Thoughts Inspired by a Barbie Doll

Bs"D

When I was eight, I got a Pioneer Barbie for my birthday. I adored that doll from the moment I laid eyes on her. She had chestnut brown hair, green eyes, and sweet freckles dotted across her dainty plastic nose . But as I explored the intricacies of her gingham dress and apron, I noticed one flaw.
She had a tiny flap of ‘skin’ that hung loose from her leg. Bothered by this imperfection, in my delightful new toy, I gave that little plastic piece a tug. It tore off easily, shredding a path through the smooth surface that surrounded it, leaving behind a raw and ragged swath.
Horrified, I tried to repair the damage by pulling off those shreds of plastic that remained. Needless to say, the problem only grew worse. My poor Barbie looked like her leg had been mauled, or as if she’d been afflicted with some rare skin disease. I did my best to cover her legs up (easy to do in a frum household), but I always knew what a horrible sight lay beneath the folds of cloth. And the knowledge always made me uneasy.
That’s always been me, though. I pick. I pull. Whether it be the plastic skin on the leg of a Barbie doll, or the tension at a Friday night meal, or what exactly was I thinking when I said/did/thought/felt this or that? When we took personality tests in seminary, my highest score was in the category of Self Knowledge. I looked at the results and thought, Yup, that’s me. Which might mean that I do know myself well.
Here’s the rub.
When is the picking and pulling a wonderful tool of discovery, and when does it leave destruction in its wake, like the shredded legs of my Pioneer Barbie?
This is what I say:
When it's superficial – when you’re leading a “plastic” life, when the actions and thoughts and emotions you go over and over and over again are meaningless, purposeless, unguided – you’ll get stuck. There’s nothing underneath to reveal with all the poking and pulling and prodding and picking. Barbie’s leg ain’t real. Her best face is her sur-face.
But when you dig deep into something real – when you soul–examine instead of self–examine – when you ask why and how and when and what and who am I here for, instead of just who am I, you’ll find treasure. The boundless, unlimited, eternal treasure found within each Jew. All that soul-searching will prove that you have a soul to search. And with that soul, a G-d, who gave that soul to you, to serve.

Heaven

B"H
I looked up and there it was.
My eyes could not contain the vision.
Glory thrilled through my veins.
Joy was on my lips.
My soul was healed.
There, in the glorious space between the majestic, sun tipped clouds, was the sky.
Azure.
Cerulean.
Indigo.
Sapphire.
Blue.
Pure and holy Blue.
I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, only to open them again and be elated by the sight of it. There had been endless days of gray, days that had passed in a quiet rush, days that had begun with clouds and ended with clouds, days that slipped by me so easily, days where my soul had slept.
Now those days had come to a conclusion. It was time for sun and sky.
My soul slipped up and away, into this pure and perfect blue, this rainwashed, coldcleansed blue that was suspended above me. I felt laughter. I heard song. I knew only this moment, only the wonder that my eyes could not contain, only the beauty that man could not ever hope to create, only this.
This moment was joy.
This moment was peace.
I inhaled this moment and held it within me. In my mind's eye, I still behold the vision of that sky.
Behind those days of gray, those layers of gloom, it had been waiting.
Waiting for me.
Waiting for me to emerge from that small building and be stunned by it. Lifted up into its perfection.

