Bedside Reading

The Cousin asked what I was reading lately so I figured I'd answer him.

Meggie Cleary

But it was at Meggie everyone stared the longest. Perhaps remembering her own girlhood, and angered that all the other young ladies invited had ordered their gowns from Sydney, the Gilly dressmaker had put her heart into Meggie's dress. It was sleeveless and had a low, draped neckline; Fee had been dubious, but Meggie had implored and the dressmaker assured her all the girls would be wearing the same sort of thing- did she want her daughter laughed at for being countrified and dowdy? So Fee had given in gracefully. Of crepe georgette, a heavy chiffon, the dress was only slightly fitted at the waist, but sashed around the hips with the same material. It was a dusky, pale pinkish grey, the color that in those days was called ashes of roses; between them the dressmaker and Meggie had embroidered the entire gown in tiny pink rosebuds. And Meggie had cut her hair in the closest way she could to the shingle creeping even through the ranks of Gilly girls. It curled far too much for fashion, of course, but it suited her better short than long.

~The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough, page 168

*

"Do you remember the rose you gave me the night I left Drogheda?" he asked tenderly.

"Yes, I remember." The life had gone out of her voice, the hard light out of her eyes. They stared at him now like a soul without hope, as expressionless and glassy as her mother's.

"I have it still, in my missal. And every time I see a rose that color, I think of you, Meggie. I love you. You're my rose, the most beautiful human image and thought in my life."

~The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough, page 368

*

You were put in my life to show me how false, how presumptuous is the pride of a priest of my kind; like Lucifer, I aspired to that which is God's alone, and like Lucifer, I fell. I had the chastity, the obedience, even the poverty before Mary Carson. But until this morning I have never known humility. Dear Lord, if she meant nothing to me it would be easier to bear, but sometimes I think I love her far more than I do Thee, and that, too, is a part of Thy punishment. Her I do not doubt; Thou? A trick, a phantom, a jest. How can I love a jest? And yet, I do.

~The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough, page 400

*

And he would turn to find her watching him, a look in his eyes of haunted grief, a doomed look. She understood the implicit message, or thought she did; he must go back to the Church and his duties. Never again with the same spirit, perhaps, but more able to serve. For only those who have slipped and fallen know the vicissitudes of the way.

~The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough, page 402

I Know I'm Not The One You Wanted

A heart that's full up like a landfill
A job that slowly kills you
Bruises that won't heal

You look so tired and unhappy
Bring down the government
They don't, they don't speak for us
I'll take a quiet life
A handshake of carbon monoxide

~No Surprises by Radiohead

I can hear you crying and
the tears tear strips of skin
off me.

slowly.

I know I'm not the one you wanted.
you could barely call us friends.
but what you don't know about me is
anytime i hear you cry
it tears strips off my skin.

it's worse to have the wrong friend call
than to have no one at all.

i'm the highlighter, leaving yellow markings
where the other spots show up blank.
didn't mean to pencil them in
so close that they tattoo your skin.
didn't mean to hurt you, darling.
didn't mean to cause you pain.

it's just
anytime i hear you cry
the skin peels off me
in strips
and i'm flayed alive.

i know i'm not the one you wanted.

i wish i was
for you
and maybe then i could fix the tears
and put you back together again.

Olly & Holocaust Books, Sam and B&H

So today I woke up at 4:00 AM in order to get on a jet plane to fly back to New York. That all worked out very beautifully and on the plane ride back I read Not Me by Michael Lavigne. Excellent book which takes the question posed by Simon Wiesenthal in The Sunflower and makes it semi-real. I say semi because Not Me reminds me more of the kind of complicit killing discussed in the film Waltz With Bashir than actual murder, but it's all good just the same. I really like the idea of redemption as discussed in this novel. Excerpt that I found fascinating:

His face tilted benignly toward me, and he suddenly remarked, "Did you know that the word holocaust is Greek? It means a burnt offering- when the oracle would place the sacrificial bull and burn it in its entirety, until nothing was left but ash. Not a bit left to eat. Not a shred of skin or hide to make a scrap of clothing. Not an ounce of anything left for any useful purpose whatsoever. Burnt to nothing. That is what holocaust means."

-222-223

Isn't that interesting? So the actual translation of 'Holocaust' is Korban. I didn't know that before.

The bus that was supposed to drop us off by Port Authority made one stop at Grand Central because it was running late. Thus, I decided to walk to 9th & 34th in order to find B&H. B&H is the electronic superstore comparable to Illinois' ABT. Except it isn't comparable at all because the vast majority of its employees are Jewish (and almost all of them, at least as far as I could tell, were male.) Plus, they have a huge calendar in the window telling you they'll be closed for Sukkot. On the other hand, ABT has a huge aquarium and a marble globe that floats on water that children can play with. ABT also has an entirely revved-up super snazzy theater that shows various films; once I saw "Gladiators" there. I have yet to figure out how that is a children's film (officially they only show children's films).

