♪♫ Hashem Loves Me ♫♪

Everyone knows at least one story of Hashgacha Pratis (Divine Providence). I've written about it more than once (here, here, here, and here). Some stories are small ones, like finding a parking spot when you need one, or a day off when you thought you were supposed to be working. Some stories are bigger – of men saved from 9/11 because of slichos (penitential prayers said before Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur), of families saved from certain death by a missed bus, and the like. My story is not quite as drastic, but it will stay in the annals of my greatest personal Hashgacha stories.

Tonight, I was on my way home from Touro. As I do every Thursday, I was driving my friend's family car (she doesn't drive yet but wants to be part of my carpool). As we were walking out of the building, a girl from one of my classes asked us if we were passing near her house, and if so, could we give her a lift. Now, you have to understand – I live in Queens. I can either take the Jackie Robinson Parkway (which goes through a very bad neighborhood) or the Belt Parkway, which is longer, but runs through a better place. I usually take the Jackie. If I would take the Belt, I would pass right by this girl's house, so I elected to drop her off and take that route.

We dropped her off, going much further out of the way than I had expected. On our way to the highway, we were saying how it's OK if we get a bit lost because we are Shiluchei Mitzvah (those sent to do a Mitzvah), and they are not harmed. Prophetic words, but we didn't know that then.

The car I was driving is a very old car, and it's not in the greatest condition. Every so often it makes strange noises, but I've been driving it all semester, so the regular noises don't bother me anymore. We were about halfway home (a little before 11), and I was in the left lane going a scant ten miles above the speed limit but somehow managing to be one of the slowest cars on the road. I heard a strange noise that was not among the repertoire of noises that I was used to hearing from the car. I noticed that I was losing speed, but the car did not respond to the gas pedal. I started inching over to the middle lane, and then to the right-most one.

The car was going slower and slower. I needed to get off the highway, and I needed to do it right then.

Baruch Hashem (thank G-d) there was an exit coming up, so I quickly got off. As I got onto the ramp, I realized that I had lost all power steering and power brakes. I literally had to wrench the wheel to get the car to go on the service road. As I was driving, I put the car in neutral and attempted to restart the engine, but it was a no go.

The car stopped of its own volition at the first red light we came to. We were stuck on the service road, with nowhere to go. I turned on the hazard lights, and we called our respective parents. My father said he would come get us as soon as he could, and then we'd figure out how to deal with the car.

We sat there waiting for him to come, calling our friends (what else is there to do at such a time?) and watching the clock tick. My father was nearly there when a car pulled up next to us. A man got out of the car and started asking me if we needed help. I told him that we were fine because my father was coming. I thought he'd left, but he just went around the car to the passenger side. He started to open the door, telling us that we had better get out of the car for safety reasons. We started to freak out. My friend in the passenger seat was nearly hysterical. He told us that he was from the City Marshals, and he was going to help us, but we were too scared to listen.

My father came right then, so he took over. Turns out he actually was who he said he was; he was even a mechanic. My friends went to sit in my family's car while the men pushed the car and I steered. With Chasdei Hashem (Hashem's kindness) we made it to the side of the road. To make a long story short, we parked the car and left it overnight to deal with in the morning and went home in my family's car. We had left Touro a little before 10:30; I walked into my house at 12:30 and considered myself lucky that it wasn't later.

When I think back now to what happened, all I can do is thank Hashem. So many things could have gone wrong or been worse, but weren't:

• Otto (the guy who stopped) could have been a murderer or a rapist out to get easy prey.
  
• The fact that such a guy – one who actually had the knowledge and ability to help us – was passing through the neighborhood at a ridiculous hour.
  
• He told us that while he was watching (and he was only there for a few minutes before he got out to help us), we were nearly rear ended twice. Twice! And both of those cars stopped before they hit us.
  
• My father was able to come and help, even though it was really late.
  
• We didn't take the Jackie Robinson. It would have been much, much worse had we been in East New York when it happened.
  
• We were very close to an exit leading to a decent exit. The exit before we got off was not a good neighborhood.
  
• I was able to keep my cool – this is the first time such a thing has happened to me, and I always wondered how I'd react. Now I know. It didn't even occur to me to freak out – even when Otto came to my window
  

I'm sure there was a lot more Hashgacha involved, but it's too late (and this post is too long) for me to detail it.

Have a great Shabbos filled with obvious Hashgacha. Feel Hashem's love for you every second!

Fifteen Minutes

Sorry it's been so long since my last post. It's been busy, but hopefully now it'll calm down a bit and I'll have time to post.

This semester, I have class Sunday mornings. It's a real struggle to get up, harder than on any other day of the week. Like always, I set my alarm clock for 6:45 in the hope that I'd actually get out of bed sometime before 7:15. This particular Sunday morning, I somehow managed to snooze my alarm for an hour and a half. Unfortunately, that extra time ensured that I would not be on time to class. I rushed through doing my hair (would have skipped it, but had a wedding that night and no other time to do it), brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and, unfortunately, davening (praying).

I compressed my Tfila into as short a time as possible, concentrating more on the hundred and one details that are involved in getting ready for school than on the fact that I was standing in front of Melech Malchei HaMelachim (King of all Kings, G-d).

I quickly finished, ran out the door without breakfast, jumped into the car, and was off to school. I didn't speed - much. Considering the fact that I had left more than 15 minutes late, I made great time. It was only 9:10, and class started at 9. Not too bad.

It would have been great - had I not needed to find a parking spot. I circled the streets around Touro davening that Hashem (G-d) should help me find a spot so I wouldn't get to class even later. B"H (thank G-d), I finally found one after about fifteen minutes of searching.

As I walked into the building and flashed my ID, I found myself thinking about how I had spent my morning. I looked back on the rushed mumbo jumbo that had been my Tfila and was ashamed. Obviously, I was meant to walk into my classroom 25 minutes late. The test was in how I spent that extra time. I could have spent it davening properly and then easing into a spot just vacated as I needed it, or I could have spent it as I did - pretending to daven and then circling around e 16th st trying to find a parking spot.

---

This morning when I picked up my siddur (prayer book), I tried to concentrate on the words that I was saying. I spent my day trying to use every moment to do the Ratzon of Hakadosh Baruch Hu (Will of G-d). I only hope that I can continue to use every moment as it is meant to be spent.

Amazing mashal

Check out this post from Desperate Faith. Amazing!

In Memory of a Principal ....

This Shabbos was the yahrtzeit of Mrs. Rochel Reifer, my high school principal. She was hit by a car on a Friday night while on her way to a shalom zachor when I was in 12^th grade. The night I found out about her petirah (death), three years ago, tonight, I wrote about her. I also wrote this poem in her memory.

… Mrs. Reifer was always there for us in any way she could be. We each had a kesher, a connection [the theme of our yearbook was connections] to her that was different from our kesher to anyone else. We were her children in every way; she delighted in our happiness and empathized with our lows, just like our mothers. …

Mrs. Reifer was always so full of life, so enthusiastic and vibrant, that it spread to everyone around her. You couldn't be upset in her presence because just being near her made you feel better. She opened the doors of her heart to anyone who knocked, spreading the glow of her life to everyone. …

When I heard about Mrs. Reifer's passing, my first reaction was to sink to the floor in shock and say, "No, it's not true, it can't be true!" Even now, I wish I could wake up and realize that this whole thing is a dream, that she'll come into school and say in her adorable accent [she was English], "Girls, why the long faces?" But in my heart, I know this is reality. I know we have to go on, taking along her teachings and living by them. We have to live as she wanted us to live, and as she herself lived, so her life won't have been in vain.

A year of memories and of pain
A year of fighting to keep sane
How in the world can we go on?

A year of health and happiness
A year of little or no distress
That we take as we go on

A year of loss, those taken away
A year when everyone does say
How in the world can we go on?

A year of triumphs and of cheers
A year without a sign of tears
That we take as we go on

A year of not knowing where to turn
A year of not knowing for what to yearn
How in the world can we go on?

A year of laughter and of hope
A year of knowing how to cope
That we take as we go on

A year of sadness and of grief
A year of incredulity battling belief
How in the world can we go on?

A year of joy, laughter, and love
A year of feeling the One Above
That we take as we go on

Hoshanos and Hakafos

On every day of Succos (except Shabbos) we say Hoshanos. At that time, the men hold their Lulavim and Esrogim and dance around the Bimah. One man stands at the Bimah holding a Sefer Torah, with all eyes not looking into the machzor (prayer book for holidays) on him.

It struck me that Hoshanos is a mashal for life. In seminary, we had a class called מעגל השנה, or in English, the circle of the year. We learned about each Jewish month and Yom Tov (holiday) as it came. The teacher stressed that the year, time, is a circle. And like a circle, though a year has a beginning and an end, the two are so connected as to practically be one. From Rosh Hashana to Elul, we come "full circle" every year.

The dancing around the bimah is like going through the year. We take steps, passing through every month. But our focus is always on what we are dancing around – the Torah. The Torah is our life. Everything that we do is (or at least should be) with our eyes looking to the Torah and our Rabbanim (spiritual leaders) for guidance.

This concept is even more striking on Simchas Torah. During the Hakafos (circuit), the dancing is exuberant. "We dance 'round and 'round in circles" (Journeys 4, The Man from Vilna) integrating the Torah into the circle of our lives. The joy that living a Torah life brings to people is written on the faces of the men as they dance and sing around and with the holy Torah.

כי הם חיינו וארך ימינו
Because they are our lives and the measure of our days.

