If you have been reading my blog for a while, you know that I spent the most amazing 5 days digging in a 1st Century Jewish neighborhood just north of Tiberias in Israel this fall. (If you are new, that's okay! Just check out my Indiana Jones Adventure.)I learned about this dig through Fr. Kelly at Notre Dame of Jerusalem... who I met through Doug Seserman of the Allied Jewish Federation (where I now work). Denver is very fortunate to have such a great connection to this project and group. Subsequently, I would like to share with you a unique opportunity in Denver. The Galilee Gala will take place on Wednesday, June 8 at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. It is going to be a wonderful evening in support of this very important historical site where you will have the opportunity to learn more about the history of the area and what has already been unearthed (and it is truly awesome).But on a personal note, let me explain to you the nitty gritty. When the Catholic Church discovered this site, they were asked if they were just going to throw some concrete in and build the hotel on top of the area, as planned. Many groups, especially non-Jewish builders in Israel, do this... they hide or obscure history by destroying it. That is not the case for this site. The Catholic Church understands the value of this historical find for, not only the Jewish people, but also for their own edification. Instead of hiding it and covering it up, they are sharing this 1st Century synagogue with the world... despite the fact that it has increased the site cost for them. This will be at least a three year excavation. The friends I made on the dig will be living in a church in Tiberias for three years to work on this project. The welcome center and resources for the Christian pilgrims will be built around these sites and once the excavation is complete, it will become a multi-faith tourist attraction, accessible to all.None of this comes cheaply. The staff needs to be fed (multiple times a day, in fact!) and there are other expenses. I donated $25 a day while I was on the dig towards those expenses to help out with the project. But even so, they need continued support. Please consider attending The Galilee Gala in Denver on June 8th or sending a donation to the project.To donate, click here.If you are interested in attending the Gala, click here to register or scroll down for more information.Thank you in advance for your support!
A Mother's Plea
I have been thinking about a new blog for a while. Looking for inspiration around me... I have been working long hours, been exhausted, and have been sick. Then I came across this blog, this plea. This woman's daughter moved to Israel at 15 because she felt so passionate about living in her spiritual homeland. She left her family at a young age with little Hebrew knowledge to live in a foreign country. She then served in the Israeli army as a Lone Soldier (meaning she had no family in the country she was willing to die for). She chose to be in a tough combat unit.Then tragedy struck. She was hit by a car a developed a horrible disease called Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy. So clearly, her mother needs to go to Israel to be with her daughter. Unfortunately, her husband (the girl's father) is unemployed and working on getting disability through the VA. This mother will lose at least two months pay, if not her job, to go and be with her suffering daughter. S0me of you may know this and some may not but plane tickets to Israel are currently sitting around $1400 round trip. That is just the flight alone. Not food when she is there or anything else. She has reluctantly brought her situation to the web and is asking for help.This story really moved me. I have several friends serving as Lone Soldiers in Israel and my G-dbrothers have both served (one is currently serving) in the Israeli Army. No child should suffer without their mom if possible. So I ask you, please follow this link - Emergency Visit To Israel to read more about this situation and to donate. She is taking donation through PayPal and the link is just a little under the search box. $5, $15, $50, $500 everything helps.Thanks readers!
Not all who wander are lost
All that is gold does not glitter,Not all those who wander are lost;The old that is strong does not wither,Deep roots are not reached by the frost.From the ashes a fire shall be woken,A light from the shadows shall spring;Renewed shall be blade that was broken,The crownless again shall be king.-- J.R.R Tolkien
Disclaimer: Please don't hate me, please don't stop reading, I know I just quoted Tolkien but I am not a huge fan. Nor have I seen the movies or really read the book. I just really enjoy this quote. I am lacking in the SciFi nerdty. It is something I struggle with every day. :) Thank you.The more I think about it, the more I realize that in the time-honored tradition of my ancestors... I am a wanderer. My people wandered all over the land from Cannan to Egypt to Israel to Jordan to Babylonia to (more recently) the Ukraine/Germany/Poland/Russia then (rather remarkably, actually) to England before wandering to the US of A. Once here, we didn't stop wandering... NYC, Rhode Island, Cincinnati, Champagne-Urbana, Florida, Los Angeles, Boulder, Denver... we have wandered all over.It used to be that I could pack pretty much all of my life into my 1997 Honda Civic. I mean you couldn't see out the windows but it all fit... even had a spot for my little hamster & his cage by the window back when he was my traveling companion. With the advent of social media I could be in touch with the friends I made over the years in any location I was in. People laugh at me now when they see I have nearly 1400 friends on Facebook. Surely you don't know all of them, they say. But that isn't true. I don't accept requests from people I haven't met in person. These are friends I have collected over the years during my time in different locations. Friends from JCC pre-school in White Plains, from Kindergarten in Illinois, from elementary school in one of the three elementary schools I went to, from Gifford Middle 6 or 7 or high school in Vero Beach, from Jewish camp in Georgia, from a semester in Israel in high school, from youth groups and theatre groups, from cheerleading, from college in Jacksonville, from working for Target in Colorado, from Gamma Phi Beta conventions, from acting in LA and London, from my relationship with Chabad all over the world, from grad school in Denver, from hanging with the Jews in Denver, from spending a semester in Israel again... this time as an adult... I am so used to packing the bags and moving on... but what if I want to stay where I am? What if I enjoy living somewhere and am sick of moving? Is that betraying my wandering ancestry?No, I don't think so. I've lived a long 30 years and I am happy to settle into a place that I find beautiful and enjoyable to live. Wandering has its benefits. I have experienced some AMAZING things in my life but it also has its drawbacks. There is never a childhood home to go to. I don't have deep friendships with that one group of people that I have known since I was born.I didn't wander because I was lost, I wandered because that was written in my DNA. Just as being a maggid, a storyteller is in my DNA. I am proud of that heritage and I am proud that I can recognize and appreciate it and still enjoy settling down.As Jews we have found ourselves settling into life many times. Sometimes in Eretz Yisrael (the land of Israel) and sometimes in Chutz l'Aretz ('the other lands' aka the diaspora). I think our periods of settlement, of non-wandering, is our time to recharge the batteries. Wandering sure takes a lot out of a person! This week's Torah portion is Bechukotai where G-d promises us the land of Israel but where G-d also warns us that we will stuffer from exile and problems if we forget our way. Maybe that is what wandering is... looking for the way, a way, one that perhaps we already know internally but we need to find the right place for us to live it. And sometimes that changes... and our location changes too.Perhaps this blog is wandering a bit but I guess my point is... don't judge anything. Not only is that not our place but also... all gold doesn't glitter... just because they wander, doesn't make them lost. Our Judaism has deep roots that won't wither... unless we forcibly expose them to the elements and forget to care for them. And sometimes, from the ashes of a decision or relationship or tragedy, a fire is rekindled or 'woken' (as Tolkien says... though I am not sure that word is correct... but it could be my Sunday brain).