In any case, as you walk down 9th Avenue, you see various men with velvet kipot and long sideburns in curls smoking cigarettes and speaking to one another. A professional greeter opens the door for you when you find the entrance to B&H, and thanking him, you walk inside, only to notice the green cartons whirring and whizzing overhead on conveyor belts, almost as though you had managed to lose yourself within Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Fascinated by this, I wandered through the whole store and, directed by a helpful black lady, went upstairs to the Computer Section. There, a man who looked like Philip Seymour Hoffman with longer hair helped me out and now I have an external DVD drive! This means I can watch movies again- hurrah! What I did not know is that you cannot take your package with you in order to pay. I tried to go down the escalator to the 2nd floor only to have my package beep mercilessly. Guiltily, I walked over to the black man who sweetly told me I had to have it sent downstairs. Not understanding, I watched, awed, as they took my package and put it into a green bin that disappeared down the conveyor belt. Sure enough, as soon as I had paid and was ready to pick it up, it was bagged and ready, waiting for me. That is bizarre in a wonderful way.

Took the A train home and then found, to my great joy, that Sam was online! Sam is my wondrous friend in Israel whom I love very much. Whenever I talk to Sam he blows me away. He is totally sincere; it's wonderful to see.

me: And if you don't affiliate with any sect, how do you define your Judaism? I'm very intrigued
What does it mean to you to be a Jew?
Sam: i believe that the torah was given by אלוהים
ובנו בכרת
בחרת*
ואותו קדשת
i actually believe that
and along the way im trying to find my own level of worshi
me: That's fascinating
Sam: worship
me: So you wish to actualize the beliefs, then
Sam: of course
why pray or believe in god if not?

Now isn't that brilliant? Beautiful and simplistic and childlike in the pure way, the kind the Rav talks about when he says our righteous sages made themselves into children in terms of their belief in God.

"Why pray or believe in God if not?"

Thank God for Sam! And thank God for wonderful books that talk about the redemption of man and lovely stores filled with Jews! It's all wonderful.

Save The Date! October 18 = YU MedEthics Genetics Conference

Folks, tis time to save the date!


Our 4th Yeshiva University Medical Ethics Society conference will be taking place October 18 and is entitled "The Human Blueprint: Jewish Perspectives on Modern Genetics." Topics include: reproductive genetics, cancer genetics, personalized medicine, Familial Dysautonomia, law and genetics, and more. Additionally, we are honored and privileged to have Madeline deLone, Executive Director of the Innocence Project present on DNA and forensics and access to DNA at the conference.

If you are a rabbi, physician, lawyer, medschool student, pre-med or an interested layperson (like myself!) you should definitely come!

Advance registration is necessary. Please click here to register!

~

As an aside: If you want to save another date, save October 17. If you're a female in Washington Heights and like Parshat Bereishit, come to the Women's Shabbat Mevarchim Shiur after Mincha at Mt. Sinai (in the Beit Midrash downstairs). I'll be giving it. *smile* And yes, there is a Seudah Shlishit party that features refreshments- at least that's what I've been told. And before the guys ask why I'm being exclusive, the answer is that I'm not- this is the way the shul does it. Go protest and tell them you want it to be a coed shiur; that's what I'd prefer.

Tashlich

The difference between a Chasid and a Litvak is as follows:

A Litvak uses his head and when the rain is coming down in wondrous sheets, he realizes he can do Tashlich a different day.

A Chasid states that rain, snow, fire, hail....nothing is going to stop him from performing the mitzvah today and doing so with the utmost joy.

Since Chasiddish and Bukharian blood flows in my veins, it's obvious which of these two categories I fall into. The Vizhnitzer Chasidim & the Lubavitcher Chasidim all gathered together by McCormick in the pouring rain and it was a party. Also, if you wash your hair in rainwater it comes out gorgeously soft to the touch (something I have realized because, of course, I would never wear a coat or a hat when there's an opportunity to go dancing in the rain.)

Shana Tova, y'all!

The Thief

My father lay upon the bed
Death caressed his gentle head
In an aged, wavering, quiet voice
He called to us; he made his choice
"Avi," he markedly said,
"Please come over to the bed."

I looked around; no one was near;
I was the only one to hear.
I crept over to my father's bed,
and coming close, bowed my head.
In this way he could not know
I was not the son he chose.

"Avi," he said, but it was me,
Motek, to whom he did speak.
"I bless you with a thousand stars;
I hope you travel very far.
I pray that God will care for you-
guard your shoelace and your shoe."

At that he gave a simple smile,
deceived by me all the while.
He opened his mouth- perhaps to bless-
but a guttural cry's all that was left.
He motioned me, and with a kiss
he left this world, ceased to exist.