Another Gem from ShulWeek

Rabbi Michoel Feder (not real name) was shopping in a crowded kosher bakery on Erev Yom Kippur (day before Yom Kippur) where he met a man from his congregation, Jack Bender (not real name). Jack was a man who came to shul every year for the high holidays and usually seemed bored, uncomfortable, and anxious to get out of there.

Jack said, "Rabbi, I come to the services every year; but really, what's the point? How many people do you know who keep all the 'resolutions' they make on Yom Kippur? Is there a person in the world who repented on Yom Kippur for all his sins and never sinned again? And most of us have trouble seeing even the smallest improvement from one Yom Kippur to the next. Isn't it all a waste of time? Who are we fooling? Certainly not G-d. And if were honest not even ourselves. I've seen a lot of scams in my time but this is the biggest ever."

There was a hushed silence. The assembled crowd was shocked that Jack could speak so disrespectfully, yet at the same time, everyone wanted to know what the Rabbi could argue or how he would respond. All eyes and ears were focused on Rabbi Feder.

"I had to do a number of chores today in preparation for the holiday, one of which was to take my car to the carwash," began Rabbi Feder, "Have you ever been to a carwash Jack?"

"Of course I have," answered Jack, "I have brought my car there many times. What's the point?"

Rabbi Feder continued, "Within minutes of driving out of the carwash your car has already lost its pristine gleam and within a week it starts to look like any other dirty car. Why does anyone bother? Sometimes Yom Kippur feels a lot like a car wash."

"Granted," replied Jack pensively.

"Have you ever tried to clean a car that hasn't been washed in years? It's almost impossible. The dirt and the grime have eaten into the paint. It's practically impossible to make the car shine. It's true that the gleam on our car is very short-lived, but there's a more important reason we make our weekly trip to the carwash. It gives us the possibility of returning to the shine of the original paint-work," explained the Rabbi, "Yom Kippur is the same. The sheen with which we leave shul after Yom Kippur may wear off pretty quickly, but if we never experienced a Yom Kippur, soon we'd become so spiritually dulled that we would be virtually unable to get back to the luster of our "original paint-work."

Jack attended Yom Kippur services with a whole new attitude. The emotion that he had was palpable. That and every Yom Kippur since, has been a new and moving experience for Jack and for all who know him.

Trial by Jury, part II

I wanted to add something about my jury duty that I didn't really feel was so appropriate for Erev Rosh Hashana.

If you took a thousand frum people and left them in a room by themselves for a day, the noise would be terrible. In this corner you'd have Shprintze and Yente talking about Shprintze's next door neighbor, who just happens to be Yenta's third cousin twice removed. In the next one, you'd hear Leah and Yocheved discussing seminary, while Devorah and Brocha are discussing Shabbos clothes. Towards the front of the room, you'd listen to Baruch and Reuven talking about the mesechta they're learning, while Bentzion and Yoni decide to learn daf yomi b'chavrusa (together). Underlying all the conversations would be a group effort to set up their neighbors/friends/family with everyone else. Jewish Geography would be rampant, with everyone trying to be related to everyone else. In one word, it would be tumultuous.

Now, take in comparison the scene I witnessed my first day of jury duty.

When I came in on my first day, I was seated in a room with (literally) a thousand chairs. On the day I was called, every single chair was full. You would think, picturing the above scene, the place would be hopping.

You would have been totally wrong.

There were a thousand people there, but you could've heard a pin drop. Outside of what civil courtesy and a plethora of questions (one or two), I didn't say a word to anyone. Nor did they say anything to me. Each person was in his or her own world, with no intergalactic communication.

I'm sure everyone knows the joke that two Jews talking to each other who haven't found a friend/relative/neighbor etc. in common haven't been talking long enough.

Maybe the rest of the world isn't all related.

Or maybe they just don't talk as much …

Trial by Jury

This week, I was called upon to do my duty as a New York State juror. I had to take off work and waste spend hours over the course of the past few days cooling my heels, waiting to be dismissed. Sitting there as I did, I had a lot of time to think, and one of the thoughts that kept popping into my head was how apropos it was for me to sit on a jury (not that I did – I was just on a panel) right before I myself came on trial.

Every judge will tell you (as the one in charge of my case did … numerous times) that one of the hardest parts of making a trial is finding a "fair and impartial jury." Everybody has some sort of bias, and it's very hard to set them aside and listen to the testimony with an open mind. The judge wasted the time of more than seventy people – over a three day period – trying to find such people.

With all this, the defendant on trial for attempted murder comes into court not knowing what the jurors think of him and his case. They don't particularly care for him, but neither do they know anything about the prosecutors. There is no connection between any of the jurors to anyone on the case, nothing that would cause the juror to lean toward any particular verdict.

We, on the other hand, come into our trial knowing that the jury is partial – to us. Our Father is the one judging our case. Instead of finding the people who will be able to see the matter clearly and make a just judgment, Hashem tries to find loopholes and somehow find us innocent of our "alleged" crimes. We go into that courtroom on Rosh Hashana knowing that the case is slanted to our benefit.

And yet …

There are so many sins that we are unable to atone for. So many sins that we can't do teshuva (repentance) for because we don't even know that we did them. I would like to take this time to publicly ask mechila (forgiveness) from all of my readers. If my words insulted you or hurt you in any way, please know that it was unintentional. I hope you'll forgive me.

Have a Ksiva V'Chasima Tova and a gut g'bentched yur.

A Note on Rosh Hashana

Rav Tzvi Hersh Meisels was a Baal Tokea – he was a skilled shofar blower. Before being sent to Auschwitz, Rav Meisels was a Rav in Hungary - the Veitzner Rav. Somehow, he smuggled a Shofar into Aushwitz. On one Rosh Hashana, he managed to blow Shofar for men who were going to a labor transport. He describes how he had managed to blow Shofar more than 20 times, reaching some 1,000 men; and he was exhausted. But then his son Zalman Leib who was there with him told him about another transport. There were some 1,400 boys who had been locked up in one of the blocs and they had been condemned
not to a labor camp, but to the crematorium. These boys had found out that somewhere in Aushwitz there was a man who had a Shofar. Through a variety of messengers they pleaded for Rav Maisels to come into the bloc where they were waiting to be murdered, and to blow the Shofar for them before they died. He did not know what to do.
It was clear to him that, if he went into the bloc, he might never get out. It was definitely a question of Pikuach Nefesh, of life and death, and those whom he consulted told him that he was not obligated to go in and blow the Shofar. His son Zalman Leib begged him not
to go into the bloc.

Rabbi Meisels began trying to find out what it would entail to fulfill this last request. First he had to get permission to go into the bloc. He did this by bribing the Capos – the Jewish overseers who stayed alive by serving as guards for the Nazis. The Capos made it clear that if the SS men should arrive and find Rav Meisels among the boys he would inevitably be added to their numbers – 1,401 to the crematorium. Notwithstanding the nature of the danger, R'Meisels decided to go into the bloc to blow Shofar for these doomed souls.

These are his words to describe the scene that unfolded: "Where is the pen and who is the writer who can transcribe the emotions of my heart as I entered the bloc. I met the sea of eyes of the youngsters who pressed forward to kiss my hand and my clothes. They cried with bitter tears and wailing voices to the heart of heaven. "When I began to recite the verse, 'Min Hametzar,' they stopped me and begged me to say a few words before the Shofar service. In my emotional state I could not speak, my tongue cleaved to its palette. I could not open my mouth or my lips. But the boys would not let me continue. I spoke words of Drash focusing on the verse 'Bakessah liyom Chageinu,' explaining that although Hashem's design and purpose for this Holocaust was at this moment, on Rosh Hashana, hidden and concealed from us, nonetheless we were not to despair for even if a sharp sword is placed on one's throat he should not desist from seeking mercy."And then he describes that he blew the shofar and as he was about to leave, one boy stood up and cried out, "Dear friends, the Rabbi has strengthened us by telling us that even when a sharp sword is on our throats, we should not despair of mercy. I say to you however, that while we can hope for the best we must be prepared for the worst. For the sake of Hashem my brothers, let us not forget in our last moments to cry out 'Shema Yisrael' with fervent devotion. And then with heart rendering voices and with great enthusiasm they all cried out 'Shema Yisrael, HaShem Elokeinu, HaShem Echad!…'"

Rav Meisels survived the Holocaust eventually made his way to Chicago. In 1955, he published a sefer, Makdishei HaShem containing Halachic responsa from the Holocaust, as well as his own reflections and this poignant episode.

What those 1,400 boys understood in the Holocaust was even though their lives were going to be snuffed out in but a few moments, they knew that they were going to eternal life in the world to come. That's the hope the Shofar can instill in each and every one of us.

May we merit hearing the Shofar of Moshiach

From Shulweek by Rabbi Baruch Lederman

Parshas Netzavim-Vayelech

I'd like to apologize for the general dearth of posts. I've just started a new full time job plus a new full time semester, so I'm just a little overwhelmed and overtired. I'll try to catch up and keep going, but please be patient (and yes, that includes dealing with my nomination as a kreative blogger by Staying Afloat). Enjoy this week's dvar torah!

The Gemora in Sotah (13b) derives from 31:2 that the righteous die on the day on which they were born, as Hashem completes the years of the righteous from day to day and from month to month. How can this be reconciled with the Yerushalmi (Rosh Hashana 3:8) which relates that when doing battle, the Amalekites chose soldiers whose birthdays were on the day of the battle, as on a person's birthday his mazal is stronger and protects him from dying? (Taima D'Kra)

Rav Chaim Kanievsky explains that on a person's birthday, his mazal is indeed stronger and able to assist him. However, the form of aid that it provides depends upon the type of person that he is. For an ordinary person, death is considered a punishment and his strong mazal helps to protect against it on his birthday. However, for the righteous, death is considered beneficial as it brings them directly to Gan Eden, and their strong mazals actually work to bring this about on the day of their birth.

