The Corner Point

Bliss

2012-01-04T21:52:00.000-05:00

My whole being is on fire. The love courses through my veins, pulsing hot and thick, making my limbs tremble.

He sits, heavy in my lap, drowsy and weighted, his hair smelling of sweetness and standing out in puffy spikes like it does after each bath. He gives a contented sigh and melts in further, nuzzling his cheek against the soft of my sweatshirt and letting his eyes close.

There were hard days and long nights. A thousand dreams were born and died, a thousand tears traced letters down my face and into my arms. A million whispered, feverish prayers, a lifetime of yearning…

And now, this. This moment, this golden boy, this gift beyond all the fleeting dreams I ever had. I look into his face, trace the lines on his eyelids, feel the soft warmth of his sleeping breath. He is alive, warm and heavy, and my breath catches.

There will doubtless still be hard days and long nights. There might be times of whispered conversations with G-d and days of tears and longing. But right now, holding this living, breathing, wondrous gift, holding him tight and feeling his aliveness with every heartbeat…this is tasting a tiny bit of gan eden.

I am a mommy.

Child

2010-01-17T17:32:00.002-05:00

They take me around everywhere.

Sometimes they take me to a nice place, like the benches on the side of the building where I can watch the children from the other apartments play and laugh and run around. Sometimes they knock into me which makes me upset and then I yell at them but usually they’re nice and they say hello and good morning to me.

Other times they take me to places I don’t like. I get angry and I tell them I don’t want to go but they take me anyway. She tells me that I have to come but I don’t want to listen. I yell and curse in every language I know, which makes her angry, too. They take me by the arms and help me walk while I spit out my anger. Why are they so mean to me? I did nothing wrong…

We are walking across the street. I think there is a house behind me, but I don’t remember where we are coming from. I am sad and a little upset and I am mumbling under my breath because I don’t know what else to do. She is asking me what is wrong, but I don’t know how to answer. So I keep mumbling. Then she smiles and says cheerfully, “We are going to Chani’s house! You love Chani!” I don’t know who Chani is…. All I know is Chana’le and she lives down the dirt path from my house and I have not seen her in a few days. The trees are turning colors.They are pretty, but they are so different than any trees I know. They are short and their leaves are yellow. I have never seen trees with yellow leaves. I feel confused.

We go into the house. She puts me into a chair and ties a big napkin around my neck. I feel tired, and the chair is stiff. And I feel hungry, but my hands shake and the food spills off the fork. She feeds me a little. But I am angry at her still, so I eat slowly and I spit some things out and I tell her she is bad and evil. She is patient with me. Why is she so nice?

Around the table are many children. They talk fast and I cannot understand anything they are saying. They all come over and say hello to me and wish me a gut yom tov, and they all seem to know me. I do not recognize any of them, but one little boy looks like my brother, Shmuel’ke. I wonder where Chana’le is. They are all talking fast and loud. I am tired of listening and eating. I fall asleep in my chair.

Sometimes my dreams wake me. I’m a little girl, standing in the dirt-floored kitchen, watching my Mama mixing challah dough. And then I’m a few years older and I’m standing in the forest and it’s cold and everyone is lying on the ground except me. I cry out and get tangled in my blanket. I hear her coming down the hall in her heavy slippers. She comes over to my bed and strokes my face. “It’s ok, Mommy, it’s ok…you’re just having a nightmare.”

But she doesn’t understand….. My nightmares are not when I sleep. In the dreams, I know who everybody is. In the dreams, I know the houses and the roads and the forests. When I’m sleeping, I understand. When I wake up, the nightmares begin…

To my Tante Adele...

May you soon find comfort and peace even within your nightmares.

kashering the insides

2009-11-17T16:57:00.003-05:00

I sit back on my heels and feel the fridge behind me. Gratefully, I slump against it and let the muscles in my arms and back relax.

I’m exhausted.

And my oven is still disgustingly filthy.

Some halachos are relatively easy to keep. If you were lucky enough to have learned to say brachos as soon as you started to talk, remembering to make them on food can be something you do without any effort. Or something like helping the elderly shopper next to you read the price it says on the label of the can of corn she’s holding. Or being kind and friendly to the woman who runs the cash register at the dry cleaners. Sometimes keeping mitzvos is easy; they're the kind of things that don't take up much energy and you know they're the right thing to do. Then there are those mitzvos that are not just easy, but doing them makes you feel good, too.

And then there are the mitzvos that are tedious and hard. That sap you of physical energy and wear you down. That sometimes you secretly wish you didn’t have to keep.

So I sit here on the floor leaning against the fridge, my arms heavy and aching, my nose burning from inhaling the cleaner I’m using, my knees raw from kneeling on the hard floor for hours, my arms scratched from reaching into too many sharp corners, feeling like there is no end in sight. My oven is hopeless. I’m feeling kind of hopeless, too. (Do I get a new oven? New grates? Do I just keep cleaning? Is there a halacha that permits one to stop cleaning after having cleaned a certain amount of hours? And what in the world is wrong with the couple who lived in this apartment before us?!? How in heaven's name can you live in such a disgusting kitchen???)

And then suddenly I think of my grandmother.

Cleaning the floors of a Polish police station on all fours. Without rubber gloves to protect her hands. Probably with poor cleaning utensils to help her with the job. Scrubbing hard, because her life depended on it.

And I think about my great grandmother, and her mother, and hers. They cleaned, too. They kashered their homes with just rags and cold water and perhaps some soap if they could find it. They toiled for hours over their kitchens.

Why?

Because Hashem said so. So they did.

And I sit here with steel wool and cold grease cleanser and paper towels and Windex and rubber gloves and hot running water. And I complain that it’s too hard to keep a kosher kitchen?

I take a deep breath. I go back to the oven grates that are sitting in the bathtub and scrub as if my life depended on it.

Because does it not?

What does my life depend on if not keeping His Will to the best of my ability?

And I sort of feel proud to have such hardworking women standing behind me. I can almost hear them whispering small words of encouragement. They would be proud of my work, I think. This is hard for me, and I am tackling it with all I have, despite my exhaustion and the niggling thoughts of giving up. As I scrub, I take my mind off the aches and instead feel grateful for the tools He’s given me to help me keep His mitzvos. I whisper my thoughts upward as I work.

Soon…perhaps in one hour, perhaps in many…my oven will be clean.

And I'm beginning to feel a little cleaner, too...

mishap....?

2008-12-09T22:36:00.009-05:00

i lost a key.

but

it's okay.

cuz look--

it was so close...................................

imagine i'd lost the enter

....................or the backspace

i'd be stuck with long-winded-paragraphs-going-on-foreverwithoutbreaks

........and lost of misrtakes

so i lost a key

but see?

i'm lucky

Mosaica

2008-09-09T18:54:00.005-04:00

in..........and..............out....................

........................in..........out........

.................in.......................

...................out......................................

.....sporadic.......................

..................................................halting

.........................frag-

................................mented....

splinters.........

..........................shards

.................................................twinkling

.......................................mockingly.............

...........as I

..lay.....

......................................................pant

..............................................................ing

....how....

.......................................?

You

..You...

........see it...

.............whole

.................streamlined

...............unblemished

............unbroken

.........pure

not.........................as...........

...................I............................................

.........................for me...

................................................strewn

......fragments...

......................glittering...

...........................................razor-sharp....

.....but that's

.............................because...

..I.....................................see it..............

......from......................

..........................eye........................

.........................level.......................

.......................................................as I

.......struggle...........to

.....................stand.

..But You

............see things

...................from clearer

.................................angles.

...........................You see

....................not broken

...............shards of

.......glass...but

mosaics.

.....And......when.........I

...........am............finally....

..able......................to regain..

..................my..........

..............................balance......

................I.....can..

..................start

................to

..........see

.......it

too

big

2008-08-01T01:39:00.003-04:00

i am
the small one

the stepladder girl
the tiptoe stander
using wooden spoons to get down the cocoa powder
asking attendatns to reach the size small from the top rack
too short to be noticed at the deli checkout counter

i am small
in a too-big world

a fast world
pushy
swift
strong undertow
of ostensible enormity

it's noisy
and big
vast
confusing
distorted
intimidating

but i am light
lithe
agile
i can jump up
climb
if i need to

and i can see the small things
that the big people miss

i may not reach the cocoa
or the highest rack
or the deli counter
...
but i can reach the grass
and the puddles
and the stray lost objects
and the inchworms

and

...the other small people

big, really

in a small way

Chaos theory

2008-06-15T02:13:00.007-04:00

To the casual observer (who on that day happened to have been a teacher's assistant candidate, poking her head into my classroom on her interview tour of the school), the room was arranged in various gradations of barely controlled chaos.

As always, when I sense a newcomer to my room, I quickly scan the goings-on around me and try to see what kind of an impression I'm making on my guest.

What was known to our class that day as snacktime must have appeared to have been a three ring circus to Little Miss Petrified-But-Smiling-As-If-She's-Immensely-Enjoying-Herself. About a quarter of the class was sitting in varying stages of decorum, although Dena was still tipping her chair back on two legs, even after her twice-learned painful lesson from yesterday. Rikki was calmly pouring the contents of her water bottle onto the table and her neighbor's skirt (bless you, Mrs. Diamond, for only sending in mini water bottles!!), four other girls were loudly cheering in a sort of game they developed similar to a beer-drinking contest, Ahuva was attempting to fly off her chair, hummingbird-stlyle, Yael was innocently trying to stick her cucumber spear into her unsuspecting friend's right ear, Rochel's fruit cup peaches had flown everywhere, and Devorah and Chedva were running over to tell me that, wonder of woners, Chana Simcha had made her way into the potted plants again and was attempting to submerge her nose in with the radish sprouts (remind me next time that potting soil and five-year-olds do not make good companions, will you??). In fact, most of the children were either being very loud or very active or very sneaky, but besides for the lovely darling in the plants, I was not worried.

