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!