Wind Me Up

B"H
Did you ever have one of those wind-up toys? The ones with little plastic feet and the knob on the side that you wind up and let loose to run across the table and fall over the edge? My family used to buy a silly wind-up toy whenever we were giving gifts. The wind-up teeth, duck, even the wind-up seal that you could put in the bathtub. I think we got that one for my sister's sixteenth birthday.
I feel like one of those wind-up toys. You have to hold them in your hand and wind the tiny knob on the side. They begin to quiver with pent-up energy, the legs clicking, anxious for movement.
So you let them go, and they race across the surface you have placed them on in mad, dashing circles.
Then they slow down. The circles grow smaller, the legs click with a softer rythm. Before you know it, they have toppled over, and lie feebly on their sides, cheap plastic bodies shuddering with an occasional twitch.
And you have to pick them up, and wind the knob, tighten the coils, ready the toy for another run.
It's been about three months or so that I've been living here in Crown Heights. Three months that feel more like five, filled as they've been with so many firsts, so many new things. And with so many old ones, old emotions that I'd forgotten. New situations, same logic. Same patterns. Sometimes, I know myself better than I think. Sometimes, I surprise myself. But right now, this week, I am sure of one thing.
I'm ready to be wound up again. To reel in the coils of energy, the resolutions and decisions and visions that propelled me when I arrived in September. I'm ready to suck in that deep, calming breath and take a look at my list. That list of wishes and hopes, and all those things that I really should do.
My knob's been turned and twisted tight. I'm quivering with pent up energy, aching to be moving.
What's frustrating is that two weeks from now, I'll be back, ready to be wound up again.
Those toys didn't really have a lot of staying power.

This Unbelievable World... and I Don't Mean That in a Good Way

B"H
Having come to the realization that I am rather unaware when it comes to world news and events, I have begun reading Arutz Sheva on a daily basis. I don't really care all that much about the news within the United States. Elections aren't until next year, and I'm just going to ask my parents who (whom?) to vote for anyway (don't throw things at me!). But I reasoned that Israel is a place about which I should be informed.
So I've been reading the news of the past couple of days. I realize I'm jumping on the bandwagon rather late in the stage, but what the heck?! They're talking about giving up Yerushalayim??
Haven't we done this before? Had this argument? Didn't we fight a war and get Yerushalayim back? WHAT IS GOING ON?
This is why politics sickens me. It seems so pointless. We have to fight the same fights over and over and over again. People make the same mistakes over and over and over again. Nothing new ever happens. At least until the next major terrorist attack or the next war breaks out.
We still have to fight. We have to campaign and vote and rally and protest. We have to work within the world.
But that is not where the change is going to come.
It'll come from the next sincere tefillah that I say. The next nickel I drop in the pushka. The next conversation I have with the next Jew I encounter on public transportation.
It'll come from the gathering in of all the sparks that have been spread over the four corners of this world.
This truly unbelievable, so desperately ready for redemption, world.

Something to Hang Onto

B"H
"Vatah ayef vyagea, vlo yira Elokim...." She paused and looked around the classroom, before continuing in her softly accented voice, "The Alter Rebbe explains this statement in the reverse; when you do not possess fear of G-d, you will become tired and weary. Someone who has faith and fear of G-d does not become exhausted by the struggles of life. Everything in their life comes from G-d. What comes from G-d doesn't tire you out, it exhilarates you."

What is the greatest struggle of my life?
My relationship with G-d. There have been good times, bad times, and extended periods of in-between times. I have been passionate and focused, secure in the knowledge that I was doing the 'right things' to maintain this relationship. I have felt distant and unworthy, having lost that sense of direction which guided me towards G-d. I have been indifferent, forgetting even my guilt in the miasma of trivialities that I had submerged myself in.
I am not alone in this struggle. I share it with the whole world. My struggle is unique only in that it is me struggling, this soul inside this body at this moment.
This week, I am content with my struggle. There are things in every day I wish to change or do better. That is the nature of struggle. But I feel confident. I feel secure.
What grants me this security?
"Someone who has faith and fear of G-d does not become exhausted by the struggles of life."
A prisoner is punished with work without purpose. A child is rewarded with love for any work they do.
I have faith in G-d that He values every moment of my struggle. On the days when I feel like I'm climbing a glass mountain with no end in sight, I know He is loving me for each time I reach forward and each time I fall.
My struggle to connect to Him cannot exhaust me as long as I know this.
How could it?

Where is Everybody?

