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!