Obama Got Osama... Baruch HaShem
Wow, it was quite a shock last night. I was cleaning up my house and getting ready for bed when I noticed Twitter was blowing up. I immediately turned on the news to find out that President Obama was speaking about the death of Osama Bin Laden. The most hated man, the most chased man, and as one friend put it the "World Hide & Seek Champion: 2001-2011."I never understood how hard it was to find a 6' 5" older man with diabetes, carrying around dialysis... Alas he proved elusive. In fact, one person on Twitter posted this - "10 years, 2 wars, 919,967 deaths, and $1,188,263,000,000 later, we managed to kill one person. I hope it was worth it..."The country erupted in cheers at the news he was dead... however, I could not miss some interesting similarities. May 1 was the date Hitler killed himself and his new wife Eva Braun. It is also the holiday of Yom HaShoah... the Holocaust remembrance day. But yesterday, we were all remembering the death of thousands of Americans at the hands of a different type of terrorist. And, unfortunately, unlike the swift downfall of the Nazi party upon the removal of it's head, this brand of terrorist is still with us. This branch has Medusa like qualities, for certainly once this man was struck down several others prepared to step forward.The death or capture of Osama Bin Laden was very important to us. It was symbolic, necessary for the finality and peace for the victims family and friends left behind. Just as murder victims feel closure when the perpetrator is put in jail and sentenced... no longer free to enjoy their life as we do, this bring some sense of finality to these survivors... but it doesn't bring your loved on back. Nothing ever will. I just hope this helps them move forward.It should also help our country move forward. We were stuck in a seemingly non-ending war and couldn't even catch this one bad guy. It became a point of pride.
However, there is one thing we need to remember. We just came out of Passover, where we escaped the evil tyrant and crossed the Sea of Reeds. then the sea closed in on the Egyptians, killing them. Miriam leads the people in Shir haYam (song of the sea). There is a story about this in the Talmud (Talmud Tractate Megillah 10b) that the angels above began to sing and dance as well. G-d chides them, "The works of my hands are drowning in the sea and you want to sing praises?" Another midrash highlights this: "On three occasions, the angels wanted to sing praises before God, and God would not permit them. What are these? The generation of the flood [in which only Noah and his family were saved]; the crossing of the Red Sea; and the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. . . God said, “These comforting words that you say to me are insults to me.” (Petichta 24 in Vilna edition)This reminds me of the story of Ishmael and Hagar when they are sent out from Avraham's home. They are dying of thirst in the desert and G-d hears Ishmael's prayers and saves him. Why? The angels ask G-d... you know what he will do, how his descendants will torture the Jewish people specifically through water, why do you save him? And G-d replies, because we judge people based on who they are today, not who they were or who they are to become.These are reality checks. Ishmael was to become a bad person and his descendants tortured many Jews but G-d did not judge him for his future actions. And we can not judge all Muslims for the actions of the few. G-d let the Israelites have their party and joyous celebration after their tormentors were killed at the Sea of Reeds but when the angels tried to celebrate G-d put the kibosh on it. Yes, these people suffered and have the right to relish the moment but people are still dead, people who were created by the same G-d as you and I... and that deserves a bit of respect.What I am trying to say here is relish this moment. Say Kadish for those lost on September 11, 2001 but then we move forward. To be stuck in a place of vindictiveness is not right.May 1, 2011 became not only Holocaust Remembrance Day but also a day to remember and honor those who lost their lives to madmen with flawed ideals.Lastly, I want to share an email I got this morning. My very dear friends, Esty and Dovi Scheiner were married on September 11, 2001. They have dedicated their married life to the financial district in NYC and giving the young Jews who live there a connection to their Judaism.