B"H
This is just a random complaint because there haven't been any posts on the blogs I like to read in simply ages. I'm guessing this is because the people who write these aforementioned (oooh, what a lovely word!) blogs actually have lives, and don't write on their blogs when they have things to do, for example, unpack three suitcases' worth of clothing that have been strewn across the floor for two and a half days.
But still. I have the need to read!
So, somebody, write something!

Little Lost Girl

B"H
This is the only way
that I can seem to say
what it is I need to.
without knowing why
I'm lost,
I am
and can't find the path to freedom.
Sunk,
drifting,
I'm boneless in confusion.
Too many times tried
to try again
even though I must
I can't pretend
that I didn't wish I was my true self
more often.

Starting Over

B"H
It's Elul again. Again.
I'm in New York again. Again.
Only this year, everything is different.
I've left my childhood behind, and I am moving on.
When I was a young girl, maybe nine or ten, I used to dream about reaching this point of my life. When I would dress up fancy, and have an apartment in the city, and live with friends, and work, and then one day I'd meet someone and fall in love.
Now I'm here.
And I'm scared and excited and a bit lost.
I have the apartment. I have the friends. I have a job (Finally!). I (almost) have the clothes. And one day, I'll meet someone.
But that day is still a ways away. As much as I'd love to fall in love, I am not ready.
I have one goal for this year. It can be summed up in two words: Grow Up.
In detail:
I have to pay bills, make flights, buy groceries and cook for myself. How would I take care of my husband and my children if I didn't know how to take care of myself?
I want to be a writer. That means I have to write! It's no longer just a hobby, or a talent that my teachers praise. I want to write and have people read what I write. I want to do something with it.
I don't want to compare. It's poisonous. I am thrilled by the thought of being "different" than other girls because of my background. And yet, I envy the way another girl dresses even as I turn my nose up at her "Crown Heights look".
I'm giving myself six months. Six-month trial period is standard, isn't it?

We're all starting a new year. For me, this year is really new. A whole new life. I'm not a schoolgirl any longer. I'm something unfamiliar. Just - me.
I have a chance at fulfilling long-held dreams.
Wish me luck.

Gimmel Tammuz

B"H
Tuesday will be Gimmel Tammuz.
It's a time when a Chossid is supposed to think of their hiskashrus to the Rebbe. A tip from one of my teachers was to make it personal. What has the Rebbe done for YOU? How has he affected YOUR life?
So I thought about it. And (not surprisingly) I came up with quite a lot. Here is the chain of events that I came up with:
1) My parents became frum:
If my mother hadn't met Chabad, she might be Conservative, and living in Seattle.
If my father hadn't met Chabad, he might be liberal and living in San Fransico.
They might not have met.
If they had (somehow), they might not have had me. (I'm the third child).
If they had met, and had our family, they might have raised us in a completely secular lifestyle. And had I been raised like that, would I be anything like the person I am today?
2)My parents asked the Rebbe, and went to Berkeley:
If they had stayed in Crown Heights, I would be (shudder) a Bais Rivka Girl.
If they had moved to Seattle, I might have met my best friend much earlier, and our relationship would be completely different.
If they had moved to LA, I might have gotten involved in the wrong crowd of friends, and who knows where I'd be now.
3)I went to Bais Chana High School:
I met my best friend.
I realized there was a Chassidish World out there.
I applied to Chitrik.
4)I went to Chitrik:
And everything happened there.
Now I'm here.
There's more. So many details, so many that I don't even realize the source of all of them. I was born a Chosid. That means I was handpicked. Chosen.
Now I have to ask myself, "Am I doing everything I should to justify that choice?"
And I have to deal with what the answer is.
Gimmel Tammuz. Tuesday.
May we merit to see our Rebbe physically right now!

I'M DONE!

B"H
It is now Sunday. I am continuing the trend of all-nighters in the computer room. However, tonight is something new.
I am done.
THANK G-D!
It was hard work. It involved a lot of late nights/early mornings, coffees and Cokes, and a lack of studying for finals.
But now it is finished.
And as the saying goes, it was "Worth It".