The assistant-to-be hopeful stood by the door, looking slightly overwhelmed. First taking in the entire scene of flying children, and then directing her attention to each individual commotion, I could see her gulp and almost heard her thoughts screaming, "Will my class be like this too?? This is nuts!! I can't do something like this...." The director, well familiar by now with my little brood, just smiled knowingly at me and proceeded to usher the poor girl down the hall to a (thankfully for her) much more dignified and rather dull class. I chuckled and turned back to my children.

AsI surveyed the classroom once more, I tried to picture purely what she saw: Children being very loud, leaving their seats, jumping up and down, making trouble and messes and who knows what. And to be very honest, that's exactly what was going on.

But things were really very, very different from what she perceived. Because although it seemed to any outsider like unrestrained chaos, there was in fact a very strong backbone of stability and mutual understanding in my class even at the exact moment that they looked so positively flying. I've spent a year with my children, and as a result of observing them day after day in countless situations and experiences, I've come to understand each child with a comprehension that even allows me to predict what they will do next. I know each one's needs and wants, what she will respond to, how she will cope when X happens, and I know that I have control over the classroom. I know that when I say, "Girls, guess what time it is?" they will automatically all jump up and put their garbage in the garbage can and wipe up their messes and come on to the carpet. And that's exactly what they did on that day, as they do every day. At this point of the year, I allow them to be a bit more silly than they were in the beginning, to sing a little louder and come out of their seats more and even do a little bit of harmless trouble for creativity's sake, and that's because I know them so well, and they in turn know me so well, that it's okay at this point. No, not just okay, but good for them. And good for me. Good for their development and happiness and love of school and of life...

And then, with the slowly dawning realization that sometimes creeps up on you when you're not particularly looking for it, I became conscious of the fact that I had just experienced one of the most essential life lessons without even putting my mind to it. On that day my classroom was not just a place for children to learn; it also turned out to be (to the ever-esoterically-inclined characters like myself) a small-scale model of the School where all of us learn our Lessons.

So often we observe what happens around us, and it seems to us like utter pandemonium. We see untold pain, confusion, suffering, horrific events, frightening accounts of accidents, abuse, mass destruction...and we ourselves often stumble around blindly, not understanding or knowing why or how or who or when... To the observers, there is no design, no plan that this is all following. It is simply nonsensical and irrational and in a state of acute disorder.

But things are really very, very different from what we perceive. There is a Plan. There is Someone directing all of this. This is not chaos, but rather a finely orchestrated and executed design which we find ourselves living through. He knows us so well, in fact better than we even know ourselves, understanding exactly what's good for us and what's not. And He will always make sure that we are safe and well cared for and learning in the optimum environments that we can.

And so so often, whether we find ourselves either as the student teacher observing from afar, or as a child in the class experiencing it firsthand, we will look around and say "This is nuts! I can't do this!!..." But we can. Because there is the knowledge that we can just look to the Morah and remind ourselves that she really knows what she's doing by now. That she really has everything under control. That she's doing everything in her power to ensure the best learning and growing experience for her students. That there is a security and stability even within the seemingly confusing environment.

Life can be confusing. Very, very confusing. But I've learned that I'm sent my messages at exactly the time I need to hear them. My G-d is so good to me...

I was blessed with a very productive and growth-filled year. Thank you, my precious little teachers, for helping me learn so much.....

Oh, cuties!!.......you will be so missed...

Snowglobes

2008-04-06T20:57:00.007-04:00

It's a bright sunny spring day. My friend and I walk into Sharper Image. She makes a beeline to the massage chairs, deposits her bags unceremoniously on the floor next to the biggest, softest, black leather chair, collapses into its silky depths, and gives a sigh of relief that seems to be audible throughout the store. Smiling inwardly, I steer myself in the other direction, towards the shelves of small gadgets. No massage chairs for me. I won't waste my time now on stuff like that when there is tantalizingly uncharted territory to claim...

After the first few minutes of browsing mildly through the latest utility knives, alarm clocks, golf ball retrievers (?!), ipod speakers, 15 foot tree pruners, and the like, my eye ironically settles on something so unremarkable, I wonder why it has caught my attention. Curous, I walk closer to the corner shelf, crouch down, and inspect my find. It seems to be a snowglobe. A bit more oblong than the usual spherical shape, flat on the bottom where it rests on the shelf, filled with water and miniature items. But something is wrong. It isn't pretty. Far from, actually. Tiny particles of dust or debris hang suspended in the water, an algae covered, stiff, spiky plant is submerged in the flakes that cover the bottom of the globe, and the the off-colored flakes themselves are of the last things remimiscent of snow. Weird... In Sharper Image?..... There's gotta be some kind of shtick here...

I pick up the globe, relishing its weighted balance. In a smooth snowglobe-y motion, I swirl it upside down and rightside up. But...instead of the glidey swoosh of the flakes that usually happens in normal snowglobes, this snowglobe goes... CLUNK

Huh?

Apparently this is no snowglobe.

I put down the orb, and only then do I notice the modest, but quite noticeable (why hadn't I seen it before?...) note taped on the shelf just underneath my "snowglobe":

"Please Don't Disturb Our Ecosystem"

Oh my. And I had succeeded in doing just that, apparently.

I peer closer. The water is now quite full of particles, but now they are whirling tiredly instead of just suspended. The plant is askew, swaying slightly, tails of algae undulating in the swirling current. The things I had thought of as dirty flakes turn out to be gravel, and--goodness!--there are little living beings swimming here too! Teeny tiny shrimp-like fishy things, and seemingly terrified from the rate and direction they're swimming. Yikes. Disturb the ecosystem I definitely have just done.

Feeling oddly foolish and more than just a bit bad for my poor pertrified friends, I glance around to see if anyone has seen me and my blatant misdeed. Thankfully, most of the other patrons are enraptured by other, more exciting items than ecosystems. I breathe a sigh of relief quite a few decibel levels lower than my friend's, and glide away from the scene of the crime.

Over on the far side of the store, I rest my elbows on a shelf of electric toothbrushes and let my thougths swirl over me like dancing white flakes. But it's only when I come home much later and stand in front of the sink with my own (manual) toothbrush in hand, that the flurry seems to settle, and in doing so, bring thoughts into sharp relief suspended in the globe of my mind.

My life is chock-full of snowglobes.

We all have our own little orbs, neat little packages of plexiglass, filled with all kinds of interesting goodies. For the most part, our snowglobes have similar contents, but each individual's contains something--or multiple things--that makes it special and unique. Snowglobes are interesting. They're made to be. They're meant to attract attention, to call out to us, to beckon to us, for us to notice and take interest in and learn about and cherish......but they also come with neat little notices posted in plain sight right near them, warning us to be careful. And if you act like I did, being curious and trying to learn more and be helpful without remembering to have a careful look around first, you run the risk of missing the signs. And the stakes are quite high. Because it's more than just algae and fish that are disturbed when we're dealing thoughtlessly with the snowglobes in our lives...

Pay attention.

Look. See the sign? This is a whole world I'm touching now--a real, living, breathing, thriving ecosystem. Careful....

Neshamos beckon. Go, help.

But handle with care.

A shluffie meme

2008-03-24T19:48:00.001-04:00

I was debating whether to post this or not, but then I thought, "Eh, why not?" so I decided eh, why not... (If you get that, it was meant for you :-P)

Thanks, Po, for tagging me :-)

1. How much sleep do you get on an average night?

About 5 hours or less on a weekday, up to 10 on those amazing long Friday nights, and about 3-7 on Motzaei Shabbos

2. Is that enough sleep for you?

I'm one of those oddballs who function perfectly on progressively less and less sleep. Sometimes I crash after a few weeks, sometimes I don't. Hey, surprises are exciting!

3. At what time do you normally go to sleep and wake up?

Roughly 1:30 am to 6:30 am

4. Do you usually fall asleep right away or have trouble?

Depends. Most nights I go out pretty fast, but not always. And it's annoying because it's those times that I'm exhausted that I often lay there for hours...wondering how I'm ever going to fall asleep...which of course helps me stay awake longer.....

5. What size bed do you have?

Uh....size 6? :-P I honestly have no clue. Full? Twin? All I know is that it's bigger than your standard camp-size mattress. And I only take up about a third of it

6. How many pillows do you use?

One fairly flat, fairly springy one

7. In what position do you sleep?

Start off on my left side, curled up, my hands bent at the wrists curled tightly under my chin, and wake up on my right side with my hands usually still around there. The left-to-right switch took a bit of conscious training, but according to the Rambam it's a healthy practice.

8. Do you need it to be quiet or dark to sleep?

Yes, both, but once I'm sleeping, I'm usually out cold. I've been known to sleep through the biggest storms in 30 years and earsplitting fire alarms and my friend's snoring (which has been known to wake the dead, incidentally...)

9. Do you use earplugs or an eye mask?

Such desperate measures? It's only sleep, remember... :-P (Earplugs? ouch...)

10. Have you ever used a sleeping aid long-term?

Nope. In fact, I think those OTC sleep aid tylenol-type medications make me stay up longer. Dunno why, but when I try taking them to help me fall asleep faster, my heart feels like I've just been running. Odd... Any insight into that, anyone?

11. Do you use headgear, a night retainer, or a biteplate?

Retainers, upper and lower, just about every night. I should mention that I got my braces off in the sixth grade :-)

12. What do you normally wear to bed?

Pajama pants, long sleeve t-shirt, skirt (don't ask...looong story. No, I wasn't brainwashed by my seminary...), and sometimes socks until I'm ready to fall asleep.

13. Do you frequently fall asleep in your clothing?

Never. Maybe happened like once in sem for a nap late at night, but I firmly believe in pajamas and clean teeth and Shema.

14. Do you prefer a heavy or light blanket?

I get too hot under heavy blankets, but I have one that's thin but still pleasantly weighted. Us sensory-issued people appreciate abundant but not overwhelming proprioceptive input :-D

15. Do you prefer warm or cool PJs?

Cool! I'd take freezing over warm any day. In fact, as I type this, my hands are icy. Ahh...bliss...

