I'm so Happy for You ... I Think

I feel really awful right now.

It's finally happened.

This is the first time I heard about someone getting engaged without feeling total joy for her.

Someone I know, who's a year younger than me and just back from seminary, gets a mazel tov. I knew she was going out because I saw her get into a car with a guy who wasn't her brother a few weeks back. But there's a difference between thinking she's been dating seriously and knowing she's engaged.

It's not that I'm not happy for her. I am; I really am. We grew up together, but she was always younger than me. I was always the wiser one, the one with more life experience under her belt. But now ... she's gone places that I can only dream of. She's on her way to starting her new life, and I'm still stuck in this rut.

I'm not old, surely not an old maid, but somehow it feels so wrong. It feels only right that those who are older should get engaged/married first. I know it doesn't always happen that way. I know there are lots of older singles out there, singles who are a lot older than I am. I've always tried to imagine how they feel, but I've never succeeded. Until now. This girl is only a year younger than I am, and it still hurts to see her engaged before I am. How much worse it must be for those who are even older - when the new kallahs are 6, 7, 8 years younger!

There's comfort in knowing that each person has her zivug already set aside for her. Her chosson was not meant to be my chosson, and this time is obviously not the right time for me. My bashert is out there ... somewhere. Some time, hopefully soon, it will be the right time for me to meet him. Until then, Hashem, please help me get through this hard time while staying upbeat and with sensitivity to my friends. Please help me not lose hope, and most of all, make my marriage worth it.

The Happiest Sadist

My sister is a bit of a sadist. She is positively gleeful when someone gets hurt. I remember one time (I was about 8 years old and she was 5) that I fell off a bike. I bumped my chin very hard, and it was "gushing blood" (as we used to say back then). I came inside the house, bawling. My parents were understanding and tried to calm me down, but as soon as my sister saw me, she burst into hysterical laughter. I remember feeling so hurt – emotionally, as well as physically. I'm in pain, and she's laughing?? Thanks for nothing, sister.

As we grew up, the best way to make her laugh was always to pretend we were hurt. We told this secret to the girls who came to our house, and they used it often. Our home was filled with my sister's joyful laugh, but only when someone was in pain or pretending to be in pain.

After a while, it started to bother me. How could she enjoy seeing other people hurt? She's an intelligent girl, so why does she get a kick out of seeing people in pain?

It took me until my seminary year to finally understand. Everyone says that special needs children are on a higher plane of existence. They have a special bond with Hakadosh Baruch Hu (G-d) over and above what a regular person has. They know what we can't know and see what we can't see.

And that is why my sister laughs at pain.

She sees what we don't see - the purpose behind the pain. There's a whole discussion in the gemorah (don't know where exactly) about the concept of yesurim (trials and tribulations). The basic verdict is that yesurim are actually good for you. Instead of giving a person all his punishments in the world to come, Hashem gives some of it down here. But, as the gemorah continues, no matter how good they are for us, no one would ask for them.

Even though we don't ask for them, everyone does have yesurim in this life. It's almost always too hard for us to see past the hardships and pain to the benefits they bring us.

But my sister is special – she can see past it (at least for others). She sees someone in pain and laughs at the benefit that that person is getting without realizing. She sees good where we only see bad.

And so she laughs. Not sadistically, but as an expression of the joy we should all be able to feel.

The Sun Ascends the Horizon

The sun ascends the horizon
As hope fills the silent air
A new day is beginning
A day precious and rare

The sun descends the horizon
On a day tired and spent
The question - was it worth it
Based on how well it went

The sun ascends the horizon
The light overtakes the sky
When it is clear as day
There can be no questions why

The sun descends the horizon
The shadows reach their height
Those doubts, which by day silenced
Now give voice into the night

The sun ascends the horizon
A dawn filled with hope and love
A day of new opportunities
A direct gift from above

The sun descends the horizon
As the day draws to a close
The night begins, darkness reigns
Yet the moon above still glows

The sun ascends the horizon
Because it is time for another morn
The sadness of the eve draws back
As a brand new day is born

My Personal Chanukah Miracle

A Jewish magazine for special-needs families published a piece of mine the summer before I left for seminary. It was one of the best essays I've ever written. I was so proud that I had finally been published in a real magazine. I brought a copy of the publication with me to Israel to show off to my relatives there. Everyone I spoke to said it was amazing, and I basked in the glory of "fame."

