Rosh Chodesh Shevat Repost

A gutten Chodesh to all.

Here's something I posted last year about Rosh Chodesh Shevat.

Enjoy!

A Wifely Song

This is to the tune of Uncle Moishy's Jumping Song. I'm trying to find a link to the tune for those of you who don't know it, but it's eluding me. If anyone finds it, can you post it in a comment?

This is a washing song, a washing song, a washing song,
Washing, washing dishes, being careful as I do
This is a washing song, a washing song, a washing song
Washing, washing dishes until I am quite through

Chorus:
אשת חיל מי ימצא
Let’s go about our day with love
אשת חיל מי ימצא
And make our home one to be proud of

This is a sweeping song, a sweeping song, a sweeping song,
Sweeping, sweeping, sweeping all the dirt into one place
This is a sweeping song, a sweeping song, a sweeping song,
Sweeping, sweeping, sweeping until there is clean space

Chorus

This is a mopping song, a mopping song, a mopping song
Mopping, mopping, mopping slopping water all around
This is a mopping song, a mopping song, a mopping song
Mopping, mopping, mopping until no dirt is to be found

Chorus

This is a laundry song, a laundry song, a laundry song
Sorting, washing clothing so we have what to wear
This is a laundry song, a laundry song, a laundry song
Drying, folding clothing so we will not go bare (I’ll do it with flair)

Chorus

This is a supper song, a supper song, a supper song
Cooking, cooking supper so we’ll have what to eat
This is a supper song, a supper song, a supper song
Cooking, cooking supper so we can stay upbeat

Chorus

This is a Shabbos song, a Shabbos song, a Shabbos song
Cooking, cleaning, setting so we can greet the Shabbos queen
This is a Shabbos song, a Shabbos song, a Shabbos song
Cooking, cleaning, setting until everything’s pristine

Chorus

This is a wifely song, a wifely song, a wifely song
Smiling, laughing happily as we get it all done
This is a wifely song, a wifely song, a wifely song
Building a home for our families is our goal long-run

Chorus

Footsteps in the Snow

When I walked out of my apartment this morning, it was into a winter wonderland (excuse the cliché). The snow was around two feet deep and basically untouched. It was the beautiful white that only exists when the snow is new and has not yet been sullied by association with New York.

Being that the snow was unshoveled, it was hard to get one foot in front of the other without sinking all the way down, past the top of my boots. Finally, I remembered that if you put your feet into the footsteps of others, it's easier to walk because you can see how deep your foot will go.

So that's what I did.

Wherever he (I assume it was a he because the footsteps were so much bigger than mine) went, I followed. When those footsteps stopped, I followed another pair, and then another, until I got to where I needed to go.

It struck me as I was walking that this is a mashal to life.

We go through our lives, and it's hard and challenging at times. Sometimes we sink into bitterness and depression. Sometimes we're not clear on where we need to go. Sometimes, we know where to go, but we just can't get there. And sometimes, we don't know when one wrong step will cause us to fall.

It's at those times that we need to follow footsteps that are bigger than ours. Our gedolim – past and present – have walked the path that we are walking. They blazed the Torah path; now it's up to us to follow it.

My Mother and Me

What is it about almost losing someone that brings home how important they are to you?

My mother recently underwent surgery. Due to complications from the surgery and various other risk factors, she developed a possibly fatal condition that was B"H caught before it could actually become fatal.

But the danger was real.

I've had my differences with my mother in the past – teenage angst and whatnot. We're too much alike and too different at the same time to live together on a regular basis without some kind of fiery display every week or so.

That's ended.

I'm married now, out of the house. I come and go, call to wish good Shabbos, bring over my laundry and raid her cabinets. We've become closer, more equal, with me gaining confidence in our relationship that no longer blows up in my face every so often. Of course, there are still ups and downs. Our relationship isn't perfect, but I see more potential than I used to.

Since the surgery and the complication that arose from it, I'm starting to view my mother differently. I imagine my life without her in it, and I can't see it.

The gaping hole in the tapestry of my life that would exist if I lost her C"V is too raw to exist. Its ragged edges tear at me as I reflect on how badly I've treated her in the past. How casually I treated her, how little I appreciated her.

She loves me like no one else in the world can. She waited for me for so many years, bore me for 9 pain-filled months, delivered me through hours of labor, and this is how I've been treating her?? What's wrong with me? Where is my hakaras hatov?

But now that I almost lost her, I can see things more clearly.