I stood there, totally horror-struck;
it seemed the world had run amok.
In a moment I'd lost my father,
stolen the blessings from my brother.
And I had taken that last kiss;
he'd aimed it but it went amiss.

It was I who had been given
my father's words of final wisdom.
But it was the kiss that burned,
a mark of shame, token unearned.
My mother rushed into the room
and fell into a gentle swoon.

Avi led her to a chair,
awakened her, stood by her there.
"Motek," he asked, "are you all right?
You seem to have turned very white.
Don't worry," he so kindly said,
"Father's with us, just instead

of being here in mortal form
he watches over we who are forlorn.
He lives now in the rainbow sky
alongside God, enthroned on High."
He only meant these words to cheer;
they filled me with unechoed fear.

"I have stolen what was not mine,
that kiss- it burns- it was a lie.
Father meant it for my brother;
I stole what was meant for another.
What kind of evil one am I?
I almost wish that I could die."

So I thought but did not say;
It was not the time or place, that day.
Besides, to tell him would hurt more
Than to carry the secret for
eternity, unto my grave.
It was him I meant to save.

"I cannot pay it back," I thought.
"It is evil I have wrought.
I took what I cannot repay-
not tomorrow, not today!
Should I sell myself as a slave?
A cur am I, an outright knave."

These thoughts troubled my pensive mind;
Other ones haunted me in kind.
I kissed Avi, hugged him as well
but could not bring myself to tell
I had done this in an attempt
to place the kiss where it was meant.

"Dear God," I prayed, my shame complete,
"I know I'm nothing but a cheat.
I want to make amends, but how?
There is no way to fix it now.
I am a thief- that much is clear-
I stole my father's kiss so dear."

In pain I slept, in pain I woke;
the tears in sleep almost did choke.
I had no idea what to do,
so much my actions I did rue.
At last I pledged to God this much-
"From now on I've decided you can trust

me to be anything- but not a thief.
No longer shall I deceive."
I went out of my way to try
to be honest, not to lie.
I wanted so to tell Avi
of the kiss I took for me.

But in my dream God warned me that
would hurt Avi more, in fact.
"Don't tell him," He said. "It would be cruel.
Accept the suffering that is your due.
I will bless him with My kiss
in lieu of your dedicated service."

All year round I work so that
Avi will live off of the fat
of my sinews and my blood,
the land I dedicate to him with love.
I hope this way the kiss I give
enables God to choose to forgive.

My secret sorrow, my quiet pain,
Lies in my knowledge of this gain.
I should not have taken what was not meant
for me, not Heaven-sent.
And when I pray I cry aloud,
"God," I say, "let me not be proud!"

"I am as low as the common thief.
I stole- now shall I receive
the punishment You give with love
to purify me up above.
But God, it is the pain that cleans;
use everything within Your means."

The people think that I am pure,
untouched by any taint or lure.
But in my heart a secret shame
tinges my blood, my very veins.
I know that I have stolen that
which I cannot- ever- give back.

I know myself to be a thief
unpardoned, much to my own grief.
I pray to God, and hope one day
He will take my shame away.
Because, you see, I can't regret
my father's kiss- and what it meant.

I would do it again- for me-
so do I crave for him to see
that I, Motek, am as worthwhile as
my brother Avi, with his pizazz.
I can't regret that it's my kiss,
my moment of eternal bliss.

I tell as much to God at night,
beg him to illuminate me with His light.
Help me so I know that I
never again watch someone die
and take from them what is not mine,
unreturnable through coin or fine.

I hope one day that God will see
The Thief is not who I'm meant to be.
I hope that Avi can forgive;
I hope one day that I shall live
without the shame- the dark disgrace-
of knowing I took another's place.

But till that day, upon this night
of hallowed Godly-given light,
the beginning of the year,
the day of awe and truth and fear,
I pray to God that he forgives.
I hope that He will let me live.

Repentance Motivated By Love Vs. Repentance Motivated By Fear

After reading such an incredible work, there was no way I could go to sleep without sharing at least a taste of these beautiful ideas with all of you. So I typed up the Rav's lecture on repentance motivated by love versus repentance motivated by fear (which notes the distinctions between the two.) However, the part that really struck me here was the way the Rav compared the sinner who regrets his sin to someone in mourning. He is mourning for having estranged himself from God, longing to come close to him again. It is exactly the same as the way one mourns for someone they love whom they lost and will never see again. The longing is the same.

As an aside, a tangential thought that occurred to me after reading this essay- and perhaps it is all over the place- did any of you ever think about the Sheva Brachos as opposed to Shiva? Sheva Brachos occur after we have welcomed someone into their life, home, etc- seven days of rejoicing. Shiva occurs after the Levaya- we have accompanied someone to the world of the dead, at least as far as we can go with them, and now we spend seven days recounting our memories and thoughts. This symmetry seems very beautiful to me; it must have some kind of meaning.