Dear Talia,It is with deep emotion that Esty and I learned of the assassination of Osama Bin Laden.Our wedding day was September 11, 2001, and we moved to lower Manhattan shortly thereafter, committed to doing our small part to help rebuild a community devastated by the worst attack on American civilians.In a very real sense, the evil act committed at the behest of Osama Bin Laden was the impetus for the founding of SoHo Synagogue, with a mission of spreading light in the face of darkness.Today, Monday, May 2, we encourage you to perform a dedicated act of goodness and kindness in honor of the 3000 innocent men and women who lost their lives on September 11, 2001.Warmly, Dovi & Esty
A Memory of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising
My dear friend Rucheli posted this letter on her blog and I just had to share it. It is from the Warsaw Ghetto uprising. On this day of remembrance, here is something to jog your memory and touch your soul...In one of the ruins of the Warsaw Ghetto, preserved in a little bottle and concealed amongst heaps of charred stone and human bones, the following testament was found, written in the last hours of the ghetto by a Jew named Yosl Rakover.Warsaw, 28 April 1943
I, Yosl, son of David Rakover of Tarnopol, a follower of the Rabbi of Ger and descendant of the righteous, learned, and holy ones of the families Rakover and Maysels, am writing these lines as the houses of the Warsaw Ghetto are in flames, and the house I am in is one of the last that has not yet caught fire. For several hours now we have been under raging artillery fire and all around me walls are exploding and shattering in the hail of shells. It will not be long before this house I’m in, like almost all the houses in the ghetto, will become the grave of its inhabitants and defenders.Fiery red bolts of sunlight piercing through the little half-walled-up window in my room, out of which we’ve been shooting at the enemy day and night, tell me that it must be almost evening, just before sundown. The sun probably has no idea how little I regret that I shall never see it again.A strange thing has happened to us: all our ideas and feelings have changed. Death, quick death that comes in an instant, is to us a deliverer, a liberator who breaks our chains. The animals of the forest seem so dear and precious to me that it pains my heart to hear the criminals who are now masters of Europe likened to them. It is not true that there is something of the animal in Hitler. He is — I am utterly convinced of it — a typical child of modern man. Mankind has borne him and raised him and he is the direct, unfeigned expression of mankind’s innermost, deepest-hidden urges.In a forest where I was hiding, I met a dog one night, a sick, starving, crazed dog, his tail between his legs. Immediately we felt our common situation, for no dog’s situation is a whit better than our own. He rubbed up against me, buried his head in my lap, and licked my hands. I don’t know if I have ever wept the way I wept that night; I wrapped myself around his neck and cried like a child. If I stress the fact that I envied the animals then, no one should be surprised. But what I felt back then was more than envy; it was shame. I was ashamed be-fore the dog, for being not a dog but a man. That is how it is, and such is the spiritual condition we have reached: life is a calamity — death, a liberator — man, a plague — beast, an ideal — day, an abomination — night, a comfort.Millions of people in the great, wide world, in love with the day, the sun, and the light, neither know nor have the slightest intimation of the darkness and calamity the sun brings us. The criminals have made of it an instrument in their hands; they have used the sun as a searchlight to reveal the footprints of the fugitives trying to escape them. When I hid myself in the forests with my wife and my children — there were six of them then — it was the night, only the night, that concealed us in her heart. The day delivered us to our pursuers, who were hunting our souls. How can I ever forget the day of that German firestorm that raged over thousands of refugees on the road from Grodno to Warsaw? Their planes rose in the early dawn with the sun, and all day long they slaughtered us unceasingly. In this massacre that came down from the skies my wife died with our youngest child, seven months old, in her arms, and two of my surviving five children vanished that same day without a trace. David and Jehuda were their names, the one was four years old, the other six.When the sun went down the handful of survivors moved on again toward Warsaw. But I combed through the woods and fields with my three remaining children, searching for the other two on the slaughterground. “David! — Jehuda!” — all night long our cries slashed like knives through the deadly silence that surrounded us, and all that answered us from the woods was an echo, helpless, heartrending, suffering as we suffered, a distant voice of lamentation. I never saw the two boys again, and I was told in a dream not to worry over them any more: they were in the hands of the Lord of Heaven and Earth. My other three children died in the Warsaw Ghetto within a year.Rachel, my little daughter, ten years old, had heard that there were scraps of bread to be found in the city garbage cans on the other side of the walls of the ghetto. The ghetto was starving, and the starving lay like rags in the streets. People were prepared to die any death, but not death by starvation. This is probably because in a time when systematic persecution gradually destroys every other human need, the will to eat is the last one that endures, even in the presence of a longing for death. I was told of a Jew, half-starved, who said to someone, “Ah, how happy I would be to die if one last time I could sit down to a meal like a mentsh!”Rachel had said nothing to me about her plan to steal out of the ghetto — a crime that carried the death penalty. She went off on her dangerous journey with a friend, another girl of the same age.In the dark of night she left home and at dawn she was discovered with her little friend outside the gates of the ghetto. The Nazi sentries and dozens of their Polish helpers immediately went in pursuit of the Jewish children who had dared to hunt in the garbage for a lump of bread so as not to die of hunger. People who had experienced this human hunt at first hand could not believe what they were seeing. Even for the ghetto this was new. You might have thought that dangerous escaped criminals were being chased as this terrifying pack ran amok after the two half-starved ten-year-old children. They couldn’t keep up this race for long before one of them, my daughter, having expended the last of her strength, collapsed on the ground in exhaustion. The Nazis drove holes through her skull. The other girl escaped their clutches, but she died two weeks later. She had lost her mind.Jacob, our fifth child, a boy of thirteen, died of tuberculosis on the day of his bar mitzvah. His death was a release for him. The last child, my daughter Eva, lost her life at the age of fifteen in a “roundup of children” that began at sunrise on the final Rosh Hashanah and lasted till sundown.On that first day of the New Year, hundreds of Jewish families lost their children before evening came.Now my hour has come, and like Job I can say of myself — naked shall I return unto the earth, naked as the day I was born. My years are forty-three, and when I look back on the years that have gone by, I can say with certainty — insofar as any man may be certain of himself — that I have lived an honorable life. My heart has been filled with the love of God. I have been blessed with success, but the success never went to my head. My portion was ample. But though it was mine, I treated it not as mine: following the counsel of my rabbi, I considered my possessions to have no possessor. Should they lure someone to take some part of them, this should not be counted as theft, but as though that person had taken unclaimed goods. My house stood open for all who were needy, and I was happy when I was given the opportunity to perform a good deed for others. I served God with devotion, and my only petition of Him was that He allow me to serve Him “with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my strength.”