© 2009 by Oizer Alport. To subscribe or send comments, write to oalport@optonline.net

For the Geeks in Your Lives ....

I Differentiate You!

A mathematician went insane and believed that he was the differentiation operator. His friends had him placed in a mental hospital until he got better. All day he would go around frightening the other patients by staring at them and saying, "I differentiate you!"

One day he met a new patient, and true to form, he stared at him and said, "I differentiate you!" but for once, his victim's expression didn't change. Surprised, the mathematician marshalled his energies, stared fiercely at the new patient, and said loudly, "I differentiate you!" but still the other man had no reaction.

Finally, in frustration, the mathematician screamed out, "I DIFFERENTIATE YOU!"

The new patient calmly looked up and said, "You can differentiate me all you like; I'm e to the x."

(For those that haven't had calculus, if you differentiate e to the x, you get e to the x.)

Received from ArcaMax Jokes, taken from gcfl.net, published on August 5, 2009

My Tznius Barometer

EDIT: While in general, I love comments, for some reason this post has inspired a bunch of nasty comments that I have no interest in seeing - or sharing, so I've closed the comments for this post. For those of you reading it for the first time, the ikkur is at the end. It is not a post about tznius in general, and my opinion on this may seem a little extreme to you. It is the way I feel, and is not necessarily halacha for everyone. You can do whatever you want. My point is about trusting in your own sense of right and not always relying on others to tell you what's right and what's not.

We had an optional class in tznius (feminine modesty) when I was in seminary. A whole group of us got very into wearing our clothing just so. We would throw open our closet doors and model our entire wardrobes for our teacher to look at and pass judgment on. She would tell us why this sweater was perfect, but that sweater was a tad too tight, why this skirt was too short, and this one too long. And we would sit there soaking up every word.

One of the things I miss the most about seminary is the peer pressure to be better than you were before. Everyone was aiming high, striving to become more ___ people. To become more tznius people. Clothing that before I would never have been caught dead wearing began to look good to me. The people I admired were no longer the ones who dressed in the height of fashion, but rather the height of tznius. It was a wonderful year.

Unfortunately, like most good things do, seminary came to an end. I came back to America, affectionately called shmutz l'aretz, where tznius is not "in style." The situation here was worse than I could've believed possible. Good Bais Yaakov girls were wearing skirts that were too short even according to my pre-sem eyes. And they were wearing the newest style: short sleeved shirts with long sleeved shells underneath.

I don't mean to offend anyone by this. I am not trying to preach to anyone; if you wear this style, that is your decision and you are entitled to it. This style strikes me as one more way for us to imitate the goyim. It gives off the impression that the person wearing such an outfit wants to be like her non-Jewish neighbors and wear short sleeves, but compromises and wears long sleeves underneath it to make herself feel covered.

It's scary to see people a while down the line and see how they've changed (I've already discussed this here). I recently saw one particular girl who was one of those very into tznius while in sem (not my sem). She was wearing a very loose shell under a short sleeved shirt. If the short sleeved shirt would've been long sleeved, it would have been a perfectly tzniusdig (modest). But it wasn't, and it wasn't.

I'm sure there were extenuating circumstances which led to her wearing this outfit, which she would never have even considered wearing in seminary. Even so, it scared me. You see, this girl was always my tznius barometer. I would look at her and know I was looking at a girl who epitomized the ideals of tznius in dress and demeanor. Whenever I had a question about my behavior or clothes, I would always seek her opinion.

And now … who can I rely on?

I know the answer, the only answer.

Myself.

Once we finish school, we are basically left on our own to grow or not as we choose. Through all those years, we have looked to others – our teachers and classmates – to model what we should be doing. There comes a time when we realize that we are on our own. We have to be our own barometers, our own consciences. Only WE know what we need to be working on and how we're doing with it. There is no report card because this is the real world.

And what a beautiful world it is…

Sardines in a Can

Have you ever been on a New York City subway during rush hour? I've been there, done that, and planned to write a post on it. This post was supposed to be one of those posts in which I wittily comment about how during rush hour, the train can sway all it wants and no one will fall. The crush of bodies supports the unsteady.

Picture it: the train is at the station. You've just gotten on and are standing there, vainly trying to grab hold of one of the poles spaced throughout the train. The doors somehow manage to close, and suddenly, the train jerks into motion. Your hand grabs for the pole, misses, and you feel like you're going to fall.You don't.

The belly of the fat, smelly man standing behind you bolsters you from behind. The lady in her business suit holds you up on your left. You're supported on your right by the guy bobbing his head to the tune on his iPod. Minutes later, the train stops. You still haven't managed to grab hold of the pole, so you begin to fall onto the lap of the micro-mini-skirt-wearing teenager sitting in front of you.

It's hopeless to try to grab that pole now. Better to just stand there and let the massive tide of humanity keep you standing in place.

NOTE: While I was looking for a picture to go with this post, I came across this article and this video. They're pretty good.

In Memory of My Zaidy

Tonight is my grandfather's tenth anniversary. I was really young when he died, just ten years old. My family lived very close to him, so emotionally, we were the closest to him of all his grandchildren. But I will always regret the fact that I never had the opportunity to have an adult relationship with him. I speak to my older cousins, and they remember him so much more than I do. All my memories are of him helping me do my homework (often wrong, but that was OK), teaching me math tricks, playing with me. Just being the best zaidy that any child ever asked for. All my friends were jealous of me for having the best zaidy who carried candy in his pockets to give to the kinderlach. Even now, ten years later, my friends remember him.

My zaidy came to America in the 20's when he was three years old. He grew up in a hard economic time when jobs were scarce. It was a time of people saying "Shver tzu zein a yid" (It's hard to be a Jew). And it was hard. Many parents gave up and worked on Shabbos just to feed their families. My grandfather, however, didn't. He kept Shabbos like few did. There were so many weeks that he would find a job on Sunday only to lose it again by the following Sunday. But he never gave in.

He finally found a job as a postal worker making special deliveries. He was able to work out his schedule that he didn't have to work on Shabbos. Even though he had a steady job, he had many mouths to feed and money was tight. One time, he had to be disciplined for some reason and stood to lose pay for hours of work. His boss didn't want to punish my zaidy, so he (the boss) suggested that he put my grandfather down as having worked on Saturday (even though he didn't) and take away the pay from those hours. My grandfather refused. He didn't even want it on his record that he could have chas v'shalom worked on a Shabbos.

He was a great man.

He opened up his home to everyone who knocked. When my other grandfather needed a place to stay after being discharged from the hospital, my zaidy didn't even hesitate to let him stay with him for six months. I always felt like I had two houses: mine and my grandparents.

Like the singer of this song, my zaidy died suddenly while I was in camp. It was my first time away from home, and I missed my cousin's wedding. On the way home from the wedding, Zaidy's car crashed, and he was killed instantly. I came home for the levaya (funeral).

My father made a big siyum for Zaidy's third yahertzeit (anniversary of death). I was in camp again, but this time I didn't come back to the city. I wrote this poem to be my representative. I've been told that my father broke down in tears as he read it. [Looking back, it doesn't seem like such amazing poetry, but a. I was thirteen and b. the feeling is there anyway.]

As the anniversary of his death draws near
His memory chokes my heart and makes me tear
He was my moon by night, my sun by day
And all of a sudden he went away
His laughter no more will ring in my ears
And that in itself brings down my tears
I remember my sister aloft on his knee
I remember how I loved it when he played with me.
He was my idol with his strength and might
For his face always shone with golden light.
He taught me math and tricks galore.
Now I only wish he had taught me more.
I miss him by day and I miss him by night
While I mourn the cruelty of his plight.
I didn't realize how precious he was to me
Until he died; now the rest is history.
I loved him all I could with my little heart,
Even after Hashem called him to depart.
As years go by, his memory grows hazy,
But I remember he was never lazy.
When he was younger he had to work for a job.
Now, the people he helped should come in a mob.
During this time, these memories flit through my mind.
But days go by and they are harder to find.
I cry and cry as I remember,
My grief is like a burning ember

I only hope that I can live up to his memory and grow into a granddaughter he would be proud of.

לעלוי נשמת אברהם בן משה יחיאל

Parshas Shoftim

וכל העם ישמעו ויראו ולא יזידון עוד (17:13)

When a person is convicted of a capital crime, the execution is carried out in a public manner. Rashi writes that the Sanhedrin waited to carry out the execution until the next Yom Tov, when people would travel to Yerushalayim to fulfill the mitzvah of aliyah l'regel (ascending to the Temple), so that everybody would hear and talk about it. This was to inspire maximum fear in the populace in the hopes that future executions would become unnecessary.

However, the Mishnah in Makkos (7a) quotes the opinion of Rav Elozar ben Azaria, who maintains that a Sanhedrin which carries out one execution in 70 years is considered violent and bloody. If executions were so infrequent, how were they able to accomplish the desired deterrent effect?

Rav Aharon Bakst answers that this question may be asked only by one who has become accustomed and desensitized to the loss of human life. In the times of the Beis HaMikdash, the Jewish nation understood and appreciated the value of every person and every life to the extent that one public execution in 70 years caused such a national trauma that another one became superfluous for at least that long. If we appreciated life with the proper perspective, we would be so shaken up by events like the Holocaust and recent tragedies in Israel that they would remain in our collective memory forever, inspiring us to proper repentance and rendering future reminders unnecessary.