Late Night... Er, Early Morning Contemplations

B"H
It's a beautiful morning. The sky is gradually lightening to an eggshell blue as the day dawns. Soon, the morning dew will evaporate from the leaves of trees and grasstems, as the sun burns ever brighter. The eggshell blue overhead will darken to a brilliant azure.
It's 6:43 Am.
I haven't yet been to sleep.
Such behavior leads to various results:
1) Heightened sense of humor - at this point, everything is funny, including the two finals that I have not yet studied for, and my friend who is asleep on the floor of the computer room.
2) Tendency to stare off in the distance, searching for words - at this point, English is no longer my first language. I'm not sure what is, though.
3) Belly-button contemplating - this involves deep philosophical thinking, the kind that only occurs during the wee hours of the morning.
It's a known rule that the best conversations take place at 3 Am, and the best contemplation occurs approximately three hours later. Unfortunately, the conversations usually exhaust the participants, and the oppurtunity to make use of this maximal contemplation time is sadly wasted.
It's a wonderful thing that I have the fortuity to be able to take advantage of this prime contemplation time.
Let's not waste a minute.

I have been dreaming. Snatches of dreams that run through later thoughts and present themselves as memories. I have dreamed so strong that walking down a street in Jerusalem caused me to catch my breath in familiarity.
My dreams are a gift. I do not dream every night. I treasure those times when I awake, the sweetness of a dream still on my tongue.
Are dreams truth? Or just recycled images, wasted sounds, that a powerful mind has stored up to release upon the subconscious?
There are stories of others - people just like myself, neither saint nor prophet - who have dreamed true.
But I?
My dreams?
Sometimes, they seem to be whispers from other worlds, spoken in the language of my other lives. At othertimes, they are mundane and foolish.
Perhaps they are the mistranslations of messages from my eternal Soul.

The Gate

B"H
I walked out of the computer room, my body aching from hours spent sitting and staring at a screen. It was 9:40, and I had been there since 2:45. My bag hung heavily from my shoulders, and I shuffled through the dark courtyard on my way to the brightly lit, fluorescent green gate.
It was locked.
I stared up at it.
Frustrated thoughts flew in a familiar pattern through my head.
Why do they always lock it?... It's our gate!... I don't have the energy to walk all the way around.... Should I climb over the gate, like the last three times this happened?Lechatchila Ariber, right?
Tonight, I was too tired.
I began the long trek back to my apartment. Stars shone brightly, pinpricks of light in a velvety black sky.
A few words whispered across my mind:
"Why do you always go to the gate when you know it will be locked?"
Why?
Well....
Um...
Another whisper:
"Why did you always think that you couldn't change certain ways you think?"
A door opened.
I've been in seminary the whole year, "changing". And don't forget, "growing". Thank G-d, I have changed. I have grown. But there are somethings that I just haven't been quite ready to give up. Certain thought patterns that I haven't quite managed to overcome. Attitudes that didn't quite get uprooted and replaced.
But a day or two ago, a couple of things happened. Little puzzle pieces fell together and a new picture emerged. I realized what I really wanted, and what I'd have to do to achieve my desires.
In the light of this new realization, those thoughts and attitudes retreated to the shadows.
They are still there. I'll still have to fight them. But I no longer feel that they are my only option. So tonight -
I won't be walking down to the green gate.

