How do you want to be remembered?

In light of Rabbi Neil Fleischmann's recent post, I'd like to ask you a question.

How do you want to be remembered?

I think that this is a very important motivation when it comes to living one's life (at least initially.) If you want to be remembered as a good person who was generous and benevolent, you will have to structure your life accordingly.

Rabbi Fleischmann asked, "If you could choose the things to be remembered by, what would you choose - fame, wealth, power? How would you wish to be known - as a hero, a saint, a sage?"

And does the way in which you want to be remembered inform your actions now?

Please think about this and answer the question in the comments.

Only after you have answered the question should you read this post, 'Sacrifice and Anonymity,' and even then, that is not meant for everyone.

Sacrifice and Anonymity

(Please read the post above this one, "How do you want to be remembered?" first.)

This is from The World of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Volume 2. This quote made me aware of the distinction between who I am and who I aim to be. I start off every morning thinking about this quote. For me, it is possibly the most important idea the Rav ever gave over:

A courageous life, an existence dedicated to service, creates a heroic life. A heroic life means a life of sacrifice. The highest level of sacrifice for a human being is not when he gives his life for his ideals. The highest form of sacrifice, as viewed by Judaism, is the readiness of man to leave the stage after discharging his role and vanish into anonymity and oblivion. More than a person wants to continue living, he wishes to be remembered. He wants to be recalled by individuals and by society at large. He wants to feel that he has accomplished something with his life.

This quest to be remembered and to not be forgotten is intensely powerful. I remember that many years ago in Boston an old woman would bring me some quarters every week in order to pay for a hundred-dollar memorial tablet in the shul. She would count the money with trembling hands: one quarter and another quarter, a third quarter and a fourth quarter. It was during the difficult years of the Depression. I finally asked her: “Tell me, my dear lady. Do you have savings in the bank?”

She answered that she had none.

“So why do you give the money to the shul? You cannot afford to do so,” I stated.

She replied: “Rebbe, I want to be remembered. Once I die I know that my children will not think about me. They will never come to shul to say the Yizkor memorial prayer. This way the shul will remember me at Yizkor.”

This is not just the mentality of an unlettered or perhaps a primitive old lady. She was an honest woman who was expressing the mentality of Western man. When [Lyndon] Johnson accepted [John F.] Kennedy’s invitation in 1960 to run as his candidate for Vice-President, many felt it was a comedown for Johnson. A journalist asked him: “Why did you accept it? After all, as the majority leader of the [U.S.] Senate, you wielded so much more power and influence. You commanded the respect of the White House, and now as the Vice President you will be little more than an errand boy for the President.”

Johnson answered the reporter: “Yes, you are right. But history textbooks will accord two more lines to the Vice-President than to the majority leader of the Senate.”

To this way of thinking, power in the present means little if the individual will not be remembered in the future. This is in contradistinction to Judaism, where the stress is on anonymity. Let me give you an example.

There are many men here who study gemara. Many times in the Mishnah the anonymous opinion of the tanna is quoted. He is known as the tannah kamah [the first tannah]. Who is he? What is his name? Who is the tanna bathra [the last tanna]? They are part of the majority of Jewish scholars who remain anonymous, men without names. In the Talmud we often come across the introductory phrase tanu rabbanan [“the rabbis taught.”]. Who were these rabbis? What were their names? Why were the sages so tight-lipped about these rabbis? It is not just a coincidence or neglect on the part of the talmudic scholars. The names were purposely not recorded, to teach us that we must remain anonymous. The greatest of all sacrifices that a Jew must bring is his readiness to sink into oblivion and remain in the shadows of anonymity.

It is very strange, but we know more about the lives of Aristotle, Socrates, and Plato than we know about the Vilna Gaon. What do I know about my father? Very little. He never spoke about himself and did not write an autobiography. What do I know about the life of my grandfather Reb Chaim? Only isolated episodes. He never confided his private experiences or clandestine emotions to anyone. Whatever happened, happened between them and God.

God requires of man the greatest of all sacrifices- anonymity. He hates vainglory but loves the actor or the actress who appears on the stage for a short while and humbly discharges his or her role, disappearing afterwards without receiving applause. Man stands in the limelight as long as he consecrates himself to the covenantal community. The very moment he finishes his job, the lights are dimmed or, rather, extinguished, and man steps off the stage.

What does the Megillah tell us about Mordechai and Esther after the Haman episode? Did she remain the queen of Persia? After all, she was a young girl and must have lived for many more years. Nevertheless, the Megillah does not mention one word about this part of her life. “Then Esther the Queen, the daughter of Abihail, and Mordecai the Jew, wrote down all the acts of power to confirm this second letter of Purim” [Esther 9:29]. The story was finished, and Esther removed herself from the stage.

What do we know about Mordecai the Jew? “And all the acts of his power and his might and the full account of the greatness of Mordecai, how the king advanced him, are they not written in the Book of Chronicles of the kings of Media and Persia?” [Esther 10:2]. Go ahead and find this volume! Yes, one episode of their lives, and a short one at that, was recorded. The rest was anonymous. That is exactly what the prophet Micah said: “He has told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord seeks from you; only the performance of justice, the love of kindness, and walking humbly with your God.’ I would say: walking anonymously with your God.

(pages 87-89)

The Essential Unity of Israel

The reason R' Kook's writings (those of them that I can understand) are so beautiful is because of his extreme positivity. He sees everything in a positive light; indeed, he sees everything as emanating from light. Every individual, every person, has his purpose and his way of serving God, even those whom we might initially dismiss. In Orot, Rabbi Kook writes about the importance of Israel's remaining an undivided and whole community, explaining that even the wicked have their purpose and contribute to the goodness of the nation:

The difference of opinion concerning the communal direction—whether at this time, because of the proliferation of rebels who hold high the banner of anarchy, it is correct to divide the nation, so that the pious who raise the banner of God will disassociate themselves from the rebellious sinners, or whether the power of overall peace outweighs all- this entire controversy comes about because of the overall lowliness, for purity has not been fully completed in the basic character of the nation as regards the exterior of its soul,119 and it is being progressively purified. Both these parties are on the level of the two harlots who came to Solomon. The fiat, “Bring a sword,” is a probing on the part of the divine wisdom of Israelite kingdom: the one who is to be spurned is the one who says, “Cut!” In her murmuring she pronounces the real gripe in her heart. Her only interest is, “It shall be to neither me nor you. Cut!” And the merciful mother, the real mother, says: “Give her the living child, only do not slay it!” And the divine spirit screams: “Give her the living child, she is its mother!” There is no end to the physical and spiritual evils of dividing the nation into sectors, even though total separation as imagined by those who cruelly operate is impossible and will never be. This is really a thought of general idolatry, which we are promised will not be fulfilled. That which you say, We shall be as the nations, as the families of the land to serve wood and stone- as I live, says the Lord, if not by a strong hand and an outstretched arm and outpouring rage I shall rule over you. As every idolatrous thought, it destroys and worries- even though it has not, and will not, come to deed. The foundation of the righteousness of the just in every generation is supported by the wicked as well, who, with all their wickedness, as long as they cling with their heart’s desire to the collectivity of the nation, are referred to (by the verse), Your people are all righteous. Their outer wickedness serves to anneal the strength of the righteous, “as dregs to wine.” The imagined division undermines the foundation of all holiness, as the deed of Amalek who attacked the stragglers disgorged by the Cloud (of Glory.) He stretched his hand against his peace, he profaned his covenant.

~Orot Ha-Tehiyah, XX, page 179

(If you want to see the footnoted version of this piece, with the sources for all the quotes, I'd be happy to email it to you.)

Is this not utterly beautiful? One cannot and ought not divide the nation into sectors; to do so is a selfish action, similar to the desire of the woman who cried "Cut!" It is not a desire for the sake of Heaven. It is not even truly possible, should people attempt it. Rather, one must and should accept the presence of the wicked, for the wicked anneal the righteous; just as the "dregs serve to preserve the wine, so the coarse will of the wicked strengthens the existence of the flows of life." (Orot XLV) Everything has its purpose.

This reminds me of Gandalf's words, "Even Gollum may have something yet to do." There is nothing so evil that it cannot serve its purpose, whether it will or no, for the benefit of a greater good at a future time. And that is an uplifting thought.