© 2009 by Oizer Alport. To subscribe or send comments, write to oalport@optonline.net

An Addendum

I was speaking to my father last night, and he pointed out another strong instance of Hashgacha in my day on Monday.

We had a sewer blockage. We wouldn't have known about it had we not had the whole business on Monday that was triggered by my neighbor's washing machine. If not for that, which really seemed quite tragic, it would have been even worse come Tuesday. Tuesday night was a huge thunder storm. The rain was so heavy that someone offered my father a ride home from shul (less than two blocks)! Had we not had the sewer cleared the day before, our flood would have been a whole lot worse.

Talk about Hashgacha Pratis!

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events Part 2

When I went on my vacation, I left my pocketbook at home. I brought my wristlet, but left my keys and assorted paraphernalia at home. When I got home Sunday night, it was nowhere to be seen. We looked all over and couldn't find it.

The problem is that I needed my keys because I was the only one home on Monday, and I was planning on going out a little. Hashgachically (Providentially), we had just had a new set of Shabbos keys made up for me, so I had house keys. No car keys. That proved to be a problem because I was planning on driving to the wedding. No keys, no car, no wedding.

The good thing was that my father came home early because of the flood (and because my sister was coming home). HE has two sets of keys, one even has the remote control that locks and unlocks the car (very important because I tend to lose the car). He put his set of keys near my driving sunglasses on the table for me to take, but I didn't take them.

My sister came home from camp, and the whole house was aflutter with helping her settle back in and getting ready for a wedding. Unbeknownst to me, the keys and sunglasses got moved in the process of serving her supper.

My friend and I were downstairs in my room getting ready for the wedding while all this was happening. For this part you have to know all about my grand total of two wedding outfits. Both are, of course, gorgeous (if I do say so myself) and NOT black (well, not totally black). My pink jacket is my favorite because it's pink, but has the drawback of pulling. It is made up of pink material with silver threaded through it, and at the end of a wedding, the sleeves have bunches of pink and silver threads hanging down. Because of this, I can really only wear this once before sending it back to the cleaners. I wore it two weeks ago and hadn't sent it, so my pink jacket was out. My other jacket has black and white flowers on it, and that's what I was planning on wearing. Unlike the pink jacket, it had just come back from the cleaners, so I made the reasonable assumption that it was clean. Big mistake. I took it out of the wrapping, and lo and behold, some of the black from the flowers managed to run onto the white part of the jacket. Wonderful. Having no other choice, I wore my pink jacket.

Finally we were ready to go. We went upstairs. I found my sunglasses that I had left on the table in a different spot on the table but clearly visible. The car keys, however, eluded me. My parents and I looked for the keys for about ten minutes while my friend stood on the side and watched. Finally I said that I needed to go and would take my mother's keys. We found my mother's pocketbook where she keeps her keys, opened it up, and there were my father's keys. We still have no idea how they got there.

But it didn't matter. I had keys, a car, but no Bluetooth. That was fine; I could manage one trip into Brooklyn without talking on the phone (ha!). We were running about twenty minutes late, but still had to pick up one more girl in Brooklyn. We didn't have much traffic (which was surprising because of the time), but the girl we were picking up had time to daven because of our lateness. I had been scared to call her to tell her how late we were going to be because I thought she would never speak to me again. She is very close to the Kallah, even more than I am, and would have been very upset to miss the reception. When she got in the car, she told us that the Kallah hadn't even come out yet – so much for being late!

We got to the hall in record time, only getting lost once. Because we got there right before seven when the meters expire, we were able to get the perfect spot without even paying for it (Hashem mamish works out the timing of everything!). We ran into the hall and got there with a few minutes to spare before the badeken.

What followed was an amazing wedding. It was so much fun, but you heard about that already.

There's more.

My parents called while I was on my way to the wedding to tell me they had found my pocketbook. Where was it, you may ask? In my parents' bedroom where they had put it to save it from the cleaning lady (and then promptly forgot about it).

During the meal, I noticed that there was an older lady there who was wearing a very familiar black and white flowered jacket. It's one thing to wear the same clothes as a friend, and a totally different thing to match a lady twice your age (and weight)

Right before we left the wedding, my father called to tell me that an older friend of mine was engaged.

My feet were aching like crazy because we were dancing so much, but the car was right there.

I almost got into a serious accident on the way home, but Hashem saved me at the last second.

We made really good time home.

I even got a good spot on my block (which is nearly impossible at night).

So, did I have a good day? Some parts were great, others, not so much. Did I have a Divinely directed and inspired day? You bet!

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events Part 1

Disclaimer: This may sound like a massive kvetch, but it is not mean to be. I just have to give the unfortunate and trying background so the fortunate parts can be seen in contrast.

Monday was a day to remember. It was one of those days that is stressful but ends with the satisfaction of a day well done. It was the day of my friend's wedding.

It started off (as all days do) innocently enough at about 12 am. I was on my home from my friend's house in Brooklyn where I had been dropped off after my vacation, when a friend from Baltimore called me. She was the Kallah's roommate and was trying to figure out how she was going to be getting from Baltimore to a wedding hall in Brooklyn. Somehow we worked it out that I would come to Manhattan to get her from the bus stop, we'd get ready for the wedding at my house, she'd stay over by my house Monday night, and I'd give her explicit directions on how to get back to Penn Station to pick up her bus back to Baltimore the next day.

When I woke up Monday morning, all was fine. My plans for the day were set; I knew what I was going to be doing that day, and it all centered on this wedding.

And then my plans fell apart.

I had been planning to leave for Manhattan at around 11:45 to get there in time to pick up my friend at 1:00. At 9:30, before I had davened, a leak started in our downstairs bathroom. It quickly became a big leak, and then proceeded to give a good imitation of Niagara Falls sans rocks. I was the only one home because my sister was coming home from camp that day. I frantically called my father, spoke to our upstairs neighbor, and then the leak stopped. For a few minutes. Because Zman T'fila was swiftly approaching, I opted to daven before the shower I was planning on taking that morning. I got dressed, took one last look at the area of the leak, and discovered that it had restarted with a vengeance. There was half an inch of water on the floor there, and it was spreading into our laundry room. I called my neighbor again and asked them to turn off their washing machine and to speak to my father because I had to daven.

I davened, and since Niagara had stopped leaking, I decided to take my long awaited shower. While I was waiting for the water to hit the right temperature, I noticed a small leak from the shower ceiling. Sometime in the middle of my shower, I happened to look out and notice that now it was raining from three parts of the bathroom. I quickly finished up, called my father yet again (at which point he decided to come home from work). I went into my room, got dressed, and then noticed that there was water on the floor of my closet (which is on the same floor as this bathroom). I had to leave to get my friend and water was filling up my house. It was an auspicious start to the day.

I got to Manhattan in record time (the train came right away, and I even had a seat), but my friend's bus had gotten delayed. I decided that since I was on 34^th St, I may as well go shopping. I got lost in Macy's for a while, and then found three sweaters for $9.50 each (a mitziah [find] to top all mitziahs). I found my friend, and we took the train back to my house.

By the time we got back, our water problem was diagnosed to be a backed up sewer and the water main was turned off. No water for anything, a messy, watery house, and a friend's first visit. The perfect combination.

The sewer guy was B"H able to come right away, and the problem was summarily dealt with. Although the floors were still wet, there was no ill effect on our ability to get ready to leave. We somehow managed it only a few minutes after we had originally planned. Then another set of problems cropped up.

To be continued ...

My Friend’s Wedding

I've been to friends' weddings many times by now. I've watched kallahs of all types walk down the aisle as single girls and emerge from under the chuppah as married women. But the wedding I went to last night was different.

The Kallah was my really close friend. This was one wedding where I felt a chiyuv (obligation) to be there. I felt the need to put myself in that inner circle to dance with my friend on the happiest day of her life. Never have I been to the wedding of so close a friend. (I do have a few more weddings of friends of this caliber coming up, but this was the first.)

The strangest thing happened though. Almost every time I go to a wedding (although this has happened less and less frequently as weddings become more commonplace), I half believe that it's not really happening. Call it denial, but I can't get over the fact that my friend that I shared snack with in nursery or walked to school with in elementary school or took to the bus with to high school or copied notes from in seminary is really all grown up and getting married. I watch my friends walk down the aisle to start their new lives, their faces covered by their veils, and tell myself it's not really happening. It's some other girl, one I don't know, who's making such a change in her life, and my friend and I can just go on as we were.

In my heart, I know it's not true.

I know that times are changing and we're growing up. I watched my friend walk down the aisle last night, saw them pick up the veil to make sure it was her. I saw her face under the chuppah, and it was really her face. She was the one getting married, not some faceless girl in white. Her life, and my relationship with her, will never be the same. There's someone else occupying the space in her heart labeled "best friend" and all former occupants are pushed down a little. She can no longer think only in terms of herself because now she is half of a greater whole.

She, like all kallahs, is facing a new beginning, one that should be filled with brocha and hatlocha, simcha and shalom, and most of all, ahava and avodas Hashem.

Well, I'm Back

B"H I had an amazing time on my vacation. I went to New Hampshire with my friend and her family, and it was a real chavaya (experience). The biggest surprise was that I was able to survive a whole week with no technology other than a cell phone (that doesn't check my email for me). No blogs, no email ... I can't believe I survived it.

I've got lots to say about my vacation, so stay tuned. Hope everyone is enjoying their summer so far.

