Art is...?

Black paint splashes across the painting to form three bold, strong, and crass oval shapes; the ink dripping down as if there was no time or patience to paint in the lines. The messy yet well planned chaos stares at the viewer challenging him to uncover the secrets, demanding, "Look at me, figure me out!"

Is this art?

A small oil portrait of an anonymous African man stares out from its frame. His eyes bulging with intensity, pain, sorrow and immense strength. His clenched jaw screams tension and yells oppression and difficulty. His creased forehead expresses concern for what lies ahead. This small oil portrait of just a face emanates a strong determination and an iron will to surge forth.

Is this art?

A blurry video shows a group of Africans sitting cross-legged around a huge piece of cloth, each person garnering their own little bowl of paint, contributing to the masterpiece that will display their people's journey and history. They effortlessly, yet delicately and thoughtfully dab away at the cloth garnishing it with their unique flavor and style. Their voices sporadically sing out in jubilation and prayer transforming this task into its own historical moment.

Is this art?

Blocks of ash, hangers, little dresses and shirts ridden with dirt and sand stand strong on this gargantuan piece that protrudes from the wall yet is not invasive. It exists in silence and in passivity as a feeling of hopeless stillness pervades the air around it. The messy and brusque gray, white, and cream strokes provide a background for this memory with deliberate holes and scratches abrasively placed to display the broken lives and chaos. The artist is a German man who lived during World War II.

Is this art?

The fiery sun is setting on a glorious lake, its light casting a magnificent glimmer on the calm, smooth water. The details of the scene are exquisite as even the faces of the fisherman docking their little boats are etched out and visible. It looks like a wonderland as the day is coming to a close. There is no abstraction in this piece-everything is crystal clear.

Is this what we consider to be fine art?

While perusing through the Seattle Art Museum today I had the opportunity to feast my eyes on a diverse array of what someone considers art. There was African art, contemporary art, political art, Mediterranean art, Muslim art, Christian art, realist, impressionist, surrealist and any of the above combinations, masks, dishes and quilts- all of which someone has deemed art.

BUT

How DO we define art?

AND

Who decides if it is good art or bad art?

I have heard people say about an art piece, "Pssshh, my 4 year old could have done that; in fact he HAS drawn pictures better than that."

Or, "They call that art?!?!"

But who made them the judge?

Art is a form of self-expression. Every single stroke of paint and every dot on a page is the artist telling a story. The colors, the materials, the type of paint, the perspective, the size; every single nuance of the piece was handpicked by the artist to evoke an emotion and portray a concept or philosophy.

Art is the creation of a vision by an artist. Art is art regardless of its viewers. But it is only acknowledged as a piece of art when someone else connects to and appreciates the artist's self-expression.

Van Gogh is the story of an artist who created magnificent art, but no one appreciated his messages and therefore disregarded and discarded his works. He was an artist and his works pieces of art before anyone knew his name.

Van Gogh was a visionary who thought ahead of his time and as soon as the world caught up with him they saw the uniqueness and genius of his self-expression.

This is the story of art in every decade.

Because art is by definition personal; it stems from an individual's self-expression. It evolves from existential questions and each person's experience in this world, of which no two are the same.

Walking through the galleries I noticed that everyone was drawn to different areas, and lingered at different exhibits. There were certain pieces that I stood in front of for five minutes absorbing every detail, while other glanced at them and moved on. Some pieces drew me in and others repulsed me. Some left me indifferent while others elicited strong emotion. Some made me smile, while others left me pained.

Art is about what grabs you.

Art is about connecting to the experience of the artist.

Art is about awakening and feeling the joy, the pain, the sadness, the tragedy, the love, the sorrow, the challenge, the strength, the bond, the tears, the unity, the oppression, the freedom, the bliss, the struggle, the confusion that is portrayed in the art.

Art is about seeing the world through another's eyes.

Art is about experiencing a moment of someones life.

Art is about hearing another's voice.

And

Art is also about uncovering and listening to a part of yourself that you may have forgotten about or never known.

Art is about stirring up what is inside you and forcing it to the surface.

Art is about taking a deeper look inside yourself and getting to know the real you.

