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.