I cannot say, after all I have lived through, that my relation to God is unchanged. But with absolute certainty I can say that my faith in Him has not altered by a hairsbreadth. In earlier times, when my life was good, my relation to Him was as if to one who gave me gifts without end, and to whom I was therefore always somewhat in debt. Now my relation to Him is as to one who is also in my debt — greatly in my debt. And because I feel that He too is in my debt, I consider that I have the right to admonish Him. I do not say, like Job, that God should lay His finger on my sins so that I may know how I have earned this. For greater and better men than I are convinced that it is no longer a question of punishment for sins and transgressions. On the contrary, something unique is happening in the world: hastoras ponim— God has hidden His face.God has hidden His face from the world and delivered mankind over to its own savage urges and instincts. This is why I believe that when the forces of evil dominate the world, it is, alas, completely natural that the first victims will be those who represent the holy and the pure. To each of us as individuals, perhaps this brings no comfort. Yet as the destiny of our people is determined not by worldly but by otherworldly laws, not material and physical but spiritual and godly, so must the true believer see in these events a part of God’s great leveling of the scales, in which even human tragedies weigh little. But this does not mean that the devout among my people must simply approve what is ordained and say, “The Lord is just and His decrees are just.” To say that we have earned the blows we have received is to slander ourselves. It is a defamation of the Shem Hameforash, a profanation of His Holy Name — a desecration of the name “Jew,” a desecration of the name “God.” It is one and the same. God is blasphemed when we blaspheme ourselves.In such a circumstance I have, naturally, no expectation of a miracle and do not beg of Him, my Lord, that He should take pity on me. Let Him veil His face in indifference to me as He has veiled it to millions of others of His people. I am no exception to the rule. I expect no preference. I will no longer try to save myself, and I will not flee again from here. I will lighten the work of the fire and pour gasoline over my clothes. I still have three bottles of gasoline in reserve, after pouring several dozen over the heads of the murderers.That was a great moment in my life, and I was convulsed with laughter. I could never have imagined that the death of people, even enemies — even enemies such as these — could fill me with such joy. Foolish humanists may say what they will, revenge and the longing for retribution have always fueled the resistance of the oppressed to the very last, and will always do so. Nothing else brings such solace to their souls. Until now I had never really understood the passage in the Talmud that says, “Vengeance is holy, for it is mentioned between two names of God, as it is written: A God of vengeance is the Lord!” Now I understand it. Now I feel it, and now I know why my heart rejoices when I remember how for thousands of years we have called upon our God: “God of Vengeance!” El Nekamot Adonoi.And now, when I am in a position to view life and the world from this clearest of perspectives, such as is rarely granted a man before death, I realize that there is this exclusive and characteristic difference between our God and the God in whom the peoples of Europe believe: while our God is the God of vengeance and our Torah threatens death for the smallest of transgressions, it is also told in the Talmud how in ancient times, when the Sanhedrin was our people’s highest court — when we were still a free people in our own land — a single death sentence from the High Council in seventy years was enough to make people call “You murderers” after the judges. The God of the other peoples, however, whom they call “the God of Love,” has offered to love every creature created in His image, and yet they have been murdering us without pity in His name day in, day out, for almost two thousand years.Yes, I speak of vengeance. Only rarely have we seen true vengeance, but when we have experienced it, it was so comforting, and so sweet, such deep solace and intense happiness, that to me it was as if a new life had opened up. A tank suddenly broke through into our alley and was bombarded from every fortified house around it with bottles of burning gasoline. But not one of them found its mark the way it was supposed to. The tank continued to advance undamaged. I waited with my friends until the tank was rumbling past, literally right under our noses, then we all attacked it at the same moment through the half-walled-up windows. The tank immediately burst into flames and six burning Nazis leapt out of it. Yes, they burned! They burned like the Jews whom they burned, but they screamed more than the Jews. The Jews do not scream. They embrace death as their deliverer. The Warsaw Ghetto is dying in battle, it is going down in gunfire, in fighting, and in flames — but there is no screaming.I still have three bottles of gasoline left, and they are as precious to me as wine to a drinker. When not long from now I empty one of them over me, I will put the sheets of paper on which I am writing these lines into the empty bottle and hide it here between the bricks in the wall beneath the window. If anyone should ever find them and read them, he will perhaps understand the feeling of a Jew — one of millions — who died abandoned by God, in Whom he so deeply believes. I will explode the two other bottles over the heads of the thugs when my last moment is come.