My essay was similar to what Staying Afloat said about her family Chanukah party. I had spent time with people in situations that are a lot worse than anything my family went through with my sister, and it taught me to appreciate how lucky we are that she isn't in a worse condition. One family I wrote about read my article and were, understandably, quite upset at what I had written about them. I hadn't changed the details enough for them to go unrecognized, and I was too objective – too shocked by the oddities of their child – to do them justice.

They emailed my parents – a harsh letter, but so true – right before Succos. My parents didn't tell me about it until Erev Succos (the day before the holiday begins). It totally threw me – it burst the happy, proud bubble that I had been in because of my accomplishment as a writer. I went from showing my article to everyone I met to almost throwing out all my copies of it. I cried almost the entire yom tov (holiday). The worst part was being away from home and not being able to call them – or do anything – to apologize. I felt that Hashem was punishing me – it had just been the most inspiring Yom Kippur in my life, and this is what followed?? I couldn't even do T'shuva for it until after Hoshana Rabba. [Note: one teacher I spoke to at this time said it was exactly the opposite – Hashem was showing me that I had a sin that I needed to take care of before it was too late.] It was an awful time.

I wrote the family an apology letter (I agonized over it for weeks) and sent it express mail (cost a fortune, but was worth it). Then I put it out of my mind. There was nothing more I could do except internalize the message – be careful what you write and how you write it (see my message at the top of the blog) and daven (pray).

Time passed. Every so often I'd wonder if they had gotten my letter and what their reaction was to it. But I'd never do anything about it. I never said anything, just kept the worry inside.

On one night of Chanukah, I was sitting on my bed talking to some of my roommate's friends. Though I was friendly with them, I hadn't had anything to do with them Succos time during the fallout of my article. For some reason, I told them all about it, though I hadn't said a word about it since I sent the apology. As I was finishing, a different girl came up to my room to deliver the mail. My family does not do letters – I can count on one hand the number of letters I've received from my parents in all the summers and other times that I've been away from home. So I was very surprised when my friend said she had a letter for me.

When I looked at the return address, the blood literally drained from my face. It was from the people that I had hurt with my article. My roommate, Leah, noticed my reaction, but didn't know what had happened. I told her who it was from, and she understood. I was so scared to open it, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't face the pain that I was sure the letter contained. I didn't hold out any hope that they had forgiven me, because I would never have forgiven someone who wrote such a thing about my sister. All of us in the room said a kapitel (chapter) of tehillim, and then Leah opened the letter for me.

There was silence as we waited to see what the verdict was.

And then Leah smiled. She showed me the holiday card that was in the envelope – just a simple thing with a picture of the kids I had hurt. And I started to cry. Not tears of pain like I had shed on Succos. Tears of joy and thankfulness that they had forgiven me. I cried for over two hours. I'm crying now as I remember it.

It was a miracle. There is no way that they would have forgiven me in the normal run of the world. I had hurt them too much.

Maybe they saw the sincerity in my apology letter.

Maybe they're just amazing people.

But I think it was a nes. A true Chanukah miracle just for me.

Chanukah from Parsha Potpourri

On Chanuka we add a paragraph, known as “Al HaNissim” to the Shemoneh Esrei prayers and to Birkas HaMazon in which we thank Hashem for the miracles which He performed at this time. In it, we mention that the Chashmonaim lit candles in the courtyard of the Temple. Why didn’t they light the Menorah inside of the Temple where it is normally lit? (Derashos Chasam Sofer Vol. 1 pg. 67, Boruch SheAmar, K’Motzei Shalal Rav Chanuka pg. 172-175)

Rav Tzvi Hirsh Charif suggests that because the Kohanim were impure, they stood outside of the Temple in the courtyard and used long wooden sticks to light the menorah that was inside to avoid entering the Temple in a state of impurity and to avoid rendering the oil impure through contact. Rav Chaim Kanievsky answers that because the Kohanim were impure, they wanted to minimize their exposure to the Temple, so they brought the menorah outside, lit it, and then returned it to its proper place. Alternatively, he notes that the term חצר – courtyard – can also be used to refer to the inside of the Temple. Finally, the Chasam Sofer suggests that because the Temple was full of idols, they lit the menorah in the courtyard, where it burned for the entire 8 days. As a result of its public location, every Jew was able to witness the miracle, as oppose to only the Kohanim had it been lit inside. He adds that this answers the famous question of the Beis Yosef that Chanuka should only be 7 days because they had enough oil for the first day and the miracle only lasted for the final 7 days. However, the amount of oil they had was sufficient to burn one full day inside of the Temple, but outside in the cold winter winds more oil would be needed, yet it still lasted the full day, which was a miracle even on the first day.