To Give or Not to Give...?

You can usually spot them as soon as they step foot on to the train.

They tend to look a little scruffy and worn out, walk slowly or with a limp, and are always carrying some sort of bag, an old Starbucks cup or dragging a cart filled with miscellaneous items behind them.

You know, the kind of person who looks like he walked right out of a salvation army ad.

I see them everyday without fail, some old, some young, some physically disabled, some mentally disabled and some just looking to make an extra dollar.

When they enter my domain I either ignore them or watch them make their rehearsed speech for the thousandth time. And then I watch how they walk around the train jingling their cup hoping someone will reach into their pocket and give a little something. And then I watch how everyone ignores him or shakes their head no as he passes by. And then I watch as he gets off the train and moves to the next car hoping that the commuters one over are feeling more generous today. And then I watch the people in the car resume their activities; some lost in thought, some catching up on the daily news and some resting their eyes a few more minutes before the rush of the day begins; all forgetting the sad person who interrupted the flow of their morning just a few minutes before.
----
But today was different.

Today I was standing directly in front of the short, stooped over man in his 30's who trudged slowly onto the subway car. He had messy curly, black hair, big brown eyes and was wearing a pair of army pants, rolled up at one ankle, a black hooded zip-up sweatshirt, and worn out sneakers.

He came onto the subway slowly, held his worn coffee cup out, and started beseeching, in a soft, pained voice, his brown eyes filled with despair, to those around him, "Please can anyone help me."

My thoughts started whirring, "oh no, not another one. He is probably crazy, he will move soon, just ignore him."

And he continued, "I am sorry to disturb you, but anything you can help with would be great."

My thoughts continued as I was struck by a certain sincerity in his voice, " He looks so sad and wounded, this one seems much more sincere then any other beggar I have seen, maybe I should give something."

And he repeated himself as he stood in the same spot, directly in front of me, for what seemed like eternity, "Please, anything you can give would help."

But I couldn't. My thoughts kept circling around themselves like a vulture over its prey, "c'mon just give him some change," "but I don't know if I even have any change, plus if I take out my wallet I will feel like I have to give and what if I only have a $20." "Maybe he is just a good actor," "he looks so hopeless," "but what if he really is for real?"

My body was frozen and my heart was melting, as I tried to comfort myself insisting, "it's ok, someone will give."

But no one gave a cent. People blinked their eyelashes and looked at this sad man as he stood their begging, but no one reached into their wallets to give him anything.

And then I saw a flash of light, some callous person was taking a photo of this man.

And I stood there as well, my sympathy rising, watching, waiting for someone else to start the chain of giving (because often if one person gives others follow suit). But it never came.

And so the man shuffled down the car to implore the others for some help.

As I watched him walk away I didn't forget him instantly, or breathe a sigh of relief as usual.

This one had struck a chord.

An intense sadness rose in my heart and I continued fighting with myself.

And then I started arguing with G-D.

What do you want from me?

Should I have been the one to give, would that have encouraged others to give as well?

Why did I choose not to give?

Why is it my responsibility anyway?

Why don't You save this man?

Why did You let him sink to this level of degradation and embarrassment?

But I could not come up with any answers.

All I could come up with is that my actions must stem from an internal place of justice, kindness and compassion and not based on anyone else's inaction.

That does not mean that I am going to start handing out checks to every beggar I see, but if I am feeling compassionate towards someone I need to act on that compassion, even if it is just a quarter or a reassuring smile.

I won't go bankrupt, but I will retain a sense of dignity and hopefully help restore a struggling person's dignity.

And then I have done my tiny, yet significant part, and set an example for others.

The rest I will leave up to G-D.

Can't We All Just Get Along?

The saddest day in Jewish history has passed by, yet again.

It has not been transformed into a day of rejoicing, yet again.

We all sat through another repetition of Eichah, yet again.

The tears continue to flow from heaven to below as our world remains unchanged. Unchanged by the years of sorrow, self-absorbed by the hatred that has seeped into our very essence and hardened by the continuous pain that afflicts our nation. Look how far we have come and look how far we have strayed. Everyday there are Jews in this world who wake up and see G-D in their lives and everyday there are Jews in this world that block the light of G-D from shining through.

