Lightman & The Tent-Peg Wielder

When I first came to Stern, I was really lonely. I was scared, nervous, a real freshman straight out of North Shore Country Day. I hardly knew anybody.

Aside from being lonely, I was proud. I wasn't going to ask to be invited over to people's houses. Instead, I figured I would just hang out in the Stern Caf over Shabbat. Luckily for me, I met an amazing trio my second Shabbat at Stern. The trio asked me whether I wanted to get pizza that Saturday night. I agreed. They were my first real friends in New York.

I've been helped, cared for and had fun with all of them. But the friend to whom I've remained closest of that original group is Lightman.

Lightman is a brilliant violinist. He plays with all his heart and soul. He is also a linguist, a health nut and a master of biblical Hebrew. Lightman taught me Hebrew throughout my time in Stern. I owe him for ensuring that I didn't fail out of Dr. Steiner's class. But to me, he's more than his accomplishments. His talents are amazing and he ought to be lauded for them, but when I think of him, it's his soul that moves me. I love Lightman because he has a depth of spirit that is almost unsurpassed. Beauty touches him. Whether it's the thin sound of an operatic wail or the clash of cymbals as an orchestra reaches its crescendo, Lightman understands. He is there with you in the pit of the valley, in the horrors and the torture chambers that few visit, let alone comprehend. When I needed a light in the darkness, I found him, and what is more, he found me.

Lightman was the one who made me a surprise birthday party. I had never had one before. Lightman is also the one who videoed a different party of mine, one where I was extremely touched and moved to see what everyone present had to say about me. (It was a little like the Living Funeral described in Tuesdays with Morrie and I still count it as one of the most heartmelting moments of my life). Lightman is the one who would cheer me up when I was at my darkest, raising me up from the depths. Lightman would make sure that I would attend Broadway shows and operas and that my artistic side was always validated. He offered me strength and compassion and there are many times I would have fallen but for him.

When Lightman first discovered the Tent-Peg Wielder, I didn't react at my best. I was a bit like a displaced sibling in a family structure, one who didn't understand that transition and how to make it. But over time, I grew to know her and to trust her. I grew to see her as one of the best, kindest and most loving people I have ever met. She is so spirited, spunky, idealistic and scholarly that it blows me away. She is inspired, inspiring and glorious. She has dealt with so much and has managed to come out on top despite it all. She has dealt with all scenarios, even those that were not ideal, with aplomb. She is a fearless editor and is extremely loyal. She is incredibly creative. She is brave. Her courage is of the masked kind, the sort that doesn't reveal itself openly. She doesn't plunge into people's houses to rescue their dying children; no, her courage is of the internal sort. She takes her stands and she makes them heroically.

Her thoughts on Jewish History opened my eyes to an entirely new way of seeing Judaism. For me, Judaism is an incredibly personal religion. How I relate to God, how Judaism offers me a sense of structure that helps me to be at my most healthy - this is what is most important when it comes to my connection to the religion. But TPW is less selfish. For her, Judaism is about Jewish History, the incredible marvels, scandals and horrors that our people have survived. History to her is part of our heritage, something to learn about and to wear as a badge of honor. Our history defines and enlightens us.

She is also an amazing teacher. As a Hebrew School instructor, she married her creative talent to her love for Jewish texts in order to create innovative and engaging lessons. Her children wrote her kind and colorful missives expressing their love for her. And her creativity doesn't stop there. I had the honor of spending one very memorable Rosh Hashana with her- one where those in attendance ate a real lamb's head rather than a fish's head. She was the one who had the patience, initiative and sheer mischievous desire to track down a sheep's head, season it, cook it and finally, serve it.

I am amazed by TPW's diligence and precision. When she decided she was interested in learning a new language, she put all her effort, talent and mental agility into mastering it. When she prepares for classes at her graduate program, she makes sure to do all the readings in advance. She really commits herself to whatever is important to her. Her acuity and analysis, while impressive, are not all she has to offer. She is also incredibly artistic. I own pieces of artwork that she has made (whether in the form of greeting cards or snowglobes) and they are exquisite. I hope she fulfills her dream of reproducing her artwork commercially and selling it online.

I am extremely happy to share with you that tonight marks the engagement of Lightman to the Tent-Peg Wielder. It's been a long journey and they've come a long way. I am looking forward to seeing them join with one another in a shared dance of art, music, Tanakh, Hebrew, Jewish History and beyond. I hope that they are blessed.

Mazel Tov!

ha

who knows what tomorrow is...?