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

Cogito, Ergo Sum - I Think, Therefore I Am

Think back to your t'nach classes from High School and Elementary School. Who were the greatest niviim (prophets) and leaders from Biblical times? There was Avrohom, Yitzchok, Yaakov, Moshe, Dovid, etc. What do they all have in common? Oddly enough, most of them were shepherds. Shepherding seems to be a pastime conducive to raising a person's madreiga (spiritual level). The question, however, is why? Why is leading a flock of sheep so beneficial to the growth of a navi (prophet) or leader?

I don't know how many of you have actually been shepherds in the past. My guess would be few to none - I know I've never so much as seen a sheep outside of a zoo. But from what I understand, a shepherd has a lot of time on his hands. He does almost nothing while the sheep graze all day. When it's time to bring them back to their pen, he and the sheepdog herd them in. He sits around all day with nothing to do but think. And think. And think.

But the shepherds who became our n'viim didn't just think about where they were going to go for Shabbos or what they were going to wear the next day. Nope. Not these shepherds. They bent their minds to more philosophical thoughts - about Hashem and the wonderful world that He created for us. They watched the sun rise and set, the grass grow, and even the clouds form. They saw niflaos ha'borei (wonders of creation) in everything. This way of thinking, this turn of mind, is what brought them closer to Hashem.

But what about us - today?

When I was in seminary, I remember thinking on more than one tiyul (trip) that it must have been much easier to find Hashem before modern civilization. It is so much easier to see Hashem in the forests, farms, and oceans of days gone by than in the office buildings, houses, and schools of today. Back then, Hashem was visible to the naked eye; today He's hidden by millions of tons of scientific progress.

Lately I've been noticing that I don't really think too much about real things. My mind is too busy flitting between school and home, dating and weddings and millions of other things. Somehow there's just no time left to think about the really important things. When I think about davening, do I think about how I can squeeze mincha into the last five minutes before the zman, or about how lucky I am to have this twice daily opportunity to speak to Hakadosh Baruch Hu? When I think about school, do I think about how lucky I am to be able to afford to go to college so I can earn a higher salary to support a family, or am I just complaining about my next report? When I think about Hashem, do I … wait – do I ever think about Hashem? Or is my mind totally wrapped up in myself and my daily concerns?

Thinking is what sets us apart from the animals; thinking Jewish thoughts is what separates us from the goyim (non-Jews). I (try to) think … am I?

Parshas Vayishlach

יעבר נא אדני לפני עבדו ואני אתנהלה לאטי ... עד אשר אבא אל אדני שעירה (33:14)

The Ponovezher Rav, Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, was once collecting money in New York on behalf of his yeshiva in B'nei B'rak. He was riding the subway, on his way to meet with a potential donor, when a group of unruly teenagers decided to have fun with the elderly Rabbi. They came over and began pestering and disturbing him. He was afraid that they might follow him to his destination or even attack him, but how could he escape them in an unfamiliar city?

Fortunately, the Ponovezher Rav remembered that the Medrash relates (Bereishis Rabbah 78:15) that in Talmudic times, whenever the Sages had to meet with the Roman government to lobby against its oppressive decrees, they would first review Parshas Vayishlach, which teaches the rules for interacting with Edom while we are in exile. Quickly reviewing the parsha, Rav Kahaneman developed a brilliant plan based on advice given by the Gemora (Avodah Zora 25b).

Feigning ignorance, he asked the unruly teens for directions to a certain part of town. Excited at their "good fortune," they were more than happy to offer to personally escort him there. They told him he should get off with them at the next stop. When the doors opened, the youths told the Rav to hurry up and exit. Rav Kahaneman, pretending to be even older than his years, took laborious steps and "honored" them with exiting first, which they were more than happy to do. A few seconds later, the Rav was still walking toward the doors when they closed and the subway took off – minus his tormentors!