It has been said over and over and over again that the only way to rebuild the holy temple, and the world, is through love. Through an intense love that acknowledges that G-D created each human for a reason. It is only through the fulfillment of each person's potential that the world can reach a state of completion. Knowing that each of us has a unique mission in this world we should really get cracking and figure out what that is. Worrying or judging another person's attempt at figuring out their journey in life is a waste of our own. We insist that our judment or criticism of another person is for the greater good, or it is for G-D's sake. But who are 99% of us kidding, it is about our own pride. It is about us not wanting to exert the energy that it would take to see our own faults and correct them, so we project our issues onto others. But this is not going to take us far.

As Jews we are known for our stubborn behavior: there is the joke about the person on a deserted island who built two Shuls so he could say, "I go to the other one", or the joke about 2 Jews having 3 opinions. It is true, we are opinionated, stubborn and persistent. And thank G-D for that, but there are always two sides of a character trait; side one you win and side two you lose. In our obstinance we tend to forget that we are all fighting on the same team. We forget that sometimes we have to put aside our own will and submit to the will of something greater. We forget that we are supposed to use our horns to chase away evil and unite against darkness. In our blindness to the bigger picture we forget that is our mission as a people to bring light to the world.

However, we can only do that if we are all on the same side of the mechitza and on the same side of this great divide that we call our pride. If we can see another perspective for just a moment, we will realize that our true pride will emenate only when we are together and acknowledging each other's worth. Bashing another Jew is like cutting off your right hand to spite your left; you are only hurting yourself.

So let's take up the challenge (because that is one thing we are famous for) and fulfill the words of the Baal Shem Tov regarding the commandment to 'love a fellow Jew like yourself'. He explained that just as you see your faults and yet you still love yourself, so too should you be able to see another's faults and love them just the same. Let's use our pride to unite and spread the warm light of G-Dliness in this world and make evil darkness a thing of the past. If we can rise to the task, with G-D's help, we will merit to see the 9th of Av as a day of celebration not of mourning.

Move over Eichah, our days of lamenting are over.

Nice To Finally Meet You Rav Kook

They betrayed me with silence.

They never told me who he was.

But without words they depicted a picture that was far from the truth; an image that was far from the brilliant mind that he had, far from the sensitive soul that he embodied, far from the humble servant that he played, far from the passion for spreading G-D's light in this world that drove his every action, far from the endless love that he held towards each and every Jew, and far from the sweet, holy light and energy that touched so many lives.

Why didn't they tell me who he really was?

Was their agenda more important than portraying a holy man in his true form?

The zionists adopted him as their poster boy, using his image, of an advocate for our holy land, to win votes, regardless of how far they strayed from his philosophy.

The zealouts discarded him as a righteous man because he stood for a vision of the future they did not understand.

But neither party truly knew who Rav Kook was.

Now, there are many people who do know the extent of this man's greatness, but after 14 years of Jewish education you would think someone would have let it slip; someone would have told me.

You would think that someone would have told me about his incredible humility.

Or about his intense desire to help every single Jew, even those who spat in his face and insulted him.

Or what about his poetic, philosophical and academic writings that are full of passion, love and spirituality.

Or for that matter, his unrelenting will to serve G-D completely.

Or that he would go to the all the settlements (both religious and non-religious) to inquire about their welfare and encourage them, through love and compassion, to take upon themselves one mitzvah.

Or that these settlers listened to Rav Kook because of his sincerity and love.

Or about the other well-known Rabbanim who greatly admired and respected him.

Or that he spend his life advocating on the behalf of the Jewish Nation.

Or about his unyielding dedication to truth.

Or even the simple fact that he wore a streimel and a bekeshe and had a long, graceful beard?

Or about the friendly, warm twinkle in his eyes and gentle smile that captured so many.

No one told me any of this.

But now, at the age of 21, I finally get to meet Rav Yitzchak HaKohen Kook.

And now I can mourn the loss of a truly great man.