We were twelve people in this room when the uprising began, and we have fought the enemy for nine days. All of my eleven comrades have fallen. They died silently. Even the little boy — God only knows where he came from, he was all of five years old — now lies dead beside me. His beautiful face is smiling, the way children smile when they are peacefully dreaming. Even this little boy died as calmly as his older comrades. It was early this morning. Most of us were already no longer alive. The boy clambered up the pile of corpses to catch a glimpse through the window slit of the world outside. He stood beside me that way for several minutes. Then he suddenly fell backwards, rolled down over the bodies of the dead, and lay there like a stone. A drop of blood appeared between two locks of black hair on his small, pale forehead. A bullet in the head.Our house is one of the last bastions of the ghetto. Until early yesterday morning, when the enemy opened concentrated fire on this building with the first light of dawn, everyone here was still alive. Five had been wounded, but they kept fighting. Yesterday and today, one after the other, they all fell. One after the other, one on top of the other, each standing guard for the other and shooting until they themselves were shot.Apart from the three bottles of gasoline, I have no more ammunition. There is still heavy gunfire coming from the three floors above me, but it seems they cannot send me help any more. The staircase appears to have been destroyed by shells, and I think the whole house may soon collapse. I am lying on the floor as I write these lines. All around me, my dead friends. I look into their faces and it is as if irony had washed over them, peaceful and gently mocking. As if they wanted to say: “Have a little patience, you foolish man, another minute or two and everything will become clear to you, too.” The same expression hovers about the lips of the child, who is stretched out as if asleep by my right hand. His little mouth is smiling, as if he were laughing to himself. And to me — still breathing and feeling and thinking like a living creature made of flesh and blood — to me it seems as if he’s laughing at me. As if he sees through me. He’s laughing at me, with the quiet, meaningful laugh of one who knows much yet must endure talking with people who know nothing but think they know it all. He knows it all now, this little boy, it’s all clear to him now. He even knows why he was born if he had to die so soon, and why he had to die now — and this in just five years. And even if he doesn’t know why, he knows that knowing why or not knowing why is utterly irrelevant and unimportant in the light of the revelation of God’s majesty in that better world where he is now — perhaps in the arms of his murdered parents, to whom he has found his way back.In an hour or two I shall know it, too. And if the fire does not consume my face, perhaps there will be a similar smile on it when I am dead. But I am still alive. And before I die I want to speak to my God once more as a living man, an ordinary living man who had the great but terrible honor of being a Jew.I am proud to be a Jew — not despite of the world’s relation to us, but precisely because of it.I would be ashamed to belong to the peoples who have borne and raised the criminals responsible for the deeds that have been perpetrated against us.I am proud of my Jewishness. Because being a Jew is an art. Being a Jew is hard. There is no art in being an Englishman, an American, or a Frenchman. It is perhaps easier and more comfortable to be one of them, but it is not more honorable. Yes, it is an honor to be a Jew.I believe that to be a Jew is to be a fighter, an eternal swimmer against the roiling, evil current of humanity. The Jew is a hero, a martyr, a saint. You, our enemies, say that we are bad? I believe we are better than you, finer. But even if we were worse — I’d like to have seen how you would have looked in our place.I am happy to belong to the unhappiest of all peoples in the world, whose Torah embodies the highest law and the most beautiful morality. Now this Torah is the more sanctified and immortalized by the manner of its rape and violation by the enemies of God.Being a Jew is an inborn virtue, I believe. One is born a Jew as one is born an artist. One cannot free oneself of being a Jew. That is God’s mark upon us, which sets us apart as His chosen people. Those who do not understand this will never grasp the higher meaning of our martyrdom. “There is nothing more whole than a broken heart,” a great rabbi once said; and there is also no people more chosen than a permanently maligned one. If I were unable to believe that God had marked us for His chosen people, I would still believe that we were chosen to be so by our sufferings.I believe in the God of Israel, even when He has done everything to make me cease to believe in Him. I believe in His laws even when I cannot justify His deeds. My relationship to Him is no longer that of a servant to his master, but of a student to his rabbi. I bow my head before His greatness, but I will not kiss the rod with which He chastises me.I love Him. But I love His Torah more. Even if I were disappointed in Him, I would still cherish His Torah. God commands religion, but His Torah commands a way of life — and the more we die for this way of life, the more immortal it is!And so, my God, before I die, freed from all fear, beyond terror, in a state of absolute inner peace and trust, I will allow myself to call You to account one last time in my life.You say that we have sinned? We surely have! And for this shall we be punished? This, too, I understand. But I want You to tell me if there is any sin in the world that deserves the punishment we have received.You say that You will yet take revenge on our enemies? I am convinced that you will revenge yourself on them without mercy, of this I have no doubt either. But I want You to tell me if there is any punishment in the world sufficient to atone for the crimes that have been perpetrated against us.Perhaps You are saying that it is not a question of sin and punishment now, but that it is always so when You veil Your face and leave mankind to its inner drives? But then, God, I wish to ask You, and this question burns in me like a consuming fire: What more, O tell us, what more must happen before You reveal Your face to the world again?I wish to speak to You clearly and frankly, to say that now, more than at any previous stage on our endless road of suffering — we, the tormented, the reviled, the suffocated, the buried alive and burned alive, we, the humiliated, the mocked, the ridiculed, the slaughtered in our millions — now more than ever do we have the right to know: Where are the limits of Your patience?And I wish to say something more to You: You should not pull the rope too tight, because it