16. Do you wear socks to bed?

On occasion. I need to feel cool, though, so I usually take 'em off before I'm ready to go to sleep. (Might as well stick this in on the topic of cool: I sleep with a clip-on fan on my bed even in the dead of winter. Yeah, it's okay if you're confused. Most people don't get that :-D)

17. What is your bedtime routine?

Pajamas, teeth, face, exerpts from various books/seforim, tehillim if I hadn't managed to finish it during the day, Shema, and g'nite wishes to any family members still up. (The latter doesn't happen every night...)

18. Do you listen to music when you’re falling asleep?

Only if it's noisy in the room and I can't fall asleep cuz of it or if I'm thinking too much and just need something distracting to help me fall asleep.

19. Have you sucked your thumb in recent years?

Ummm...do pinkie toes count? :-P And anyway, who needs thumbs when you have spectacular corners? (For clarification, feel free to ask :-D)

20. Do you still sleep with your childhood blankie/teddy?

No. The teddy is on a shelf, and I honestly wish I still had Blankety. Yellow, satin-edged, dog-eared, pilly thing. Gosh, I miss him...

21. Do you snore?

No, thankfully. Though I've been around plenty of snorers, and it's probably worse to sleep across from one than be one yourself...

22. Do you sleeptalk or sleepwalk?

I've been told I sleeptalk. More like sleep-mumble, but I'm petrified that one day I'm gonna yell out that I really DO hate so-and-so, and I really DID steal that whatever...gulp...

23. Do you wake up to use the bathroom often?

Not usually. Would you like to know my showering schedule now, too?

24. What things inhabit your bed aside from a blanket and pillow?

Ahh, I was waiting for this question! :-D At any given point I may have some or most of the following: a stack of about 8 or 9 books I'm in the middle of (yes, I tend to read many many at once. One at a time is too boring. A book for each mood or literary preference, y'know?), 2 extra blankets, a belt from an old jacket that makes rather awe-inspiring corners, a mostly used tissue box, an ipod, a forensic psych textbook, a bottle of hand cream, a hairbrush, my phone charger, a pair or two of socks, and a dictionary. Good thing I only take up that 1/3rd of the bed, eh? :-P

25. What kind of alarm clock do you use?

Clock radio. Wake up to whatever's on at the time my alarm rings. Used to be Spanish radio, but when I started understanding what they were saying, I realized enough was enough... Nowadays it's usually some political comment or sports news. Unfortunately nothing to jump out of bed for...

26. Do you ever wake up before your alarm?

What, at 6:15?! No!!

27. Do you frequently take naps?

I only fargin myself to some Oneg Shabbos. Naps throw me off schedule by a few hours, and I can't afford to sleep much less on weekdays, can I?

28. Have you ever slept ‘under the stars’?

Oh, the wonders of the great outdoors! Just about the only thing I don't like about sleeping outside is the dew that accumulates at about 4 am.

29. Can you fall asleep on a bus, train, or airplane?

Bus or train, no way! I don't think I'd be able to if I knew I had a stop to make. I sometimes sleep on airplanes, but the best are long car rides. The rhythmic rocking and bumping make for such a comforting sleep...

30. Have you ever fallen asleep and missed your stop?

Can't remember ever, no...

31. Over the course of a lifetime, the average person swallows six spiders in his/her sleep. How many do you think you're up to?

Ok, that's utterly gross. I rarely sleep with my mouth open (unless I have a killer cold or something) so I doubt I've swallowed any. But I know bugs taste kinda sweet (thanks to their jointed chitinous appendages), so I'm not sure how bad the experience would be. Except for the halacha fallout....

This was fun! Okay...I tag whoever reads this and hasn't been tagged yet. Sorry...haven't been around blurking much, so I don't really know who's done this yet and who hasn't.

If anyone can beat my #24, I think I should like to take you out for ice cream :-D

Ever-elusive

2008-03-17T19:26:00.007-04:00

It is interesting to note that a teacher's worst nightmare can take the form of a diligent, hardworking, well-behaved, nice little frum kid. Such nightmares are often overlooked and forgotten due to the increased attention given to their counterparts, the rebellious, chutzpadik, perpetually careless, or hyperactive sort of nightmares. But the subtle ones do exist too, and I know firsthand how much they irk their teachers in ways that worry them just about as much as one of their out of control terrors.

I was one of those so-called subtle terrors. And boy, was I proud of it.

Oh, how I loved to sit in class, drink up what the teachers would say, manipulate all of the information in my head, and come up with the many questions I usually had on any given lesson. I would raise my hand, wait my turn, and then ask away. They were usually pretty good questions, too. Of course I enjoyed wasting class time (and my classmates frequently prodded me to use my inquisitive guise to sublty propel many a teacher off topic. Ahh...what bliss! And they barely ever realized!!) but it was a very very rare occasion that I would ask a question that I was not really curious about. After a while, my teachers would hesitate to call on me when I would raise my hand in class, because so often their lessons would be brought to a standstill while they answered me. And sometimes I even asked things that brought their lessons to a standstill because after certain questions, face value teachings are rendered quite meaningless... My questions were not meant to spite, and never to undermine the teacher. I was a nice girl and a good student...just so intensely curious.

Intensely curious. That described me in a nutshell. I wanted to know everything, sense everything, experience everything, touch, see, taste, hear, feel, delve into, understand everything in and about my world. So I asked, challenged, questioned, and dissected until I was satisfied. Lessons taught merely on face value with no internal depth bored me to pieces. I needed layers or proof or inside sources or contextual cross-references or meaning or depth or emotional appeal. Come on! Give me real stuff! Teach me! Challenge me! I don't want to memorize or spit back. Teach me to think. To better understand this world. To become a better inhabitant of this world...

Not much has changed since then. Besides for the fact that now, to my chagrin, I don't learn chumash anymore with Mrs. Shoham. Because that, my friends, was an unforgettable year in learning. Real learning. I don't think I'll ever forget what I learned in that class...

Machshivos Hashem amku...we can never really understand His ways...im yidativ, hayusiv...mi yachol la'amod b'sodo.....lo livado niskanu alilos......never step on anyone's toes while you're doing good things...sometimes mudpuddles are there for you to fall into...yiras shomayim...ela ha'emes shehasneh mav'ir aish hatzaros...

She taught us about life and how to live it. I remember her distinctly saying, "Girls, things are going to be hard in life. But you have to hear that! Know it! Always know that things are going to be hard...but that knowledge will give you strength and support when it is hard..."

She encouraged questions. She loved questions. She breathed questions, lived questions, was passionate about questions...and I was thrilled to have the merit of learning under her instruction for 10+ glorious months of my life...

And then I graduated.

And brought the passion we shared along with me, I guess.

As ever, I still harbor an intense pleasure when faced with a straightforward statement or lesson. I read it, turn it over, backwards, upside down, and identify a few of its inherent questions. Of course, nowadays I have slightly more tact than I did back when I was in high school, so it's rare that I actively rip apart someone's most recent utterance, but the questions are still there, and my thirst has not been quenched.

Which is a good thing. And I'm still proud.

But it's hard when life presents you with the hard stuff Mrs. Shoham lovingly warned me about...and then there are no answers to my thirtsy questions...

I was taught never to ask "why?" Why? Because machshivos Hashem amku...If we'd understand Him, we'd be Him...Everything has a reason and sometimes we cannot understand it or are meant not to. And I accept that. But the feeling of unanswered questions--so like a gaping chasm in an otherwise comfortable heart--can be breath-catchingly overwhelming, especially when these are questions that stem from the sincere and almost painful desire to live my life in the best way I can and try to understand what exactly it is that He wants from me...

It's almost as if this cherished part of myself comes back to haunt me as my own worst nightmare....

In a way, how can I be expected not to ask questions when I was built this way and have been asking questions since I looked at the sky the first time and wondered...? Of course I can ask, but what's the point in asking if the answers are not and cannot be dispensed to me?

But ahhhhh....there it is. The answers are not the point. It's the questions that are the point. Somehow, in some confusing way, the questions themselves must be the catalysts for growth and richer living that I was looking for in their ever-elusive answers.

This is hard to swallow. That is, given that it's even a correct assumption. But I must come to terms, because I think this chasm is destined to remain unfilled until Teiku--Tishbi yitaretz kushios v'ebayos.

Oh, what a day that'll be.....

For all of us...

Mute

2008-02-26T23:30:00.003-05:00

sitting

still

unmoving

barely breathing

completely

silent

except.....

the eyes

Drink in

thirsty

noticing, astute

bright lights

hidden by long lashes

curled up, waiting

watching

seeing

learning

And feeling

feeling...

the purple

and the gold

light, bright green

teal

dark, deep, resonant blue

Feels all

and does not comment...

Watching

see...it?

learning

Feeling

outside to in

climb

hand-over-hand

but

no words

because inside

is not words

can't describe fire

or darkness

or enormity

better

just watch

for now...

Suspension

2008-02-20T19:29:00.004-05:00

I haven't posted in a while...

Part of the reason is because I've been busy, and another because although there's always so much blogworthy life material presented to me daily, somehow recently I've been experiencing a block as to how to write about the things going on at the present. Maybe that's because I care too much how my posts come out, or maybe because my mental processes right now are so discombobulated and smushed inside my intracranial cavity...but whatever the reason, blogging has sort of lost something for me. I'm a bit sad to say that...but it's true. It was niggling at the back of my head for a while, and I, refusing to believe it, had shushed it to one side, loudly proclaiming to the inside of my skull, "Hmmm...don't hear anything, do I?.....Now, where were we...?"

So...I was thinking. A lot. And while that's really nothing new, considering the amount of thinking I do on a regular basis, a new kind of thought entered my head...

Why DO I have a blog......what keeps me here...?

So although I'm keeping my blog right here, safe and sound in this wonderful, nurturing blogosphere, I don't know exactly why. Could be because I love this world that opened up a little niche for me, or becasue I love the circle of friends I've developed over these past few months, or even because I think it'll be good to have a place reserved to vent if I need to. (Hmmmm.....)

But...some of the sparkle that twinkled down on me when I first came is sort of now suspended over my head...not quite touching me and my little cranium right now...