Midbar Year

B"H
It is 3 AM! And Avraham Fried is blasting from the speakers on my computer (unfortunately), the girls are ordering pizza, and I'm taking a break from editing farbrengen notes to write this. I'm still working off the fumes of the two coffees I had about two hours ago. I keep burning my tongue on those... but they taste SO good.
It's always like this at the end of things. Normal life, which includes things like sleep and food and moving around, is canceled. Instead, life becomes centered around coffee, late night conversations, and hysterical laughter when Chana Leah falls off her chair. For no reason. Schedules go crazy and attendance in class becomes a suggestion instead of a requirement. Ahh, the joys of youth.
However, discussing the vagaries of my life in seminary is not the purpose of this post. In fact, I wanted to comment on leaving sem.
One of our madrichot said this at our weekly farbrengen:
An explanation given for the Jew's desire to stay in the desert, instead of entering Israel, is that the desert was actuallya place of spiritual inspiration for them. They were given the Torah there. They built the Mishkan there. All their physical needs were provided for, and all their energies could be focused on the study of G-d's words. Why would they want to enter the 'Holy' Land?
Immediately upon entering, they would have to involve themselves in the unpleasant task of conquering its inhabitants. They would eventually have to divide up the land, and settle there, devoting themselves to back breaking physical labor. They would have to plow and sow and harvest. They would have to make their clothes, and keep them clean. (I wouldn't have wanted to do my own laundry either.)
The Jews at that time would have prefered to stay in the desert, surrounded by the Clouds of Glory, with all their physical needs taken care of. They would have loved to devote every waking moment to the pursuit of G-dliness.
What they failed to realize at that time was that this was not what G-d intended. He has a plan. A prescription. The way to reach Him is specifically through being drenched in all that 'distasteful' physicality that the Jews wanted so desperately to avoid.
It is at those times when a Jew is most involved in the daily pattern of his regular life, and he raises himself above it to fulfill a request of G-d, that he is most connected. It's when you're sitting in psychology class, hanging your wet laundry, forcing down another bureka or savoring a hot coffee - all with the consciousness that all the physical things you do are not for yourself, but rather for HIM - that you have achieved the highest spiritual levels.
After all, there's nothing really special about sitting in the Clouds of Glory and feeling G-d's presence. I mean - Duh! If you don't feel G-dly at that point, you must be spiritually DEAD.

So -
Seminary is the desert. It's been a place of inspiration for us. It's been easier to connect, easier to feel our desire for G-d, our desire to grow.
But -
We have to leave the cocoon of seminary. We have to abandon the sheltered world that we've been absorbed in this year. We've been sensitized, focused. And now we return to our families and friends, as new people. We have to move on into the real world, of jobs and rent and bills. It's scary. But that's what we've been working toward this year. That's where we will really fulfill our purpose. That is where we will actualize everything we have learned this year.
Out There.

Of course, the Jews ended up staying in the Midbar for 40 years..... Shana Arbaim, anyone? ;)

Dropped in A Black Hole

Bs"d
I haven't written a word for weeks. This is a symptom of the seminary effect caused by being in the bubble, on a mountaintop in Israel, making my best efforts to become semmed out. Also the fact that I share my computers with 75 other girls.
But there's only 3 more weeks, and I will be free!
Never mind that I'm not sure I want to be. Leaving seminary is going to have more impact on me than I'm ready to accept. I'm leaving an entire world, one to which I will never return.
I'll be back in Israel, yes, but seminary?
No.

Eilat - It's Beautiful

Swimming with the Fishies

Go In Peace

Baruch Dayan HaEmes

Shterna Sara bas R' S. Z. Lepkivker

Professor Liviu (Levi) Librescu

May Hashem comfort their families. Ad Mosai!

In Other Words... This is Me

Finally... Presenting... My Nephew!

The Honorable Menachem Mendel Rothstein

"Happy Baby"