Intimacy

The truth is, intimacy doesn’t have all that much to do with backseats of cars. Real intimacy is brushing your teeth together.

~Elsewhere

Parade

I saw "Parade."

It's been on my mind. Especially the "Come Up to My Office" song. The factory girls' testimony is singing in my dreams, for some reason.

My favorite song is "You Don't Know This Man."

And it occurred to me that "It's Hard to Speak My Heart" reflects the way one feels when one stands before God on Yom Kippur.

random thought

It would be cool if prophets were time-travelers. So they had actually traveled to the reality they predicted and then went back in time to try to warn people against committing the actions that would lead to that reality.

best music on "The Good Wife" thus far

Riot Rhythm- Sleigh Bells

Everyone loves a Hannibal Lecter type villain.

Survivor

Song of the Day: Survivor by Destiny's Child

I'm a survivor (what),
I'm not gonna give up (what),
I'm not gon' stop (what),
I'm gonna work harder (what),

I'm a survivor (what),

I'm gonna make it (what),
I will survive (what),
Keep on survivin' (what),

I'm a survivor (what),
I'm not gonna give up (what),
I'm not gon' stop (what),
I'm gonna work harder (what),
I'm a survivor (what),
I'm gonna make it (what),
I will survive (what),
Keep on survivin' (what).

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been

As others were---I have not seen
As others saw---I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I loved alone.
Then---in my childhood---in the dawn
Of a most stormy life---was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold---
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by---
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

~Edgar Allan Poe

Anniversary Cards

This post is now gone. Hurray.

In Which Chana's Nose Becomes An Icicle

Here I sit in my freezing cold apartment, wearing warm Mickey Mouse socks (thanks Dana!) and pajamas, clutching a cup of hot cocoa to myself while hearing the following song play in my head:

O' woe is me, o' woe is me

This would kill the canary

It's so freezing in my bed

That it's a wonder I'm not dead

I ask aloud for those of you who can explain the immutable, baffling ways of landlords: why does the heat not go on until October 15th?

My thoughts on this matter:

1. It saves on embalming costs, because this way when people die of cold, at least their bodies stay at the same temperature one would find in a morgue

2. It (all together now) builds character! (Ahahahaha. Josh, my dear, that was for you.)

3. It ensures that you huddle under the warming light in your bathroom the entire day, and the only thing to do in a bathroom is to become clean, so the landlords get to operate under the assumption that you will be reasonably clean when they encounter you. This makes them happy.

4. They've made a secret pact with Milk St Cafe or Coffee Bean because they know that packaged hot chocolate doesn't taste like real hot chocolate and if you're cold enough, you'll go outside to buy real hot chocolate

5. It's an effort to enforce modesty, because this way the only place you can change clothes is in the bathroom under the aforementioned warming light, and thus this will keep you honest. (And chaste. And good. And modest.)

Anyone else have any good reasons?

True Aristocracy

So Manuela deserves our praise. Although she's been sacrificed at the altar of a world where the most thankless tasks have been allotted to some women while others merely hold their noses without raising a finger, she nevertheless strives relentlessly to maintain a degree of refinement that goes far beyond any gold leaf gilding, a fortiori of the sanitary variety.

"When you eat a walnut, you must use a tablecloth," says Manuela, removing from her old shopping bag a little hamper made of light wood in which some almond tuiles are nestled among curls of carmine tissue paper. I make coffee that we shall not drink, but its wafting odor delights us both, and in silence we sip a cup of green tea as we nibble on our tuiles.

Just as I am a permanent traitor to my archetype, so is Manuela: to the Portugese cleaning woman she is a felon oblivious of her condition. This girl from Faro, born under a fig tree after seven siblings and before six more, forced in childhood to work the fields and scarcely out of it to marry a mason and take the road of exile, mother of four children who are French by birthright but whom society looks upon as thoroughly Portugese- this girl from Faro, as I was saying, who wears the requisite black support stockings and a kerchief on her head, is an aristocrat. An authentic one, of the kind whose entitlement you cannot contest: it is etched onto her very heart, it mocks titles and people with handles to their names. What is an aristocrat? A woman who is never sullied by vulgarity although she may be surrounded by it.