According to His Custom

There's a fascinating article in today's WSJ that gives new meaning to the story recorded in Ketubot 67b. That is the story about the poor man who comes before Raba and asks for luxuries and delicacies- a fattened chicken and aged wine. Raba is amazed; how can this man possibly think it's okay to ask for such rich foods when he's a beggar? The man answers with a biblical verse, citing that the food belongs to God and God apportions "in his time." Sure enough, Raba's sister stops by with a fattened chicken and aged wine. The idea is that we must treat people according to the way in which they were accustomed to living- a beggar who was once a rich man must be provided for in that manner as opposed to someone who has always been poor and never tasted of such delicacies. (See Hirhurim's "Laws of Charity" post for more details.)

Here's the link to this fascinating WSJ article, though unfortunately you can only read the full article if you are a subscriber.

The article is about Mr. Kishore Biyani, a man who initially tried to implement US methods in his retail stores in India and failed. He then reverted to the style of supermarket Indians were accustomed to and succeeded. Quote:

Americans and Europeans might like to shop in pristine and quiet stores where products are carefully arranged. But when Mr. Biyani tried that in Western-style supermarkets he opened in India six years ago, too many customers walked down the wide aisles, past neatly stocked shelves and out the door without buying.

Mr. Biyani says he soon figured out what he was doing wrong. Shopping in such a sterile environment didn't appeal to the lower middle-class shoppers he was targeting. They were more comfortable in the tiny, cramped stores -- often filled with haggling customers -- that typify Indian shopping. Most Indians buy their fresh produce from vendors who keep vegetables under burlap sacks. Even the dirty, black-spotted onions serve a function. For the average Indian, dusty and dirty produce means fresh from the farm, he says.

Powerful message: Treat people in the way they are accustomed to being treated. The rich man who is now poor must receive his fattened chicken and aged wine; the natives to India should be given their cramped, cluttered supermarkets. To each what he desires, not what we think he ought to desire.

(Hat Tip: Daddy!)

ugly truths

I never wanted to write this down, because I've thought that by not writing it, that would make it not true. But it is true. So I might as well deal with it.

I am a very needy person.

I need attention, flattery, praise and compliments as much as I need breakfast in the mornings. I need this like other people would need a drug, a fix; I need it to the point where I not only crave it but demand it, outright ask for it, monopolize people's time and conversations and beg for it.

Why do I rely upon this external validation? Why aren't I self-sufficient?

I can't imagine why people would possibly desire to spend time with someone who takes all their time monopolizing conversations or fishing for compliments. I am therefore astonished when anyone says they'd like to get together with me. To me, it seems ludicrous.

There are times when I am so completely sick of myself, and more than that, frustrated because I can't figure out how to move forward. Tonight's one of those times.

If I could learn to do things without craving the reward of recognition, flattery, praise or compliments, I'd be an infinitely better person. But it seems impossible.

I need to tear this part out of me, but I don't know how...and I wish, I wish I did.

The Initiator

There are times when I am so glad to be alive, and this is one of them.

These are often times where I feel a kind of sadness, a kind of sorrow that I can't express in terms that other people will understand. It is not a sadness born of pain but a sadness born of joy, a gratitude and thankfulness and indebtedness that I cannot describe in mere words.

It is so important to feel like someone else cares about you, about whether you exist. It is important for other people to tell you that you matter.

There are some people who are initiators in relationships. They are the people who initiate the zany adventures, who reach out to others, who cling to friends and force them to stay close, who try to show them in every way they can how much these people matter to them. They try to give people the words they need, to prove to them that they are good and loved and respected. They want to show the person that they matter because that is the most important gift one can give.

But what others may forget- because they look at the initiator and see him as so strong, so creative, self-reliant and self-fulfilled- is that the initiator, too, needs to hear that he matters. He needs someone to tell him that they care whether he exists.

Well, tonight someone I love very much told me that I mattered. But it was not her voice that told it to me; it was her actions. Because she had been the one to tell me she wanted to get together with me, she had been the one to bother me and work on these plans until they were solidified, to push me until this actually happened. She had been the one to reach out to me, and that, more than a thousand words, matters to me.

The very fact that someone would like to see me always astonishes me. You mustn't put this down to low self-esteem; it's not that. It's simply that I often find other people so very compelling that I am amazed they are willing to spend their time on me. And I feel grateful and loved and overwhelmed by their kindness. And I wake up in the morning and thank God that there is someone out there in the world who thinks about me and cares about me and who notices that I am here.

Because despite all evidence to the contrary, we can sometimes feel very lonely and that validation- that message that I see you, you exist and I am glad of it- can go a very long way. You do not know how much I treasure anything I receive that comes unbidden, unasked. An email from a friend that is not in response to my own, a request from someone to see me or for us to get together for coffee- and of course, most importantly, when people act on their words, for then I know they are not merely lying, telling me something in order to be polite, but they mean what they say- they really do like me- and then I can be fiercely glad.

I live on these words that come unbidden; they are my bread and water and sustain me.

Meet My Family!

Just in case you haven't seen these, I hereby introduce you to...

The Curious Jew's Family!

We've got my dominant, strong mother, my gentle, listening father, my social butterfly of a sister and my two brothers.

It's a party.

There's even an example of the party in action...see here.

Huzzah!

What's the Matter With College?

I don't see how anyone can take Rick Perlstein's essay seriously. It's quite possibly the most ludicrous string of nostalgic, nauseating assertions I've read in a while.

An attempt to follow his argument leaves me quite confused. This is because there really isn't an argument. Instead, we rely upon the technique recently perfected by Noah Feldman of extrapolating from specifics to the whole. Perlstein uses his own personal experience, his limited discussions with students and his own alma mater as a basis for a most ridiculous set of generalizations.

He begins his essay with a nod to days gone by, sadly describing the lost Reagan era. The issue of the day was that of college; apparently the very question "What are you going to do about Berkeley?" garnered applause. Perlstein determines that the fact that it is "unimaginable now that a gubernatorial race in the nation's largest state would come down to a debate about what was happening on campus" demonstrates absolutely that college nowadays is a failure and a sham. College is obviously no longer that hotbed of intellectual debate and "sexual orgies so vile" that they must be addressed by a President.

I do not see where his neat line of cause and effect comes into play. Perlstein is describing a different world, a different society, people with different sets of values. Surely he understands the value of history, the value of world events and politics at a particular time. Can he honestly compare the legitimacy of anti-war sentiment toward Vietnam to college students protesting the war in Iraq today? Are those two wars comparable? Is there a draft in place? I don't think so. Perlstein is utilizing an overly simplistic approach toward the issue; he has already determined that college is the root cause of all that is evil and simply desires to prove his point. He completely neglects to take into account the differences between socioeconomic and political affairs in the world he grew up in and the world we live in today. Perhaps college students had more influence due to the severity of a particular issue at that particular time. If there were a draft in place at the moment, who knows how that would change the issue? But we all know that the war in Iraq has little to no impact upon our daily lives. This is in extreme contrast to the Vietnam war.

Is it really fair to compare people fighting for or against such important issues as civil rights, equal rights for women, women's suffrage and tolerance to the issues of our day? We, who live in a sickeningly politically correct world, are suddenly supposed to arm ourselves with flags and picket in front of school buildings? For whom? For what?

You can offer some examples of relevant issues, if you wish: global warming is one. And how many people truly understand global warming? People need to understand an issue before expressing an opinion. I've been told to watch An Inconvenient Truth in order to receive some form of introduction to the issue. But even then, does this actually impact me? Do I have a broad enough sense of vision to care that the world might blow up at some time in the distant future, that we are limiting our resources and killing ourselves and someone in the future might lose out? Probably not. Another example might be the genocide in Darfur. Once again, this is not an issue that directly connects to students. Although I am certain that many people engage in rallies when organized by others and there are certainly some who are driven by the desire to make the world a better place, Darfur is not here. It is not here in America; it is not happening here; it is disconnected from us and we are disconnected from it. It is therefore harder to care.

Perlstein does not note that the issues that existed in the eras he discusses were all issues that directly affected Americans and college students. Racism and a lack of equal civil rights directly affected people here in America. Women's rights is an issue that directly affected women in America. The war in Vietnam obviously affected young people here; there was a draft in place and it was the college-aged students who were dying! So of course people were involved, people cared, people were busy fighting. People are always involved with issues that directly affect them, issues that actually touch them or impact them in some way.

But now? Can he really compare the events of those days to the events of our days? Because his entire argument rests upon the strength of that comparison. He is suggesting that our youth is more apathetic, that we as college students are more weak-willed due to the fact that college has failed us, college is not what it used to be. It is college that is at fault, not the difference in events, political structure, economics. No, none of these factors matter! It is the school that has changed.