3:30 AM Rant

B"H
Here I am, sitting on the couch which has been doubling as my bed for the past week, tears rolling down my face because my new contacts dry out when I stare at anything for more than 15 seconds, writing for what seems like the first time in ages. I also have just torn myself away from reading other people's blogs, and wondering why they actually have readers and comments!
A comment from my mother drifts through my mind; "As long as you compare yourself to to others, you won't have the self-confidence to do what you have to do." Profound. But still, I find myself wondering, 'How did they do it?!'
Other aggreivances: family time is never as satisfying as I imagine/hope it will be; all too often, I am negative (what happened to my natural optimism?); I still don't know what I'm doing in the summer; I can't seem to communicate properly with my brothers; and everything I've worked on accomplishing this past year in Tsfat has sloughed off me like old skin.
WHAT TO DO!?
(I really like ?! as a punctuation. That and - , as well as...)
G-d, it feels good to write. I need a laptop. As a writer, its going to be a neccessary tool. But my mother told me today that my sister and brother-in-law purchased the one I am currently using for $1000! Help!
Another complaint - I don't really know what I'm doing. I am, to make a confession, fairly computer illiterate. I've had my camera since September, and I had to come home and ask my brother which setting was the anti-redeye. It's frustrating.
One day, when someone actually reads this, please comment! If for no actual reason, at least so that I can have the satisfaction of knowing that the energy I put into writing this hasn't just vanished into the consuming existence of Internet oblivion.
Thank you, and Goodnight.

Returning to Myself

B"H
Lightning spears through the night sky, and thunder's boom follows. I hear the hiss of rain hitting the roof. The smell of whole wheat challahs baking in my sister's oven fills her apartment. I lift my hair off the back of my neck with one hand, while I cradle my nephew's small body with the other. It has been a quiet day, now coming to a quiet close.
It hasn't been easy, regaining my equilibrium. First, the craze of leaving, the late nights spent cleaning and packing, the days in school dreaming about what had to be done. The traveling followed, three days of hauling my luggage around, running to get money, trying to figure out what the next stage of my journey would be, and how I was going to get there. And then being here, in my sister's home.
At some point, I lost my bearings. Probably in the haze of stress and confusion in the weeks before I left. At some point, I stopped thinking. Period. There is an entire list of the things I stopped thinking of - how it feels to honestly smile, Hashem creating me, the imagination of the little girl inside me, my friends' love for me, the Rebbe encouraging me, and what really great music sounds like.
I got to America, I looked around, and I felt awful. I walked down Kingston, and felt worse. I sat alone on a couch in Ithaca, and I wanted to die.
I could repeat all the nasty comments I made to myself about myself, but why waste the energy? So what that I (still) don't know what I'm doing in the summer! So what that I have, as my father phrases it, 'a belly'! So what that I'm still balancing my contradicting souls! To everything; so what!
Today I felt something within me relax. Pressure had coiled up within me, soiling my every thought with its touch, and suddenly it released. It just let go. I closed my eyes and smiled, having reawakened, right there, in the middle of the kitchen.
It doesn't mean I dont have work to do. There is still a long path for me to travel. And it will contain curves like this one again, the same way it has before. But every time I emerge from one of these curves whole, I am grateful all over again. Every time I regain my focus, I marvel at the clarity anew.

Time for Something New

B"H
It's 2:00 on a Friday afternoon, and I'm in Ithaca, NY. I'm still in a bit of shock. Israel seems so far away, and being here feels like a dream. My nephew whimpers and wriggles on a blanket on the floor, and my sister and brother-in-law talk quietly in the next room.
I have to pack a bag for Shabbos. We're going to Ithaca College to host a Jewish Studies Class that needs to observe a Chabad House or a Reform Temple. Talk about odd couples.
I'm nervous. My sister tells me that she and I are going to have to switch off being there, taking turns watching the baby. Wait, I say, you mean I'm going to have to be there alone? You'll be fine, she reassures me. You're in school in Israel, you're their age. They'll be so impressed.
I'm not as sure as she is. I wish I didn't have to be there alone. It's an in between place to be - with people my age, but so different. In a place where I could belong, but without the one person that I belong to. I've been secluded for seven months, in a seminary bubble. My sensitivities have been raised. Will I still able to talk to anybody, to relate?
I want to fit in, and I am different. No changing that.
This is an old struggle, one I'm familiar with. Neither here or there - I've felt like that so often. It's about time for something new.
Who am I?
I am the Rebbe's chossid. I'm a Chitrik girl. I'm a Welton. I'm a Berkeley girl. I am a writer. I am short. I'm a reader. I'm a talker. I am a believer. I'm a friend. I am a daughter, a sister, an aunt. I am Ashirah.
I am all of these things, and more. I have a power within me. The particular place I am in, the people I am with, the difficulties I have - they are all uniquely mine. They are sent to me by a Divine Hand.
So tonight, before I walk in the door of wherever I am going to be, I will close my eyes, breathe deep, and remind myself:
I am Ashirah.
And I can do this!