On Sundays, the vulgarity of her in-laws, who with their loud laughter muffle the pain of being born weak and without prospects; the vulgarity of an environment as bleakly desolate as the neon lights of the factory where the men go each morning, like sinners returning to hell; then, the vulgarity of her employers who for all their money, cannot hide their own baseness and who speak to her the way they would a mangy dog covered with oozing bold patches. But you should have witnessed Manuela offering to me, as if I were a queen, the fruit of her prowess in haute patisserie to fully appreciate the grace that inhabits this woman. Yes, as if I were a queen. When Manuela arrives, my loge is transformed into a palace, and a picnic between two pariahs becomes the feast of two monarchs. Like a storyteller transforming life into a shimmering river where trouble and boredom vanish far below the water, Manuela metamorphoses our existence into a warm and joyful epic.

-The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery, pages 31-31

(Thanks to Marc Fein for making me read this.)

in its measure

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for You are with me.

Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

~Psalm 23 (or Gangsta's Paradise)

Now what does that mean, that Your rod and Your staff comfort me?

I think it means Your attributes of Justice. Justice shall be served. It shall be measured out with the rod, parceled out by the staff.

what my kids do in class

....before I gave 'em detention, anyway.

It's KIPPA FRISBEE! Like Ultimate Frisbee, but even cooler! So much more fun than learning about how the whole world got destroyed in the time of Noah.

new favorite music

Nuttin But Stringz

Playlist

Breathless- Dan Wilson

A Drop in the Ocean- Ron Pope

Brandenburg- Black Violin

Parabolic Cosmos- Break of Reality

Path- Apocalyptica

Requiem for a Tower- Escala

The Jai Ho Wedding Dance

I am not sure why it took me this long to discover, but there is an amazing tradition of dancing the Jai Ho Bollywood dance at various weddings.

Here's some Jewish guys doing it.

And here's a fabulous bride doing it:

Clearly a bride after my own heart.

My plan: The next time someone I know gets married (and I attend the wedding), me and my girls are going to have to do a Jai Ho rendition at her wedding. Who wants to learn this dance with me? It's gonna rock.

Holiness in Words

The Bible is holiness in words. To the man of our age nothing is as familiar and trite as words. Of all things they are the cheapest, most abused and least esteemed. They are the objects of perpetual defilement. We all live in them, feel in them, think in them, but, failing to uphold their independent dignity, to respect their power and weight, they turn waif, elusive- a mouthful of dust. When placed before the Bible, the words of which are like dwellings made of rock, we do not know how to find the door.

Some people may wonder: why was the light of God given in the form of language? How is it conceivable that the divine should be contained in such brittle vessels as consonants and vowels? This question betrays the sin of our age: to treat lightly the ether which carries the light-waves of the spirit. What else in the world is as capable of bringing man and man together over the distances in space and in time? Of all things on earth, words alone never die. They have so little matter and so much meaning.

The Bible does not deal with divinity but with humanity. Addressing human beings about human affairs, whose language should be employed if not man's? And yet, it is as if God took these Hebrew words and breathed into them of His power, and the words became a live wire charged with His spirit. To this very day they are hyphens between heaven and earth.

What other medium could have been employed to convey the divine? Pictures enameled on the moon? Statues hewn out of the Rockies? What is wrong with the human ancestry of scriptural vocabulary?

If the Bible were a temple, equal in majesty and splendor to the simple grandeur of its present form, its divine language might have carried the sign of divine dignity with more undeniable force to most people. But man would have worshipped his work rather than His will...and that is exactly what the Bible has tried to prevent.

Just as it is impossible to conceive of God without the world, so it is impossible to conceive of His concern without the Bible.

If God is alive, then the Bible is His voice. No other work is as worthy of being considered a manifestation of His will. There is no other mirror in the world where His will and spiritual guidance is as unmistakably reflected. If the belief in the immanence of God in nature is plausible, then the belief in the immanence of God in the Bible is compelling.

~God in Search of Man by Abraham Joshua Heschel, pages 244-245

God Is The Subject

The sense for the realness of God will not be found in insipid concepts; in opinions that are astute, arid, timid; in love that is scant, erratic. Sensitivity to God is given to a broken heart, to a mind that rises above its own wisdom. It is a sensitivity that bursts all abstractions. It is not a mere playing with a notion. There is no conviction without contrition; no affirmation without self-engagement. Consciousness of God is a response, and God is a challenge rather than a notion. We do not think Him, we are stirred by Him. We can never describe Him, we can only return to Him. We may address ourselves to Him; we cannot comprehend Him. We can sense His presence; we cannot grasp His essence.

His is the call, ours the paraphrase; His is the creation, ours a reflection. He is not an object to be comprehended, a thesis to be endorsed; neither the sum of all that is (facts) nor a digest of all that ought to be (ideals). He is the ultimate subject.

