An Open Letter to the Organizers of BRHS Shabbaton 5772

It is difficult to take rampant thoughts and pin them down, but I will make the effort. I believe that the reaction shows more about the event then can ever be repeated about the event itself and so I will work from there. (Did that make sense? It did in my head.)

I have two images I’d like you to picture. The first one is 400+ girls at a Melave Malka. 50 round tables. Buffet of pasta dishes, salad bar and delicious ice cream. And in the middle of the chaos are five tables with 43 boxes on them. Each box holds raffle tickets with various girls’ names and on the outside is a description of the prize. A typical Chineese auction, right? No. Alongside the description of the prize is an explanation of what’s involved for the winner to receive the prize. A commitment to follow through if you were lucky enough to win and that’s your ticket. 400+ girls studying the booklet intently. Will I be able to do this Hachlata if I win? Oh, that’s something I need to work on, I’ll put in for that. Looking at the Hachlata before the prize.

The second image is an auditorium full of girls. The end of the auction has the prizes for grabs with live bidding. After one girl pledged 40 hours of Chessed for an Apple gift certificate and a second pledged 200 lines of Tanya for a framed picture of the Rebbe, we are up to the flight ticket. It starts at 5 oisios of a Sicha and it goes higher and higher. And higher and higher. And still 30 girls are willing to make this commitment. 30 girls are eager to learn 300 oisios of the Rebbe’s Sichos and are fighting for the privilege!

I cannot begin to describe the whole weekend, because it would take up too much time and space but the climax of the Shabbaton, the Motzei Shabbos event is more than enough to explain the impact. When 400 girls are prepared to make a commitment like that, it is because they were inspired and motivated by learning what that means. They talked, argued and discussed these topics and took it to heart. And for that I am proud, impressed and humbled.

I know this sounds cliché, but I truly believe that the participants gained more in those 72 hours than 4 years of high school as did I.

And these two words are not enough but it'll have to suffice

Thank you

a life lived without transcendence is transient

Last night I was witness to a most tragic conflagration; a car exploded on the parkway. As flames raged wildly, and tires popped in angry bursts, I grabbed my tehillim and prayed for a miracle. We humans are conditioned to think we are immortal and often take life for granted not realizing that our existence is ephemeral. Moments like these to jolt us from our lackadaisical attitudes, and get us contemplating our purpose on earth. Upon learning the occupant perished in the blaze I began pondering the transience of life.

What is life?

This week's parsha discusses Yaakov Avinu's descent to the land of Egypt and the final years of his life. Surprisingly, the parsha is called Vayechi - and he lived. Our sages explain that "Yaakov Avinu lo meis" "Yaakov our father did not die." True life is a spiritual life, a life connected to the Giver of life as it is written: "Veatem hadvaikim baHashem, chayim kulchem hayom," "You who cleave to Hashem, you are all presently living."


Indeed, Yaakov our father typified true existence, he was "a dweller of tents," a student at the yeshivos of Shem and Ever. Although he left his tent of learning to work in the world, Yaakov always made sure Torah, eternal life, would accompany him.

When the Tzemach Tzedek was a small child, he asked his grandfather, the Alter Rebbe, "How can Yaakov Avinu, the greatest of the fathers, experience the best years of his life in the land of Egypt, a land steeped in immorality?" The Alter Rebbe responded that Yaakov sent Yehuda ahead to build life sustaining infrastructure; shuls and yeshivos. When a Jew learns Torah, he connects to Hashem and can truly live and grow even in a despicable place like Egypt.

Rashi explains on the verse "Yaakov our father did not die,"  that "as long as his descendants are alive, he is alive." When we follow in the path of our forefather Yaakov, which is a path of Torah and G-dliness, we merit eternal life and enable Yaakov's spirit to live within us. The Alshich explains that the name Yaakov is the aspect of our forefather that did not depart but remains alive with his children in exile. The word Yaakov, the heel, signifies battling the challenges this physical world.

When we remain steadfast to our faith and do not get influenced by the transient gratifications of this world, we access transcendental and eternal life like Yaakov. Indeed, as we presently find ourselves  "at the heels of Moshiach," we must continue the life of Yaakov by "choosing life." With this avodah we will merit the final redemption, when "death will be permanently eradicated" we will experience everlasting life.

Like stray hairs on an eyebrow, my ideas are many and do not always follow a straight line.

On Telephones and Procrastination

A telephone; this amazing invention that lets you talk to a person even if they’re not directly in front of you. A telephone; this piece of technology that paralyzes you when you use it to talk to someone who isn’t directly in front of you.

There are two sides to everything. The good and the not so good. The phone is great. You can be in touch with your best friend from across the world. You can keep on top of things happening eight states away in real time. The phone is not so great. It puts a cloak of anonymity on every call. It is uncomfortable to talk to someone across the country that you don’t know.