In order to support this assertion, Perlstein leads into his own personal experiences at the University of Chicago, his alma mater. He nostalgically describes a world where college was the teenager's gateway to independence, the first time that he could experience "a kind of freedom that you couldn't imagine until you turned 18, you were no longer under adult control, and you made your own schedule....," what is in his eyes "the most liberating moment Americans have in life."

Now, however, Perlstein laments what he sees as the utter lack of drive and initiative on college campuses, claiming that students grow and prosper not because of college but despite it. Although he only has one student backing that assertion, Perlstein answers affirmatively that this is characteristic of colleges on a whole rather than a particular college. What does he give as support for that proof? Oh, that the same particular student went to visit his guidance counselor and was informed, "You're not meant for college. You should really drop out."

So let me get this straight. Hamilton asserts that college is a place that is straitlaced, confining, an environment that does not allow him to act in a creative fashion. Perlstein wonders whether this is characteristic of Hamilton's particular college or the college experience as a whole. After hearing that Hamilton's guidance counselor told him that he wasn't meant for college, Perlstein is able to claim that the "culture of ennervation" described by his selected student sampling is true for all because "Hamilton Morris told me stories" that suggest that.

Circular reasoning, anyone? Hamilton Morris' experience is limited to that: Hamilton Morris' experience. And yet Perlstein has no problem extrapolating from it in order to assert that college on a whole is flawed. And seems to find this argument logical.

Perlstein chooses to put down students who are actually happy with their college experiences, students like Caroline Ouwerkerk. He subtly characterizes her as flighty and unreliable by using the word "gushed" in relation to her. "As I futzed with my digital recorder, she gushed, "I'll talk all day about the university, whether or not I'm being recorded!" She gushed about the house system, where "someone is caring for you right from the start." She gushed about her job," and so on and so forth. Perlstein wants to give over the impression that a normal student couldn't possibly enjoy the confining college experience. Ouwerkerk is simply an outsider, someone who shouldn't be taken seriously. She doesn't "speak." She doesn't "talk." She doesn't "express her opinions." She gushes.

Perlstein goes so far as to classify Ouwerkerk, dismissing her as an "Organization Kid." The reason that she is unaware of the problem with college? It couldn't possibly be because one can legitimately enjoy college and find the environment helpful and conducive to growth and learning. Of course not. Instead, it is because poor Ouwerkerk is a "cog in the organization." She doesn't find college to be "infantalizing" as the supposedly brighter Hamilton Morrises do, but this is because "organization kids don't mind it." The clear insinuation is that organization kids aren't to be taken seriously. If you engage in impressive fun; if you work within the system, your opinion must automatically be discounted.

Perlstein does make a good point when he focuses on the question of respecting ideas for their potential market value versus respecting ideas for being just that: contributions to the intellectual sphere. I hadn't been aware that Chicago was considering trading in their Uncommon Application for a typical application. I think that would take away quite a lot of Chicago's allure and would be rather sad if they did that. It is precisely because the Chicago application was one that encouraged the students to really think and apply their minds that I found it appealing. I would be a pro-Uncommon Applicationist, but unlike the students Perlstein interviewed, my argument would not be "couched in economic terms."

Perlstein's argument now descends into maudlin nostalgic drivel. "You used to have to go to college to discover your first independent film, read your first forbidden book, find freaks like yourself who, say, shared a passion for Lenny Bruce. Now, for even the most provincial students, the Internet, a radically more democratic and diverse culture - and those hip baby-boomer parents - take care of the problem." Is Perlstein really that short-sighted? Does he truly believe that one can trade in finding friends who are similar to oneself for the cold comfort of the Internet? The Internet is a presence, and a strong one, in all of our lives, but I would argue that it is absolutely not the same as actually knowing a person who is similar to oneself, someone who shares "a passion for Lenny Bruce" or any other eclectic work or band. The idea that college is only important if it is a "first," the first place that one can discover an independant film or forbidden book, is unnecessarily limiting the institution. Why do this?

Perlstein concludes his essay by focusing upon the divide between the University of Chicago marketing materials which display "bucolic images of a mystic world apart, where 18-year-olds discover themselves for the first time in a heady atmosphere of cultural and intellectual tumult" and the reality, one where students could conceivably complain that they have been swindled. However, as he has not firmly established the truth of this reality, basing his assertions entirely upon a few scattered responses and ignoring those who oppose him by dismissing them as "organization kids," his conclusion is false. My limited experience at the University of Chicago was such that I know I would have been one of those to discover myself "for the first time in a heady atmosphere of cultural and intellectual tumult." But why base an opinion upon my limited knowledge? There are many students who enjoy college, who learn and grow and feel challenged within their particular environments. Perlstein's essay is a selective, cautious study in proving a point he wants to make to begin with rather than actually looking at the facts. He has only focused upon students at his alma mater, making no mention of students at other universities or colleges. He has completely neglected to deal with the economic, social and political issues of our time as opposed to the previous generation. Rather than engaging in an intellectually honest approach toward the issue, he has relied upon a biased, skewed portrayal of feelings over fact. If this is the case, my feelings are just as legitimate and just as valid: to Hamilton Morris and all those like him, I say, I enjoy college. I enjoy it very much. I find it to be a place that is entirely conducive to my learning and growing, to being challenged and forced to think.

My experience is obviously different. I am not at a secular university, so I do not expect the amenities and opportunities afforded by one. Nevertheless, I do feel that I can express my opinion, be quite vocal and be heard. The decision that I as an Orthodox Jew am making is how much of my reputation I want to put on the line. If I express ideas or opinions that do not fit within the confines of my religious spectrum, I will have to deal with the consequences and/or with the lack of understanding due to lack of exposure. But that is an entirely different issue and one that I do not feel most people would have to grapple with. When it comes to an experience at a secular college, you make of it what you will. There is certainly opportunity to be a lazy, apathetic, whining and complaining child who claims that he feels confined, straitlaced and otherwise hemmed in. But there is also the opportunity to grow and be challenged within the system and the structure presented, and there are certainly people who will succeed in that way as well.

College is not the issue at hand. There is nothing the matter with college.

There is, however, something the matter with people.

What is it? What causes some people to be driven, strong and determined, wishing to actualize their goals, to recreate their reality, to rise for the top and succeed in reaching it? And what causes others to complain and blame those outside themselves (such as institutions of higher education) for their lack of success?

The answer to that question is beyond the scope of this essay. But the point remains: It is people who determine the value of their college experience. People who can choose to act or not to act. People who are alternatively passionate or apathetic, resigned or committed.

People.

So let's not blame college. Let's not blame the schools. This is not their fault.

Let's deal with the root of the problem: the people attending those schools.

You. Me.

Us.

Term Papers, Action Figures, Hotels and Boxers

And so we bring you another episode in the bizarre and amusing life of Chana.

Despite the fact that I am more than wiped out due to the fact that I have not slept in the past two days, I could not ignore my friend's cry for help via Gmail chat. "Does anyone feel like editing and proofreading my paper?" his status read.

Now, I determined that this message had been meant for me, goddess and queen of all things English. And I noticed that just as I read this message, my friend signed off of Gmail Chat. I immediately assumed that he had given up hope, and alone and solitary, would now make his winding way back to his abode, sit morosely in front of the computer screen and pray to the god of words. There he would remain, basking in the bluish light, feeling completely unloved and utterly abandoned. No! I could not allow this to happen. Taking my weariness in stride, I instantly sent out the joyous email informing him that I would be quite happy to edit and proofread his paper.

My assumption, at first, was that the paper had been written and that I need only read it, then correct it. But this is because I had not considered the insane and looney nature of my friend. You see, despite the fact that he had three months to write this paper, that indeed, it was due over spring break, he decided to wait for the absolute last possible minute to write it and turn it in, that is, tonight. The professor will only begin taking off points tomorrow, you see, on Monday. So my friend was in the process of writing the paper and would update me accordingly.

During the course of the evening [while waiting upon the various pages of the paper], I learned about the existence of shomer sluts, ladies who are apparently "super flirtatious and a tease, but shomer," the fact that I am a drama queen, the inability of my friend to rhyme- or spell- during late hours of the night- I present to you his pitiful attempt to amuse me (upon my commanding that he do so.) Read it and weep:

"Roses are read violets are blue
Chana is true, true and true"

See? Roses are read. Like, readable. Now, when is the last time that you have read a rose? Have you ever noticed gentlemen lifting monocles to their eyes, attempting to decipher the delicate and spidery writing upon its curling petals? Perhaps you have seen me dancing about the streets holding roses before my eyes, looking at a writing only I can see? Well, never fear, dear folks of mine. I am not mad. I am simply fulfilling the dictates of my friend, who commands me and informs me that roses are read.