Vacation ... Finally!

I'm going on a real vacation starting tomorrow - no technology except for cell phones and cameras. That means no blogs :`(. I have no idea how in the world I'm going to survive. I'll miss you all. See you sometime after August 17th.

In Tribute to a Friend

Dear Shulie, Amush

I've been wanting to tell you this for some time, but I realized it would be easier in a letter than over the phone.

Do you remember the mitzvah wedding we went to a little before Pesach? I remember it so clearly because it made an indelible impression on me. Let me describe it to you the way I remember it.

When we, a group of fifteen sem girls, got there, there were about ten real guests and another ten seminary girls. There was a drum playing beats that were impossible to dance to, and the kallah was talking on the phone looking sad.

And then we came, or rather you came. You were the one who made the difference.

You did not hesitate at all. You went right up to the kallah and pulled her onto the dance floor. We girls made a circle around you and her as you proceeded to make her wedding special. You made the entire wedding. As I watched you dance with her and her mother (or whoever those ladies were – we never actually found out) I was crying inside over the beauty of it all, as I am now over the memory of it.

I had never been to such a wedding, and you made it into whatever it was.

I've always been rather shy and reserved, but that wedding changed me. Whenever I go to a wedding, my memory of you being m'sameach that kallah challenges me to be you. Though most weddings are happier than the one we went to in Israel, there is still a need.

Since I came home, you wouldn't recognize me at weddings. Sometimes I don't even recognize myself in the girl dancing away in the inner circle.

You changed me Shulie.

But that's really not the end of it. Until that night I was always a little wary of you because our personalities are so different. But that night, Shulie, you changed my perspective. There was no way in the world that I, or anyone with my type of personality, could have done what needed to be done. What you did. It made me appreciate you so much more, and recognize that there is a need for every type in this world. I realized that while I would do a chessed for someone with (or without) a smile, you'd do it with a song and a cheer. When I would drag my feet do something, you'd dance to do it.

There is a depth to you that I saw for the first time that night, and it changed me and my view of the world.

This may seem like a random time to think of all this, but it's really not. About two weeks ago, someone I know made a chasuna. I wasn't invited for the chupa or the meal, so I wasn't going to go. But then someone told my mother that she had heard that there weren't going to be so many people there. So I went. But only in your zchus - only because I remembered how much of a difference you made at that chasuna in Israel. I can't say that I did as much for that wedding as you could have, but my presence definitely helped.

I wanted to thank you for everything, Shulie, for the influence you didn't know you had on me. And I ask you to continue doing what you have been doing so you can continue to inspire the world at large.
                                Love,
                                Musing Maidel

The Levaya of a Gadol

I'm not one to discuss what's going on in the world. I prefer to live in my little bubble, only surfacing when some friend or family member mentions something new in current events. But every so often, current events collide with my bubble. Today was one such day.

Rav Zelig Epstein, the Rosh HaYeshiva of Shaar Hatorah, a yeshiva in my neighborhood, was niftar today. The levaya (funeral) was held outside in front of the Yeshiva. B"H there was a lot of shade and a local grocery store supplied free drinks. Most of the hespedim (eulogies) were in Yiddish, so I didn't understand most of what was going on, but the intent was clear: Reb Zelig was a tzaddik in our times. He did what he could for the tzibbur (community), but did not forsake his family in the process. He was a man of great wisdom and empathy; he was able to get to the heart of something and share his insight. He was a gadol who corresponded with many great Rabbonim in Eretz Yisroel (Israel). On a list of who to ask eitzos (ideas) from, he was only behind Reb Yaakov Kamenetzky and Rav Shach. I'm sure many personal stories were told, but I didn't understand them.

That he was a great man did not surprise me. But the sheer number of people who came did. I went to the levaya of Rav Shmuel Berenbaum, one of the American Roshei Yesiva of Mir in America, while I was in seminary. Again, the hespedim were all in Yiddish or Hebrew, so I didn't understand any of it. The cemetery he was buried in was across the street from my dorm, so we got to see the entire procession. "A lot of people" doesn't even begin to cover it. Rechov Shmuel Hanavi (a six lane street) was covered in a sea of black hats. Hands covered the van that the meis was in, everyone wanting one last touch, one last caress, for the rebbe that they were losing. It was a fitting tribute for the man he was.

Since Shaar Hatorah is a much smaller Yeshiva than Mir, I thought Rav Zelig's levaya wouldn't be of the same magnitude as Rav Berenbaum. I was wrong - it came very close. There was the same sea of black covering two streets. The same loving, caressing touch of hundreds of talmidim (students) trying to hold onto their Rebbe.

During the hespedim and after, while following the aron (coffin), non-Jews stopped in the streets. They asked us what was going on, and when they heard it was a funeral, they paid their respects. Those who lived in the neighborhood knew of the yeshiva and had heard of its leader. The Kiddush Hashem (sanctification of G-d's Name) that came about through this levaya was enormous. How often does one see literally hundreds of people come together to honor one man?

May he be a meilitz yosher for all of us.
Umacha Hashem dimaah ma'al kol panim
(May G-d wipe away the tears from every face)

The Window: an Addendum

My last post was about Ahavas Chinum, loving another for no reason other than the fact of their existence. This poem symbolizes one of the times in my life that I was able to live with the Ahavas Yisroel that I know we are supposed to have. I had been planning on posting this poem with that, but at the end it didn't fit. So, here it is:

You're looking out the window
Pain heavy on your heart
People going on their way
While your life just fell apart

People with their regular lives
Not knowing what had been
Just going on with what they do
Not knowing what's within

They see your face, tears in your eyes
And know not what to say
They fumble with their clumsy words
While you wish they'd go away

I know I can't properly express
The words that are in me
But know one thing -
Where you need me, I'll be

Reflections on Tisha B'Av

The second Beis Hamikdash was destroyed by one thing: Sinas Chinam, baseless hatred. The opposite of Sinas Chinum is Ahavas Chinum – loving another for no reason beyond the fact that he or she is your brother. Like darkness and light, Sinah can only come where there is a lack of Ahava.

This year, like every year for the past two thousand years, we mourn. We are mourning for the Beis Hamikdash, for the unity that comes from the certainty that we are all doing the right thing – together. When we are able to look past the hats and coats, past the places we live, past anything that divides us, when we can see the pintele yid (Jewish spark) in every neshoma, only then will we be zocheh to rebuild the Beis Hamikdash. It should happen speedily, in our days.

Parshas Devarim

Sorry no post for such a long time. I haven't been feeling so well this week, and it's been pretty busy. Anyway, here's the weekly(ish) dvar torah.

From Parsha Potpourri by R' Oizer Alpert:

Why did Eisav merit receiving Mount Seir as his inheritance immediately and without any hardship (2:5) while Yaakov and his descendants were forced to descend to Egypt and suffer centuries of backbreaking slavery before they were finally able to receive the land of Israel as their inheritance? (Rav Aharon Bakst quoted in Peninim MiShulchan Gevoha)

Rav Aharon Bakst notes that baby animals are capable of walking and caring for themselves a short period of time after their births. Human babies, on the other hand, are literally helpless and completely dependent upon their parents for survival for years. He explains that the greater the spiritual potential something possesses, the more time is required for it to develop and prepare itself to accomplish its mission. Because animals have little to accomplish in the spiritual realm, they are able to mature and fulfill their roles quite quickly, whereas humans, who are the pinnacle of the Creation, need much more time to develop and prepare themselves to fulfill their spiritual potential. Similarly, Eisav’s descendants have much less to accomplish relative to the Jewish people, and they were able to immediately receive their inheritance. The Jews, on the other hand, required 210 years of purification in Egypt before they were able to emerge to receive the Torah and fulfill their lofty spiritual mission.

asdfghjkl;

Anyone recognize the title? In case you didn't, those are the letters of the home row on the qwerty keyboard. Those who type correctly keep their fingers on those letters and move them around as needed. My elementary school had typing class since 3rd grade (I think), so I learned to type correctly.

This method of typing is supposed to improve speed and accuracy because the typist doesn't have to actually look at the keyboard in order to type. Things get interesting, however, when the typist doesn't look where she puts her fingers. Do you know how many times I've started typing, only to realize a few words later that they came out all wrong. For example, I tried to type Musing Maidel, and it came out z,idomh z,sfor;? or j8w8ht jq8e3o? If you accidentally shift your hands one inch to the left or to the top of the keyboard, you're going to get gibberish.

The inventor of the modern keyboard was actually very smart. I don't know how many of you noticed, but on the f and j keys, where the index fingers of the left and right hands, respectively, are supposed to go, there's a little something sticking up to let your fingers find their proper place. But, as I've said, I still sometimes make mistakes.

It struck me today (after this happened yet again) that there is profound meaning to this. We see life through the myopic lens of our mortality. The picture it makes is confusing and unclear, and there's so much we can't understand, now or anytime in this world. So much pain and tragedy. So much agony. It's hard to keep faith.

But, if we notice the little marks on the keyboard, the little pointers Hashem gives us, we'll be able to look at life from the right perspective. If we look around with our fingers on the right keys, with the right views and hashkafos, life becomes meaningful.

Two Cooks, One Kitchen

My mother and I share a kitchen. We both cook, especially when it comes to Shabbos. The problem is that we often don't communicate about what we're cooking. For example, I like to have one kugel side and one non-kugel side for the Friday night meal. I had already made a kugel and was planning the other side. I left the kitchen for a while, and when I came back, my mother was pulling another kugel out of the oven. Communication – it just doesn't happen.