Anyway, please read this essay; it is simply gorgeous.

Repentance Motivated by Love Versus Repentance From Fear (Joseph B. Soloveitchik

Read: On Repentance by Pinchas Peli

If there is one book you should read before Rosh Hashana or before Yom Kippur (and if you cannot get it before then, then sometime this year) it is On Repentance. This is the Rav's thoughts on Teshuva as compiled by Pinchas H. Peli. I took the book out of the library at 9:00 PM tonight and was so totally captivated by it that I finished it just now- I read the whole book in one night. It is 343 pages and full of beautiful, insightful, compelling and awe-inducing thoughts and ideas. It will make you cry. Take it out, read it, absorb it- let it touch you. All of you who went out and bought the Rav Machzor for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur? What you really want is this book. And all of you who didn't? You still want this book.

Man Is Pure

Excerpt from "The Resurrection of the Dead and The Immortality of the Soul"
from On Repentance in the Thought and Oral Discourses of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik
compiled by Pinchas H. Peli
translated from Yiddish into English
pages 201-202

~

Indeed, the penitent does not mold himself ex nihilo but from something. Though his "something" before repentance consisted of the "abominable and despised and abhorrent," it is a cornerstone for Judaism, emphasized especially in Hassidism and in the Kabbala, that however great a man's transgressions may be, they fail to penetrate to the innermost core of his soul. Always, and under all circumstances there remains something pure, precious and sacred in man's soul. If all were corrupted, if sin were to annihilate the whole personality without leaving a trace- then repentance would be an impossibility. The idea that in the mystique of man's soul there is an aspect that remains as a pure core, despite the impurity, is reflected in our daily prayers: "My Lord, the soul You gave unto me is pure." The sinner represents only a pseudo-personality, his external self only. All the desires and ambitions which dragged man down to sin were empty and vain. Man's one true aspiration, superseding all others, is to draw near to the Almighty. Mountains of charred ashes and layers of sand may have covered his soul and concealed the burning ember, but it nonetheless continues silently and secretly to flicker. Even then, all that a sinner need do is shake himself out of his state, wake up and identify with his real "self," and reach the sublime moment of prayer directed towards the Almighty, "Who hears all prayer" and about Whom it is said: "Towards You all flesh shall go." All flesh; the gates are open to all those who knock upon them in sincerity.

And from this we learn that "all of Israel has a share in the World to Come," that it is the innermost, untouched core of the soul which is forever pure, that enters the World to Come.

To Be Chana

To be Chana is to suffer. It's to be tortured by the Peninahs of the world, to have husbands believe that they can comfort you if only they point out what you have as opposed to what you don't have, to be misjudged by the Eli HaKohens, to have God Himself refuse to grant you the child that would epitomize the meaning of your life. To be Chana is to win only when you lose, to have nothing unless you sacrifice for it. To be Chana is to have Shmuel only to give him up. To be Chana is to love forever, with a timeless and everlasting and unending love, to bring your son the beautiful little robe you make for him year in and year out. This robe, the love which you wove into it, characterizes your son all his life. It is so powerful that it accompanies him beyond the grave.

יט וּמְעִיל קָטֹן תַּעֲשֶׂה-לּוֹ אִמּוֹ, וְהַעַלְתָה לוֹ מִיָּמִים יָמִימָה--בַּעֲלוֹתָהּ, אֶת-אִישָׁהּ, לִזְבֹּחַ, אֶת-זֶבַח הַיָּמִים.
19 Moreover his mother made him a little robe, and brought it to him from year to year, when she came up with her husband to offer the yearly sacrifice.

~Samuel I 2:19

יד וַיֹּאמֶר לָהּ, מַה-תָּאֳרוֹ, וַתֹּאמֶר אִישׁ זָקֵן עֹלֶה, וְהוּא עֹטֶה מְעִיל; וַיֵּדַע שָׁאוּל כִּי-שְׁמוּאֵל הוּא, וַיִּקֹּד אַפַּיִם אַרְצָה וַיִּשְׁתָּחוּ. {ס} 14 And he said unto her: 'What form is he of?' And she said: 'An old man cometh up; and he is covered with a robe.' And Saul perceived that it was Samuel, and he bowed with his face to the ground, and prostrated himself. {S}

~Samuel I 28: 14

(My thanks to Robert Alter for pointing that out.)

To be Chana is to be truly religious in the sense that the Rav intends.

"[T]he religious act is essentially one of suffering. When man and God meet, man is called upon by the Divine to embark on a course of self-sacrifice which is manifested in a struggle against his primitive instincts, in a breaking of the individual will, in the acceptance of a 'transcendental burden,' in an occasional dissociation from the pleasant and attractive, and in an addiction to the bitter and the strange...'Make sacrifices'- that is the command governing the religious man."

~Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik in "On the Love of the Torah and the Redemption of the Soul of the Generation," an answer to an interlocutor, in IAIT, pp. 403-32

Rosh Hashana is Chana's holiday. God remembers her; it's the day she conceives her child. Can there be joy in that? After all, this child will be taken from her. No, not taken- given freely. That's the ultimate sacrifice; she loves this child knowing he is not hers at all but only God's. And she gives him to God. Yes, she and Elkanah have other children tachas- in place of- that one. But do you think she forgets him? Of course not. There's the robe, the little robe, that robe which marks and characterizes him so that beyond the grave, when he is called back by the Witch of Endor, he still appears in that robe.

So didn't it kill Chana to give up her child? What kind of mother was she- could she part with her son so easily? Ah, but here's where the other Chana and what she says comes to mind- the one who commits suicide after her seven children refuse to bow to the idol and they are all killed.

"God, you merely requested that Abraham sacrifice Isaac but you did not make him do it. Yet I have truly sacrificed my children to you!"

Is that not what Chana did? What was Shmuel if not her sacrifice?

To be Chana is to be the Queen of Sacrifice. The Rav explains, "God demands not tribute from man, but man himself." What Chana did was even more difficult than this. To give oneself up is easy. For a mother to give her child up, to see him but once a year? That is something totally different. Chana was willing to risk her reputation for this child, to be accused of being a Sotah; she does everything in her power to be a mother. Chana was no wife of Manoah to be commanded to give her son up. No, God has different plans for Chana. He knows nothing is worthwhile unless he makes it her choice so that she has nobody to blame but herself. Chana gives up her child because that is the only way she will have a child.

You want to know who Chana was? Chana was a woman who totally exemplified what it meant to live for God. Chana suffered in ways you cannot even fathom. Her husband could not comfort her, her co-wife hated her and tortured her and the holiest man of the generation thought that she was a drunken woman- a totally horrifying accusation when you consider how deeply she served God. God acted cruelly with Chana; He only gave her what she wished after breaking her completely into pieces. Was it kind? Perhaps not. Was it necessary in order to make Chana the prophetess she was, to ensure that Samuel would be the prophet that he was? Yes. Chana gives her whole soul and her entire self to God. She has no one else to confide in, no other to trust. When He gives her a son, even though it is conditional, she nonetheless raises a paeon to him. Because here is the secret of Chana- she loves God, despite everything. She loves Him so much that she would give the child she has longed for with all her heart and soul to Him. Isn't this inexplicable? Isn't it strange? By rights, Chana ought to hate God- this God who created a lot in life for her which is fraught with such unhappiness. But she does not hate Him. She is merely a woman of sorrowful spirit who pours out her soul before Him.

To be Chana, then, is to love God and to walk with Him, to find Him in the darkness and to cling to Him. To be Chana is to know God is always beside you and cares very, very much for you. To be Chana is to hate and love God simultaneously, to cry out before Him and nonetheless be so close to Him that one need merely whisper. To be Chana is to trust in God because no one else exists who can understand. To be Chana is to be God's, indivisibly and insolubly. Chana belongs to God in the same way that He belongs to her. The two are inseparable. Chana without God is an impossibility. It is not just that Chana would be dead. It is that Chana simply wouldn't exist. There can be no Chana if there is no God. Thus, the fact that Chana lives, the fact that she sacrifices, her loneliness and unhappiness and the way she turns to God is in and of itself testimony that God exists. To be Chana is to be the unhappiest person in the world but it is also to have absolute and unquestioning knowledge of God. Chana struggles at first. She does not want to submit to God. But in the end she does and she finds her joy in it. But it is never complete. Look at Chana's language. When she gives Shmuel up to God, she states that she has lent him to God:

כז אֶל-הַנַּעַר הַזֶּה, הִתְפַּלָּלְתִּי; וַיִּתֵּן יְהוָה לִי אֶת-שְׁאֵלָתִי, אֲשֶׁר שָׁאַלְתִּי מֵעִמּוֹ. 27 For this child I prayed; and the LORD hath granted me my petition which I asked of Him;

כח וְגַם אָנֹכִי, הִשְׁאִלְתִּהוּ לַיהוָה, כָּל-הַיָּמִים אֲשֶׁר הָיָה, הוּא שָׁאוּל לַיהוָה; וַיִּשְׁתַּחוּ שָׁם, לַיהוָה. {ס} 28 therefore I also have lent him to the LORD; as long as he liveth he is lent to the LORD.' And he worshipped the LORD there.