My friend becomes more and more entertaining over the course of the night. This makes sense, as his paper does need to be fifteen pages long at the minimum and I am quite enjoying ripping it to pieces. Well no, I was slightly kinder than that. Definitely the best excuse of the night was when I tore into him for using passive voice.

His response?

"Now I'll be annoyed for a second. I use passive voice when I am lazy. I am tired, and cranky and want this done."

Aha. So let me see. You, my friend, are the one who chose to wait for the last possible moment to write this paper, despite the fact that you had three months of notice. You are the one who is now writing it in solitary confinement, cooped up in a computer lab and frustrated. And yet I am the one who is supposed to feel sorry for you because you are "tired, and cranky, and want this done?" I don't think so...

Of course, that isn't quite how I responded at that point in time, since I didn't think he would take well to hearing the truth. But the truth is quite delightful in retrospect, and now that the paper is finished, all is well.

Oh yes; I see that you have lifted your heads in awe and reverence. The paper is indeed finished. I am a rather mad child, for despite the fact that it is the summer and I am not supposed to have work, despite the fact that I have work tomorrow and despite the most important fact that I have not slept due to the Bar Mitzvah, I decided that it was far more important to assist my friend (I provide the entertainment) with writing his paper from the hours of, oh, let's see, 4:39 PM to 1:23 AM. Let's see, that is about 8 hours and 23 minutes. Yes.

So you are wondering, what could I possibly talk about for eight hours and twenty-three minutes? Oh, lots of things. You see, I couldn't possibly abandon my dear friend to his awful fate. Never! So instead I must amuse him with the exciting doings of the life of Chana. These included hypothetical situations that included the retelling of this story to an attentive and inspired audience, you, my dear readers. Just as Sam and Frodo got through everything by thinking of the tales that would be told about them one day, I managed to force my friend onward to the grand and glorious finish line by suggesting that the hilarity of our evening would be shared with the world and all would benefit from the craziness that is my life (or in this case, our lives.)

So what was so hilarious? Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it would be the constant assignation of points. I have a system, you see; Chana's Golden Book in the Sky. I assign points when someone does well and deduct points when I am displeased. During the course of the evening, I believe my friend amassed twenty-two points. Whenever someone says something particularly original, I give them hundreds of points, but alas, originality was not the focus of this evening. Hilarity was, however. I enjoy talking about myself in the third person (cue for all of you to instantaneously assume that my glorious ego has overtaken my mind and infected my brain.) Well, I was able to manipulate my friend into speaking in the third person as well, and that just made my night utterly perfect. For what is a night without referring to oneself as Chana and envisioning the various scenarios one could enact if one only has the time and desire?

I have decided that all of us need to come in miniature action figure sizes. We could all have particular talents. Imagine carrying around little miniature Chanas who could fit into your pockets. As my friend dryly remarked, I'd be "quite popular amongst the college set." This because I could be the quintessential editor and proofreader. Now, what talents would you have? Suppose that you could fit into someone's pocket a la The Indian in the Cupboard. Perhaps you could whisper all the answers in math to your human host. Or blow up little bombs inside his shirtpocket, creating a diversion that would allow him to escape the classroom. Who knows what. But wouldn't it be lovely if we were all action figures?

Oh, I know you think that I am on a sugar high. And perhaps I am. After all, I do have two refrigerators filled to the brim with cakes and cookies. That is the loveliness of a Bar Mitzvah, after all...

Oh, the drama of this evening! The fights, the tears, the passion and the conflicts! My friend made a joke that I took as an insult; I was mad at him, then insulted him back, then apologized, the continued our conversation- I mean, how many emotions can one feel in one night? Oh, I have run the gamut and all is very lovely.

Well, my dear people, my friend is now the proud owner of a 16.5 page paper and a profound sense of weariness. Add to the cocktail the fact that his computer quit on him, which means he had to hang out at the computer lab till two in the morning and....well, you get the general idea. Basically, my friend is wiped out. And if he is not, it is because he has consumed illegal quantities of caffeine in the form of coffee or soda or energy drinks.

But not as wiped out as the insane and irrepressible Chana!

I have one more story that I have been informed per Ezzie I must share with you (and it is this story that led my friend and I to the conversation about shomer sluts.) It took place as I was packing up and readying myself to go home after the Bar Mitzvah.

So I'm at the hotel and we're packing up because we're going back to my house and I've got one of those rolling trolleys (or dollys?) and this other guy, probably a couple of years older than me is standing in front of the elevator in his boxers. Except that being me, I don't realize they are boxers because I just assume they're rather short shorts.

So he pushes the button and gets in and I ask if it's okay if I get in as well (because I have the trolley and all) and he says sure, then asks me how my evening's going, "Must be better than mine, right?"

So I say "Oh, what's the matter? Your evening's not going well?"

So he sighs and says, "Well...so I had this bottle..."

(And I think, this is an alcohol story)

"of water...and...well...so it spilled all over my pants...so it looked like I pissed my pants, so obviously I had to change...and then my room key didn't work...so I had to go to the front desk in my underwear"

(It is at this point that I become aware that he's just wearing boxers)

The elevator opens and we both step out and he says "Yeah, I'm going to be pretty mad if the card key doesn't work now" and I can't help it, I start laughing.

And he's walking down the hallway and goes, "Hey, that's not nice; you shouldn't be laughing at me" and I say, "No, no, I'm not laughing at you; I'm laughing with you, at the stituation" and he says "Good call" and smiles and I continue, "I'm just laughing at the situation. I think you're handling it incredibly well...if it were me, I'm sure I'd be rather depressed by now."

At this point as he walks down the hallway he says, "Yeah, you can come to my room and we'll cry about it together" and actually looks over his shoulder to see if I'm going to follow him to his room and motions to me a little and I shake my head and laugh and go to my room with my trolley type thing.

Ezzie finds this story extraordinarily amusing, mostly because he thinks it would make a great commercial. The girl, all dolled up, beautiful makeup, exquisite clothes, her hair in curls...and the guy, wearing a t-shirt and boxers and informing her of the tale as they ride the elevator upstairs, and then, after knowing her for all of three seconds, deciding that they ought to develop a...closer relationship, shall we say?

Honestly, I swear this stuff only happens to me...

In the words of my cousin, "Now if you really wanted to make things even funnier, you should've told your Uncle [his father] about this guy, and his whereabouts. Then the guy would've really had a night to remember. *evil smirk*"

I love my cousin rather a lot.

But the person who summed it up most amusingly was my friend (the same friend who is now the proud possessor of a 16.5 page paper) who informed me that he was "glad to hear I didn't sleep around with strange men."

Ah yes. Let us inscribe that on my gravestone.

"Here lies Chana, who did not sleep around with strange men."

What can I say; it's my new claim to fame.

The Boys

They're tall, olive-skinned, extremely handsome, obviously Sephardi; their chocolate brown eyes hide a mischievous glint. They're standing next to each other in their matching suits and ties, proudly displaying their kippahs which have their names embroidered in gold. That's the only way that anyone can tell them apart, because though they are fraternal everyone outside of our family sees them as being identical.

They're shuffling in the lobby, grinning hugely, standing outside of a washing station, looking up at the various assembled relatives who are all coming over to them to shake their hands and congratulate them on their speeches (which, per family tradition, they wrote themselves.) They're surrounded by classmates and about to go into the banquet hall, where they will busy themselves with the food and allow me to catch them and hold them close and tell them how incredible they were today.

It's their Bar Mitzvah.

It's such a strange thought for me, that my little brothers are thirteen. These are the boys. That's their title in our family; they're the youngest and they're twins, so whenever I call for them I cup my hands to my mouth and exasperated shout up the stairs, "Bo-o-o-oys!" At some point I will hear the patter of feet that suggests dashing to the head of the stairs, that is, if anyone can hear me over the Pirates of the Caribbean or Lord of the Rings soundtrack from their supercool CD and alarm clock combination (though recently Star Wars has come to be incorporated as well.) "Yes?" one of them will ask and I will sigh and inform them that they'd better come downstairs right now if they know what's good for them.

