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.