My Nephew

B"H
He's a small baby, a little handful. Just perfect for me to hold. He has big baby doll eyes, deep brown that look almost blue from certain angles. His cheeks are fat, making up most of his face. His nose peeks out delicately, just like his parents. He smiles, and a dimple shows. Tendrils of hair curl against his head, and a cowlick in the front refuses to go down.
He chortles when his father eats his hands, or tickles his tummy. He smiles when his mommy whispers to him. I snuggle my face into his soft neck. He frowns and laughs in his sleep, in response to some unknown dream. He wiggles when I hold him, and kicks his legs in his cradle. He chews on his fist or his blanket when he's hungry. He coos and gurgles and squeaks, talking to himself.
His tatty calls him "little man"; his mommy, "shmuntchkie". I call him "Mendel munchkin".
He is two months old today.

If Only I Could See It Myself

BH
I went to the Ohel today. It was a cold day, but the sun was shining brightly. I stood in the Ohel, and raised my eyes up to the clear blue sky. The panim covered the Ohel in a thick layer of white, the way they always do. A wind blew over and stirred some of them around.
It's special to be at the Ohel, but whenever I go, I feel a longing for something more. Something I can't get the way the world exists right now.
I want to be able to see the Rebbe. I've listened to farbrengers speak about the Rebbe, about the pain and confusion Gimmel Tammuz caused them, about their yearning to see the Rebbe again. And tears come to my eyes, and I feel a shadow of the same longing. I listened to R' Chitrik's description of Pesach night, after the Seder, he followed the Rebbe out of 770 to Union where the Rebbitzen was waiting, and how he saw them walk down the street together to their home. And how for him, that expresses what the Rebbitzen is - the Rebbe's partner. And I sigh, almost able to see it in my mind's eye.
But none of it is enough. No amount of stories, miraculous and touching, no amount of accounts from my parents or older friends, teachers, mashpiim, no amount of videos from farbrengens or dollars, none of it is enough. I want to see the Rebbe myself, with my own eyes. I want to take a dollar from his hand, and feel that charge, the awe of being his chossid. And so I stand at the Ohel, and tears well up as I stand beneath the bright sun. All I have is this, and I want so much more.

Strange Transitions

B"H
Today was my sister's first wedding anniversary. It's also the day that I'm leaving Tsfat after seven months and returning to America. I'm headed to my sister's house for Pesach along with the whole family. It's been a while since we haven't been in Berkeley for at least some of Pesach. Those long ago days in Sacramento barely count. So this is a transition. One among many.
For example - someone who relies on her parents to someone looking for a job. A full time student to a part-time student. Adding aunt to the description of daughter and sister. Spending summers in CGI Berkeley to looking for a summer camp (anywhere). Being in Israel to being in America. Writing for my personal pleasure to trying to get something published.
I know what it all means - growing up.
Yeah, yeah. I'm eighteen, a big girl, I've had this conversation with my friends over and over. We're growing up, getting older, more mature (hopefully); we're adding to our families with sister and brother -in-laws, nieces and nephews, and the occasional suprise baby. The places where we live or where we go have changed. New people, new stories. But to me, no matter how many times I've gone through a change, crossed a milestone, it still strikes me the same way.
So - wow. It's my sister's one year anniversary. I'm an aunt. Chanie Ferris has been married for a day. And I'm going to the airport in an hour.