The boys are incredible. They're joyous and entertaining and never fail to amuse me. At times they exasperate me and I find them incredibly frustrating, but the majority of the time I'm so proud of them and I think it's an honor to be their older sister. Of course, I don't tell them that too often.

I remember the boys being little and yanking at one another's hair, the one twin reaching over to grab a fistful of the other's hair. They would both yelp but neither would let go and they would continue; their little fists gripping tightly and unwilling to let go. They'd both have tears in their eyes and Dustfinger and I would run to separate them, but as soon as we'd done that, they'd be at it again.

I remember the boys looking at us with these incredibly sweet faces after they'd done something wrong, these really innocent looks that suggested that it was all in our minds; we were imagining that they had committed this crime. I remember them looking out at us from inside the chest of drawers (when they were younger, they destroyed the chest of drawers because they climbed into them, sat in them, had one boy push the other inside and out, used them as ladders, removed the drawers from the bureau and so on and so forth) with these smiles when we would be at our wit's end.

I remember Taran microwaving his teddybear because his teddybear was feeling too cold; I remember being horrified and dashing to the kitchen and saving us all from a lovely fire, though his teddy was slightly scorched. Perhaps the most famous story about them is the one concerning their magical thinking. It was the middle of the winter and Taran and Urchin managed to open their window and throw everything they owned outside onto the snow. This included their comforters, their toys, possibly their sheets, literally everything. They looked at all the objects on the ground with a puzzled frown, deeply disturbed. You see, they expected these objects to act like a ball, which bounces back up from the ground. They assumed they would throw their comforter out the window and then the comforter would bounce back up and come inside, just like the ball. My poor father had to go out and collect everything...

And now I see them and I remember their entire lives and it is strange to recall how they were when they were little and how they are now, officially men, having accepted the yoke of mitzvot and the covenant of God.

Many people confuse Taran and Urchin because they see them as identical. As their sister, it's impossible to confuse the two of them. They are so much themselves; their personalities are so different, that the idea is laughable. Each of them is their own person and I think that it a beautiful and rare thing and so I am proud, pleased and proud and so happy for them.

Taran is the wise child. He has an owlish kind of wisdom, a cleverness that expresses itself through books, words and English (for which I take full credit, incidentally. So when you grow up, dear Taran, you'll please remember it was your sister Chana who helped you grow when it came to that.) He cracks jokes all the time; in my mind he is associated with being The Jokester. He has an offbeat sense of humor, the thoughtful kind; one that is very much based on words and ideas. He's always thinking and often has insights and ideas that astonish me. I don't know how he comes up with them, but they're great. He's a sensitive child who is able to understand others, a good friend (I have seen him interact with his buddies) and an excellent listener. This, his sense of humor, his confidence and his desire to learn and grow have always impressed me. He plays the violin and it is the perfect instrument to describe the kind of soul that he has. He has a very melodic, musical voice and when he leins he sounds like my father. This is not surprising, as Taran has always resembled my father in both looks and personality. When he grows up, Taran wants to be an inventor, a Rabbi and a mechanical engineer.

Urchin is the hard worker. Of all the children in the family, he works the hardest. He is stubborn, determined and strong. He works until he understands the material, no matter how long it takes him, and he doesn't stop asking questions until he truly comprehends. He is not embarrassed to ask, and that is a gift. Just like Taran, he is smart, but his smarts express themselves differently. Whereas Taran explores the world through his intellect, Urchin understands the world through an extremely high sense of intuition. Urchin can tell whether people are good or bad simply by meeting them; he is able to detect things that others cannot. Without even trying, he notices the way that a person acts or the aura that surrounds him and he can read it. He is our fix-it guy; he's incredibly gifted when it comes to working with anything with his hands. He intuitively understands how things should fit together; he can build desks, construct objects, fix the plumbing in the house or otherwise help us out. If anything is broken, it's a safe bet that Urchin can fix it. When he grows up, he wants to be a parrotkeeper and a mechanical engineer.

Urchin's strongest quality is his stubborn and unyielding desire for truth. If you lie to him, he will remember it and he will know not to trust you. He is always honest. His determination is both impressive and maddening. Urchin, unlike Taran and myself, is extremely organized and keeps his room very neat and clean. Once he has mastered a certain piece of material, he will not forget it. Urchin works for his knowledge and retains it. He has a strong personality; he's the one who will always be on the phone making plans with friends while Taran is in his room reading a book. He puts himself forward and he gets what he wants. He is not afraid.

Urchin and Taran have different skills. Things come easily to Taran. Taran can read a book once and understand absolutely everything in it. Urchin may have to read the book two or three times before comprehending everything. However, once mastered is forever retained for Urchin, and it is not necessarily so for Taran. Urchin is at home in this world in a way that Taran, my father and I are not. Taran, my father and I all live in fantasy realms where ideas are all that matter. Urchin, Dustfinger and my mother are the practical people, strong and driven. While Urchin and Taran's skill-sets overlap (they both helped put together the computer desk, for instance), it is obvious that their strengths differ. Even the instruments they play differ. Taran is the violin, the stirring strains that move the soul. Urchin plays drums; he goes in for percussion, for beats, for rhythym. This is symbolic of the way the two of them live their lives.

Urchin is the outgoing extrovert, the one who takes the initiative, who makes plans with friends, who bothers people until they actualize his ideas, making his thoughts a reality. He advances arguments when his ideas are resisted and he is stubborn enough to beat down the opposition. He takes everyone's word very seriously; if something is conditional (you can do this after you do that), he will perform whatever task or chore is at hand and then expect to be allowed to have his reward. He is thick-skinned, able to walk away from arguments if they are beneath him. He protects his brother.

Taran is an introvert, a dreamy-eyed child who lives in a world based on his own thoughts and ideas. While he is happy to participate in the plans his brother makes for him, he is not the one to take the initiative, not the one you will see talking on the phone and planning get-togethers. He's far more likely to be reading in bed, digesting a new piece of information or otherwise amassing knowledge. If he is not doing either of these things, then he is playing violin or acting as a witty sounding board for one of his sisters. His casual remarks are often quite witty and his incisive understanding and instinctive comprehension lead him to ask pointed, detailed questions that force his adversary to think. He laughs frequently and chooses his friends very carefully. If he trusts you, it is because he has determined that you are a person that he can respect.

They are both incredibly smart, aside from which, they both perform beautifully in school. Urchin consistently outdid Taran during Chidon throughout the school year and was named Regional champion. Taran, intriguingly, outperformed Urchin on the actual National test. It's not necessarily a competition, especially as they're not always in the same classes, but there is a sense of good-natured fun in seeing how well they do comparatively. Both of them take great pride in their work.

If you want to see what's truly beautiful about them, you'd have to look at the relationship between them. What underscores the relationship is their complete and total happiness for one another if one has an opportunity the other does not or benefits from something the other does not have. There is no such thing as jealousy or envy. There is only joy that the other brother was able to have this.

For example, Taran and Urchin both had the opportunity to go to St Louis and see a baseball game. This was a very exciting trip and Taran couldn't stop talking about it. Urchin would not be able to go because he had drum practice with his classmates in preparation for their final performance as an orchestra. Urchin was completely happy for his brother to go on this trip; he harbored no feelings of jealousy or envy.

Here is what actually happened: Urchin got sick and had to stay home.

I went downstairs to the basement and this is what I saw:

Urchin was curled up on the couch, his comforter spread over him, a box of tissues beside him, blowing his nose every so often and he was watching the baseball game on TV. I asked him whether he'd caught a glimpse of his brother yet, but he hadn't. He watched the entire game and then went to sleep.

When Taran came home the next day, excitedly talking about the entire experience, the fact that a ball had come really close to them and they maybe could have caught it, describing all the wonderful things that he'd gotten to see, I mentioned that Urchin had watched the baseball game on TV.

Taran said something about how he had had a lot of fun and continued talking about the wonders of actually having been at the game in person.

Urchin smiled, truly happy for his brother and said, "Yeah. But I had the better view."

This is something that comes so naturally to the boys and is so difficult for me; their total and complete love for one another to the point where there is absolutely no jealousy, no envy, no desire that the other one shouldn't have had something if he couldn't have it. Urchin didn't feel left out, wasn't upset that Taran had gotten to go to the game when he wasn't able to go. Indeed, he felt that he had had just as good a time of it! "Yeah. But I had the better view."

I don't know if you can appreciate how powerful those words are for me, but the lesson they exemplify is what truly moves me.

