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.