The same thing happened this week. My mother usually makes the cholent Thursday night and puts it up on Friday morning. She soaks the beans in a certain container, and then puts it all into the pot. She had a very hard week this week, so when I saw on Thursday night that there were no beans soaking, I decided that if my mother didn't put up the cholent by the time I got up on Friday, I would make it.

I got up on Friday – no beans soaking on the counter, nothing in the cholent pot. So, I got down to making it. I washed some beans (no time to really soak them, but whatever), peeled potatoes, and then looked for the meat. My mother wasn't home, so I called her to ask which meat to use. In the course of our conversation, she asked me if I had used the beans that she had put in the fridge. My reaction ("what beans?") gave her all the answer she needed. I had not used them. Then we got into one of our mother-daughter squabbles. I hadn't asked her, she hadn't left me a note, well why didn't I look, but why should I think to look since she hadn't used her regular utensils … You get the picture.

I was thinking about our little tiff later, and I realized that it reminded me of a famous Rashi in בראשית. (One of my high school teachers used to say that a Meforash is only famous because she has heard of it.) Rashi there (א:יד) brings down a מדרש: שוים נבראוץ ונתמעטה הלבנה על שקטרגה ואמרה אי אפשר לשני מלאכים שישתמשו בכתר אחד. For those of you less familiar with the Hebrew, it says that the sun and moon were created equal. However, the moon complained that it is not possible for two kings to share one crown. In reaction to her words, Hashem made her smaller.

The concept of two people fighting over one crown is obviously an old one, all the way from the beginning of time. It's no wonder that in my house there are two cooks fighting over one kitchen.

Parshas Mattos-Masei

This is one question I always had. Oizer Alpert addresses it in points to ponder this week.

The Gemora in Sanhedrin (106b) teaches that Bilaam was executed (31:8) by means of all four forms of death used by the Sanhedrin: stoning, fire, sword, and strangulation. How was it possible to kill one person using all four forms of execution? (Rashi, Yad Ramah, and Maharsha Sanhedrin 106b; Ayeles HaShachar)

Rashi writes that they hanged Bilaam from a tree and lit a fire under him. They then cut off his head and his body fell into the fire. Hanging him from the tree was considered strangulation, cutting off his head was dead by the sword, his body falling to the ground was stoning, and falling into the fire was burning. The Maharsha challenges this explanation, as the stoning and burning occurred after his head was cut off and he was already dead. Additionally, somebody who is to be executed by fire is killed through a burning piece of lead being place into his mouth, which is different than the form of burning described by Rashi. Therefore, he suggests that they first threw rocks on Bilaam, but not to the point of killing him. They then partially placed a burning piece of lead into his mouth, but not enough to kill him. They then strangled him somewhat, but kept him alive until they finally killed him by cutting off his head with a sword. Rav Aharon Leib Shteinman questions this, as he was only truly killed by the sword and not by the other methods. The Yad Ramah explains that Bilaam was killed by four people, each of whom simultaneously performed on him one of the methods of execution.

© 2009 by Oizer Alport. To subscribe or send comments, write to oalport@optonline.net

Is There Something Wrong with this Picture?

I get a lot of forwarded emails. Some of them are funny, some not so much, but sometimes I think I'm the only one who actually reads them. Take this one for example. It's entitled "Jewish Version of the Bachelor." Personally, I've never heard of "The Bachelor," but in context I can figure out what it's referring to.

Maybe it's just me, but, aside from the terrible grammar and egregious spelling errors, this "joke" sickens me. While I know humor is one of the best ways of coping with problems, some humor is just not funny. The superficiality that this demonstrates … can these people really be frum yidden? I don't even know how to express the frustration and disillusionment that I got from reading this. Am I wrong?

Do you love the idea of The Bach elor , but are too frum to watch it? Then you'll love the new show, " The Bachur ." The concept is the same: 25 girls vying for the heart of one guy. The twist? They're all frum!

Our Bachur this season is Avraham Yitzchak Greenbergsteinkowitz from the holy city of Coffeeneck. He has studied in some of the best yeshivas, is over 5'6" and is a lawyer, doctor AND an accountant. You might ask why such an =2 0 exceptional Bachur would choose such an unusual method for meeting his bashert. "Well," says the Bachur, "I have been dating for over 6 months now and still have not been able to find my bashert. After consulting with all 17 of my rabbeim, I felt that this intense approach would be the best way for me to do so."

The creator of the show is none other than Perry Charshady, who is the mastermind behind other reality TV hits such as "I'm a Rebbe…Get Me Out of Here" and "So You Think You Can Shteig."

"The premise of the show is the same as that of The Bachelor ," Charshady explains, "except with some minor differences to make it more appealing to a frum, heimishe, audience.." For example, the bachurettes will face-off with challenges such as the Challah Bake-Off. The bachurette with the worst tasting challah will be sent home. And who will be the judge of something so crucial20to building a bayis neeman b'yisrael? "My =2 0 Imma!" ex claims the Bachur. "She makes the best challah ever, so who better to judge?" Additionally, while on The Bachelor the bachelorettes go home to meet the guy's family, our bachurettes will have to have a meeting with the Bachur's favorite Rebbe.

And who are these bachurettes? Well, they are all no larger than a size 4 and went to Strict College for Women where they studied to be a therapist of any type. They also all come from wealthy homes in the Metropolitan area. "I just don't feel comfortable with out-of-towners" The Bachur explains, "No one really knows what goes on in those places. At least where I'm from, everyone knows each others business so I can really get to know what a girl is like by askin g, you know, her neighbors and kindergarten teachers about her."

From the very first episode, it is clear that these girls are top-notch. After being the first bachurette to be sent home, Chana Shprintza Cohenbaumosky cries "How could he reject me? I mean, I went to NNI – the best seminary in all of Israel!" Later in the show, the second rejected bachurette sobs "Doesn't he even know who my father is?!" But, not all the bachurettes are so sincerely committed to their seeming "Chesed Each Day" lifestyle. In one episode late in the season, The Bachur gets his first big shock: "I don't always20wear tights," confesses one bachurette.

Who is this shiksa20posing as an accomplished bachurette? Is she the same one concealing the fact that she has Facebook? Or is more than one bachurette hiding a dark side? "It just bothers me when someone isn't honest with me," The Bachur says disappointedly. "I mean, if you talk to other boys or don't have a white tablecloth on your shabbas table then clearly you're not frum enough for me, and if you're not frum enough to be here, then what are you even doing here?"

So what's the next project for Charshad y? A season of The Bachurette , perhaps? "No," says Charshady. " The Bachurette would be almost impossible to create." Why? He explains: "This is a reality show and if we were to portray 25 buchrim trying to win over one girl, it would not be an accurate representation of reality." He then adds "And, on a technical note, the process of finding 25 eligible buchrim would be an almost impossible feat."

Well, this season promises to be one filled with scandals: bare legs, Facebook and even (gasp!) Law School? "It's always been a secret dream of mine," reveals a teary-eyed bachurette. But, it also will be packed with fun: hotel lobbies and exotic trips to Chevron! And fear not, there will also be plenty of Tehillim said through bouts of sobbing. So tune in every motzei shabbas!

Are You Still There?

Where, oh where, have my commentors gone?
Oh where, oh where can they be?
I have kept writing faithfully
But where, oh where can they be?

I know no one really likes to comment, but can you please make an exception this time? The blogosphere is feeling so empty. Do you agree with what I'm saying, disagree, have no opinion? Whichever it is, please let me know. I feel like I'm writing to no one (not that it really matters, but I'd like to know), so if you're there, can you say hello? Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top?

I miss you all, please write again!

In Tribute to an Amazing Teacher

Every so often, a person comes across one teacher who makes a real difference in his or her life. These teachers are rare and few between, but when they come … This particular teacher was my Chumash teacher in 12^th grade. She lives in my neighborhood, so I've seen her often since seminary.

This teacher is a shining example of someone who doesn't consider her job done when her students graduate high school. After we all got back from sem, we felt bereft – no more shiurim on a regular basis. Someone, I'm not sure who, came up with the idea to ask this teacher to give us a shiur in Sichos Mussar every Shabbos. This teacher being who she is, she agreed immediately. The shiur not only became the highlight of my week, but that of everyone else involved.

Now we've stopped for the summer. I miss her smile so much; I miss the simchas ha'chayim that everything she did was infused with. And I can't wait to start again in the fall. We bought her the book With Hearts Full of Love by R' Mattisyahu Soloman as a goodbye present. This was the inscription we wrote:

One Simchas Torah evening
Some girls started to shmuz
"We're just back from Israel
And we need a shiur," they mused

"Shabbos would be perfect
Night or maybe day
Let's ask Mrs. Teacher
It'll be great either way"

They called up their מחנכת
She enthusiastically agreed
She couldn't wait to share with them
Life lessons that they'll need

And every shabbos since then
A pilgrimage is made
To 123^rd street
And the greatest shiur ever gave

Your simcha, Mrs. Teacher,
In life and all you do,
Gives us life to face our week
And your shiur is the how-to

We come to you for help,
For advice and just to cry
You pat us on the shoulder
And tell us how to try

Your interest in each of us
Is always so sincere
It makes you perfect for
Either choice of your career

A simple gift cannot convey
The impact that you've made
You've changed the pattern of our lives
In ways that will never fade


With Hearts Full of Love,
Your Talmidos

The Cookbook that Every Maidel Needs

I just can't get enough of blogging. A few months ago, who'd have thought I'd even start one blog, let alone two? That's right, ladies and gents (this one is more for you ladies), I have officially started a second blog. This one is not one based on my thoughts; rather, it is a compilation of my favorite recipes that I have put together starting from when I was in seminary. If you would like to contribute your own recipes, email me at MusingMaidel@gmail.com and I'll add you as an author.