Perhaps the fairy dust will settle soon, or the pause button will be deactivated, or the anti-gravity boosters will fail, and the little tingles that sparked my original ascent into bloggerdom will return....but until then, I'm not sure what will become of my little corner. (Hope it doesn't suffer the lonely, cobwebby doom of all uninhabited, unused, and infrequented corners...)

But I'd love to hear what you all have to say about blogging...

Why do you blog?

What does your blog mean to you?

How do you find things to blog about?

What did you do before you had your blog to do whatever it is you enjoy about your blog...

Anything really....

Maybe your responses will remind me of what it used to be like...

Cuz I'd hate to collect dust here for too long......

:-/

Silent wishes...

2008-01-30T23:14:00.001-05:00

I feel so blessed.

Sometimes, in the heat of all of life's complex happenings, we simply forget to look at our immediate surroundings and appreicate them, enjoy them, cherish them, and thank Him for them.

And it's times like tonight that make me want to sing and weep and proclaim to the world just how lucky and happy and truly blessed I am.

As much difficulty as I have with family matters, with the progression of time I realize more and more just how amazing they are as a whole and how much I benefit and can learn from each one of them individually. I am seriously considering devoting a post to each of them personally, but for now I will have to settle on acknowledging them as a whole. Which I suppose is appropriate for this post anyway, since it is the family forum in which we are nurtured and supported and honed and chiseled into the people we become. And as of tonight, I feel just that...what a person I feel I have become...and so, so much of it is because of the extraordinary family that I was fortunate enough to have been born into.

Ah.....but one special person deserves her own mention. I am currently in the process of composing quite a post about her already, but I cannot wait long enough for that megillah to be fine tuned. I hope to post that one eventually (since there's no such thing as too much praise for someone, especially when it's "lo befanav"...), but the wonderful and passionate feelings that fill me now require expression besha'as hama'aysah... It is tonight that I am filled with such love and appreciation and fondness and closeness. And for just the person I would have never imagined feeling any of those feelings toward...

Now that I look back I realize that I've learned volumes from her over the years. I don't think I ever realized it growing up, but the reason I'm as sensitive and courteous and giving and considerate as I am (hmmm...in whatever level I display those middos...) can only be because of the things I observed in her and how I learned by her example. She is a pillar of strength powerful enough to fortify my entire world, and I am in disbelief that It's only now that I realize that she's been that way all along. I only wish I could have recognized the learning and growth potential I had growing up with such a treasure, but I suppose that the maturity of aging is the only way to achieve full appreciation for something you had all along...

She was there for me, whether I was aware of it or not, whether I liked it or not, or whether I valued it or not. She always had--and continues to have--my best interests in mind, completely giving up of her own to give to me--and to everyone; it's a known fact among friends, family, and community that she is the one who will literally drop anything to aid others, to give advice, to physically take care of things, or to simply be an emotional tower of strength for anyone and everyone. Ahh....I wish I had known what she had to offer me all these years...

As I write this, I feel like however many beautiful words I write here, however I try to describe her, however many emotions I try to record on this screen, there is no way in the world that I can accurately portray how I really feel and how utterly awesome she is to me...She's simply too beautiful and wise and strong to limit to mere words and descriptions.

How I wish you could meet her and see for yourselves...

But even more so, how I wish you could read this for yourself, Mother.......

Oh, Mommy. How I wish I had the words to tell you, the feelings to give over to you, the love to shower upon you, the praise to extoll you, the sheer raw emotion to somehow exhibit to you, that would really tell you exactly how much I am feeling about you right now...

...and always...

I only hope you know it deep down somewhere in that breathtaking heart of yours. I try to tell you, but somehow my words always seem to be lacking.

So here I am, sending it this way...in the fervent hopes that you will catch it, hold it, feel it, cherish it, tuck it away and store it forever.

Mummer, I love you so so so much. More than I'll ever have words for...

You often joke that mothers should be the ones wished a happy birthday on the days of their children's birthdays. So here it is, the long-awaited and so well-deserved wish I never gave you because I never took your joke seriously:

Darling Mother, I wish you a year filled with mazel, bracha, happiness, hatzlacha, good health, well-being, inner peace, parnassah, clarity, shalom bayis, yiras shomayim, ahavas Hashem, and boundless nachas from me and all of your children.

So even though it is technically my day, I feel that you deserve the wish so much more for everything you've done for me...

Happy birthday, Mummer.

Parched

2008-01-14T23:35:00.000-05:00

I am thirsty

it cracks inside me

attempts escape

thumping

pulsing with my heartbeat

alive..alive..alive..alive......

reaching stretching tiptoes

trying to touch It

get closer

breathe that air

the sweet cleansing rejuvinating revitalizing

the Real

I want It

I need It

to feel It

breathe It

drink It

touch It

hold It

be held by It

enveloped by It

the fire

fire inscribed on fire

icy purity

the Truth...

My yearning

longing

Thirst.

For what?

For It

nameless...

I don't know how to say it

in words...

but I know

I feel

I need...

Like a child

for water

"Mommy...please...Thirsty..."

...for that is all I know how to say...

Father...

please...

I am so

thirsty

and so tired

but I've never before felt so alive...

Is it possible

to become more alive

than this...?

And...

will I ever find It

touch It

drink It

come close

be held close

by It?

My only desire

is that Connection

Closeness

Realness

Truth...

...

I want

need

the need tears at me

breaks me

almost hurts

in its intensity

intense

longing

for Home

for You

to You

please,

Father--

I...

I am

so thirsty...

Incandescence

2008-01-07T20:45:00.000-05:00

fabric store

always loved it

so many different textures

feels

calling to my fingers

soft, silky

coarse, grainy

corduroy

(that feels tingly when you rub your hand crosswise)

netted mesh

felt

fur

(ah, the furs...)

i can spend hours touching

relishing

feeling each subtle difference

and then walk out

without having bought anything

but so much richer in experience...

i'm not picky about the feels

each texture is a sensory wonder

the smooth

bumpy

silky

ribbed

all tantalizingly touchable

but

when it comes to looking...

there's

only one

that satisfies my sensory hunger

a relatively small swatch

blue-green on one side

hold it, touch it, feel the shimmer

the slight stiffness

but shift

ever so slightly

and it becomes

...golden?

how...?

i try again

hold it on one side

calmingly cool

but then...

the slightest shift

...dazzling...

i know this fabric

they have it in my life, too...

from one side, one view

but shift

and suddenly

a completely different world...

worlds apart

how...?

but more importantly...

...Why.....?

what can i understand here?

i look

and look

turning

examining the sides

the colors

the options

i look

drink the fabric in with my eyes...

but

i don't understand.

Nekudah

2007-12-21T14:46:00.000-05:00

I approach this post with a sense of purpose, yet wondering if I'll be able to articulate it how I really feel it inside...

I've been thinking about this topic for years. It's been such a significant part of my conscious thought for so long that I don't think I can remember how or when it began to be so important to me. It's only just recently that I've begun to come terms with the entirety of it, but even now I feel like I'm missing something, and maybe someone reading this will have some insight for me.

Here goes....

For reasons I don't fully understand, I've noticed that I gravitate towards certain people. There are some that I'm drawn to, fascinated and intrigued by, so curious about, and I feel like I'm able to resonate with them better than with their peers. They are a riddle to me, and in a way they silently reach out, pleading to be understood, respected, and validated.

These people are those who have suffered. Whose souls have ached. Whose insides have been torn apart. Who have been through the dark and have emerged, sometimes broken, sometimes resolutely bolstered, to tell their stories.

So what is suffering, I ask? What is the defining line that determines who has suffered and who has merely been inconveneinced?

Obviously, there are multiple levels and facets of pain. There is no person alive who has never cried, who has never tasted the bitter tears of loss, never been burned or spurned or wounded. Even small suffering is painful, and thus marginally worthy of being called suffering.
But yet, not every pain can be called suffering, because (to my mind) suffering in it's complete form is something big, excruciating, impassably intolerable. What determines whether or not whatever a person has been through is considered suffering?

Every person has their own pain threshold, their own perception of how great their pain or discomfort is. None of us can ever understand how painful or pleasurable anyone else's feelings are, because we are too removed from eachothers' inner workings. Considering that fact, it is impossible to gauge or measure what we each individually feel on a communal scale. While that doesn't bother me per se, it makes me feel like perhaps I'm feeling things "wrong"... like as much as I can rate my feelings against the other feelings I've felt, maybe I'm interpreting them as different than they are, or they should be...

But it doesn't matter, really. What I feel has nothing to do with what you feel. I may feel strongly about something you don't, but that doesn't make either of us wrong. We are each right in our own contexts and situations. For years I couldn't understand this; for some reason I grew up thinking that there was a right reaction or feeling to every stimulus, and I became increasingly frustrated when I just couldn't find the universal response codes... Comparing myself to others simply made things worse for me because it set unrealistic expectations for my already too-high goal of self-perfection.

By now I've heard the responses more times than I can recall: Each of us is presented with the challenges we can surmount. We are given the tools we need, the resources and facilities to help us in our quest for Answers and Growth. Our struggles are tailor-made for each of us at the exact time and place they're presented to us. They stand at the exact midpoint of our ability to pass them, that very fine line between too difficult for us to pass and too easy for us to work hard enough. Our nekudas habechirah is programmed into our very beings by the One to Whom lies the Knowledge...

But I've also learned something that scares me.

We're told that if our current challenge seems too big, too hard, too impossible, we should rest assured realizing that we're only given what we can handle, and that big challenges indicate big people... He gives us only what we can surmount. All our current challenges and painful times are somewhere in that nekudas habechirah and somehow we have the tools and the abilities and the courage and the strenth to get through them and emerge stronger, better, more beautiful people.

The big people are faced with big problems. Big people can handle big problems. They are strong and brave and capable and will grow bigger and bigger....

But...

But what about those people who are not tested with big challenges...? What about those who are not faced with death, illness, poverty, childlessness, unemployment, handicaps? Does that indicate that they are not strong enought to handle them? That they are...little....?