I can see her love for me even when she's at her most annoying. I can see that the things about her that most grate on my nerves are really just her way of expressing that love.

And I can see my love for her and draw on it so I can be the daughter she needs me to be at this critical time.

So, what is it about almost losing someone that brings out how important they are to you? It's the shift in your view of the world – a world without that person – and the realization that it's a much better place with them in it.

Long Time No Speak

You know how it is when you call up a friend you haven't spoken to in a while? You finally work up the courage to call, and it's just so.... stilted. There's that awkward "hi, it's me. How are you?" that starts off the conversation. Then there's that standard silence where the other person tries to figure out who you are and why you're calling. When they finally place you, there's an "Oh hi! What's new with you?" and the conversation (if there is any) flows from there.

Lately, though, it's been worse. Every time I speak to someone I haven't spoken to since I got married they ask "Nu, so how's married life?"

I've kinda been feeling that way about the blog. I've wanted to write. It's been so long since my last post and I've had a lot to say (most of which have gone the way of all good thoughts - out of memory).

But I've been scared of the awkward silence. Of all my readers having gone on to more frequently posted pastures. Of calling into the blogosphere and having everyone be thinking "Musing Maidel, who's that?"

But I've bitten the bullet.

I've said something.

Hi. How are you? How've you been the last few months? I'm back in the world of the posting and hope to pop in relatively frequently.

And yes, B"H, married life is wonderful. Busy, but wonderful...

Two Weeks and Counting...

Succos Repost

I'm too much of a KBS-er to come up with a new torah thought, so I'm reposting the one from last year - Hoshanos and Hakafos.

Enjoy!

Also, I was talking to a friend of mine about sheitels. IY"H, I'm going to be wearing one in a few short weeks, but I find that my attitude towards it is that I'm excited to wear a sheitel as a symbol of the fact that I'm married, and nothing else. The main reason I'm excited about it is out of laziness (no more doing my hair :D), not of any type of ruchniyus thing.

So now I'm looking for thoughts. Anyone have any interesting/inspiring thoughts on sheitels? Why do we wear them? What should our attitude be toward them? Links and recommendations for books and articles welcome.

Don't all shout out at once!

The Ultimate Kallah Brain

Before I got engaged, I heard rumors of the Kallah Brain syndrome, or KBS. It is a genetic disorder that is triggered upon engagement. Its symptoms include dreamy smiles, twinkling eyes, and a distinct preoccupation with a certain someone to the exclusion of all others. It then progresses to an air of general forgetfulness, preoccupation, and selfishness, which means to say that those diagnosed with KBS have no time for anything and anyone not wedding- or post-wedding- related. Especially their still uninfected friends.

It is very easy to diagnose those suffering from KBS. If someone you know has recently gotten engaged and has continued on to the wedding planning stage, be on the lookout for the telling signs of KBS. Sufferers thereof are a menace to society and should be stopped at all costs.

In all seriousness, though, KBS is easy to diagnose in others; not so much in yourself. Ever since I got engaged, as I wrote in my first NEF post, my friends have been telling me that I'm the worst (or best) NEF they've ever seen. One particular friend who I spoke to very often while I was going out with TLC would make fun of me all the at the beginning of my engagement. Everyone told me that I was a floaty kallah to top all floaty kallahs.

But somehow, I didn't see it. Until today, that is.

It was finally brought home to me that I am indeed a sufferer of KBS. In fact, my case is probably one of the worst ones known to femalekind.

In one day, I had three KBS-induced moments that I feel the urge to share for some reason, but only one of them is still funny in writing, so I'll only share one.

It happened as I was leaving the office today. I got into the elevator (my office is on the 6th floor) and waited to get out. And waited. And waited. Until finally, I realized that the elevator was no longer moving. Uh oh. It must have gotten stuck. I looked at the panel that says what floor the elevator was up to. And lo and behold, it was still at 6. One very KBS-y kallah had forgotten to press the 1 button.

One can argue that such circumstantial evidence as the above story does not render a person a sufferer of KBS. But the signs of my stricken-ness are clear.

I think this post proves it. If it doesn't make any sense, and I'm sure it doesn't, just remewell - I'm a KBS-er, and that excuses anything :D

G'mar Chasima Tova to All!

May we all be inscribed in the Book of Life this year.

I never know what to say at times like these, so I'm going to borrow from Staying Afloat.

I ask that if I have accidentally offended or slighted someone in a post or a comment, or through omission, that you please forgive me for the oversight.

Hope you all have an easy, meaningful, and prayerful fast.