Keep in mind that it's still under construction and it might take a while until the colors work out. Let me know what you think!

HP Daily

I'm learning the book Praying with Fire by Rabbi Heshy Kleinman with a friend. Last night, we read a section that talked about how if we see Hashem in our daily lives, in the minutiae that are always with us, we'll have a much easier time knowing to Whom we daven. We decided then and there to start a new nightly ritual. Right after we learn, we are each going to share one story of Hashgacha Pratis - it doesn't matter if it's a big one or a small one, as long as we saw Hashem's Hand in it.

Tuesday: I did not get a single red light when I went to pick my father up from Yeshiva.
Wednesday: (This actually happened yesterday also) I got to school a drop before 11 (when alternate side for the streets around Touro is over), so I basically got the best spot available.

You make think these HP stories are a little petty. They're nothing earth-shattering. But everyone, I'm sure, has heard the story of the woman looking for a parking spot in downtown Manhattan. She bargains with Hashem, offering the world if He would only find her a parking spot. While she still has her prayer on her lips, a miracle occurs - a perfectly legal spot (without a meter) opens up right in front of her. Mid-sentence, she tells Hashem "Oh, forget it. I already found one."

I don't want to be like that. Every little thing that happens is the Hand of Hashem showing us His love. It's there; we just have to open our eyes to see it.

העושה מצוה אחת קונה לו פרקליט אחד העושה עברה אחת קונה לו קטיגור אחד. אבות ד:יא

A WORD is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.
-Emily Dickinson

Most people understand a פרקליט and קטיגור to be a mark in Hashem’s book on our behavior. Though this is true, there is more to it.

Yaakov dreamt of a ladder with מלאכים climbing up and down between שמים and ארץ. These מלאכים are our פרקליטים and קטיגורים going back and forth. What happens when you do a מצוה? As the משנה says, a פרקליט is created. It climbs up the ladder with an empty suitcase. It goes to the equivalent of a shopping center. This mall is unlike any you have ever been to – instead of selling makeup and clothes, this mall sells things like שלום, רפואה, ברכה ,פרנסה - all the things we daven for. The פרקליט goes to this mall and fills up its suitcase with all sorts of goodies. It then climbs down the ladder and opens the suitcase, releasing the contents to the world. Every מצוה we do has a positive effect on the world at large.

On the other hand, what happens when a person does an עברה? An עברה creates a different type of מלאך – a קטיגור. This קטיגור also climbs the ladder, but it heads to a very different place. It slowly makes its way to a huge courtroom. The room is filled with row upon row of other קטיגורs sitting quietly in their seats. Each one looks like the עברה that created it – big, ugly and mean. They are all silent, looking expectantly at the front of the room. Every single one is a בעל מום who cannot speak, so there is total quiet in the courtroom. Suddenly, an ear-splitting noise breaks the silence. A big קטיגור wearing a black leather jacket comes roaring into the room on his giant motorcycle. He rides straight to the front of the courtroom and tells Hashem to look and see all the עברות that His children are doing. Hashem slowly turns and sees the room full of קטיגורs. He takes out His gavel, and the judgment begins.

What קטיגור is it that has the power to speak and make Hashem listen? It is the קטיגור that is created by our mouths – with the terrible חטא of לשון הרע.

This post is culled from various lessons by Reb. Blatt, based on the Chofetz Chaim’s introduction to Sefer Chofetz Chaim

Parshas Korach

This is one of the points to ponder from Parsha Potpourri by Oizer Alpert

Which people who have appeared earlier in the Torah were reincarnated as Korach and his assembly? (Rabbeinu Bechaye 16:29)

Rabbeinu Bechaye notes that the verse states (16:2) ויקמו לפני משה – Korach and his followers stood up before Moshe. It would have been more grammatically correct to say ויקמו על משה – they stood up against Moshe. The word לפני also means “before” and is used to hint that these individuals were gilgulim of earlier generations. Regarding the generation of the dispersion, the Torah records (Bereishis 11:4) that they said הבה נבנה לנו עיר ומגדל וראשו בשמים ונעשה לנו שם – Come, let us build for ourselves a city and a tower which reaches the Heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves. Regarding the inhabitants of Sodom, the Torah writes (Bereishis 19:4) ואנשי העיר אנשי סדום. This literally means, “The men of the city, the men of Sodom,” but it alludes to the fact that the inhabitants of Sodom were reincarnations of the generation of the dispersion who had expressed their interest in building for themselves a city. Parshas Korach begins by stating ויקח קרח, which is translated into Aramaic by Onkelos as ואתפלג, which alludes to the fact that Korach was reincarnated from the דור הפלגה, generation of the dispersion, and for this reason, Korach and his followers are referred to (16:2) as אנשי שם, which was the goal of that generation. This was also the reason that Dasan and Aviram told Moshe (16:14) that even if he blinded them, they would still not go with him to Israel. They specifically mentioned this punishment because as gilgulim of the townspeople of Sodom, they had already once been afflicted with blindness (Bereishis 19:11).

Have a good shabbos everyone!

Sleeping on the Job?

I'm really tempted to do this so I can sleep through class*, but it would be sooo bad for shidduchim. Can you imagine going on a date with that haircut?

* not that I sleep through class, or anything. The temptation is still there, though.

One Year Later

A year can bring a lot of changes to a person's life. The seminary year itself is one full of transformations. Unfortunately, as Staying Afloat mentions in her post, it's hard to keep inspiration going, and it's very hard to stay inspired over a long period of time. This past year since sem was over was meant to be the year of crystallizing what I gained in seminary and deciding (consciously or otherwise) what is going to stay with me for life. As a newly returned sem girl, I was idealistic; I was going to be the one to hold onto everything. Sadly, as I'm sure happens to most girls, this past year leeched away so much.

I found out yesterday that a friend of mine from sem who stayed in E"Y as a madricha is going to be in my lit class. Class is starting today, and I'm almost scared to see her. She only knew me at the height of my year, and now she's going to see me again a year later. I'm terrified that she's going to think I'm a different girl than I was. That I lost most of what I gained.

I'm thinking back now to all the kaballos I made last year. How many of them did I keep to? How many did I lose? How many do I not even remember making? Worse, how many do I no longer see the need for? I'm scared to look at myself in the mirror and see the girl I've become -someone who is not the girl I envisioned just one year ago.

From the Mouths of Babes ...

While I was coming home from work today, I passed A., a kid I used to babysit for. He happens to be very precocious - most kids I babysat for don't remember me, but he does. The conversation went as follows:

A: "MM, why don't you ever babysit for me anymore?"
me: "Most girls my age don't really have the time."
A: "Oh. [pause while he thinks this over] Are you married?"

From his lips to Hashem's ears!

Bread of Embarrassment

At some point in a person's life, s/he asks why s/he is here. The answer is different for each individual person, but the reason we, as a world, are here is the same: so Hashem can do good for us. Hashem is the מיטיב. All He wants is to give to us.

If that's the case (and it is, according to the מסילת ישרים, I think), why do we need to come down to this world at all? Why can't our neshomahs go straight to Gan Eden? The answer, according to whichever teacher I heard this from, is that if we would just go straight to Gan Eden, it would be like we were eating נהמא דכיסופא (excuse my spelling), bread of embarrassment. Better we should come down to this world and earn our portions in the world to come than just be given it.

I never fully understood this. Who cares if Hashem just gives it to us? I don't think I would mind if Hashem gave me a present of עולם הבא. This past Thursday I had an experience that helped me understand:

I was giving my friend (L) a ride home after our last finals. We had both just bombed the last test and were very upset about it. L's sister got married tonight. Since she (L) is a very good student who works really, really hard to keep up her GPA, she was determined not to let her grades suffer because of the simcha. After this particular final, she realized that it had. After figuring out her average in the class, she realized that she was at the high end of a B+. Her prof is a very nice man, and he said that he would raise her grade to an A- because she is so studious. While this was very nice of the teacher, L was still upset. When I asked her why, she said it was because she didn't deserve it. Even though she had worked really hard in the class, because she messed up on the final, she felt that she wasn't worthy of getting that A-.

Imagine how much worse she would've felt if she hadn't worked all year, but the teacher still decided to give her an A-! It's the same with עולם הבא. If we would get it as a gift, it wouldn't feel right because we wouldn't have earned it.

Thank you, Hashem, for giving me the opportunity to "pay my way" to עולם הבא.

Finals are OVER!!!!

Finals are officially over, and I only bombed one test! Now that I have more time on my hands, posts will IY"H be more forthcoming. We are now heading into the long summer vacation of Touro College. For all those not in the know, that is less than a week. That's right. My last final was last night, and the summer semester starts on Wednesday. Talk about a long break ... Anyway, that's all for now. Have a great Shabbos everyone.

One more thing

Here's more stuff that I haven't written, but are beautiful anyway. I first heard this as a song in Sternberg. I have no idea who originally wrote the words.

Is anybody happier because you passed their way
Does anyone remember that you spoke to them today
Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said
Does a man whose hopes were failing now with courage look ahead

Did you make the day or lose it, was it well or sorely spent
(alt wording: did you waste the day or use it ...)
Did you leave a trail of kindness or a scar of discontent
And as you close your eyes in slumber do you think Hashem will say
You have earned one more tomorrow by the things you did today

Can you say today in passing as tomorrow slips so fast
That you helped a single brother of the many that you passed
The day is almost over and the toiling time is through
Is there anyone to utter now a kindly word of you

Did you make ...