I suppose I should answer my own question with what I've already said. Each of our individual perceptions of our pain are subjective views that must not and cannot be compared to those of others. Big to me is not necessarily big for you, and vice versa. I cannot gauge my level of suffering based on others' experinces. After all, the Gemara details how merely reaching into one's pocket for change and retreiving the wrong amount is considered suffering, as is the need to have a garment rewoven because it was made too small.... But for some reason it's so difficult for me to accept that my challenges--whatever they happen to be at any given point--are real and big and hard... I need to see that whatever I am presented with now is a huge hurdle for me. ...Corner, these things are big! They're big...believe it...and they're meant for you to grow stronger, better and more beautiful......

And maybe that means I'm big...

For some reason I feel worse having written this. Sometimes blogging lets off steam, but now I think I just made things more tzefloigen in there. I'll post this anyway, though, because maybe someone will have something to say that will help clarify things to me a bit....or a lot....

Please comment :)

142

2007-12-11T22:33:00.000-05:00

From inside the cave...
I am here because I want to be
But also because this is how things are
I am on my own
I cry out
A prayer.

With my voice I cry out, pleading.
Plaintively, distressed,

I declare, whisper the thoughts heavenward.
My spirit is faded, dampened
You know how hard this is for me...
They try to encroach me in peril, lay traps,
Making moving difficult
I want to grow
reach higher
but I can barely walk,
or breathe...

And my comrades...?
I look around,
see none.
Nobody able to help me out of this
Escape seems impossible
But...is it?

I have cried out
To You, O G-d
"You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living..."
Please, guide me onto the right path...

Please....
Please listen
Heed my muted voice
I have been brought so low...
Slipped, fell...
Rescue me from my demons
for I am so weak against them...

Release my soul from imprisonment
so that I may acknowledge Your name
I want so badly
to be crowned among the righteous ones
Please...
when You bestow Your kindness upon me...

The day will come when I will see it...

Until then

I will believe it

Tangle factor

2007-12-02T23:10:00.000-05:00

"Cooooorrrner!"

"Hmmm...?" Absentmindedly. Busy reading a college textbook.

I hear thumps up the stairs. Must be Turtle.

"Hey, Corn," Sure enough, Turtle pops her curly brown head into the doorway. "You busy now?"

I gesture at the half-read chapter. "Sort of. What d'you need?"

She unceremoniously dumps a tangled mess onto my book. "Can you unknot this for me? I don't know why, but my necklaces always end up getting messed up."

A subtle thrill tingles through my body. Although I never fully understood why, untangling things has always appealed to me. I find it calming, theraputic, and immensely satisfying. I've watched others give up over facing the tiny metal knots, slippery chains, and painstaking patience and frustration tolerance it requires. Oddly enough, I'm not a particularly patient person, nor do I tolerate frustration too well, but I guess the combo of having the opportunity to use my hands in fine motor coordination and the challenge of a difficult task spurs me to tackle every knotted necklace chain I've ever been acquainted with.

Having deposited her job for me, Turtle goes back downstairs, her "Thank you, Corner!" brightly swishing up as she runs down. I smile to myself and push away the text to make more room for me to work.

I lean close to determine the tangle factor.

Ahhh...a difficult one...5 knots in 3 places, some quite large. Bless you, Turtle, you're a funny one. But good. Bring it on.

But it's harder than I'd thought. The knots are tight. Especailly the bigger ones. Each part of the chain loops around, over, under, through, tightly twining the knots to themselves. Each section of chain that I loosen ends up in turn tightening another one so that the knot just get harder to untangle. Hmmm.... There's gotta be some way to get this done...

Thus begins my lesson of the day.

We're continually faced with challenges. Sometimes we willingly accept them, while other times we try to put them off for as long as we can, but it's always our job and our right to try to meet those challenges that are presented to us.

We appraise the challenge. Look at it from all sides. Assess the damage and determine the tangle factor. And then we tackle it, in whichever form of tackling we choose to use.

And sometimes the tangle is worse than we'd thought. Tighter, trickier, harder to crack. We try to take things slowly, attempt to disentangle each section on its own to see what works, but sometimes that seems to make things worse. Frustration builds. We entertain the thought of giving up.

But...Hmmm..... There's gotta be some way to get this done...

Sighing, I put the knotted mess aside. I lean back in my chair and flex my cramped fingers.

When it comes to chains, I'm not easily deterred, but this one is simply impossible. I'd tried everything. All the tricks that worked the last time didn't work now. All the tried and true methods were failing me. I felt discouraged, frustrated.

But then it hit me.

It's supposed to be like that.

If each challenge contained the same difficulty level, there'd be no work involved. We wouldn't have to exert ourselves. We'd go through the motions and *poof*--problem solved. We wouldn't get frustrated. But.....we also wouldn't grow.

The challenges we're presented with are personally designed for us each time they're given. We are supposed to use some of the methods we'd learned from last time, and also some new methods that we need to make up specially for the new challenge at hand. Somehow, that proccess of coming up with novel ideas helps us develop into more complex and special people.

And we don't always need to do it alone. Sometimes we're allowed to call in professionals who can steer us in the right direction. There's no sin in taking a particularly stubborn knot to a jeweler if that's what will work best. But it's not okay to give up because that knot is too hard for us to handle by ourselves.

And sometimes all that's required of us is to put that knot aside for a little while. Rest our cramped fingers. Take a cleansing breath. We don't need to take care of everything in one day. I've learned the hard way that at times rushing will only make things worse. Steady, slow hands and a clear head are the only things that can work.

I breathe deeply. Look around the room. Notice the sun has traveled across the carpet to the doorway, filling the room with golden warmth. I walk to the window, stepping over some unfiled papers that are silently entreating me for attention. A little voice inside me soothes, "Shhhh...it's okay to take a little breather..." The trees outside are almost bare. Just a few sunny leaves still stubbornly clinging to the branches. Sunshine trees make me smile. I watch the last leaves, drinking in their vibrance like a thirsty child.

Feeling slightly more full inside, I turn back to the task at hand. The knots are still there. Running away from a problem never accomplishes anything.

I let out a breath. Turn on the desk lamp. Focus.

I pull a strand. Nope. Another. It gives, but not enough to come loose. I keep at it, methodically trying each exposed bit of chain, hoping to find the one that will release the rest.

And then,

I find it.

Slowly ease it out. Pulling, not too hard, but enough to make it slowly slip out, link by link.

And from there, other tangles come loose. New sections of chain are exposed, now ready to be worked on. The satisfying feeling creeps up. I can do it...I'm doing it...It's working...

Sometimes all we need is to take a little break. To pause for a moment, or an hour, or a day, or a few months, so that we can reflect and rejuvinate and come back to our challenge with renewed vigor.

Every challenge is designed to be overcome.

Every test is meant to be passed.

Come on, Corner...you can do it... I can do it...

"Hey, Turtle! Come on up, I've gotten it out..."

The Seven

2007-11-28T19:05:00.000-05:00

I don't know if I'll ever have the problem of mental blocks or lack of ideas when it comes to posting, but it seems I do have a little problem a lot of us here know too much about called SEVERE LACK OF TIME!!! I presently have about 6 posts in various stages of completion filed inside the little blue lockers in my head, and now my only issue is finding spare time to translate mental processes into neat black type. Oh well...halevai this should be my biggest problem :-)

So here goes!

Rules:
1. Link to your tagger and post the rules.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself; some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post and list their names and link to them.
4. Let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment at their blog.

1) It sounds odd, but I find real pleasure in climbing things. As a kid I wasn't so much of a monkey, but I think some of my excess energy and curiosity evolved over time into the urge to scale walls, climb trees, and basically get to the highest point reachable by the means of arms and legs. There's something so refreshing and exhilarating about the slight danger and thrill of being high off the ground. (Maybe that's due to my close proximity to the ground on a regular basis...I'm not that vertically inclined :-P)

2) I taught myself how to play guitar last year on the day after Lag B'omer. Pobody inspired me the night before with her guitar playing skills, and I just picked up a guitar and her homemade songbook, and that was that.

3) I love entertaining people (and myself!) with imitations and impersonations. I like imitating diferent ethnic accents and famous people's sayings. Movies are pretty good imitation material, but the best I've found so far is anything from Homestarrunner.com :-)

4) I can write really fast. Although I very much dislike taking notes in class, my notes tend to be pretty comprehensive and I usually end up lending each set out to multiple classmates. It's kinda cool to stumble across little groups of girls studying and think to yourself, "Hey, that looks a lot like my handwriting..."

5) I dislike matching pajamas. I never buy pajama shirts and pants that come together; I prefer mixing and matching old comfy pairs.

6) I have a passion for languages. I took 3 years of Spanish in school and a course in ASL in college. (My students now know how to count to ten in 7 languages! The cuties...) I also have a thing for accents, so whenever I'm speaking Hebrew, I gotta do it all the way...

7) I'm not a mefunak at all. I'm not scared of germs, I don't mind getting muddy or wet or freezing, and I'm really in my element crashing through the trees in sneakers searching for frogs, snakes, and snails. On a regular day I look quite put together (partly because it makes me feel more like a mentch, and partly because my mother would never let me even peek out the front door if I'm not dressed and substantially made-up...) but my favorite pastimes do not include nice clothes or blowdried hair.

Okay...
I tag At Peace, Madd Hatter, Lvnsm27, Pobody's Nerfect, David, and Dreamer. Now somebody's gotta teach me how to do the link thing cuz I'm clueless. (Unless that little green oval-looking thing on the toolbar is more than just for decoration...hmmmm...) And coaching on how to follow the rest of this meme's rules, too, please.... :-)

Ki li'olam chasdo...

2007-11-25T15:01:00.000-05:00

Hodu laShem ki tov......

good.

Sometimes I fail to see it

Sometimes I don't even try to see it

But it's there

Plainly staring me

in the face

If I sincerely want to see it...

He is good, so good...

I stand before Him

head bowed

tears

I want to be good

I really want to change

Really....please...