might, heaven forbid, yet snap. The temptation into which You have led us is so grievous, so unbearably grievous, that You should, You must, forgive those of Your people who in their misery and anger have turned away from You.Forgive those who have turned away from You in their misery, but also those of Your people who have turned away from You for their own comfort. You have made our life such an unending and unbearable struggle that the weaklings among us were compelled to try to elude it. To flee wherever they saw a line of escape. Do not strike them down for this! Weaklings are not to be struck down, weaklings call forth mercy. Lord, have mercy on them — more than on us!Forgive also those who have taken Your name in vain, who have followed other gods, who have become indifferent to You. You have tested them so severely that they no longer believe You are their father, that they have any father at all.I am saying all this to You in plain words because I believe in You, because I believe in You more than ever before, because I know now that You are my God. For You are not, You cannot be the God of those whose deeds are the most horrific proof of their militant godlessness.For if You are not my God — whose God are You? The God of the murderers?If those who hate me, who murder me, are so dark, so evil, who, then, am I if not one who embodies some spark of Your light and Your goodness?I cannot praise You for the deeds You tolerate. But I bless and praise Your very existence, Your terrible majesty. How mighty it must be if even what is taking place now makes no impression on You!But because You are so great and I so small, I beg You — I warn You — for Your name’s sake: Stop crowning Your greatness by veiling Your face from the scourging of the wretched!Nor do I beg You to scourge the guilty. It is part of the terrible logic of the inexorable decrees that they will come face to face with themselves at the end, because in our death dies the conscience of the world, because a world has been murdered in the murder of Israel.The world will consume itself in its own evil, it will drown in its own blood.The murderers have already pronounced judgment on themselves, and they will not escape it. But You, I beg You, pronounce Your guilty verdict, a doubly harsh verdict, on those who witness murder and remain silent!On those who condemn murder with their lips while they rejoice over it in their hearts.On those who say in their wicked hearts: Yes, it is true that the tyrant is evil, but he is also doing a job for which we will always be grateful to Him.It is written in Your Torah that the thief must be punished more severely than the robber, although the thief does not attack his victim and threaten him, life and limb, but merely tries to deprive him of his property by stealth.The robber attacks his victim in the broad light of day. He has as little fear of men as he does of God.The thief, on the other hand, fears men, but not God. This is why his punishment should be more severe than the punishment of the robber.So I do not mind if You treat the murderers as robbers, because their behavior to You and to us is the same. They make no secret of their murders and of their hatred of You and us.Those, however, who remain silent in the face of murder, those who do not fear You but fear what people will say (Idiots! They don’t know that people will say nothing!), those who express their sympathy for the drowning man but refuse to save him, those — oh, those, I swear to You, my God, are the ones You should punish like the thief!Death cannot wait any longer, and I must finish what I am writing. The gunfire from the floors above me is diminishing by the minute. The last defenders of our fortress are falling, and with them Warsaw, the great, the beautiful, the God-fearing Jewish Warsaw, falls and dies. The sun is going down now, and thanks be to God I shall never see it again. The glow of the inferno flickers through the window, and the little piece of sky I can see is flooded in flaming red like a waterfall of blood. Another hour at most and I will be with my family, and with the millions of the dead among my people in that better world where there is no more doubt and God’s hand rules supreme.I die at peace, but not pacified, conquered and beaten but not enslaved, bitter but not disappointed, a believer but not a supplicant, a lover of God but not His blind Amen-sayer.I have followed Him, even when He pushed me away. I have obeyed His commandments, even when He scourged me for it. I have loved Him, I have been in love with Him and remained so, even when He made me lower than the dust, tormented me to death, abandoned me to shame and mockery.My rabbi used to tell me, again and again, the story of a Jew who escaped the Spanish Inquisition with his wife and child and made his way in a small boat across the stormy sea to a stony island. A flash of lightning exploded and killed his wife. A whirlwind arose and hurled his child into the sea. Alone, wretched, discarded like a stone, naked and barefoot, lashed by the storm, terrified by thunder and lightning, his hair disheveled and his hands raised to God, the Jew made his way up onto the rocky desert island and turned thus to God:“God of Israel,” he said, “I have fled to this place so that I may serve You in peace, to follow Your commandments and glorify Your name. You, however, are doing everything to make me cease believing in You. But if You think that You will succeed with these trials in deflecting me from the true path, then I cry to You, my God and the God of my parents, that none of it will help You. You may insult me, You may chastise me, You may take from me the dearest and the best that I have in the world, You may torture me to death — I will always believe in You. I will love You always and forever — even despite You.”Here, then, are my last words to You, my angry God: None of this will avail You in the least! You have done everything to make me lose my faith in You, to make me cease to believe in You. But I die exactly as I have lived, an unshakeable believer in You.Praised be forever the God of the dead, the God of vengeance, of truth and judgment, who will soon unveil His face to the world again and shake its foundations with His almighty voice.“Sh’ma Yisroel! Hear, Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord is one. Into Your hands, O Lord, I commend my soul.”——————————————————————————————————-The above was actually written by Zvi Kolitz in 1946 as a tribute to the millions of people that died while he escaped from Lithuania. Hes now a professor at Yeshiva University. The story of Yosl Rakover took on a life of its own for many years because no one could believe that anyone could write such a memoir without actually being there. No matter what the context, Yosl Rakover will forever remain a story of what it means to have true faith.NEVER AGAIN.