Y'malei Hashem Kol Mishalos Libchem L'tova
(May Hashem answer all the wishes of your heart - for good)

No Comment

Sorry for the radio silence folks. I did warn you...

It's not so much that I have nothing to say, but that I have no time to say it in.

So far, we have a couch, an apt, a bedroom set, a china closet, a table, some bookcases, flatware, and lots of other things.

I've picked out 2 sets of corelle, 1 of china.

I have my leichter and a tray to put it on.

We have the wedding basically planned - all that's left to do is send out the invitations (which we don't have yet - help!) and pick out the flowers.

There are lots of stuff that we don't yet have, but are conveniently listed on our registry at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. (If you feel the urge to give, email me, and I'll give you the name to search for :D)

That's all for now. Ksiva V'Chasima Tova and a gut g'bentched yur. This year should be one of brocha, hatzlocha, simcha, and yeshuah for us and all of klal yisroel.  If I have accidentally hurt someone with what I said on my blog or in comments, I publicly ask your mechila and hope you forgive me - out loud.

Daven well everyone!

My Bubby, My Wedding, and Me

I’m five years old. Long Shabbos afternoons are so boring. The only thing that breaks the monotony is Bubby; she’s willing to play with me. We play the same game every Shabbos. We take one of my crinolines – one that has an attached undershirt – and use it as my gown. A half slip goes over my hair as a veil.

And every Shabbos afternoon, Bubby walks me down the long hallway of her apartment to meet my chosson. The hallway stretches from the back of the apartment all the way to the front, miles to my young eyes. Bubby is dressed in her Shabbos best, her short, ashy-blond sheitel and Shabbos clothes that only my Bubby can wear.

Together, we walk down the aisle to meet my imaginary chosson. He always has the same name: Moshe Zacks. I’m not sure where that name came from. I have no recollection of ever having met a Moshe Zacks. But somehow, I know that that’s my chosson’s name.

We walk down the hallway with measured steps, circle the designated chair seven times, and lift up my makeshift veil.

I’m married. Again.

Time passes. I’ve grown up a bit. Now I’m almost ten.

Bubby’s been in the hospital, and I don’t know why. I’m too young for adults to tell me what’s wrong, too young to understand what’s happening, too young to comprehend what happens when death touches a family.

Too young to lose my only grandmother.

But I did.

She won’t be with me when I walk down the aisle to meet my real chosson (whose name is not Moshe Zacks). She won’t be there to help me get dressed in the pristine white gown that I’m going to wear to walk down the aisle with measured steps. She won’t hold my hand as I circle him seven times to build the wall around him as we start our new lives together.

And she won’t be there to hug me and wish us mazel tov as we make our way back from the chupa. She won’t be there to dance with me; she won’t be there to wish me joy in my new life.

She won’t be there to see her great-grandchildren that I hope to bring into this world. And she won’t be there to watch me raise them in her derech.

Most of all, she won’t be there to alleviate the boredom of my five year old daughters by playing the same game on those long Shabbos afternoons. She won’t be there to dress my daughters in crinolines and slips and walk them down the long hallway of her apartment to meet their imaginary chassanim.

Every Shabbos afternoon.

Oh, Family!

There's nothing like a wedding to get relatives crawling out of the woodworks.

My mother and I were just working on our invitation list, and you wouldn't believe how many relatives we have that I've never even met. Sure, I know Great Aunt Sophy, and I vaguely remember seeing a 20 year old picture of her husband who died 15 years ago when I was about 6 years old. But I have zero recollection of ever having met her assorted nieces, nephews, and grandchildren who apparently all  have to be invited to my wedding.

And that's just Aunt Sophy.

We mustn't forget about Great-great-Uncle Louis. Great-great-uncle Louis vanished from the family tree 60 years ago when he came to America and cut off his peyos to work on Shabbos, but suddenly we have to invite all 60 of his grandchildren even though we haven't seen hide nor hair of them since 10 years before I was born.

And the list goes on ... Aunt Shirley, Tante Faigy, Bubby Suzanne, ...

They come from all sides and corners of the globe. They come in all shapes and colors, all streaks and designs.

And they all need to be invited to the wedding.

I wonder if we'll be able to invite anyone we actually know to this wedding of mine. With all these related strangers, we'll have no problem hitting even the largest minimum at any hall.

The only question is if my parents and I can make it. Will we fit???

(Just so you know, I'm totally exaggerating. I don't have that many relatives. Almost, but not quite. But we are inviting plenty of family members that I've never heard of.)