And

He listens

He answers

Takes my hand and

Whispers

so quietly that I only hear it inside

Look, mamaleh,

My child...

I love you more than you'll ever know...

I will hold you

Guide you

Show you

Forgive you....

You're never alone...

And I feel it

I am never alone

He is with me

Holding me

Guiding me

Showing me

Forgiving me

Loving me...

And granting me so much kindness

More than I'll ever know

More than I'll ever deserve...

Chasdei Hashem ki lo samnu,

ki lo chalu rachamav...

All scars fade. He is so good to me...

Eyes wide open

2007-11-19T20:45:00.000-05:00

Every so often it suddenly occurs to me how amazingly awesome this world is.

I remember sitting in a high school classe hearing, "Girls, this world is a microcosm of the olam ha'elyon..." and although I understood the meaning of each individual word of the lesson then, I simply could not comprehend what exactly a microcosm was, let alone understanding it in relation to the Upper Worlds...

I still don't. Of course I understand what it means literally...but what does it mean that we live in a world that's a mini representation of another, higher world? Maybe it's not for us to understand--at least not in the way I'd like to understand it--but G-d has presented us with this concept here in our world so that we can learn something from it.

So what can we learn from it?

Here's one thing I was thinking of...

Just as the world we live in is a miniscule representation of the lofty one up there, our world contains within it smaller "worlds" through which we can better understand it; microcosms to better understand our own microcosm...

Everything in our world is designed with the capacity to assist us in our quest to become better avdei Hashem. There is something we can learn from every creature, every creation, every invention, every person, every situation. Fortunate are those who live life with their eyes wide open, drinking in every detail of the world around them, trying to glean lessons from every person, thing, and situation they encounter.

When I was about 15 years old in camp one summer, our shiur division head posed a challenge to us; she asked that we come in to shiur the next day with as many lessons we can learn from the mundane things around us. The next day we spent the entire hour describing what we had learned from CD players, mosquitoes, too-tight shoes, wet towels, pillowcases, shower stall doors, and hundreds of other seemingly insignificant aspects of our world. After the lesson, (which to our chagrin was not enough time for each of us to give over all of our examples), we each walked out with real food for thought. I remember thinking, "Oh my gosh...it's such a huge world...and everything in it really means something..."

It's a daunting task--to see every individual thing in this world as an opportunity for learning--but one that is so rewarding and meaningful...

I once ate a meal by my seminary madricha's house, and a ba'al teshuva who was eating there as well made a comment at the meal that I don't think I'll ever froget. Referring to a bit of an awkward situation that had just occurred, he happily exclaimed, "Good! I love MDOs!" We looked at him, waiting curiously for an explanation, to which he replied, casually spearing some string beans on his fork, "Middos Development Opportunities. They're all around us. Everywhere. The question is, will you know one when you see it?"

A thrill ran down my back...oh, my...he's right......but will I...?

How many MDOs do we pass up every single day because we forgot to look for them...?

They're everywhere...in the long line at the bakery, the perfectly round, ripe, glossy apple, the malfunctioning computer, the casual game of chess, the ripped page of notes, the window overlooking the park...everywhere. Knowing that everything we see was purposely put there so that we could see it makes every blink meaningful...

I always thought I lived with my eyes open. But I never realized just how open they could--and should--be.

And how breathtaking the world is once I really learned how to see...

Another little corner of my life...

2007-11-18T15:31:00.000-05:00

Anyone who's ever visited my room can attest to the fact that they've probably never seen another bedroom more decorated than mine. And I'm not talking about drapes and pillows. I do have curtains on my windows and a floral bedspread, but when I say deocrated, I'm talking about my walls.

I'm not sure how it started, because originally my mother requested that I not put tape on the freshly painted walls, but one day something must have made its way up there, and then before I knew it, I was on a quest to make my room more colorful and inspirational than any other room I'd ever seen. I sleep in the attic, so my room has the highest walls in the house (on three sides at least; the roof has got to slope down somewhere...) Those 14 foot high walls are perfect for my purposes--to hang up as many encouraging, sentimental, and thought-provoking signs as I can. It's an interestingly configured room, but it's all mine, and since I've begun to personalize it, it has become my haven, my caslte, my stronghold, and my sanctuary. Now that I'm thinking about it, maybe it was because I wanted such a place that I decided to personalize my quarters this way.

Anyway, to give you a little peek into my hideout, let me describe to you what I have hanging here. There are huge, oaktag-sized welcome back signs and cards my siblings made me upon my various homecomings, magazine clippings of pictures or articles, notes I received from friends, hand-made colorful signs with various inspirational quotes, pictures of me with some special people I love, post-it reminders of events or phone numbers, computer printouts and pictures from clip art that have some kind of meaningful significance to me, and chunkily colored drawings my students drew for me that have a corner all to themselves. I'm quickly running out of wall space, and I've had friends jokingly ask if I'll graduate to the ceiling next. (I'm seriously contemplating that, too, mind you...)

These signs have served me well--they've made me smile on grey days, have reassured me that I have so many people out there who love me, and have reminded me to focus on the full picture of the real, vast, complex world and my place in it...

Now on to the relevance of all this to today, Sunday, November 18th, 2007.

Today was one of those slow, sludgy, shlumpy days. I did get out of the house, but the weather was not all that conducive to my feeling of well-being or productiveness. As I was heading slowly upstairs, I found a pleasant little surprise on the steps leading to the attic. On a standard 81/2 by 11 white printer paper was the most heartwarming letter:

(Imagine in nice fonts, colored to match my room, with letter shadowing and everything...she does have talent :-) I must give credit to you, o vociferous sister of mine...)

I love you!

Love,

Cheerleader

P.S. You are the best sister in the whole world! I don't know what I would do without you. You are always there for me whenever I need you and you always know exactly what to do to make me feel better. You are the perfect big sister and the best one anyone could ask for! Thank you for always being there for me!

Wow.

Wow...

How did she know this was exactly what I needed to hear today...?

She didn't. I barely spoke to her today besides for telling her she could borrow my umbrella and to ask for my earrings back and to tell her Mommy didn't want her to go out in her good boots.

She was just being herself. Her considrate, sweet, thoughtful self: the Cheerleader I know that makes signs to brighten up her sister's day. I think hers are the most prominent on my walls--even though most of them say the exact same thing--because they're written straight from the heart and were created expressly to make me feel good. It's funny, because she's not the sibling I'm closest with. Out of all my sibs, she and I argue the most, probably due to the fact that I'm convinced she was endowed with more than the fair share of preteen hormones...but that's a discussion topic for another time. :)

Cheerleader, you are awesome! You make me smile so much! I know you get annoyed at me every so often, when I don't tell you exactly what you want to hear, or when I tell you off for something you've done, or when I make fun of you... But I know that even though you sometimes tell me you wish I'd just go away, I know exactly what your insides feel about me... I feel like I don't tell you enough times how much you mean to me...but I know you know it, and I think your letters prove it.

You gorgeous, thoughtful, exasperatingly annoying yet awe-inspiring child... Thank you for brightening my day and for making my job as a sister so much more fun and meaningful.

Love you, sweet girl...

Come back...

2007-11-15T22:05:00.001-05:00

I really don't know how to get this off my chest, but I know I want to, and I think I might need to, so I'll try...

What do you do when someone you love with all your heart is not doing so well inside? When you can't even imagine the entirety of the situation because things are not said out loud...and you're almost too scared to ask those who know? What do you do when your parents are hurting so much...and you feel powerless to do anything about it...? When you feel it was your achrayus to have done more, and maybe things could have been prevented or fixed earlier if you had done more for that someone.....?

Things progress slowly. Sometimes you don't realize what's happening until things get big and scary. And then it's almost too hard to take another breath because the feelings are stuck in your throat...choking...suffocating...

So I swallow. Try to take a steadying breath. Whisper a wordless prayer...wordless, because I have absolutely no idea how to ask for advice, pray for clarity in this, or even cry...

Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe it's not really as hard as I think it is...but I'm scared. Nervous. Fearing things spiraling out of control.

I know.

I should ask the One to whom lies all the answers...

I should ask Him...

Only I don't know what to say...

My father just asked me for advice. Me? What do I know...? How could I help...? I told him I'd think about it, and he answered back, "Now, please...as soon as possible..."

Daddy, I just don't know...

I just don't know.......

And...Tatty....Tatty...I don't know. But You do. So please show me...please show us...

We are lost without You...

And that specail person in my life....Hang in there...

I love you so much. More than I can ever express to you...

If there's anything else I can do to help you...take away some of the confusion you must have inside...please, please, please let me...

One day...one day you'll be the most amazing person imaginable...I know it...

Just keep trying.....

You can do it...you can, you can, you can...

2007-11-12T14:53:00.000-05:00

how i wish i could tell you

all that i see in you

your strenghts

positive qualities

ma'aylos

all the beautiful things that we all see

so strongly displayed

in your essence

my sister

my friend

a piece of me...

i reach down and touch you

in your deep pit

you are cold

seeking warmth

but...you don't know where to find it...

i...

i am right here

and you tell me you see me

you do see

but you still feel alone

alone and

unloved...

you are hurting

in pain

so lonely

but i am here for you

trying to show i care

...maybe care too much...

how...

how can my love

joined with the love of

so many others

for you

not keep the pain

at bay

for even a little while

i don't understand...

how i can hold you

try to bring some warmth back

into your cold, shivering self

but when i leave

you feel

more alone

than ever...

but one thing i do understand...

while i can give you some

warmth

love

unconditionally...

i cant fix things

only He can

and...

You can.

yes, You...beautiful strong one...

you don't believe me
you look up in despair
saying you're too tired
too alone
too cold

but i say again
i believe in you
because i really really do

you are a pillar
strong
powerful
bright
light
but you don't see it

look
look
please look
here, here's a mirror...
just look
there? don't you see?
this is how everyone else sees you...

you, strong girl...
you can do it
we can help support
hold onto your hand
give you guidance
encouragement
advice
love...

but...
really
it's
up
to
You.

it's your battle
your fight
you were given it
so you can triumph over it

and you can...

we can help
but we can't do it for you

you can do it

i believe in you...

and...

my love for you is
boundless...

i'm here
until you don't need me anymore
but keep repeating to yourself
keep saying over and over in your head
i can do it
i am strong
i'll get out of this

because You will

and when you finally get out
of that seemingly endless pit
reach that point where
you can pull yourself
out
over the edge
i will be here
to grab hold of your wrists
and hold on to you
for dear
life

and hold you as long as i can

for now...
just
keep remembering
and hoping
and dreaming

because you can do it
you can
i believe in you
we all do
that you can do this
get through this

i love you

You are

amazing...

On the Old

2007-11-10T21:40:00.000-05:00

Every so often I'll be hit with a thought that seems to have sprung from nowhere. My mind works that way a lot. I kinda find it funny, and most of the time I can amuse myself for a while by retracing my thoughts in an attempt find out where the random thought could have stemmed from.

Anyway...

Last week I was taking care of something at home, when all of a sudden I started thinking about elderly people. Severely random. But once I got over my self-chuckle on the weirdness of my brain's workings, my mind kept on whirring and produced some interesting thoughts which I decided I want to air out here.

I was never too fond of visiting nursing homes. Maybe it was the antiseptic-yet-stale hospital smell, or the fact that so many old people didn't understand when I spoke, (my grandparents often wonder out loud how anyone understands me...) or how the patients used to be self-suffieint and independant and now need help even for their most basic needs, or simply the tangible weight of all the emotional memories pervading the halls... I went to visit a couple of times purely as an act of chessed required of me by my high school, or because all my friends were going, but all the time I was there I felt unsettled, unhappy, and...frightened. Not so much scared by the thought of, "This could be me or someone in my family," but more like, "What happened to the people that used to be living in these bodies...?"

Old age happens to everyone. We mature, go through life stages, get old, and eventually die. Just as surely as young adults start dating, get married, have kids, buy homes, go on vacations...they get old...and then pass on. Even us young people will get old. It's so hard to believe it now, but it's true. And scary. We forget that one day we'll be needing help even for those most basic of tasks which we find so easy to do now. I really don't intend this post to be depressing or morbid, but this is real, it's life, and I think it's important to think about it some time, while we can still appreciate the freedom and spirit of our youth...

I'd once heard that one of the worst feelings in the world--yi'ush, despair--is often felt by the elderly who reflect back on their lives and realize that they could have been better, could have done something differently, should have been something else... And I keep thinking, "Oh, Hashem, let me not know of such feelings. Please allow me to live my life so that at my end I don't regret what I did or lament what I could have done..."

And then there's the beauty of old age... Society so exults youth that so often we forget that the elderly are a product of so many years of self-toil and development. They have wisdom, knowledge, experience, and so much to share...if we just slow down enough to listen. I wish I had more time to sit patiently with my grandparents and hear thier slow tales of their lives and their lessons for how to better live my own. An old person is so complexly beautiful if we learn to look past their wizened exterior...

I was really hoping this post would be shorter than I usually write them. It's just that I always have so much to say, and few words never seem to be enough. I can go on for days; succinctness was never my forte... Eventually I'll find something to say that I can write concisely :-)

Cry, mammaleh, cry...

2007-11-08T16:32:00.000-05:00

As per a concerned parent's request, yesterday morning's circle time was devoted to glorifying the exciting first visit to the dentist. We extolled the virtues of the special chair that goes up and down, the exciting made-in-China prizes for well behaved patients, the delectable bubble gum flavored toothpaste...

The class was enraptured, eyes wide, drinking in the glorious world of dentist visits. Most of the children who'd never had the delight of such rides and prizes were noticeably jealous of little Ahuva, but at least the rest of the class gleaned some sort of benefit from the lesson; Ahuva was lost unhearing in her own spaced-out word of dental anxiety. Alas, poor child...

The lesson then turned to discussion. As with most circle times, the girls were each allowed to raise their hand and contribute something on topic. Most of them related how they had once gone to the doctor/dentist/allergist and how they'd gotten prizes and the like. I listened to their accounts, mildly enjoying my 10 minutes and my adorable students, until one small child said something that bypassed my mild interest and stunned me into instant concentration:

"Morah, one time in the summer, I got a shot and it hurted and I cried a lot cuz it really hurted..."

Oh, my child. My naive yet brilliant and knowledgeable child... That is how we're born to be. We hurt. We cry. There is something inherent in hurt that spurs tears, and something inherent in tears that eases the hurt.

And yet...yet...

We live in a world where we are told to suppress those inherent reactions. We are told, "Be a big girl, don't cry. Crying is for babies." And as young chilren, we listen, internalize, acknowledge and identify with the fact that yes, we need to be brave and control our emotions outwardly so we can fit in with the mature world of adults. For a child of 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, being called a baby is one of the most heart-wrenching insults, and so these children will supress their tears if they can rather than release what is so big and painful for them...

And as adults we are not spared that painful choice either.

So often society demands stoicism, does not permit open emotion, turns away from outward displays of passion. Upon witnessing a heartbroken wailing father, or grief-stricken families, or individuals unable to cope with their raging inner worlds, most people feel uncomfortable and try to ease that discomfort by either ignoring those situations entirely, or attempting to ease the situation as best they can. Nobody wants to witness pain like that. But why must it be so awkward? Why do we feel that crying is so shameful, so embarrassing, so wrong?

I am not saying that everyone in slight emotional, physical, or mental anguish should walk the streets proclaiming their misery outright and cry incessantly. Obviously, that is not beneficial for those in pain, nor for those who must deal with them, and there are various coping methods available to help them handle their problems. But on the other end, when it comes to real, valid, excruciating pain, why should we have to suffer by feeling that asking for help or shedding tears is embarrassing or shameful?

We hurt. We need to cry. My Mindy understands it so clearly...

Is there anything we can do to make others--and ourselves--less uncomfortable?

I am so grateful to all those who have personally heard my pain and have supported me through the times I felt it necessary and theraputic to cry...Thank you...

Breaking out of the box

2007-11-04T20:06:00.000-05:00

Boxes inside boxes. That was the standard doodle for boring classes. As a rule, I was pretty interested student, but every so often a teacher would lull me into the box-inside-box monotony. The worst thing a teacher could ever say is that the material taught in that lesson would not be on the test...

But that day, as I picked up my pen to occupy my mind with aimless scribbles, I didn't know that I was to learn a lesson so important, a mere test on paper or scantron could never accurately record my knowledge of it, or its practical application. Indeed, the test of the day would be....life.

When I heard one word my ears perked up. Family? Since when do we talk about family in Chumash class? I looked up, bemused, but suddenly curious about what Mrs. Jacobs had to say about family.

"Hashem created the family structure to serve as a workshop for each of us...."

She's talking in a general sense. Surely not my family...

"Each neshama was put in the perfect family for it to have the ability to grow to its fullest potentail. Your family is perfect for you. You would not grow as well or reach your potential if you were put somewhere else..."

No. Mine must be a yotzei min ha'klal. Maybe someone else's family, but mine...? No. My family is not the perfect place for me.

"Hashem in His infinite wisdom matches each child with his or her family. And do you know what, girls? Each of you, before you were born, actually chose your own family to be sent to..."

Can't be. This is just too weird. Why would I have chosen my family?

The bell rang. We packed up our books and left school. On the way home, my mind was still whirring with the last lesson. My family? The perfect place for me? No...can't be...

But that lesson stayed with me that whole week. Through Shabbos when I was so angry I just wanted to storm away from the table and run upstairs...but I didn't. On Sunday when I couldn't imagine having to go to the park with my family...but I agreed anyway. Throughout the week when all I wanted to do was run away from them and stay alone in my room, or go visit a friend, the words of my Chumash teacher echoed inside my head...

"Your family is perfect for you. You would not grow as well or reach your potential if you were put somewhere else..."

Oh, how I had wished to have belonged somewhere else...to have been part of Esti's family, or Shana's, or Sariva's...any but mine! How could my family possibly be helping me grow? It just didn't make sense...

But that lesson stuck with me. For years it comforted me when I felt that things were not fair, that everyone else was so lucky to belong to their family...except me...

And as the years went by, I started understanding things a little better, seeing more of the picture. I began to see the middos I developed and the wonderful traits I had that were only brought out as a result of me being part of my family...a product of my parents' parenting and my interactions with my siblings.

And the more I realized how true Mrs. Jacobs's words were, the more I realized that all those years I'd been squishing myself into tiny boxes, each one smaller than the one before... Instead of realizing that my family was a place for me to grow, I pushed them away and retreated into my cramped quarters, thinking I could better myself alone, without their help. I closed myself away from them, failing to realize their potential to help me soar, climb, reach out, be loved for being myself....

Now I can see it. It's taken me a long, long time, but with His help I can now understand a little better that where I was placed is indeed the best place for me to grow. Not only that, but it was me who chose to be a part of this family when I saw things more clearly up there...

Even with this knowledge and acceptance, it can still be very hard. Excruciatingly hard at times...painful, lonely, misunderstood... But I still repeat that lesson of many years ago to help me get through those struggles. He knows. He runs the world. He planned it all. In His wisdom He picked this one for me... And I try my hardest to extract myself from my self-imposed imprisonment inside my tiny, blue-penned boxes inside boxes...

I break free. And it feels wonderful. It feels strange, because I'm unused to it...but I feel like a newborn child...

...able to soar, climb, reach out, be myself.....

Another glimpse into my corner...

2007-11-04T11:56:00.000-05:00

I guess when you're a new blogger, blogging is on your mind a lot. When I'm off the computer, more often than not I have thoughts chasing themselves around in my head that would make superb post material. Every so often I jot down some keywords onto post-it notes or scrap paper so I won't forget these epiphanies that so oftenly frequent my overbusy mind... I now have quite a list of promising post material, so now the only valid excuse I have for not posting is having no access to a computer.

So now on to the point.

Ever since my first post, I was wondering about the purpose of a blog. Some use it to let off excess steam, others to solicit advice, some others as a discussion or debate forum, still others to rant or complain anonymously...and I suppose we all have some measure of all of those in our respective reasons for blogging. I have noticed, though, that different blogs project different "auras" (I wish there was a better description for it than that...) Some blogs are light and airy, commenting on mundane life happenings and random thoughts that occur to the blogger, others are heavy in content, delving into the intricacies of life and philosophy, but I think most are some kind of medium between those two extremes. I'm not entirely sure I know how I want my own blog's aura to project, but I think I've come to the conclusion as to why I've started one of my own...

To most of the people with whom I come into contact on a general day, I look like a happy, quirky, amiable, funny, energized person. Which I am; I'm not one who puts on a mask to hide some terrible, dark, depressing story underneath a pleasant exterior. But, like most complexly human individuals, I do have a side I generally don't show to people unless I have reason to believe that they will understand it, and thus I will cover that side up with a carefree, untroubled facade.

So now I will acquaint you with my other side. Cloaked by my screen, keyboard, and alias, I feel comfortable showing you the "other real me" with the hopes that you will understand me, validate me, and through the give and take on this blog, help me improve myself and learn the things I should be learning...

Here goes...
Behind the uncomplicated, happy-go-lucky, carefree face I wear, I am an intensely intense person. Nobody who knows me just stam will ever believe how painfully emotional I am, how complex and confusing my thought processes are, how turbulent and passionate and emotionally complicated my sensitive inner life really is. And since I'm not willing to share all that with most people, all the emotions and confusion and turbulence stay bottled up within me unless I find someone I can share my thoughts with. (I've actually found that just talking about what's on my mind can help me feel better, even if the person listening has no clue what I'm trying to say...which happens often...) I hope that this blog of mine will allow me to do what I find so hard to do on a regular basis; to let me talk the intensity out. And I hope to get feedback from people who identify with me as well...

I'm sure that many of you have started blogs for quite the same reason, (except in my case I don't know if I knew that's what I really wanted when I started mine...) and so you probably know just what I'm talking about. (It actually just occurred to me that perhaps everyone is just like me and I'm not different from anyone else at all...in which case this whole post is quite pointless...or that nobody understands me at all and I'm just spewing incomprehensible gibberish...but...until I get some feedback I shouldn't think like this...)

I hope I'm making sense in my ramblings here.

I can't even remember why I decided to post this in the first place...Maybe to better acquaint myself to all of you. Or maybe to get some feedback about something I find so hard to understand by myself....

But I think I know...I think I posted to siphon off some of that intensity. And to see if this blog is a good place for posts of this kind.

Feel free to comment about what you think. I'm open to discussions, empathy, personal self-disclosure, and ideas about how I can make this blog a better forum for myself and for everyone else visiting.

Now go and have yourselves a great day, everyone!

Human Becomings

2007-10-31T19:50:00.001-04:00

I'm not sure why I decided I want to write about this, but the idea was tugging at me for a while, and today when the sentences started formulating themselves in my head I decided maybe I should sit down and sketch out my thoughts in some form of semi-cohesive text.

How I wish I could open up a door into possibly the deepest section of my emotional mind so that all of you could glimpse how I really feel about my job... I doubt anything I write here could possibly give over the exact feelings and meanings I want to portray, but I'll try anyway, so that perhaps at least one person will walk away from this post with a newfound appreciation for what I do.

Every job has its perks, its negative points, its benefits, and its acutely annoying aspects, but some jobs are innately more gratifying than others. I suppose it's a matter of opinion and personal taste, but there's a reason why so many teachers describe their jobs as intensely rewarding and emotionally satisfying, while most office personnel do not. There's something about watching children's eyes light up in understanding, about feeling little shoulders ease under a loving touch, about listening to laughter wafting out of brightly-lit classrooms, that almost can't be described in any other language than love.

I know a lot of you reading this are teachers and appreciate exactly what I'm saying. So big deal, Corner, what's the chiddush here? Why are you making it sound like you are different than any other teacher out there? Maybe it's just because as unappreciated and bashed the teaching profession is, there is still something glorious about saying you teach 10th grade Chumash, or 12th grade Bio, or even 6th grade Tefilla. But when you tell people you teach Kindergarten, most look at you, almost struggle to conceal the sympathy in their eyes, and comment, "Oh really? Ah...do you enjoy it?"

Are you kidding? Do I enjoy it?

It's my inspiration. My air. My life right now. I may be an overly passionate soul in most aspects of my life, but when I talk about my job, I feel such a pride, such a wonder, such a privilege to be able to carry out this amazing responsibility.

So many people consider early childhood education as a babysitting service. Parents drop their little ones off at school, run errands, go to work, take care of the real world while some Morahs keep an eye on the kids that "can't even read yet so how can they be learning...?" Our children are more than just learning--they're drinking up every word that's uttered within their earshot, putting words to things they're not even able to consciously understand yet, growing in self-awareness and self-worth, and building the foundations of love for learning that will be the cornerstone of every other lesson they'll ever learn for the rest of their lives.

The thrill of watching a little girl finally realize that the little black characters on the pages of books really mean something is simply breathtaking...As is watching from afar as a child with behavioral difficulties finally works out her own problem without resorting to hitting...As is hearing the exclamation of delight from the little one who runs by in the playground, legs pumping, heart soaring, flying by with nothing to anchor her to the ground...As is the glow on the face of the child who proudly holds up her clay masterpiece, explaining, "Morah, I made this for you..."

The vitality of life that permeates every square inch of my classroom is other-worldly. It is there that children develop their essences, their dreams, their pride in themselves, their life skills, their middos, their love of learning. We may not teach the difference between Rashi and Ramban, but we can help them discern the subtle differences between speaking nicely and hurting feelings. My girls do not yet understand how to add or subtract, or anything about the U.S. government, but they do know that they live in a community of chessed and middos and want to emulate those they see around them. Mitzva notes are not just a bribe; they impart to our children that not a single good deed goes unnoticed, that each mitzva is recorded, cherished, held close, rewarded. Creative play is not just a time filler; it's a forum for children to learn consequences of thier actions, how to interact properly and successfully with their peers, how to be mevater and be patient and be kind. To those who wonder what exactly their children are learning besides for the weekly Parsha, I ask, "What are they not learning...?" Pre-school is the workshop where children develop the tools they need to succeed in grade school, and more importantly, in life...

Maybe now you can see why I so adore what I do. There's no question about it--It's a physically draining, emotionally taxing, and sometimes very frustrating job, but I can't imagine another I'd rather be doing right now.

Seeing that life, that joy, that sheer bliss of being and living and learning and growing helps me strive to be and live and learn and grow myself. It's in my classroom that I learn anew how to be mevater and be patient and be kind. It's not just my students that are learning; I am taught countless lessons as well every single day.

So when those people who don't appreciate my achrayus look at me in pity, almost as if I'm taking care of something distasteful, I warm myself up with the knowledge that I'm making a difference in 22 different worlds...and 22 different future families of children who will comprise the next generation of Klal Yisrael...

My girls are each stunning jewels. And I have the privilege and the honor of helping make that first cut into the faces of those jewels so that at the end of 14 years of schooling, those same jewels emerge from the school system as refined, happy, polished, proud daughters of our King.

The director of my school has a sign in her office:

"Children are not human beings; they are human becomings."

And I have the opportunity to nurture those precious becomings...

My beautiful girls.

Heartbeat

2007-10-29T20:15:00.000-04:00

Rise

Fall

Crest

Trough

Inhale

Exhale

Beep.

Blips on a screen.

The thin green line

rises,

wavers,

reaches a peak,

turns, and

plummets,

only to rise again...

Sometimes

steadily,

surely,

clean curves up and down.

Other times

unsure,

suddenly,

heavily,

shuddering.

But yet...

the rise and fall

are

constant.

Beep.

The line will always fluctuate.

The ups

always fall,

the downs

always rise.

A flat line means

failure...

And so,

we rise.

Beep.

Sometimes haltingly,

sometimes sure of ourselves,

but then,

when all seems good,

pleasant,

comfortable...

Beep.

The blip

turns downward,

descends,

darkens our eyes,

makes us feel

scared,

alone,

a failure...

But in reality

failure
is only found

in a flatline.

The downs

are a component

of life.

The valley,

the trough,

the exhale,

are as essential to life

as the vast mountain peaks,

the foam-tipped wave caps,

the cleansing, nourishing breaths

of lifegiving air...

We fall and rise.

Life is dark, then light.

We must prepare

for falls,

cushion ourselves,

steady ourselves,

reach out for support.

But we must also

remember--

The line will

always

peak.

Beep.

The dark never lingers

longer than its wavelength,

and...

Beep.

If we know the secrets

of how to climb

out of the troughs

Beep.

and ride the crests
as long as we can hold on to them,

then

we have

Beep.

discovered

the

secret

Beep.

Growth...

Corner Takes the Plunge...

2007-10-28T14:05:00.000-04:00

This seems a little strange to me...

My own blog? Mine?

Well, after all this time, I guess I'm savvy enough in the blogging world to have my own venting space, but it's still weird that I've joined the ranks. I hope I can live up to my own expectations...(as I'm sure nobody else here has any expectations of me yet!!)

I suppose I should introduce myself a bit. It seems appropriate, although some of you probably have some inkling as to who I am based on my comments on your blogs. Eventually, some of the details will probably come out as they become relevant, but for now let me just say that I am a frum, twenty-somewhat girl with some things to say and the passionate desire to be acknowledged, understood, and part of something big. I'm intesely curious, I love learning new things, and I'm self-critical to a fault. My purpose for starting this blog is twofold: I want to hear what others have to say, and I'm enticed by the concept of a place where I can say what's on my mind and not worry about what others will think of me.

Comments are very welcome. I hope to meet a lot of new and interesting people through this blog, and I hope I can spark others to think or ponder or contemplate things they hadn't thought of or wondered about or contemplated before. I can't promise to post too often, but I'll try my best.

And with that, let the thoughts begin...