Subway Sonnet

All standing in isolation with determination

avoiding anothers gaze as if in a daze

to abide with the jive of the rules

unspoken as not to crack open the divide

that permeates the air

like a bear

claws out

waiting to ensnare his next victim

to separate it from the world it lives in

introducing it to a new dimension

opening its eyes from the disguise

to form a connection to attach

and create a flicker of affection between two strangers

diminishing the dangers that once stood in the midst of pretentiousness

replacing it with a sense of attentive joyfulness

of re-kindeling a spark between two souls

that may have met in the dark

at a moment in history

transforming a bit of their mystery into familiarity

that seeks a bond through forging a memory fond

by blazing past the facade of individual glory and touching the core

embracing the person

reaching in to ignite their flame thats ablaze

instead of focusing on the face that reflects a heart unsure of the expectations

guarded thoughts stewing and remain brewing until a brave soul breaks past the barrier

because of a crave to forgoe the games that we play
dancing around one another afraid to step on some toes

and play it straight, unlocking the gate that holds back the droves from mingling

and becoming awake acknowledging the link that connects us

to the fate of the people that sorround us

beckoning our minds to resound with thoughts of peace

and astound those around with the simple gesture of smile that can last for miles

no beguile just the real deal, sincere, a move that in a blink of an eye does not disappear

but lingers in the clear open air, exposed, on their lips to express their thoughtfulness

a moment is all it takes to recognize the importance of the lives that stands before us

in isolation and then in valediction as we pierce their soul with a dose of love and

then continue amongst the throngs carrying a piece of what is above

eternal soul, eternal bond,

isolation is a relic of the past that will take more than a blast

to remove from the ancient rubble

of lost eyes, alone, refusing to appeal to their human guise and remaining in aggravation

now a community, alone but together

sharing the pleasure of a clear reality, no more insanity,

of feigning independence

but returning the gaze with a nod of the head

a clear validation of what has been said

You exist.

Truth Sells

Irony plagues the media coverage surrounding the recent deaths of two famous people; Anna Nicole Smith and Kurt Vonnegut (I cringe even placing them in the same sentence.) Anna Nicole Smith, whose story has been played and replayed in the media for the past couple weeks, represents much of what has gone awry in our society. The focus on physical perfection and beauty, the portrayal of women as nothing more than a piece of meat and the flagrant display of sexual behavior with disregard for human dignity, privacy and morals.

Contrasted to the media coverage for Kurt Vonnegut, an author and philosopher, who utilized his incredible expressive abilities to educate the world and promote wholeness and goodness, trying to raise the moral standards of society. Tributes to him were written up in newspapers around the world but have ceased merely a few days after his passing.

Considering that the news only prints what will sell, it is a wonder that news of Smith's death continues to appear in various national media (even in Forbes magazine) whereas Vonnegut's death has stopped attracting mass attention. It seems as though society has more interest in gossip, sex and scandals than philosophy, academia, and morals. Granted the controversial circumstances, when the world mourns the death of a sex symbol for almost two months, yet after a few days pretty much disregards the death of a brilliant and moral writer, something is off kilter.

In an age where rap music climbs the charts, gigantic ads of scantily clad models stare down at you in the heart of Manhattan, teenage pregnancy (and abortion) is on the rise and the average age for physical intimacy has decreased to the ripe old age of 15, I am forced to wonder where our morals and values have gone. What are we teaching ourselves and our children if the concepts of modesty, privacy and boundaries no longer exist in our world? Where are our priorities? How does it happen that a nation founded on principles of morality has spiraled to one that promotes such immorality?

The root of modesty is the acknowledgment of the worth of a life, the recognition that a person is comprised of more than a body, that there is a soul that is the true life force of the person and the body merely serves to clothe the soul in order for it to achieve its purpose in this world. Modesty is about having high expectations for your personal behavior about raising the bar higher with each passing day and reaching a point of transcendence where our thoughts, speech and actions are for a purpose beyond ourselves. They become about building the world and others and not promoting ourselves.
--------

Our founding fathers were men of action who realized that it was time to break free of the destructive bonds of the British monarchy and utilize their powers as humans to create a better future for the coming generations. They founded this country with integrity, values, a concept of building and caring for the world that was bestowed upon us and an awareness of G-d and His goodness. Some point throughout history the declaration of independence, where they espoused these values, began to lose some of its impact and meaning and has becoming a historical document that we read, but not necessarily one that we live by and study so we can keep up the integrity of their intents. Their beliefs stemmed from a deeper place, the wisdom of the Torah, which defines the values they laid out in clear terms.

