat Hashem, be plagued with happiness by choosing gratefulness over contentment. 

What's a Jew Anyway?

I had an assignment in college to write about the variances among the Jewish population. As I was writing, I realized I was waiting to write a blog on Jews who practice other faiths (such as Buddhism, Christianity, or are atheist) and I figured I'd kill two blogs with one post! I wrote for my assignment:

          I am a ba’alas teshuvah (I became religious) making my observation of the Jewish community a little more varied then most people. In America, I grew up Reform, going to Reform Hebrew schools and youth group events. During middle school, I went to a Conservative shul where I had my bat mitzvah (right of passage into adulthood). In Israel, at age fifteen, I lived and identified amongst the more mizrachi sect of the population (non-religious traditional/religious Zionist). On my return to America, I studied at Hebrew Union College (the Reform rabbinical school in NYC for a high school program), when I decided to drop Reform Judaism and become religious. My senior year of high school I was involved with Chabad (an orthodox-lubavitch sect). Then on my return to Israel, I went to a Haredi (Ultra-orthodox/”black hat”) school with Modern Orthodox students. Honestly, I’d like to say I’ve seen it all, but I have only experienced a fraction of the types of Judaism out there. Judaism is often minimalized as the religious, non-religious, and country of origin, however this is so misleading I cannot begin to explain.  

          According to my unique perspective, I have gotten the chance to share what Judaism is to many “outsiders”. In fact, three days ago, I was telling my Spanish coworker, Jose, who works with me in a kosher supermarket, what Judaism is! I explained it as simply as I could: Judaism is a Nation. We are one nation. We (the Jews) are all descendants from Avraham HaIvri (Abraham, the patriarch) and over time we lost our land and were dispersed. You are Jewish if you are born to a Jewish mother, whether you like it or not. There are Christian Jews, Arab Jews, Muslim Jews, more often then not, Buddhist Jews. There are agnostic and atheist Jews and B”H (Thank Gd) there are plenty of Jewish Jews. There are Black Jews, European Jews, Middle Eastern Jews, and lots and lots of Spanish Jews. There are converts to Judaism and there are Ba’alei Teshuvah (people who return to religious Judaism). Even within the orthodox Jewish population, there are as many “types” of Judaism as there are poskening (ruling on a Jewish law) Rabbis! 

While my summary of who/what Jews are was pretty brief, I decided instead of giving the world another long-drawn out lecture about how I see Judaism, this assignment would do the trick. 

Now that I have hopefully banished the notion that Judaism is a religion (If your still in doubt, why can non-Jewish people believe in Judaism ("the Noahides") and still not be Jewish? Also, if you are Jew, that doesn't mean you practice Judaism, which is the case with a buddhist and Christian Jew or even just a simple Russian or American secular Jew). I believe Judaism is a nation. 

After studying secular Jewish History (on EIE in Israel during 2009), college level European and World histories (in high school), Middle Eastern history (as an independent study my senior year, with the inclusion of a thesis paper),  and finally, after studying Torah and religious Jewish history, I feel I have a very well researched and credible opinion in this matter. If my opinion may not strike someone as "professionally" credible, I beg to reevaluate their judgement due to the amount of specific and detailed research on the topic that I have undertaken. However, I'll state it wether you believe me on the basis of my work or not: Judaism is a very unique type of nation. 

In the words of Winston Churchill, "Some people like Jews and some do not; but no thoughtful man can doubt the fact that they are beyond all question the most formidable and the most remarkable race which has ever appeared in the world." His quote does nothing for my thesis (Jews are a nation, not a race or religion), but keep in mind this was during the time of WWII where "racial" and ethnic cleansing were taking place in Germany. I will not fight over semantics. What I intend to say is one of the greatest minds of the past generation agrees that Jews are unique. I want to address that this unique quality comes from what I think makes us a nation. 

Judaism is not a nation in the sense that we are a "pure" ethnic group where where we are all binded by our common ancestry (Abraham). If this were the case, where would there be a place for Middle Eastern Jews, Spanish Jews, European Jews, Black Jews, and Asian Jews? And would that, then, make the descendants such as Ishmael (Arabs) and Esav (Edomites) Jews? This is why I disagree with Mr. Churchill, that we Jews are not a unified and single race.