Why Honesty Is Always The Best Policy
I was talking to a friend tonight about how so much hurt can be avoided if people were just honest with each other. We both recounted bad experiences and lessons that could have been learned easier if only we or our partners had the guts to just tell truth. What I think is so funny is you can always see it when someone else is in the middle of it but never when it is your own situation. You watch movies or read books and watch lives and relationships unravel all because of a misunderstanding or the inability to just have a simple conversation.And I am not denying that the conversation is one of the hardest ones most of us are faced with, however, for 20 minutes of facing reality and confronting yourself and your partner with the truth, you can save hours, days, weeks, months, even years of pain, hurt, and resentment. But this seems to be the one conversation we shy away from.I was telling my friend about a situation with a guy I was seeing a few years back. We were having a blast, cooking together, enjoying each other's company. For a few months we had a great time and without warning or a word, he stopped calling me. He stopped returning text messages, forgetting or canceling our dates. He was always too busy to see me. But I never knew why. He always had an excuse but never a reason.So I finally got him to meet me for lunch. I wasn't living in Denver then and drove all the way down to meet him at a restaurant. We got 30 minutes into lunch... an excruciating 30 minutes, until I just asked him what the hell was going on. What happened to us? He fumbled. He stumbled. He poked around until he finally came out and told me he had started seeing someone else.I won't say I wasn't hurt because I was. I was sad. But I think I was really sad because he couldn't tell me. Because he had led me on for weeks, letting me believe he cared about me when in reality he wanted to be with someone else. And he didn't understand why I was hurt. I politely, yet abruptly got up and left the restaurant wishing I never had to see him again. Except, at the time, we worked together and I had to work with him every so often. And that was hard and I will be honest and say I was a bit vindictive in my conversations with him at the time (the woman he dumped me for was in the process of a divorce but in the very early stages... when she became available, I became irrelevant).It never feels good to be worthless to someone, easily thrown over... that isn't a good feeling for anyone.But sadly, that wasn't the only time this has happened to me. A very similar... nearly identical situation has happened more recently. And in addition to that there was the guy who kept me a secret until I realized I was just the girl that he was ashamed of but liked to have around. Why else would you keep someone hidden? So I ask, why can't you just be honest with me? Tell me where you are in your life, tell me that you enjoy my company (only if you do) but are involved with someone else or hope to be involved with someone else.It is just so unreal. The pain that comes from the omission, the clearly avoidable pain. Because finding out this way makes you question yourself... makes you think, "I must not be as good as them." And frankly, that just isn't fair to me.I have adopted the honesty policy for myself. After these types of situations and being in relationships that are uncomfortable, I try to be honest with my partner... and I've been called mean and a bitch for it but it really does spare the pain in the long run.And the, I suppose, funniest part of this whole thing... I don't hate them. They hurt me, a lot, yes. Their cowardice and inability to look me in the eye and say, "I am sorry but..." is painful but they were in my life for some reason and I still care for them. But that is a burden I put on myself and I take that responsibility.So just be honest. Please. It sucks for a minute but saves you the long-term hurt.
Secret Keepers
I think it's really funny when people act badly and ask you to keep their secret... but then treat you poorly. You see, secrets are contingent on the people you ask to keep them. What is the motivation for someone to keep your secret if you are nasty and disrespectful to them?I just find that remarkable. Also, unfathomable. But I am not saying that you shouldn't ask or expect your friends to keep your secrets or that sharing is bad but to perpetrate a secret and then blatantly turn your back on the person who is holding it, is a bad plan.As a person who holds a lot of secrets for a lot of people, I never understood the lack of respect or tact.It's all about respect and if you want someone to keep something quiet, disrespecting them is a bad plan.Lots of things on my mind lately, I guess.
I'm Sorry But The Turnover Rate Is Just Too High
Look, lately I am having this problem. Really awesome friends are leaving Colorado. And frankly, that is just not cool.
First it was my dear friend Ben. We went to high school in Israel together 14 years ago (FOURTEEN YEARS! ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?!?!) and several years ago he landed in Denver. It was so great. I needed a roommate and he needed an apartment. Fabulous! He was my roommate, my friend, my protector, my faux husband (he is VERY good at killing spiders), a support, a stable force, and a damn good mover. He helped me out whenever I needed him and listened to my crazy stories. He is a true and very special friend. Not to mention he is an MOT (*Member of the Tribe). I'll miss our roommate dinners and being able to call him when I can't hang a picture or there is a spider in my tub. But he is off to bigger and better things. I am incredibly proud of him. He went back to school as an adult and is living out his dream of becoming a doctor. So I wish him lots of luck and hope that he enjoys his two years on a Caribbean, YES CARIBBEAN island... man that's rough! :) Follow his travels here - Saba Barefoot
Next, is my friend Ezra. Ez and I have a different history. We met for the first time at a coffee shop in Denver. I wanted to get more involved in the young Jewish community. Ez was the only person who answered my emails or calls. He was a bundle of energy and left me enthused to be involved. I landed on the E-3 board because of him and count all three E's as dear and close friends all stemming from this one encounter with Ezra. I can honestly say that if it wasn't for Ezra I would not have (are you ready for this list?):* Joined the E-3 board* Gotten involved with the Jews in Denver* Met most of the other Jews I know in Denver* Met Devora Leah Popack which lead to...* Going to Snorkel and Study* Been motivated to go to Israel* Actually applied to go to Israel* Gotten the funding from MASA and the Allied Jewish Federation for Israel* Gone VIP to the Idan Raichel concert in Jerusalem* Hung out with the Denver crew in Jerusalem* Met some really special and amazing people on that Denver crew in Jerusalem* Started working for the Allied Jewish Federation to save the Jews* Had an awesome weekend at A-Basin* or have become who I am todayEvery person that you meet has an impact on your life. Not often can you trace that impact to life changing events and put the "blame" directly on their doorstep. I can with Ezra. He inspires me everyday in my work and I can only dream of matching his passion for helping our people. And thus, we ship him off to NYC to be a part of the largest Federation in the country and impact so many lives. Well, I know they are going to love having him there and the Jews of New York will be better for it. He has left us Denver folk in good shape with a strong and lasting impression. But he can never be replaced... not professionally and not as a dear friend. And thus, we lose another awesome Jewish guy from Denver.