The Ponovezher Rav explained that just when Yaakov thought he was finally free of his wicked brother, with his gifts accepted and Eisav's wrath placated, Eisav offered to accompany him on his journey. Yaakov, fearing the spiritual influence of his evil brother, commented that because of his large load and small children, he wouldn't be able to keep up with Eisav's pace. He therefore proposed that Eisav proceed ahead and he would eventually catch up, something that he never got around to doing ... and teaching his descendants an eternal and invaluable lesson.

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

PS – any ideas for a food that has something to do with the parsha?

Special Relationships

This is in response to a post Kristen wrote.

Everyone always talks about how the checking out part of shidduchim has gotten out of hand. People ask the strangest and most irrelevant questions – does the family use plastic table cloths on Shabbos? What size is the girl? What size shoe is the boy? I'm sure you all can think of more.

What many people forget is that, though it has gotten nutty, there is a reason behind the questions. Maybe not those questions, but it is important to look into the family before possibly joining your future to his.

Kristen talks about how whenever she starts a relationship, she worries when to tell him about her brother. That is one thing that I don't have to worry about. My family doesn't hide my sister. We never have. While I didn't mention her on my shidduch profile/resume/whatever you want to call it, anyone asking about medical issues in my family will hear about her. We don't emphasize the fact that I have a special sibling, but we couldn't hide it even if we wanted to.

And right there is a reason behind all the questions. For me, at least, my sister acts as a filter to get rid of inappropriate possibilities. No one marrying me is marrying my sister, but she is a part of me. And if someone can't accept her as part of my life, he is not the right someone for me. He might be a great, amazing person … for someone else.

That said, it's hard to be rejected. For whatever reason. I daven (pray) every day that I will have the strength to accept any rejections that may come my way and to not blame my sister for them. Not only is it not her fault, it is to my benefit not to waste time and emotional energy on a relationship that will go nowhere because of his inability to accept my sister.

Parshas Vayeitzei

ויצא יעקב מבאר שבע וילך חרנה 28:10

Those who pay careful attention to the parsha while reviewing it or during its public reading on Shabbos will note a curious fact: unlike almost every other parsha in the Torah, Parshas Vayeitzei contains no breaks from start to finish. It is written in the Sefer Torah without any of the customary spaces which indicate the beginning of a new section within the parsha. As there are no coincidences in the Torah, what is the reason for this anomaly?

Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz explains that Parshas Vayeitzei contains a number of subplots: Yaakov’s flight from Eisav, Yaakov’s dealings with his tricky father-in-law Lavan, Yaakov’s relationship with his wives Rochel and Leah and the interactions between the two women, the birth of the tribes, and Yaakov’s flight from Lavan back to the land of his parents. When examining any of these episodes in its own light, a number of difficult and seemingly unanswerable questions present themselves.

The Torah intentionally structured Parshas Vayeitzei as one long and continuously unfolding narrative to teach that it is impossible to split up the various events contained therein and judge any of them in a vacuum. Rather, each episode is just one small piece of a much larger picture, one which can only begin to be understood when one steps back and views it in the context of the bigger picture.

The Darkei Mussar relates a profound story about a Chassidic Rebbe – Rav Shimon of Yaroslav – who merited living until well past the age of 100. When he was asked in what merit he had enjoyed such a long and healthy life, he responded with words packed with wisdom: “Don’t think that I’ve had an easy life. I’ve had my share of difficulties and pain just like everybody else. If anything, because I’ve lived longer, I’ve had more occasions and opportunities to suffer. It would have been very easy and natural to complain to Hashem, ‘Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t that have turned out differently?’

“However, I was afraid that if I began demanding a justification and explanation of Hashem’s ways, the Heavenly Court would say, ‘If this Rabbi wants answers so badly, let’s call him up here and give them to him!’ So I never asked any of these types of questions. I didn’t have any more answers than anybody else, but because I never asked for them, they let me stay down here for quite some time!”

As the Torah was written for all generations, it is clear that the lessons contained therein are applicable to every person throughout the ages. The lesson of needing to view events in the context of a larger perspective can be extrapolated to the situations which occur in each of our lives. We should realize that although we don’t always understand the ways of Hashem, we nevertheless must trust that everything that happens is part of His larger master plan, which we will one day merit to comprehend.