Chana wants God to know that she does not consider Shmuel to be God's property which she is merely returning to Him. No! Shmuel is hers, her son and she is lending him to God. It is her free will and her free choice. And let God never forget it! There is power in this woman, an incalculable power. She may bow before God, having submitted to His will. But she reminds Him that it is her choice to submit before Him. Her son is lent to Him, not returned to Him, not His to own and possess, only lent. To be Chana is to walk with God, to feel His presence as clearly as one senses one's own, to dialogue with Him, to submit with grace. To be Chana is to walk an incredibly difficult path. Yes, Chana was remembered on Rosh Hashana. For what? To sacrifice. Then of course it is appropriate to mention her on this holiday where we all must call upon ourselves to sacrifice, to offer up our souls upon God's altar. Chana is the essence of that. It is what she stands for. It is who she is. To be Chana is to offer up, to give, to be misjudged and to suffer, to live this life granted by God with all the grace she can muster. To be Chana is to fulfill the words of Bilvavi.

בלבבי משכן אבנה להדר כבודו, ובמשכן מזבח אשים לקרני הודו, ולנר תמיד אקח לי את אש העקידה, ולקרבן אקריב לו את נפשי, את נפשי היחידה

Gangster's Paradise

To me, this song was always more of a hymn. It's been playing in my head non-stop for a while for various reasons. To me, this was always the most powerfully affecting scene:


It's similar to the way I was affected by watching Salim pray in "Slumdog Millionaire." I find it very beautiful that a gangster or mobster would pray.

Here Goes Nothing

Just took a Tylenol PM in the hope that I can drug myself to sleep. I have never done that before and never wanted to do it but I have lain in bed for 2 hours without being able to shut off my brain and the whirling thoughts that are keeping me up (in addition to the dripping nose, etc) so I hope this stuff knocks me the frabols out. Please, God. This is beyond even my zombie party plans.

I'm Going To Cry Out Of Frustration

It's 6 AM and I haven't slept.
This is not for lack of trying.
I hate being sick.

Worthless

Alternatives To R' Avigdor Miller's Approach

My fellow Bais Yaakov and Yeshiva students, I have something I wish to say to you. It has to do with R' Avigdor Miller and his works. It is probable that you have been told to read his books or listen to his lectures. And the truth is that his words and pieces can contain much beauty and inspiration. I particularly enjoy his work Praise, My Soul. The problem arises when one reads his works and automatically assumes that everything he says is straight-up Torah without any personal beliefs or philosophy thrown in. To the contrary, many times there are alternatives to R' Avigdor Miller's approach. It is my wish to demonstrate some of these alternatives to you. I shall work with some excerpts from Awake My Glory.

1. Paragraph 575. These two trends are dependent on each other. In the degree that Jews harmonise with each other and do kindness to each other, in that same degree does the Shechinah approach and come closer to them. (By Jews is meant observant orthodox Jews; reform or conservative or any other kind of irreligious Jew is not a Jew. An observant convert to orthodox Judaism, be he black or brown, is a Jew.) - page 168

Let's consider what R' Avigdor Miller wrote here. "By Jews is meant observant orthodox Jews; reform or conservative or any other kind of irreligious Jew is not a Jew." Can that truly be the Torah approach? Does that make logical sense to you? A Jew who is not observant can be anyone from a tinok she'nishba to a Jew who has sinned. But he is still a Jew, something which we see throughout Tanakh and the Gemara. We have Jews who are totally non-observant, consider R' Elazar ben Dordea (Avoda Zara 17a)! And they are always considered Jews who perhaps have sinned, not suddenly written off as not a Jew as all.

For an alternative approach, see what Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik (The Rav) states in The Rav: The World of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik by Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff, Volume 2, page 20. Here is the excerpt:

12.09 Jewish Peoplehood

Related by the Rav to his Talmud class at Yeshiva University on Israel Independence Day, April 23, 1969.

Being part of the Jewish nation means participating in one destiny and experiencing the solidarity of the Jewish people. The American Jew is exposed to the danger of total assimilation on both the religious level and also in losing his feeling for Jewish peoplehood.

There is the danger in the United States that even if the American Jew remains observant, he still will not feel that he is part and parcel of the Jewish people. I saw this in Germany. I knew Jews in Germany who were observant to the last iota. One Orthodox rabbi in Germany told me about his relationship with Polish Jewry. At least with the religious Poplish Jew he felt that he still had something in common. However, with the nonobservant Polish Jew there was little in common. The rabbi named a German politican and claimed that he had more in common with him than with the nonobservant Polish Jew. He and the German politician shared the same German culture and German national aspirations. This German politican later supported the Nazi party! The rabbi declared that vis-a-vis Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinski [1863=1940; the last Rabbi of Vilna]: "I still feel a relationship and have something in common; but with the nonobservant Polish Jew, what do I have in common?"

The feeling of being part of the Jewish nation and the awareness of the togetherness of all Jews was lacking. This man was a leading German rabbi, and I can testify that his observance of the Torah was meticulous. Nevertheless, these were his words, and I am apprehensive that a similar viewpoint will evolve in the United States.