At the core of each and every person there lies a yearning for clarity, for truth. Along with that core comes a animalistic aspect to humanity, one that when harnessed and channeled towards the pursuit of truth can break incredible bounds, but when used for the furtherance of its own desires can lead to destruction. Many revolutions in history were a result of the recognition that their lives were not ones of truth and integrity. That they were not allowed the freedom to utilize their talents and promote goodness and building in the world.

This was the deeper intent of the founding fathers when they said life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. These three dictates were about building, not destroying. They were about the equal ability and right of each and every person to lead a life-be allowed to live and grow and choose their path in life. A life that is liberating, not free from all obligations to humanity but liberating, not free to create chaos, but liberated to create clear boundaries. And to pursue happiness, to seek out your unique role in the world and find joy in it.

We must tap back into our roots, the roots of integrity and boundaries, of a G-d awareness, which provides us with a sense of responsibility to our world and the people who inhabit it. Only then will we be able to create a fully functioning, whole and healthy world, a world of builders not of destroyers, a world that praises and acknowledges those who enhance the G-Dliness in this world and scorns those who reject and discard the G-Dliness in this world. A place where we can cultivate a true sense of modesty.

Rebbetzin Jungreis Unplugged

She is an incredible woman; Holocaust survivor, widow, mother, teacher, friend, the list goes on.

Calling her a survivor is an insult to her. She is a thriver. Amidst complete darkness she arose and conquered. She did not complain and pity herself, she lifted herself high above the rubble and said lets act, there is no time to waste.

Even after her precious husband passed away, she did not let her pain paralyze her, rather she grew through and accepted her life with love, persevering and continuing her incredible contributions.

She is my heroine.

She stands there, a refined, majestic, elegant woman in her 70's, speaking to a captivated audience with a fiery tone and bluntness that only she can use, combined with sincere love and compassion, which dissapates any lingering sharpness and enables her words to enter straight into the heart of the receiver.

She speaks of emunah and bitachon, faith in the Almighty, our Creator, our Redeemer, with more passion and conviction then others who have felt little pain in their lives.

When she smiles at you, at that moment it is just the two of you, amidst hundreds and she cares only for you, only of your needs.

Her piercing eyes go straight to your soul, seeing all the goodness and holiness each person encompasses.

Her mission in life is unparalleled by anyone alive today. She sought out and continuously seeks to connect to every Jewish soul, providing them with a warm and loving view of a beautiful heritage they have been distant from.

She reaches and is able to touch Jews in all corners of the earth with her wisdom, compassion and immense love.

She strives to understand each person and their individual needs, remaining unyielding until she gives them to a strong footing, guiding them to a climate where they can cultivate and unmask their G-dly soul.

No task is too large, no hurdle too daunting as she surges forth claiming responsibility for the nation she calls her own, pouring her wellsprings of energy into every act within her long-reaching grasp.

She derives her strength from an internal source that is reservoir of endless giving. She holds on to the coat-tails of her forefathers and foremothers for merit and inspiration, looking to G-d for guidance, encouragment and help in her holy task.

She goes places no others dare to go, speaking words no others dare to speak, acting in ways that most people shy away from, and transcends time and space accomplishing more than most even dream of, captivating the hearts and minds of millions around the globe and helping them tap into their potential and return to their true source.