Top 10 Thoughts of an NEF

As one of the newly engaged (fondly [or not so fondly :)] known as an NEF), I consider myself somewhat of an expert on what it is that an NEF thinks about. Truthfully, I can only say this from my own recent experience, but everything mentioned has gone through my head at least once.

10.   I have a chosson. I HAVE A CHOSSON. I HAVE A CHOSSON!?!?!?!?
9.     Look at the clouds go by … things are so lovely up here on cloud 9 … the rainbows are so pretty … the sky is so blue ...
8.     The wedding is all planned, but there’s so much I need to do. I need to get my pots, pans, silverware, china, paper goods, sheva brochos outfits, get my ring sized, pick up the dry cleaning, cook for Shabbos because my chosson is coming over, call my inlaws, go to my chosson’s sister’s niece’s wedding, run to work, run to the store, do my homework….
7.    My chosson is coming. I have to go do my hair and makeup so I can look beautiful for him.
6.    This isn’t really happening. These kinds of things only happen to other girls. They get engaged – not me.
5.    I’m getting married. I’M GETTING MARRIED. I’M GETTING MARRIED?!?!?
3.    Rose colored glasses really change your perspective on things.
2.    I have a chosson. I HAVE A CHOSSON. I HAVE A CHOSSON!?!?!?!?
 
And the number one thought running through an NEF's mind (at least this NEF)  -
1.    I’m no longer in shidduchim!!!!!!!! I don’t have to worry about what the shadchanim are going to think of me because the only one who matters now is the chosson – and if he’s not seeing me, I don’t need to really get dressed.


NOTE: Yes, I know #4 is missing, but come on - have you ever seen an NEF who could count?

MAZEL TOV!!!!!

It seems that a wave of engagements is sweeping the blogosphere, B"H. I just became a kallah. My chosson (hereafter to be known as TLC [the lucky chosson]) has been keeping me busy, so I haven't had much time to post.  (I did also have a lot of weddings, but that wasn't the only reason for the lack of posting - it was just an excuse :D.)

For all those who are curious, I told him about my blog on our second date, but he didn't find out the URL until Sunday morning, which was a little awkward... (me: "You can't read it - it's private!" TLC: "You can show it to the world, but not to me?" me: "It's different when random strangers are reading it etc."). It's OK - we worked it out. Maybe one day I'll ask him to guest post.

This marks the beginning of a new epoch in my blogging life as SIBW said. I'm no longer in shidduchim (Chasdei Hashem Ki Lo Samnu), but I'm not married yet. I am an NEF (Newly Engaged Friend), and my friends tell me I'm the worst (or the best :) ) NEF they've ever had.

So, stay tuned for a new series - from the mind of an NEF ...

(I'm sorry if this post doesn't really make sense - I'm still on the post-vort, having-TLC-and-his-parents-over-for-shabbos exhaustion stage)

Top Posts

I'm starting to compile a list of favorite posts on Musings of a Maidel. I'd love to hear from my readers. Can you leave your top picks and what you like about them in the comments section?

Thanks so much!

Sorry, no post

Baruch Hashem, I've had a busy last week or so. What with tisha b'av, and then weddings every night, plus working full time (or as full time as I'm able with all these weddings :) ), I haven't had much time to think, let alone write up a post. Bli neder, I'll be back soon when I have time to breathe.

Until then, oif simchos!

Scarred Hearts

Children are more emotional than adults. When I was younger, the tears were so close to the surface, anything could set them off. If I got hurt, even the teeniest scratch, I would cry. If I heard of someone else getting hurt, I would cry. And if I heard of someone in emotional pain, my heart went out to them.

Every pain that I heard of, every time that I cried scarred my heart. It had been fresh, young, unblemished. But as I grew older, each tzara that I heard about added another layer of scar tissue to the surface of my heart.

And then the defense mechanism kicked in.

If something is known to hurt you, you're not going to chase after it. More likely, you'd run away. When a heart mangled with so many tzaros, so many wounds and scars, realizes what causes its pain, it shuts itself off. Emotion is still there. But the outreach, the feeling for others just …

Disappears.

And now, I can no longer bring out the emotion for others that I used to have. That empathy is not gone, but severely depleteed. When I hear of a tzaar in klal yisroel, I don't cry. I maybe say a kapitol tehillim, but I can't find the tears. I can't find the emotion that used to define me.