I'm in the middle of finals

Sorry for not posting as often as I was planning. Keeping up a blog is harder than I thought :-). As the semester is winding down, finals are keeping me very busy, so I haven't had time to write out a nice post.

In lieu of my own words of wisdom(?), I wanted to share something beautiful that I just saw on JACP's blog here. Enjoy those moments!!

פרשת בהעלותך

I wrote this right before I left seminary Israel:

In פרשת בהעלתך פרק ט פסוקים טו-כג the פסוק describes the נסיעות of בני ישראל. When the עננים would lift off the משכן, they knew it was time to leave, and when they would stop, בני ישראל knew it was time to set up their camps. As the פסוק describes it, בני ישראל never knew how long their stop would be. Sometimes it would be for a short time, even just overnight, while at others, they stayed for years.

Imagine you were of that דור- you've been traveling for who knows how long, and then finally, you get the signal to stop. You start setting up camp, doing all the bothersome tasks that come along with it: pitching the tent, unpacking, setting up the furniture, preparing supper (whatever that entailed with the מן) etc. Finally, everything is ready. You eat your שליו and then go to sleep, luxuriating in you non-travel bed. You wake up in the morning, ready to face the day in your new home. Just as you're about to finish gathering the מן for the day, you see that the עננים lifted off the משכן. It's time to leave. You have to go back to your tent, say goodbye to your bed, repack everything onto your donkeys, dismantle the tent, and get on the road again. After this scenario repeated itself a few times, you wouldn't even bother unpacking. You would live out of a suitcase, sleep on a travel bed, and every morning you'd check to see if the עננים had lifted. Even if the camp hadn't moved for a few years, you'd still be checking every morning. Of course, as soon as you'd stayed in one camp long enough to stop checking every morning and unpack, that morning the
ענניםwould lift and you'd have to repack everything again.

It was a life lived day-by-day. They couldn't plan ahead because they didn't know where they'd be the next day. Yet never do we find that they complained about this aspect of traveling, though about other things, they did. How can this be?

The answer lies in the לשון that the פסוק uses in conjunction with this. "על פי ד יסעו ועל פי ד יחנו" This phrase is repeated a number of times, emphasizing its importance. But what does it tell us? The ספורנו comments that the main part is the על פי ד. They didn't decide where to camp based on their own perception of the place. Rather, every time they stopped, it was על פי ד - by Hashem's command. Even if there was a better camping spot a few yards away, they would only camp where Hashem told them to camp. Additionally, if they were in a perfect place for only a short time, when the __ would let them know it was time to go, they went. They lived each day as it came, full of אמונה and בטחון that Hashem would take care of them.

Each of us came to seminary with dreams of how she wanted it to be. We unpacked, got comfortable, set up our rooms to our liking, enjoyed our thick, American mattresses, and had an amazingly inspiring year. But now it's time to move on. Our personal עננים are lifting off our home for the past year and drifting to places unknown. Much as we plan our lives, how much do we really know of what will be? How can we know where we'll be next year or next month; even where we'll be tomorrow is out of our hands. But we have to remember to live על פי ד. Hashem is guiding our every step, making sure it's the right one. Everything we do has to be על פי ד. Whether getting a job, getting married, furthering our education, or all of the above, everything we do has to be על פי ד and only על פי ד.

As we leave seminary for real life, ארץ ישראל for חוץ לארץ, we have to realize, and truly feel, that Hashem is with us anywhere we are and in everything we do. We're going into our own מדבר, a place lacking the רוחניות potential we've had at our fingertips this year. But Hashem is with us, guiding us as He guided that generation. If we live with אמונה and בטחון as they did, we'll be able to live happy lives, safe in Hashem's hands and בעזרת ד be זוכה for the גאולה.

Milchige Noodle Kugel

I had a wedding in Baltimore earlier this week, and I made a noodle kugel as tzeida l'derech. Since it was on my mind, I decided to share the recipe. Here it is:

8 oz medium noodles
1 1/2 cups milk
3/4 cup sugar
6 egg whites + 1 egg (I use 3 eggs + 2 whites)
1 Tbsp vanilla
1/2 container cottage cheese
8 oz plain yogurt (vanilla, coffee ... whatever [have used less])

Mix all ingredients. Sprinkle top with cinnamon. Bake at 350 covered for an hour, uncovered for 1/2 an hour. Enjoy!

Bitachon

I go to a shiur every shabbos afternoon. My high school chumash teacher learns Sichos Mussar of R' Chaim Shmuelevitz with a group of my friends and me. This shiur is the highlight of my week. This week, the sichah was on bitachon. I'd like to share one (among many) interesting point that was made.

Everyone knows the story from gemorah of the rat and the weasel. One day, a young man tells a young woman that he wants to marry her. She asks who will be the witnesses, he says the well and the weasel will bear witness, and they go their merry way. Time passes and the young man forgets his promise to the girl. He marries another and they have two children. Before either of them could grow to adulthood, one falls into a well and dies, while the other is bitten by a weasel and dies. They who bore witness now bring punishment. The question on this story is as follows: the weasel and the well (I love the alliteration ) don't have the ability to hear and understand, how could they possibly have been eidim? Even more so, how could they actually punish the young man?

When a person believes in something, it gets power. Because the man believed in the strength of the weasel and the well to serve as witnesses, not only did they have the ability to bear witness, they were able to go further and kill his children. But their power came only from his belief in them. (He brings many other examples to support this theory, but then this post would be way too long ;P.)

The same goes for Hakadosh Baruch Hu. When we believe in His ability to help us, kaviyachol we're giving Him the power to help us even more. When we trust in our Tatte ShebaShamayim, we give Him the ability to treat us even more like His children.

Lessons from History

I'm taking a class in history this semester, and today we watched a video on America's silence during the war. I always mentally excused America by thinking they either didn't know about what was going on in Europe or there was nothing they could do about it. But according to this video we saw, not only did they know what was going on and not make an effort to do anything about it, 53% of Americans felt that "Jews are different and should be discriminated against!" Even FDR, who most people consider the hero of the war, was not blameless. The people who smuggled out the kinder-transport were able to save another 20,000 children. They wanted to send them to the US the way they had sent to England. Roosevelt didn't know what to do about it, so he "pocket-vetoed" it - he just left it unsigned until the movement died. On the other hand, England, who expelled all Jews some time in the Middle Ages, welcomed these children openheartedly, greeting the boat with cheers and waving. Did you know there were Nazi-support rallies and "no Jews allowed" signs here? I didn't. So much for the land of the free.

Even the American Yidden didn't do as much as they could have. Of course, I don't know what it was like then, and I'm not passing judgement - just stating a fact. There was a rav (I'm not sure how frum he was, but he was definitely Jewish) who stood up on Yom Kippor of 1938, before everything really started happening, and told his congregation that they should drive down to Washington that day and picket the White House to do more. But, he said, he knew they wouldn't because his congregants had spouses and children who had New Deal jobs that had finally been opened to Jews (more rampant antisemitism in the US), so they couldn't "rock the boat" and risk losing those jobs. He got fired an hour after the fast was over.

At the end of class, I sat there in shock with two thoughts chasing each other around my head. First, about how there really is no one in the world to stand up for us but Hashem. We're so comfortable in our lives here that we begin to forget that we're still in Galus - even those of us lucky enough to live in Eretz Yisroel. I once heard that when we forget that we're different from the goyim, the goyim have to remind us. Haskalah ---> Holocaust. Sometimes I look around me and I get very scared. Are we copying them too much? Are they going to remind us again soon? One of my high school teachers used to say (she probably still does, though I'm not there to hear) that we should look around us. The people who survived the Holocaust weren't the people her age (40s, 50s). No - the ones to survive were our age, the Bais Yaakov girls and Yeshiva bachurim. I remember that it scared me so much to ask myself if I would have the strength to do what they did. Hopefully I'll never be tested in that way. But I digress.

The second thought was about the American Jewry. As I said before, it's not for me to judge them in any way. When I think of them, the phrase "אל תעמד על דם רעך" comes to mind. Interestingly enough, there was a bone marrow drive today in Touro. I went and registered right after this class, with that Pasuk ringing in my ears. All we had to do was swipe our cheeks with what were essentially four q-tips, and we could possibly save a life. The truth is that if you are a match, you're faced with a hard decision. The surgery is very hard to go through, but, as I was thinking as I did, it's a person's life. I might be holding the key to someone else's life. If Hashem would place me as the shaliach to save someone, how can I let go of that opportunity? How can I let it pass me by?

The Burden, part II

In my last post, I mentioned that I dealt with this in HS. This is what I wrote after that whole episode.

There’s a burden on my shoulders
That no one else can feel
There’s a burden on my shoulders
Intangible, yet so real

The burden is so heavy
It’s a yoke I cannot bear
The burden is so heavy
I’d drop it if I dared

The burden tries to beat me
But I won’t let it win
The burden tries to beat me
But I’ll fight it to el fin*

The burden tries to get me down
I can’t let it succeed
The burden tries to get me down
It cannot make me bleed

The burden battles to the death
Be it its or mine
The burden battles to the death
Yet walks the finest line

The burden has followed me
Through the life I’ve known
The burden has followed me
It won’t leave me alone

The burden will not go away
For life it’s here with me
The burden will not go away
So I’ll just let it be

*Yes, I know the Spanish is a little out of place, but may I remind you that I wrote this in 11th grade right before I took the Spanish regents