Another point: one of the benefits to Urchin's having stayed home sick was that he read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows while there. Taran returned home and explained that he had also finished the book; he had read it on the bus ride home. I know, because I am a little twisted this way, that had it been me, I would have been upset. I'd have felt "Not only does he get to go on this trip, but the one thing that remained to me, the fact that I got to read the book- well, he also went and did that, too?"

But Urchin's not like that, because my little brother Urchin is a much better person than I am. His face lit up with joy, absolute, pure and total joy. He was so excited his brother had finished the book, so anxious to compare notes and talk about their different views. He was smiling and laughing and ran upstairs to go get the book and compare notes. I felt humbled by that, because I have so much to learn from him- from both of them- and the way they interact with one another.

I'll tell you one more story so you can see how amazing they are.

We were talking about birthday presents and I wanted to get them something. So I asked what they wanted. So at first they told me they wanted Light Saber Replicas (the fancy kind that costs about $130 or so). I was willing to buy those, but upon further research learned they can't be used for heavy dueling, so went with the HASBRO kind instead. But I wanted to get them a real gift and asked them what they wanted.

Urchin informed me that they wanted an air-hockey table. I said I'd be happy to buy it for them, provided that they could convince my parents that there's a place to put it. At this point, my little brother Urchin very seriously explained that it would cost too much money and that he doesn't want me to spend this much money on them, maybe I could get them something that costed a little less. He was doing this very seriously and he meant it very sincerely; he was truly concerned that I shouldn't spend too much money on them.

When this conversation took place, Taran was in the shower. He got out of the shower (Urchin had gone downstairs to his room) and I told him Urchin had informed me that they wanted an air hockey table and that I was willing to buy it for them. Taran, who remember had not heard a word of the former conversation, because he was in the shower, now did a repeat of Urchin. He informed me that this would "cost too much money" and he didn't think I should be buying them the air hockey table. Again, this was said in all sincerity and with absolutely no manipulation, guile or lying as part of it.

So the two of them, without speaking to one another, without having heard what the other one said, simply in response to having heard that I was willing to spend the five hundred plus dollars on their air hockey table (the fancy kind with electronic scoring and the like), took it upon themselves to very seriously inform me not to spend so much of my money on them. This despite the fact that I was (still am) willing to buy them the very thing they wanted.

I don't know how many people are privileged to be the older sister to kids like these, kids who are as sincere, honest, considerate and truthful as these. I only know that I am very lucky to have them in my life. I admire them and learn from them and there's never a dull moment around them.

I love you very much, boys.
Mazal Tov on your Bar Mitzvah.

Undeserving

We respond to the way others treat us.

We especially respond to people who treat us with unconditional positive regard.

And perhaps the highest level is undeserving unconditional positive regard.

See, it is legitimate to have certain expectations of people. You give; someone else gives back. It's a mutually beneficial relationship, and although it is not based on how much is given, that is the way it works.

But suppose that someone trusts you for absolutely no reason, because you haven't had the chance to prove yourself to them.

Or suppose that someone trusts you after you have failed them, but they believe in what is good in you and again, although you are undeserving of their trust or kindness, respond to you in a positive fashion.

Well, those are the people that we work the hardest for, the people whose respect we want, because we want to earn and deserve their good opinion. Because, in effect, these people are telling you, with their every action and every word, "We won't give up on you."

This is despite the fact that you might test them, push them or otherwise try to force them to give up on you, just to prove to yourself that the relationship is breakable. But it isn't.

I think we all do this for each other, some to a greater and some to a lesser extent. And there are times where it is uniquely frustrating or annoying or otherwise problematic, but you know that someone is relying on you and so you rise to the challenge.

Well, to all the people who have showered me with undeserving unconditional positive regard, thanks so much. That applies to all my friends.

Thanks for not ever giving up on me.

And I hope to be worthy of whatever it is you see in me, despite the flaws.

humility and pride

I have always felt a strange tension between myself and my classmates.

It began in elementary school. I was a child who loved to learn, who was curious to understand everything and anything I could. I had read all of The Little Midrash Says books and could quote them verbatim- and often did. I didn’t realize that my pride in my knowledge irked my classmates, that the fact that I always had my hand up before the teacher had even finished the question bothered them. Was I showing off? No, that was not what I intended. I was so thrilled by the answer, so excited about what we were learning that I always wanted to share my knowledge, certain that everyone also wanted to learn and wanted to hear the answer. But after a while, when the teacher would inevitably call me aside and inform me that she knew I knew the answer but she wasn’t going to call on me in class anymore because she needed to “give the other girls a chance,” I became sullen. Discontented and bored, I would doodle through class, wishing the teacher would allow me to speak.

I did not think of myself as better for having read The Little Midrash Says and knowing the answers before my classmates could conceive of them. I have never put much store in factual knowledge, and as far as I was concerned, any of my classmates could read The Little Midrash Says and they would have the answers, too! But there was another problem, something that I could not explain away, and that was the fact that I thought differently from my peers. I didn’t know what it was but there was a distinct difference; we were not interested in the same things, did not, at times, seem to be speaking the same language.

I felt very bad about this and tried very hard to reach out to my classmates and to form friendships with them. But the price of these friendships was often too high. Once, I was invited to join the most popular clique in the school. I was invited to join because of my ability to tell stories. I ditched my other friends, the other outcasts who attached themselves to me, and spent recess with the popular group, weaving them a story. When it came time to go in for mincha, I was horrified to find that they actually had a guard who stood behind us and warded off anyone who tried to follow us or join us with a big stick, actually waving it about and making threatening gestures. As a child who had a very keen sense of right and wrong, this seemed to me to be utterly unjust. I could not associate with this group…

It had been easier when we were younger, when people were still willing to imagine. I had three friends and spent every recess with them. I was almost always the leader in these games of make-believe; I assigned the roles. “You’re going to be the Wicked Stepmother,” I would inform one girl, “and you’re going to be the poor girl looking for berries, and I’m going to be the Queen!” We would play and laugh and run around the green fields and I was happy. But when they grew older we were separated into different classes and grew distant or they wouldn’t engage in such childish activities as make-believe and I was left to myself.

I have always been able to entertain myself, and these recesses proved no different. I would swing and think or sing aloud; I would play my imaginative games and pretend that I was Belle. I cannot count the number of times I must have run about singing, “I want much more than this provincial life” and twirling, only to sink down upon the grass and wish there was a Phillipe to come for me. There was a little tree that I decided was my tree and I would often talk to it and ask it how it was doing, thinking I would make it grow by loving it.

But I felt apart and I knew I was apart and I further knew that it was my fault. And it seemed to me that I had two choices.

Either I could accept that everyone else was much better than me and for reasons I could not understand, I was a failure. I was a failure for being unable to relate to the shallow and pathetic nature of the gossip that ruled our fifth-grade lives, for loving learning instead of hating school, for not being able to run fast enough or hit a baseball far enough afield, for enjoying homework and honestly liking class.

Or I could make myself feel better and tell myself that I was different. I was different and in fact I was higher and maybe even better because I knew more and I thought differently and the things that I cared about mattered more. Because I cared about ideas, as I have always cared about ideas, and I cared about the way they were expressed in books, about the characters who lived their lives in accordance with them.

And as you can guess, I chose the second, because who wants to think of oneself as abnormal, a failure, a freak and an outcast? Far better to think of oneself as above the others, for then one needn’t feel the pain of rejection. No, now you are in control. You can reject them; you don’t need them.

And this is probably when I first began to be the arrogant, haughty and prideful person that I am today.

Despite my resolve that I didn’t need my classmates and I didn’t care whether they accepted me, that in fact I was much smarter and much better than them, I still didn’t like to make them feel bad. I wasn’t ever the kind of person who would pretend not to be good at something so that someone else could feel better; I never downplayed my strengths but I did exaggerate my flaws. I was secretly thrilled whenever I failed something because I hadn’t studied for it; I would dance about happily and inform all my classmates that I’d gotten a 32 on the math homework or a 60 on the pop quiz. I was as proud of this as other people would have been of perfect grades.

Because secretly I hoped that if I told everyone that I got bad grades, too, and that I wasn’t infallible, they would like me better.

Sometimes it even worked. Sometimes people were much nicer to me after I told them I had failed something. It got to the point where I even considered lying to people about my grades to get them to like me, but I did not resort to that because I do not like lies. But there was such pleasure in being accepted and in being seen as a normal kid, in having people take you in as a member of the group that I remember thinking about how much I wanted to sabotage myself and perform poorly deliberately.