Even still, we are also not a Nation-State. A nation-state is defined by a ruling government over an ethnically or culturally homogeneous group. Even though we are connected to the land (Canaan) Gd promised Abraham's descendants (in which we only received 400 years later, after the Egyptian exile), Jews would all be "Israelis" if this were the case. Oh, and I'm not talking about 1948 State of Israel, I am talking about 1100 BCE Kingdom of Israel.  Instead, we were bound as a nation in a very different manner and here is where I ask you follow me to my last word. 

I believe that Jews are a Torah-nation. Being an orthodox Jewish Jew, most people would think that this is another religious stint. Nonetheless, logically, Torah is the only thing that binds every single Jew. We live and dedicate ourselves to different countries. We dress differently, eat differently, and all-around live differently. However, if you are a Reform Jew (who believes the Torah was man-made) or an Orthodox Jew (who believes it was Gd-given), you are giving in to the idea that the Torah is integral to our identity. If not, why wouldn't Reform Jews abandon Torah all-together? Those who have abandoned Torah (example: many Germanic Jews during the 19th century) are no longer Jews and have no Jewish descendants. The Jews need Torah (whether you believe it to be True, fable, or complete fiction). Once Torah is lost, so are the Jews. For example, there is a famous quote, by Ha'ad Haam, "More than the Jews have kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath has kept the Jews." 

Furthering this statement, in an article posted on Ynetnews in November 2011, Melvin Konner attributed the survival of the Jewish nation to two of our mitzvos (commandments), bris milah (circumcision) and taharat ha'mishpacha (family purity laws), which to Konner is consistent according to Darwin's theory of natural selection and evolution. Among the Sabbath, circumcision, and laws concerning family purity (separation between husband and wife during the time of niddah), lays the reason integral to our survival: Torah.

At the end of Konner's article he writes, "I don't think we would have survived as a people without the Torah," he says. "Even though every generation has people like me, who draw away from observing the Torah's mitzvot, it remains the core of the Jewish people... 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 God."

So what's a Jew anyway? A Jew is born to a Jewish mother (Deuteronomy 7:3-4 - We see that by Gd saying "They will turn your son away", we come to understand three halachot/laws, one of them is the establishment of matirilinial descent.). We also now know what Judaism is NOT. It is not only a religion, it is not just a nation, and it is most definitely not a nation-state comprising of Israel (the land or country). What Judaism is, is a Torah-Nation. One nation united, divided, and defined by Torah 

2013: Why Have One Resolution When You Can Have a Theme?

Good news! The world didn't end! But I guess that is not so surprising for the most of us...
I hope everyone had a happy and safe new year.

While there are so many good topics I want to talk about, I decided to bring up the old and boring idea of a New Year's resolution. While I didn't really celebrate the New Year (I already had one this last September), I did take the chance to think of a theme: Reflection.

Instead of doing what most people do, I did not briefly reflect on this past year and make a resolution to change something in the new year. My "resolution" was literally to "reflect" for 2013. So many times we live life and don't really recognize what is happening to us. I cannot tell you how many weeks have gone by, where shabbos comes and goes and I wonder "What happened to my week?!" I find shabbos is intended to separate the holy from mundane (in a literal sense because shabbos is the day to connect to the high physical and spiritual levels). However, shabbos serves a very practical purpose. It is one day of the week we can't distract ourselves by meaningless t.v. and text-message conversations comprising of "wats^" and "lol" (I think the "wats^" just outdated myself a little, do people still use that?). Instead, we have to be with the people we are with (shocking) and take time to reflect what has actually happened to us in the previous week. But even with shabbos, many people are clever enough to avoid this self-reflection.

In this new year, I want to be more reflective. I want to make each day jam-paced and meaningful, but in a conscience and well-thought out way. I don't want to be burdened with menial tasks, I wanted to be gifted with detailed and specific goals.

In Mesilias Yesharim (Path of the Just) we just learned a section in the second or third chapter that says no one could sin if they just took a second to stop and think. Now, whether you believe in Gd and the idea of sinning or not, it is a good thing to keep in mind. If people would just take a second to stop and think about what they are doing, I think the world would be a much brighter, more meaningful, more productive, happier place.

I hope 2013, and every year after that, is filled with positive vibes, meaningfulness, and a sense of peace that comes with reflection and conscience effort.