Like I said, she is my heroine.

limited expression of eternal pain

There he was, standing in all of his glory, smiling, a caftan wrapped around his neck like a tallis, the rebbe smiling at him, basking in the light of his holy sefarim that he, in the truest sense of the word, owns. Then he is gone. His soul no longer rests in his body, it lays lifeless, the loss too huge for anyone to grasp. The shock overwhelms, the pain sets in deep, there are no words for comfort, no words to express the intense sorrow, only tears. Tears that come from an abyss, a black hole that never seems to end, but flows and flows without stopping, no end in sight to the pain, the sadness, the grief. Denial, the body tenses up, the thoughts overwhelm and the mind goes blank there is no way to heal. The light has left the room. We can see no longer. The guiding light that shone so bright has dimmed in this world, but has moved to higher spheres, spheres that don't need external light, but that shine eternally. It is not real, the loss is not real, it is all a joke, a cruel joke, he is still here, amongst us, breathing, smiling, laughing, waiting to walk up his front steps and kiss his children hello. What happens when we lose, we feel empty, like we have been drained of our energy, lifeless....no matter how many times we hear, it cannot be believed, that a loving, adoring, holy, intensely kind, sympathetic, giving, deep and brilliant father, son, husband, friend, rebbi could be taken from this world in such a short notice, and what of the broken children, being left fatherless, and the mother, without her other half. Hashem we don't understand Your ways, we don't understand the pain we go through, we don’t understand when you take holy souls from this world to the next. When will our suffering end, when will we see You revealed only through happy times. Let us peek at Your tapestry so we can lessen our pain, so we can see your holy plan, so we can feel a release from some of our sorrow to live another tomorrow and be able to grow and throw up our hands and say we see Your goodness and can dwell in peacefulness to make right what is amiss in our world that you created amidst the bliss of nothingness and continue to give life and allowing our souls to express the gift that You placed into it and shift when the wheel starts to turn and yearn for the redemption to come so we can be one with You and our nation can be whole to put the pieces back together to fulfill our role and fill the gaping hole that separates us from You and the holy souls that you tore from this world like a sore that wont heal bring us back together in a home soft like feathers that can break our fall when the pain hits us hard like a dart in the heart that pierces straight through with a start without warning that its coming to tear us apart, Hashem heal.

I know His Name

He calls himself Charlie. G-d planted him in the subway car that I was in yesterday; He planted him about two feet away from me. I watched him, a smile forming in my mind and playing on my lips, as he talked to himself, muttered comments, and sang a little niggun with no care that people were watching. I looked around to see what other people were thinking and the look on their faces said with partial amusement and exasperation, "Another nameless crazy person with no where to go that we have to deal with after a hard days work," but I know better.

I know he has a name
I know that he lives in Crown Heights
I know that the Rebbe was very fond of him
I know that he makes people smile
I know that people that know him, love him
I know he was created in G-D's image
I know that he has a unique mission in life

I see a G-dly soul, who was put into a body and position in life that is not mainstream, trying to fulfill its mission and bring joy to the world.

But, all they see is a white man, with a unkempt white beard, big plastic rimmed glasses, wearing a pair of jean overalls with a white shirt underneath, his tzitzis flying in and out of his jeans, a large round yarmulka perched atop his head with an array of pins strategically placed around it and a slew of shopping bags filled with who knows what, muttering and singing to himself.

If they think he is crazy and I know better, then who's to say that people who look crazy to me actually matter to someone, and have a name and a place they call home.

------
I ran into Charlie again today in my neighborhood, the upper west side. I saw him as I was walking home and I heard him say to someone happy Chanukah. Being that I was only a few feet away from him I called to him, "Freilichin Purim" to which he responded, "Purim is coming up, it is still the time of Chanukah."

I walked with Charlie down the street as he explained to me how he came up with that calculation, quoting the Rebbe. As he talked I was in my own head smiling to myself in amusement over his words thinking, "here he goes." I caught myself treating him without due dignity and gave myself a metaphorical splash of cold water on my face, saying, "Raizel, if you were thinking just yesterday that he is a person with a soul, someone to respect, then listen to what he has to say!" So I listened, even though I still didn't quite understand what he was saying.

He proceeded to inquire as to who I was, he asked me my name and where I was from. When I explained I was from Seattle, he said with excitement and another one of his big, warm smiles, "Oh! Welcome to New York, our playground," and when I told him what I was studying he said, "This city subsists on psychologists, your in the right place." He knows what he is talking about.