In other words these few paragraphs are a form of procrastination and distraction. Although, this is not causing the phone calls to dial themselves.

On Sunkists and Impulses

I am not one that is prone to impulse purchases. You know, while standing on line at the grocery store or even a department store there’s something that catches your eye and you buy it. The whole theory behind its purpose, the thought behind its location, you bought into that (no pun intended). But I, I’m not one for spontaneity, for instinct. And so, I have a purpose in coming to your establishment and you cannot sway me. Until the exception.

This afternoon I went shopping without anything specific goal or purpose. It was a last minute invitation to spend some time with a friend. While on line to check out, we took a look at all the glitzy merchandise that they are tempting us to buy impulsively. And I just picked each thing up and laughed at the item, the price or the whole idea. And then I saw it. Sunkists. The round, chewy candy from my youth. And we bought it. Granted, it wasn’t expensive or useless (unless you consider sugar to be useless), but it was not what we had in mind when we set out to shop.

I’m sure once I start to analyze the correlation, I will learn something earth-shattering about myself or human nature, but for now I will offer just a simple explanation of my deviant behavior. This was the first time in a while that I’ve seen Sunkists, let alone eaten them. When I was young and reckless, they were a favorite treat of mine and I even have some memories associated with the candy. I guess, subconsciously I was trying to reconnect to that era in my life. I was trying to recreate the youthful moments. I gave into whim and smart advertising.

Occasionally, it’s hard to grow up. When we get a chance to hold on for just a moment to that feeling, that sentiment of being fresh and naive, we grab onto it. And then the moment is over and we can go on being mature and responsible adults again. (And in case you’re wondering, it wasn’t worth the calories.)

Emergency Pull Boxes

This morning I got a jolt of nostalgia as I passed an emergency pull box on my way to work. Do you remember the tall red pillars with ornately designed cupolas, centrally located on large streets? As kids we were warned never to pull the lever unless there was a real emergency. "There is a hidden camera that photographs anyone playing around with the pull box," I was told. "If you needlessly summon emergency services, they will track you down and throw you in jail!" Suffice it to say, those emergency pull boxes commanded reverence and respect, and I would walk by with diffidence, naively believing I was on camera.

Time went by and pull boxes slowly went the way of the dodo. As I rounded a street corner in Boro Park this morning, I encountered one last oddment of an era. How ironic? The object I once venerated was now abjectly standing like an old piece of furniture, abandoned at the curbside for disposal. Its once vivid red paint was now faded, barely discernible. Someone had ripped out the mechanism, and the now defunct pull box became the neighborhood trash receptacle. As I contemplated the scene, a sense of longing washed over me. How I wish I can turn back the wheels of time to my simple childhood, when emergency pull boxes held such prestige.

How do you know you are thinking out of the box? Maybe you are are seeing things at a different angle because you turned around within the box?

Between a rock and hard place it is snug.

Writer's Block

Call it writers block, mental fatigue, point of saturation. “Or maybe,” a little voice inside me says, “you simply can’t write. The proof of that, my friend, is that you have never written anything substantial. Accept the fact that you are hopelessly wishing to be what you are not!”
“Be quiet,” I fiercely tell that nagging voice that sounds remarkably like all the naysayers I know morphed into one. “Anyone can be a writer. For the matter, anyone can accomplish anything that they set their mind out to do.”

Strangely enough, I constantly find myself replaying this conversation as I try to balance between two extremes, lack of apparent talent, and deep will to accomplish. Can I achieve whatever I want to? Really? Well in that case, I want to fly. Oftentimes, my Daedalian ideas meet Icarian fate. I want to do and to be, but find myself hopelessly off track. Like my writing. Oh, I have many thoughts in my head. I write epic novels in my brain as I try to fall asleep at night and pen thought provoking articles as I shower. I view myself as a modern day Homer but never committed my magna opera to writing. There is always something out there to distract me. I push things off and eventually my grand thoughts dissipate like unenthusiastic participants of a boring board meeting; quietly tiptoeing out so their departure is unnoticed.

A noted lecturer once explained that the biggest challenge we face today is a lack of focus. Our generation suffers from mass ADHD and is too easily distracted. We are so busy multitasking that we fail to create a final product. We are neither here nor there.

Distraction, my friend, is my doleful diagnosis, with writers block being but a symptom. I can do anything I set my heart and mind to do provided I stay the course. Like stray hairs on an eyebrow, my ideas are many and do not always follow a straight line. I must choose my goals and stick with them. I have buckled myself to my chair and promised myself I will not lose concentration. My phone is off and the room is quiet. I will stick to it and finish this article! I will focus! I will be a writer!