Taken from Parsha Potpourri by R' Oizer Alpert (if that link doesn't work, try this one)

HELP!!!!!!!!!!

I'm having a little trouble defining some words that have lately become part of my vocabulary. Can someone help me put together a dictionary?

1. yeshivish
2. greasy
3. harry
4. any other generalizations that are shidduch related
   

Hashem Loves Me ... Even More

I've been telling over the mashal (parable) that I wrote about in my last post. It's interesting how every time I tell it over, the person I'm telling it to follows that train of thought and adds a new perspective to it. (Thanks Esther and Nechama). Imagine that this post flows straight from the last one

Also, we had gotten off the highway at the wrong exit. My friend pointed out that the wrong exit could be seen as making a bad decision or doing a chait (sin). Hashem doesn't leave us; rather, he follows us, hoping to be able to guide us back onto the correct path. Just like Otto did.

When we're going the wrong way in life, Hashem tries to send us messages to push us back onto the right path. He comes up to our window and asks if we need help. When we refuse to let Him in, He'll come around a different way and try to open the door and force His way into our lives. He'll hurt us (or so we think) if necessary, but the ultimate goal is to save our spiritual lives.

But often, we think we're OK, that someone is going to come and save us (like my father, in this situation), so we don't need Hakadosh Baruch Hu (G-d)'s help. But we do. My father alone could not have done anything for us. He couldn't push us up the hill or get the car into a semi-legal spot. Only Hashem (with Otto as His shaliach [messenger]) was able to save us.

As the pasuk (verse) from Tehillim (Psalms) says - טוב לחסות בה מבטוח בנדיבים - better to trust in Hashem than in people, or even noblemen. Hashem can and will take care of us. We just have to place our trust in Him.

Hashem Loves Me ... Cont.

There was another point that I wanted to make about my experience on Thursday.

Last time I wrote, I said that Otto pulled up next to us and waited a few minutes before coming to help.

I was wrong.

He told my father that he had been behind us on the highway. He saw us break down, so
he followed us off. He and his friend, Russ, stayed behind us on the service road for a while, protecting us from oncoming cars, putting their own car and lives at risk.

He was with us the entire time, but we didn't know it.

Hashem (G-d) is always with us. Even when we feel alone, He is always watching us, taking care of us. We just have to look in our rear-view mirrors - at past miracles and instances of Hashgacha (divine providence) - to see that He has been with us all our lives and will not desert us now.

A Sibling Speaks

I've been pushing this off for a while now. Staying Afloat has a request out for adult siblings of special needs children/adults to share their experience. I have something that I'd like to share.

As most of you know (and if you don't check out here and here), I have a sister with special needs. It's just the two of us, and we've always been very close, though now, unfortunately, we've grown apart. It's hard to be close to someone like my sister because she can't really communicate. She lets us know what she wants in terms of physical needs (hungry, tired, thirsty, etc), but other than that she's pretty unresponsive. She understands everything we say, and she shows excitement, affection, anger, and frustration, but there's a limit to how close you can get to a person with whom you can't have a discussion. Part of friendship and sisterhood is the sharing of ideas and secrets, neither of which I can share with my sister.

I grew up lonely. I'm an introvert by nature, so I was mostly happy with my books, my studying, and my self. Mostly happy, but not totally happy. I had few friends because many were too intimidated by my sister to spend time with me. I always felt disconnected from those who did befriend me. It was like they had something that I didn't. I realize now it was childhood and innocence.

There's a certain maturity that comes from being the sibling of a special needs child, a certain adulthood that was thrust upon me that few back then caught up to. I always felt so distant from girls my age. There were times when I thought that I was abnormal because I had little interest in what other girls found interesting.

This was all when I was younger. At a certain point I became mature enough to almost hide the differences between myself and my friends and act normally. While I still have little interest in shopping and the like, I do have lots of friends. Friends who don't judge me based on who my sister is.


I don't look back on my childhood with sadness and regret. Children by nature are scared of what's different; I don't hold that against the peers of my childhood (in fact, I am friends with many of them now). I worry how my children will react to my sister. Will they show the same fear that my friends felt? Will they have the sensitivity to love her as she deserves to be loved?

Will I?

♪♫ 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.

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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 …