He went into shul to daven, and I continued home with a big smile on my face and a warm feeling in my heart. As I strolled down the street I couldn't help myself from smiling, and I thought, people probably are perceiving me as a little weird. Who smiles to themselves? A frown, a scowl or a sulking face, thats normal, but to smile to yourself while walking down the street, that is a warning bell.

Who is the crazy one now?

I Live in the Projects

I stroll through the wide pathway, the looming, identical brick buildings threaten to engulf me, a tall, green gate guarding the rusty dumpsters, I hear little kids using four-letter words I never even heard until I was at least 15 years old, I pass two gangsta’s talking about someone getting canned and their rap sheet, an 11 year-old boy asks my friend to have sex with him, the same homeless, pregnant woman shuffles around day after day with her shopping cart filled with her belongings and in the empty park on a cold, blustery day, two men exchange drugs with a flick of the wrist.

-----

I live in the projects, there are no two ways about it, and every time I mention it to someone they ask me if I am frightened to be living in such a place. On some level there is definitely an underlying fear and I am aware that I must be cautious. However, there is something unreal and almost special about being able to watch a world that is so foreign to me. Amongst all of its vulgarity there is a world that is full of trust, love and a strong sense of community. I watch the little children playing in the park, their parents not around, but their neighbors are watching. I see the guys hanging out by the entrance, they aren’t just bumming around they are the watch guards of their home. I see the older people walking around in the morning, greeting the people that clean their streets, talking to them with respect and care.

------

The other day I was walking down the street with a few people (who were all from New York) and we passed by a group of black people standing around and talking. As we were passing, a guy, probably in his mid-20’s looking like your average gangsta’ low-riding pants and all, asked, “Excuse me, do any of you have a tissue?” As I stopped to respond, the thought that this was a ploy to mug me crossed my mind, but I shoved it out of my head, “have a little faith,” I told myself. So, I opened my purse, pulled out my tissue and gave it to him. He promptly gangsta’ shuffled over to a little girl of about 4 and wiped her nose ever so gently. It was so sweet. The people I was with had not stopped or even acknowledged the man’s question, they had just ignored him. When we had walked away, one of them remarked, “That was really brave of you.”

Brave, shmave, I was just doing a decent thing. They probably, like I had, thought he was going to mug them. But I have learned that humans aren’t always so rough, and even when they are, often it is just a façade.

-------

Tonight I heard yelling and my thoughts went immediately to gang fights, but when I looked out my window I saw a bunch of guys playing a makeshift game of football in the frigid weather at 11:30 pm.

This is where they live. This is their home. They are people too, with fears, challenges, a mother and father, siblings they love this place that they call home.

But I am not familiar with their version of a home, I grew up in my own home, not in government housing, I grew up with a green backyard, not an alley with a garbage dump, I grew up knowing I will always have a warm place to sleep and food on the table, I never had to wonder where my next meal was coming from, I know that I will be respected in the world, they know that they may have to fight for respect.

What do I know of them?

Nothing.

Just my prejudices, my biases, the stigma that I have attached to them, the lies I have been told, and information gathered from movies I have watched.

Nothing.

Nothing real, nothing of their true lives,

Nothing of their fears and aspirations,

Nothing of their trials and joys,

Nothing of their families or friends, nothing.

Their lives are totally foreign to me, and for that I cannot judge.

Making Room for Others

Last semester I encountered a professor who I did not particularly respect, he was annoying, talked super fast and jumped around from topic to topic when he taught, which was difficult since it was a history class. Normally, I would have just switched classes but this was part of the core and I had to take it. The first half of the semester I just tuned him out, was bored and felt aggravated at his inability to teach, but then mid-terms came around and I had no idea how I was going to study. I ended up having to teach myself 3,000 years of history, which proved to be extremely time consuming and I ended up getting a B- on the midterm because I was not prepared. I made a quick calculation and realized that if I wanted to get an A in the class I had to change something and it had to start with me.
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I decided to give the teacher another chance and try and focus on his positive traits, so I walked into class, sat down, focused and vigorously took notes to keep up with his speed. Much to my surprise, I began to realize that this professor was actually very smart, knew what he was talking about and throughout the days a very clear picture of history began forming in my mind. