103.8

My baby is burning with fever.

He whimpers, restless…

I try everything I know

To soothe him, comfort him

Ease his pain

But I am helpless.

He reaches out to me, desperately

Pulls me close

Then pushes me away

Lies down

Gets back up

Picks up toys and puts them down

He doesn’t know what he wants…

Just that the pain should go away

I stand, holding him close

In his dark room

My mind is sluggish

I have been up far too long..

But he needs me,

So I am here…

His head is heavy,

Limp on my shoulder

His face nestled into the hollow of my neck

His skin, like coals

Burns mine

And he cries. 

And I cannot console him.

And then I understand

Maybe a little bit better….

I think of the parent

The Tatty

Who watches

While His beloved children are burning

Burning up

With baseless hate

And with self destruction

And with emptiness

And we cry

Whimper, restless…

Call out for comfort,

To be soothed

For this Pain to lessen

But we cannot be consoled.

And we keep crying…

We reach out, desperately

We pull Him close

And then push Him away

We fall

We get back up

We try and distract

And we realize we can’t..

We don’t even know what we want

Just…that the pain…should go…away…

But He stands

Holding us

In this dark, dark room.

It is too late; things have stopped making sense

But we need Him

Oh, how we need Him

And He is there…

………………….

Today my baby woke up

With a watery smile,

His skin cool to the touch

I whisper my quiet Thanks upward

And move on to start my day… 

Oh, for the day

To be free of this fire

May it come speedily in our days…

Brave...

I never thought of myself as brave

I’m just a regular kinda person

Well,

I’m not afraid of bugs, or dogs, or heights

Or blood, or flying, or speaking up in public

But I never saw myself as particularly brave

I wonder…

Would I drop everything and run

into a blazing building to save a child?

I’d like to think so, but if I had to be honest

I think I’m the type to freeze up and just stand there staring, horrified,

While others rush around helping and doing and saving

Would I hold onto my beliefs and affirm my trust in G-d

And rather be burned by the stake than denounce my faith?

I wish I could give a resounding YES…

But how could I know that for sure?

Would I be willing to donate a kidney

       to a complete stranger?

Would I have the courage to enter the gas chambers with my head held high,

       still believing in His goodness?

Would I make the split-second decision to run in front of a truck

       to save a little child?

Would I behave like the people on Flight 93

       if I found myself faced with a terrorist?

Would I act like my grandfather did

       as he ran from the Nazis?

...

I have never been tested in such big ways.

But

I’ve been told that I’m brave.

That facing my fears and doing what needs to be done

       is brave

That by taking up my tiny dagger against the huge and terrifying monster…

And not hiding from myself

And not lying to myself

And taking that leap into the abyss

And trusting that this fall is what needs to be done…

And believing that He knows what’s best for me

And loves me

And won’t let me die…

And putting all my energy and strength and faith and sweat and blood and tears

Into this task that seems so incredibly impossible…

And waking up every morning with the decision to keep doing this…

And still moving forward

With a smile

And a thin but unwavering song woven tightly around my heart

Even when life comes again to smack me in the face…

………That by doing all this………

I am being

         So

     Unbelievably

             Brave.

Bliss

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

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

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....?

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

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

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

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

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.

Ever-elusive

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

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...

Parched

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

by

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...

Iridescence

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

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

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

"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..."

Ki li'olam chasdo...

Hodu laShem ki tov......

He

is

so

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

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...

Come back...

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.....