~

The Rav states that to be a Jew is to feel that one is part of the Jewish nation, which includes all Jews, observant or non-observant. His approach is the total opposite of R' Avigdor Miller's. Indeed, the Rav sees it as a failing and a flaw to feel as R' Avigdor Miller did.

Let us move on to some excerpts regarding R' Avigdor Miller's approach to women (in Judaism and in marriage):

2. Paragraph 1095- (There cannot be two kings. The marriage-relationship is twofold. 1) The wife is submissive. This is not only Jewish but natural. There can be no harmony when there are two commanders. Without this indispensable condition the home is disordered. "Arrogance is unbecoming to a woman" - Megillah 14B. For a man it is not an ornament, but for a woman it is as if she wore a mustache. 2) The second, but equally essential foundation: a man must always demonstrate respect for his wife. This is "the way of Jewish men that...honor and support their wives in truth" as stated in the Jewish marriage contract. "He honors her more than his own body" - Yevamos 62B, and "A man must always be careful with his wife's honor"- Bava Metzia 59A. He is the captain, but she is the First Mate whose counsel is respected. She cannot be made a doormat, she need not beg for money, she deserves some assistance in the house chores, and the husband sides with her against his kin. He must express frequent appreciation and give words of encouragement, and he should remember his wife from time to time with gifts, big or little. Husband and wife should always say "Please" and "Thank you" and never forget to be always polite to one another.) - pages 339-340

Paragraph 1105. Before marriage it is imperative to ascertain the young woman's attitude toward feminism and "women's rights" and careerism. It is out of the question to build a Jewish home, or any home whatsoever, if the prospective wife has been tainted with these anti-natural and anti-social preachings. The woman's career and happiness are in her home: absolutely and entirely. Her husband, her children and her home are the expressions of her personality and her Free Will, and they are her chief forms of serving G-d. The modern orthodox "Rebbetzin" with a college degree and a job in secular professions is a misfit even in a non-Jewish home. The ideas of revolt against a husband's authority and the unrealistic dream of equal leadership in the family, lead only to unhappiness and failure, and very frequently to divorce. A Beth Jacob girl should be wed soon after or before graduation. Every day after she leaves the Beth Jacob marks another step away from idealism, for the street and the office and the secular school have an unfailing effect which increases from day to day. It is never a simple matter to achieve harmony in the home; effort and wisdom and fear of G-d are required. But with the additional burden of feminism, all problems become aggravated; and like all the unnatural and anti-social affectations of the libertarians (342) this leads only to failure and unhappiness.

Under no circumstance should any member of the family be subjected to the influence of a non-observant psychiatrist or psychologist or counselor. - pages 344-345

~

To challenge this idea that a woman is utterly submissive to her husband and by rights must be ruled by him one need look no further than the love between the Rav and Dr. Tonya Soloveitchik, his wife, to whom he dedicated his masterworks and whom he consulted regarding everything he produced. It is clear that this was not a relationship between a man and a woman whom he ruled and commanded, but rather between equals, intellectually and emotionally so. The Rav wrote gorgeous pieces regarding the love he felt for his wife; one which particularly resonates with me is in his work On Repentance where he speaks of how he woke up one night due to a thunderstorm outside and remembered the window was open downstairs. Horrified, since a draft could make his wife sicker than she already was, he ran to close it. Only then did he remember that his wife was dead. He compares the thunderstorm to the kol ha'shofar and otherwise elaborates upon this, but the point of the story is that this marriage was a relationship between equals and the wife was certainly not submissive. She critiqued her husband and helped crystallize his thoughts; nobody 'ruled' over the other.

Recall that the husband ruling over his wife is a curse that God punished Eve with- see Genesis 3: 16-

טז אֶל-הָאִשָּׁה אָמַר, הַרְבָּה אַרְבֶּה עִצְּבוֹנֵךְ וְהֵרֹנֵךְ--בְּעֶצֶב, תֵּלְדִי בָנִים; וְאֶל-אִישֵׁךְ, תְּשׁוּקָתֵךְ, וְהוּא, יִמְשָׁל-בָּךְ. {ס} 16 Unto the woman He said: 'I will greatly multiply thy pain and thy travail; in pain thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.'

Surely one would not immortalize a curse by turning it into a positive trait? In the same way that ideally one would wish for a world in which man does not earn bread only by the sweat of his brow, and during which the ground only produces thorns and thistles, so one does not ideally wish for a husband to rule over his wife- these were punishments from God, not the ideal. This is the reason that there was rejoicing when Cain was born; the curse was lessened slightly for he was able to produce from the ground (something other than thorns and thistles.) How much the more so ought we to attempt to reach a state where the man and wife mutually respect one another and see one another as equals instead of acting out a curse.

Death Warmed Over

Per the two people who saw me within and coming back from the Gottesman Library (that lounge makes such a difference to the place, it's incredible) today, I look like "death warmed over."