To this day, my father insists that my problem with math is entirely a mental block I created for myself and it is possible that that is true. I felt like it wouldn’t be fair to be good at two disciplines, so whenever I received a compliment or an admiring glance I would shrug it off and say, “Oh, I’m good at English, but I’m terrible at Math.” I would then continue on to tell the person all about how I was awful at math because I felt that would put us on a more even footing, that people wouldn’t look at me like some kind of frightening demigod.

There are several kinds of pride. There is irrational pride, where you are proud for absolutely no reason. You weren’t the one who created a project or put together an object; whatever skills you have are completely natural and you didn’t have to put any effort into being a certain way, you simply are. In this case, what do you have to be proud of? It’s a completely irrational pride.

But there is a different kind of pride, and this was the one I felt, where yes, I had been born with certain talents but it was my hard work that led me to develop them and to produce the results I had. And in that case I was proud of myself, and rightly so. I earned my right to be proud.

The problem was that I so desperately wanted a challenge. I wanted someone to emulate, someone to model myself after, someone to look up to, someone who I felt was on my level (yes, these were the terms I thought in, because recall that I had chosen to be arrogant) and most of all, someone who would understand me. And I chose this person after seeing her cry during reciting Tehillim because I was awed by that. This was a girl who felt the recital of Tehillim so much that she actually cried. I idealized her and set her up as my role model. She was officially a tzaddekes now and I was going to learn from her.

I “let her find” a note where I had written how much I wanted to be like her and model myself after her. I had planted it deliberately, of course, but this began a correspondence between the two of us; we would place letters in each others’ lockers and became, for a time, best friends. You will be surprised to note that she completely subscribed to the Agudah philosophy and was very Chareidi. That was the subject of much debate in our letters; she had vehement opinions about non-Jews and my opinions were just as strong, but the opposite of hers. We were well matched because we were both excellent at Judaic studies and for this reason, although I did not know it then, she respected me, too.

But slowly my idealized opinion of her fell apart; there were cracks in the veneer as I realized that she was not who I had thought she was. One of our fiercest arguments was about cheating. She had proudly admitted to cheating during a test. I was shocked. I did not cheat. I did not lie. How could she possibly consider herself to be a good Jew, someone following the precepts of the Torah, and yet cheat? How could she care more about whether my sleeves were rolled up past my elbows because it was hot outside; how could this be so important to her and yet she could cheat on a test?

We had a fight in which she informed me that if “the cheating is really obvious and the teacher doesn’t notice it, it’s her fault.” I couldn’t understand her reasoning and what I saw as her dishonesty and slowly, slowly I couldn’t respect her as much anymore…

Then she received an important award and I really couldn’t live with myself because I was bitterly jealous. Why had she, not only a cheater but someone who was proud of cheating, been rewarded with this award, and I had been passed over? But I steeled myself and pretended I did not care and went up to her and lied by wishing her a mazal tov.

And so my arrogance and pride reasserted itself, for the person I had taken as my role model, the person I had wanted to emulate and model myself after did not exist, for she was not who I had thought she was. We did not share the same values or the same views and I was left to myself, again, and comforted myself by saying that I was the better one even if she was the one with the prize.

You know of my experiences in high school. That was yet another place where I was not challenged and had no one to truly put me in my place, where indeed I knew enough to challenge the teachers and cause them to tell me to shut up lest everyone discover how little they actually knew. And so my arrogance grew because I had again gone unchallenged, and though of course I had friends, other bright people who hated the system, I still felt that I was the strongest, because I was the one who had the ability to put myself on the line and did, far more than they knew. There were times when they did not defend me but I did defend them and this made me feel superior even though my intent was good; I felt like I had a kind of courage that they did not. I realize now that it was not so much courage as natural ability; I am naturally rash, impulsive, spontaneous, reckless and gutsy; more importantly, my parents supported me in my efforts while theirs did not. This is nothing to be proud of though there were times when my defiance was necessary I am certain that had I been less confrontational, I could have accomplished more. But that would have taken a maturity I did not yet possess…

Then came the switch to North Shore and this, if anything, boosted my ego, because how many other kids could pull off that switch? How many other people can stroll into a school that’s entirely different from their former environment, walk into the second trimester after having missed all the material of the first section and then succeed? I did not know of anyone else who could have done that and I was proud of myself for having managed it. I was further proud because I managed to win the respect of my classmates; if I was not liked then at least I was respected. This is because of how well I performed in English…

I met my match in the form of Alita, but even then it was not a complete match. Alita is far more diligent than I; she studies extremely hard and devoted her time and her life to pursuing one goal: her dream of getting into an Ivy League college. I watched her and felt helpless because everything she touched turned to gold; for her, hard work was the key to every door. There was only one way in which I still remained her equal if not her better and that was in English, because Alita, even Alita, would come to me for help on that. And I would outperform her…and so my arrogance was not threatened or truly tested because I could always fall back on the fact that I had at least one subject in which I was still master.

Alita sees people as failing if they admit they have limitations; I do not agree with her. She once discussed another of our friends with me in a disapproving fashion; she was displeased that our friend had moved out of Pre-Calculus and down to Algebra 2. For Alita, such a switch is an impossibility but I can well understand it, because I do not think that everyone must be good at everything and it is possible for someone to exert all the effort in the world in an attempt to understand something and still fail. Of course, I do not know this from personal experience because I cannot say I ever exerted my full effort in an attempt to understand math, and the one time I did I suddenly scored As and A+s, as my father enjoys reminding me.

Alita and I both went to check out the University of Chicago; we sat in on Professor Bevington’s English class. I did not know who he was and even if I had I am not the kind of person to be daunted by stature and so I was thrilled by the discussion and by how knowledgeable the students were; my eyes were on fire. I literally fed off of the ideas they presented and wished so desperately I had a text in front of me. They were studying Dr. Faustus. Simply by listening I was able to determine something, and being the kind of person to jump into a conversation, I raised my hand and Professor Bevington called on me. I advanced my idea and he praised it; I recall that Alita was gaping afterwards and informed me of who this man was; I was rather pleased he had enjoyed my thought and even more pleased that she admired me for my daring.

But what pleased me most were the students in the class. You see, I finally felt at home; everyone in that class deserved to be there; everyone there was a passionate, dedicated person with a love of English who was interested in the material and in learning. I felt like we were all equals and I felt like I was finally going to be challenged, to take pleasure in my learning the way I had always wanted, and it was that joy and understanding that kept me on a high for the rest of the day. That one class had been utterly brilliant; imagine going there for the full school year. There would be no need to see oneself as above others or as arrogant in any way because we would finally be equals; certainly some would know more than me but I would also have ideas they wouldn’t have and we would give and take and fight over the text and it would be pleasure beyond imagining and I would be happy.

But I chose to go to Yeshiva University for the Judaic Studies and I have been well pleased here. It is not, however, the same, and I do not think that is a critique of the university so much as a comment on the core curriculum. You see, students are mandated to take certain classes, whether or not they enjoy them, and because one adds in the religious element and the varying degrees of knowledge even within the Advanced classes, it is difficult to allow for prolonged intellectual debate and discussion. I loved Rabbi Mordechai Cohen’s class but even there people were wary of dealing with the Documentary Hypothesis, even though he was only presenting it as a preface to Rabbi Breur’s ideas, and it is that fear of knowledge that I have always hated, because I am the antithesis of that and would prefer to know, even if it bothers me, even if it hurts or confuses or otherwise bewilders me. And there are times when I so want to discuss topics in class but realize that only a handful of people are going to have any idea what I am on about, so sometimes I shelve my ideas and take them up with the professor later but sometimes I go for them because you see, I am so sick of hearing “for the good of the class.”

“For the good of the class, Chana, I’m not going to call on you…”
“For the good of the class, Chana, I’d like you to ask your questions later…”
“Chana, you don’t understand, your class isn’t as interested as you are in this subject…”
“For the good of the class, Chana, we need to move on now…”

I can’t have it both ways but at the same time that I somehow feel myself to be better and am arrogant, I also feel like I am just the same as my classmates and all of us want to learn and all of us could benefit from learning the truth. I think that this is a lie I have invented for myself in order to try to keep me humble; what I’ve done is say that if I believe that what I do is correct and works for me, then rather than looking down on inferiors, I will pull up all my classmates and place them alongside me. Now that I’ve determined they are all my equals, I should be allowed to ask my questions…for the good of the class.