Sometimes it hits close to home. That girl who just had twins – Chana Ruchama b-s Tziporah Faiga (she should have a refuah shleima) – is my age. She's my friend's friend. That hurt. But not as much as it would have hurt 10, 5, even 1 year ago. There's just too much tzaar.

The thing is that we as Yidden have an achrayus to be there for our brethren. We have to physically remove the scabs on our hearts and let them feel what we need them to feel. As Yechezkel says (36:26)והסרתי את-לב האבן, מבשרכם, ונתתי לכם, לב בשר (I will remove the stone heart from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh).

The second Beis Hamikdash was destroyed because of Sinas Chinam (baseless hatred).

Now is the time to fix this mistake so we can greet mashiach on Tuesday.

Now is the time to get rid of our scars and hearts of stone and replace them with a flesh, loving heart that can open itself to the rest of klal yisroel.

Parshas Matos-Maasei

Taken from Rabbi Baruch Lederman's ShulWeek

 
The Torah gives very explicit instructions. The Torah tells us what to do. It also tells us how, when and where to do it. Every detail is spelled out. Just like using a washing machine, when you read and adhere to the directions, all will be well. If not, things will go awry, as the following true story, documented in Parsha Parables by Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky, illustrates:



It was the eve of December 25th, 1776. General George Washington was reeling from his crushing defeats in New York. In a bold and daring move, he had decided to cross the ice-filled Delaware River and attack Trenton, New Jersey. He planned to surprise the thousands of Hessian troops guarding that portal. He did not know that his surprise attack was almost no surprise. A farmer, a British sympathizer knocked on the door where the Hessian Commander, Colonel Johann Rall was attending a holiday party. Rall had always scoffed at the thought of attack, boasting, "Those clod-hoppers will not attack us!"



The farmer had heard of the plans and seen the movement across the shore. He wanted to get the message to the Colonel but he could not get past a servant who accepted a note which spelled out Washington's plans and handed it to the commander. Rall, however, was in the middle of a card game and would not be interrupted. He stuffed the paper in his pocket without even glancing at it. He continued playing through the night until he collapsed from drunken exhaustion.



At dawn, Washington attacked. His ammunition was so waterlogged that his troops could hardly fire a shot. They did not need to. The Hessians were drowsy from the previous night's festivities and the Colonial Army's bayonets were as sharp as the troops' spirit. After an overwhelming onslaught in which the colonists took nearly 900 prisoners, Rall who was mortally wounded, surrendered. As the doctor cut away his jacket, a note fell out. Rall read it and mournfully said, "If I only had read this last night, I would not be here today."



The Rosh Yeshiva or Chofetz Chaim ztl, told us that when he was a youth, he told his father, Reb Dovid Leibowitz ztl, that he was thinking about becoming a doctor instead of a Rabbi. His father replied, "Try preventive medicine." He was telling his son that if we learn and follow the dictates of the Torah our lives will be enriched both physically and spiritually.



Dedicated by Anonymous for the release of Gilad Shalit.

On Being Old

Every Shabbos, I visit this little old lady, Mrs. Gold.  She’s very cute, a real young at heart 90-something year old. She loves it when we come, singing Yiddish songs, telling us about her week, and sharing stories of her life.

One particular story that she loves to tell over and over again is about herself and a handsome young doctor. He was young, single, and good looking. All the women would go to the beauty parlor and hair salon to get made up before they went to visit Dr. Dave.  Though all the ladies fancied Dr. Dave, Dr. Dave fancied Mrs. Gold (before she married Mr. Gold, of course :P). Mrs. Gold’s first name is Dina, and Dr. Dave would chase after her saying “Dina, I want my dinna (dinner).”

She always ends this story with a little nostalgic smile, as if she wishes that she had married Dr. Dave.

I was thinking about it a few weeks ago.

When this lady (may she live until 120) passes on, one of the things I will most remember her for is this story of Dr. Dave, as well as the other stories she tells us every week.

The thing is that nearly all the stories she tells are from her early 20s – the age I am now.

What we do today becomes our stories of tomorrow, next year, ten years, fifty years from now.

I want my stories to be good ones. Stories of chessed and kindness, of selflessness and giving.

And if that’s the way I want to be remembered, I’d better start living up to that future memory.

Now.

Random Question

Does anyone else find the journey's song "The Shadchan" (lyrics here and sample music here) depressing?

I feel like it's supposed to be inspiring; I even saw a website call it whimsical.  But somehow, I always feel like crying when I hear it. Lately (read: since I started shidduchim), I've just been skipping it whenever it comes up.

Anyone else out there feel this way?