An appetizing image, that, no?

But they have a point. Oddly, they were scandalized to see me out of bed. Pffft. No one stays home when they are sick; there are obligations to be fulfilled! Books to read! Classes to attend!

What does death warmed over even mean? Does one take the Grim Reaper and stick him in a microwave? I wonder...

In any case, some more cheerful dying to commence...and the best part is, guess who has a nasal drip now? Oh, the joys of getting sicker and sicker day by day.

The Candy Man

I really liked this post by Yeshiva Guy entitled "The Old Candy Man and The Old Candy Store." It's evocative and beautifully written; it's the beginning of the story of a man's life. Please read it! Did you have a candy man like that in your life?

Dark Art

I absolutely adore Stephenie Morgan's art, especially her Dark Art.

The women in the pictures always resonate with me. I am fascinated by their sadness, their seductive, ethereal, dark beauty. It looks like they stand on the edge of an impossible precipice, and the question is how they will write their story.

I especially like this photograph.

Olly the Gangsta Gal: Duane Read, Walk-In Clinics & Strep Tests

So I'm sick. Sick beyond all reason. My throat's on fire and so are my ears and whenever I swallow, it's like I've chosen to choke down knives for some vindictive reason known only to me. The blades pierce the skin and cause a ripping sensation which means I'd rather pant like a dog, taking shallow breaths of air, than swallow if at all possible.

In any case, I owe tremendous thanks to my wonderful friend Fudge who informed me of the fact that Duane Reade has a walk-in clinic that is open on Sundays. It is located on 50th Street & Broadway- the 1 train goes right there. Their Sunday hours are theoretically 11:00 AM-7:00 PM but I saw that they were treating people before 11:00 proper, so that might be subject to change. In any event, it's awesome. You go up the escalator and over to aisle 16 where you'll see a pretty little clinic where you can sit down and merrily cough your lungs up (as I proceeded to do.) People with insurance or Medicare, you should totally check this joint out; it's a party.

I met a lovely young couple featuring a raven-haired Jewess by the name of Serena. (I once named an American Girl Doll- not my own- Serena.) In any event, she was talking about hosting a dinner party Monday night instead of Sunday night because if she hosted it Sunday night she would be the only one fasting for Yom Kippur and that would be difficult. I leaned over and in my hoarse, aged voice said, "I couldn't help overhearing that you are Jewish. I'm Jewish, too. Wanted to wish you a shana tova u'metukah and a kesiva v'chasima tova." They promptly returned the wishes and she went back to mopping her nose with tissues.

The majority of the patients at the clinic are tourists. There was an Australian lady and a British lady and lots of people without insurance. Most everyone there was in their 20s and 30s. That's unsurprising; really elderly people probably have doctors they routinely visit and who they can bother on Sundays.

In any event, this lovely lady named Shakima tried to perform a strep test on me. I say tried because when she attempted to use the tongue depressor and stick a Q-tip down my throat, I gagged. I'm not good about people sticking long cotton swabs down my very tender, wounded throat. In any event, she tried again but couldn't really get anything; thus, the strep test came back negative. I also got to find out that I'm running a slight fever- 99.3. In any event, the doctor herself took a look and told me my throat is "cherry red." That sounds like a lollipop flavor. She prescribed penicillin for me because I had exposure to strep, my throat is killing, and I don't have any other symptoms (congestion, etc.) The pharmacy filled the order within 15 minutes. And then this super nice lady helped me pop the cap off my pill bottle (I don't know how to open pill bottles) and I took one and I still feel like something the dog dragged in, so so much for that endeavor.

Last year on Rosh Hashana, while at Landers, they attempted to freeze us all to death. (A lot of shuls do this. They turn the air conditioning on full blast in an attempt to ensure that our contrition before the Lord improves due to our temperature dropping.) So I wore the following sweatshirt in shul over my clothes (as it was the only thing I had). This is the back of the sweatshirt:

It reads, in case you can't tell: "Y'All Know Who's Keepin' It Gangsta." It's a Binghamton NCSY sweatshirt (I love Binghamton.) You can imagine the looks I got. It was an experience not to be exchanged for the world. I can reasonably attest that I am the only girl to ever wear a sweatshirt reading "Y'All Know Who's Keepin' It Gangsta" in shul at Landers on Rosh Hashana.

The reason I mention this is because I was accoutred in that sweatshirt, black pants, a black skirt and combat boots in this 76 degree weather, which is always fun times. For some reason this meant that kind looking black men regaled me with pamphlets advertising Jesus' Second Coming. I don't know if it's because I was rocking the homeless look, I had that broken girl-glazed over expression which suggests I need saving or they're just drawn to people who look unhappy. In any event, if any of you would like some literature on Jesus, feel free to stop by my apartment, 'cause I've got plenty.