Because you see, I cannot find a way to simultaneously see my desire for knowledge as being right and yet remain able to see my classmates as my equals. I don’t want to look down on people and I am angry with myself for doing it; I realize that I am haughty, arrogant and prideful but I don’t know how to humble myself and I wish I could find a way that worked. It is a lie, however, to simply dismiss how I feel and say that we are all equals because we often do not connect; again, we are not speaking the same language. So how can I respect all people, even those who seem completely unable to think, and simultaneously respect myself and the values and ideals I believe in? How do I do this, I have been wondering…

And because of this I have asked those people who I respect and heard their answers and will now offer you some of their ideas.

My friend first differentiated between two types of arrogance. There is arrogance “born out of supreme self confidence” and arrogance “as a mask for poor self esteem.” The latter is the one that I would refer to as “a superiority complex to mask one’s inferiority complex.” Unfortunately, the arrogance I possess is the former, the one born out of supreme self confidence.

So how to get beyond oneself? How to humble oneself?

My friend answered me as follows:

1. Why would I judge myself against other people? By looking down on someone you are implicitly saying that in a comparison between the two that you are better. I am asking why make that comparison to begin with. You should be judged against yourself (insert classic chasidic story here).

2. You know your own shortcomings, even if nobody else does. You know your own flaws and what you need to work on.

3. Recognizing when other people are better then me at something prevents me from ever (hopefully) looking down on other people. (In this case, he’s stating that if you must compare yourself to other people, then recognize what they do better than you and learn from this. Focus on what you are lacking, not on what you have to lord over them.)

Of the three, it’s the R’ Zusia approach of being judged against one’s own potential that I can most relate to, though I do practice the others to a lesser extent. I often intellectually understand that there is something to be learned from everyone but I become so frustrated with their views or opinions that I can’t think outside of what my opinion is on this, my view and that limits me.

On a different occasion, the same friend informed me that one day I will grow into “useful humility.” When I asked how exactly this would be accomplished, he offered his theory.

“You need to run into a brick wall. Then you need to have someone smack you upside the head, followed by running into the brick wall again until you realize it’s not a mirage but actually there. And then when you get over the fact that the wall hurts, you look around and realize that there are more important things to do than keep running and go back and cultivate what you’ve got.”

When I argued that humility doesn’t necessarily come from failure, from being outshone by someone else or being humiliated, he answered, “Humility doesn’t come from humiliation, but can come from recognizing you can’t dominate everyone else all the time.”

I am willing to admit that that is a truth.

Another friend of mine, Rafi, said the same thing in different words: “I think humility can come from within or without. When it comes from without, that's probably better in some ways because it probably means you were put in your place. It hurts more, but it's more valuable in the long run perhaps. Or, it can come from within just by knowing and understanding that a talent, as much as it is to your own credit, is also a gift.”

The latter is the approach my father took with me and the one that I feel helps me the most. He was telling over a dvar Torah he had heard that went as follows:

We learn that Moshe was the humblest of all men, “anav m’kol adam.” But what does it mean, that Moshe was humble? He was certainly not self-effacing; he paints a bold and strong picture throughout the forty years in the desert. He was an extremely talented, adept and able man, a man who was given a task and had to complete it. Do you think that Moshe did not know his talents; is that what humility means? Is humility saying that no, I don’t actually possess these skills and these talents when in truth you do? No! What was it that Moshe thought to himself; what was his definition of humility? Moshe knew that he was the best in certain areas. There was no question of failure; God himself professes that Moses is the greatest prophet and that no prophet will ever arise who can match him. So Moses could not possibly have kept himself humble by thinking that in the future, another would come along who would outdo him (leaving aside for the moment the Rabbi Akiva story, which is related but tangential.)

Here is what Moses thought to himself: If someone else had been given the talents, opportunities and abilities that I have been given, then they too would succeeded at this task and in this position.

Do you see the brilliance in this? I find it quite brilliant. Moses has removed his talents and abilities from revolving around him, about who he is as a person. He sees himself as a vessel. It happens to be that he had a particular background that prepared him for leadership (having been raised in the palace), particular skills and qualities that were granted him. But if someone else had been granted all those skills and opportunities, would they not also have done as well if not better? If they had been the proper vessel rather than him, would they not too have succeeded?

And I was thinking about that in relation to me. If someone else had my parents, my background, my opportunities, was raised in the environment I was raised in, wouldn’t she do just as well if not better? Of course she would. So this means that I am judging people on an unequal basis; I am judging everyone based on what I had and what they were not necessarily given.

Because, and this is something my friend has been telling me for the longest time, people are to a large extent products of their environments. It is not fair and it is not right to judge oneself against people who had an entirely different background, upbringing, religious ideology, who had different opportunities and different family lives. If they had had my life, who knows the limits of what they could have accomplished by now, possibly far more than I have!

It’s a very beautiful idea but it’s hard to keep at the forefront of my mind at the heat of the moment, so I will offer one last suggestion.

I have found that there is an effective way to humble myself, something that always works and never fails.

And that is to look at the suffering of others.

I do not believe that suffering is an ultimate goal but I do believe that suffering is a prerequisite to understanding. I do not wish unhappiness upon anyone and I do not ask God to place difficulties in my path. I do, however, acknowledge that those who have suffered have a unique perspective that is utterly different from my own, completely different and to my mind, on a much higher level.

I look at people who have suffered, whether because I have met them in real life or because I have read of them and their struggles in the books that are so precious to me, and I am humbled.

I am humbled because of what they went through and because of the people they are today, the fact that they were able to carry on and to continue living, to accept a fate that I know I would have hated and would have fought against. Anyone who has suffered and who dreams of a better world, anyone who has been through hell and yet remains passionate; these are people who I look upon in awe, people who I see as being holy.

There is a reason, you see, that I write about Clemantine, Anonymous, the golden-haired girl, Chaya Mitchell and those like them…these are the people who remind me of how low I am in comparison to them, who bring home to me the vast difference between who I am as a person and who they are as people.

For in truth? What have I suffered? I have my health, I have my intelligence, I have my friends, I have my family, I have enough money and enough to eat. What have I to complain about? Absolutely nothing.

And if there is anything that shatters my pride, it is books, books like All Quiet on the Western Front that depict the lives of people my age who went to war and were completely broken, books about the Holocaust, books about any kind of true suffering. Because what I see in those books is another self, a person who is transformed into a killing shell and who forbids himself to feel because that is the only way he can live with himself, a little girl shivering and begging for her mother. I see exactly who I could be in another life and I further see exactly what was for these people, and I am humbled, I am humbled, I am humbled…

And that is why, as those of you who know me well realize, I often try to find out about who you are as people and what it is that moves and affects you and what your experiences have been, because I have yet to meet the person who hasn’t suffered to some degree and whose suffering I cannot respect. And so, if I cannot love you for your opinions and if I see myself as superior due to intelligence, if my arrogance and pride threaten to choke me, if I am so wound up in being condescending and patronizing that I do not even realize you are speaking, there is one thing that will stop me and recall me to myself and that is my ability to understand another’s suffering and to accept it as true.

And to suddenly see you as a person in light of that, and then to try to know you better, because I have been profoundly shocked by that knowledge and realize that above all else you and I are human and we share the same loves and pains and that is what connects me to you even if there is nothing else that can.

I am sorry if I’ve hurt you in my arrogance and pride and I hope that you forgive me.
I hope that one day I will know how to be humble.

Noah Feldman is a Dirty Lying Git

Poor Noah Feldman. We feel so sorry for him. Our heart bleeds for him.

So sad, how he was cropped out of that reunion picture. So unfair. Photoshopped or cropped out because his "fiancee was Korean-American. Her presence implied the prospect of something that from the standpoint of Orthodox Jewish law could not be recognized: marriage to someone who was not Jewish. That hint was reason enough to keep us out."

Assertions without facts, always pleasant.

Well, look what unpleasantness we have turned up. Noah Feldman was one of about sixteen freaking people to be left out of that photograph. He knew this two weeks prior to publishing his article, as did the Times which wanted to publish the picture but then didn't because it wouldn't effectively prove their case. After all, he was hardly the only one excluded.

So basically, Feldman misrepresents the school, blackens its name in the papers, feeds us a sob story about how he was cut out of a photograph...and it's all lies.

Still feel sorry for this lying git?

(Hat Tip: Hirhurim)