My last leaving friend is not a done deal. My dear bud Aylee. He is considering a move to Tel Aviv. Now this one is hard. I just can't ask my BoyJewFriend to stay in chutz l'aretz (the other lands) when he is just supposed to be in Eretz Yisrael (the land of Israel). How can you tell a man he can't go home? And Tel Aviv is when Aylee feels most at home. But I just don't know if I can take it! Three quality Jewish men leaving Denver?! Three close friends leaving?! So not fair boys. So for now with my Aylees, we are safe. He is just going for a long trip in the end of summer/fall but will be back. But if he decides to move, I would support him. I've known Aylee since an ex-roommate introduced us. We have been close ever since. I have enjoyed my position as pseudo-wife, making shabbat lunch or dinner at his home for mutual friends/guests. He always has a positive disposition and brings light into any room he walks into. I am fortunate to have met him.So this is the story of my turnover. Three dear friends leaving or potentially leaving me. And I feel like you are asking, "Who cares? People move." And you're right. People move. I'm usually that person. I'm used to being the outsider, the new kid... fumbling with my locker code, sitting quietly in the back of the class. But living in Denver, this is the most settled I've ever felt and it is a jarring experience to have friends leave. I never really realized what that feels like because I usually am the one doing the leaving.I'll miss my guys but I am so excited for each and every one of them. B'hatzlacha and nesiah tova, my friends.
Do I, Can I, Should Anyone Believe In Love?
I was asked to write a piece (under 300 words) using the title as a jumping off point. Here's what I came up with, tell me your thoughts...
Do I, Can I, Should Anyone Believe In Love?What is love. It's not a question. Rather it is a reminder. Love is not what we see online or what Victoria's Secret sells us. Love is illusive, ever-changing, a living breathing entity.When I was a child, I didn't think much about love. I loved, yes, but there wasn't a thought behind it. I loved those in my life and they loved me back. I felt it in the warmth of their gaze.As I got older there was the fairytale love. The deep and all encompassing, emotional, even post-coital 'you just made me feel so warm and good' love. But that kind of love burns hot and fast and soon is out.Only as of late have I looked at love as an investment. Not an instant gift with purchase. It's more like layaway or buying a car. You put a deposit in the bank. You may not love them at first sight. You may not love them when they annoy you or leave the toilet seat up or nag you to death... but that is when you make a withdrawal from the account. And every time they kiss you on the forehead so sweetly or remember to buy your favorite cookie or let you take pictures of them when they really aren't into the mood... that's when you make the deposit.I don't know about love at first sight... but I do believe in the bank of love. And I am still looking for a co-signer on my account.
So what are your thoughts? Love at first sight? Should you even believe in love?
Privacy In An Online World
As of late I have been doing a lot of thinking about privacy. The topic has come up with friends several times recently and it's been on the top of mind. When I started this blog I knew it would bring more transparency to my life than either Myspace or Facebook had. I started out as a small time Tweeter but now I have over a thousand followers and am climbing close to the 10,000 mark on blog views. And slowly, over the years, my threshold for privacy has decreased. I still look to Facebook as a private place where I am only Friends with my actual friends. I don't accept Facebook friend requests from strangers or blog readers (sorry guys) because that is the last bastion of privacy for me. That is a place to share pictures and stories and frustrations that I don't want the general world to know about... but even so, I remind myself that once it is on the internet I no longer have control over it.Increasingly in my life I try to live by a simple mantra... If I don't want my parents to read about it in the newspaper, don't do it. Otherwise, I own my behavior. I think another reason I keep my Facebook private is that I have earned the mark of true internet celebrity in that I have received many unwanted messages from people, messages that could make a girl nervous. But again, all was expected when putting my life online.I know I could never be a politician and people may use the behavior they see online to try to hurt me but, like I said, I own it. It is no secret that I enjoy hanging out with my friends or an adult beverage.But there is another factor here. The onus of responsibility for MY online privacy is not in the hands of others, rather it is my own job to ensure the image I wish to project is projected. Being in the media industry and the social media industry specifically, I know that there is always someone with a camera or a phone nearby. Another good case for reputation and brand management online (i.e. check twitter...)!But what I find so fascinating is how integral the online world is for me daily. I don't show people photo albums anymore... I direct them to my Facebook page or Flickr feed. When asked by a friend to take down some pictures from Facebook, I was confused... well, where are you going to look at them if I take them off?While I am the first to extol the internet's joys and value, I realize that we have lost something when it comes to memories. To rely on jpgs and png files to hold our memories is flawed. And he was right. Not every picture is for sharing online, not even in my contorted system of privacy levels. Sometimes, it is better to keep thing private and share them another way.Just as my stalker incidents had me rethinking location based services, this has be rethinking how I store memories. I mean, as a photographer with over 3000 images on my Flickr stream alone (those aren't all of what I have on my photo external harddrive), it is hard to imagine having time to sit and go through all of them, much less printing and photo albuming them... but there has to be a way...Food for thought.