The trembling sense for the hereness of God is the assumption of our being accountable to Him. God-awareness is not an act of God being known to man; it is the awareness of man's being known by God. In thinking about Him we are thought by him.

~God in Search of Man by Abraham Joshua Heschel, pages 159-160

Yearning

Today I read The Ineffable Name of God: Man by Abraham Joshua Heschel.

His poems are beautiful and breathtaking; best of all, they are exactly what I feel towards God and the world we live in. I find so much of myself captured in Heschel's words and thinking and that gladdens me.

His poems are written in Yiddish, but happily they've been translated so that I can understand them. He is, of course, brimming with passion.

This is the poem that opens the book:

I and You

Transmissions flow from your heart to Mine,

trading, twining My pain with yours,

Am I not- you? Are you not- I?

My nerves are clustered with Yours,

Your dreams have met with mine.

Are we not one in the bodies of millions?

Often I glimpse Myself in everyone's form,

hear My own speech- a distant, quiet voice- in people's weeping,

as if under millions of masks My face would lie hidden.

I live in Me and in you,

Through your lips goes a word from Me to Me,

from your eyes drips a tear- its source in Me.

When a need pains You, alarm me!

When You miss a human being

tear open my door!

You live in Yourself, You live in me

And here is another one that particularly speaks to me:

To a Lady in a Dream

Grant me a breath,

A finger's touch;

for a thousand hours of yearning

give me one word!

I dreamt of you through all my youth,

through all my youth, fenced off from you-

and my dream aches so much.

I owe to you my immense yearning-

and beg of you: Rescue my dream!

Your eyes are greetings from God,

Your body- an oasis in the world,

joy for my homeless glances.

Your legs are trees of desire

in the gardens of quietest delights.

I searched for you in dreams in the night.

You never came to my unforgettable desires.

Yet stubbornly the dreams swore: You are there!

Some day you shall belong to me!

But like a student at a test,

I now stand mute before you.

I've come with showcase-words boldly to your heart.

Astonished, looking through your eyes

as through the shattered windows of my dream-

I've forgotten my arrows, forgotten my bows...

forgive me, beloved, my chaotic silence!

Grant me a breath,

a finger's touch;

for a thousand hours of yearning,

give me one word!

September 11

I was in 8th grade when the Towers fell.

I didn't know what they were. What were the Twin Towers? And where were they? I thought they were some random buildings in the middle of nowhere.

But then Tzipporah in my class came to school announcing that the Twin Towers had fallen. She had seen it on Good Morning, America or some such show. At that time we still thought it was a mistake one of the pilots had made. We didn't know it was a terrorist attack. Later on, we were all called to an assembly in school where we were told of the news and we said Tehillim together.

Everyone was really worried. I don't remember for sure, but I think school was dismissed early. We thought that the Sears Tower might be hit next. Chicago's a big enough city to be on the list.

I remember my mother telling me that all the nurses just congregated around the televisions in the nurses' station and they watched, horrified. Tears streamed down their cheeks and they didn't even know they were crying.

I remember my father, grim. I remember all of us sitting donwnstairs in the basement watching television on a weekday (which never happened). We watched the planes hit the buildings again and again. We called all our relatives in New York. One of my aunts slept in her office building and the other one walked across one of the Bridges along with throngs of others.

We gave thanks that none of the people we loved had died, and we mourned with America about the loss of everyone who had. We hung a big American flag on our window and we watched the multitude of flags and bumper stickers. We saw our world come together, people sharing with each other like they never had before.

We saw love.

I remember the pain, the sadness and the horror. But I most of all remember how we came together, how the world united and people truly cared about one another. And I remember thinking it was sad that it took a tragedy to unite us. But that I was glad we were united, even so.

I remember we couldn't tour the White House on our 8th grade trip because they closed it due to fear of terrorists. And that lots of other places were also closed off. And that parents hadn't even been sure they wanted us to go on that trip, but acquiesced, in the end.

It was scary and huge and hard to comprehend. It was hard to grasp the enormity of it. But in 11th grade, when I was on Summer at YU, they took us to ground zero instead of to an amusement park. And we all grumbled because we would rather be having fun. But we got why it was important to be there. And I looked at that hole, that massive void in the earth, and I saw it gaping open and ugly and that was the first time it seemed real to me, where the earth had shook and moved and this ugliness was there for real. And I was shaken.

And then I thought: we must somehow fix this.

But how?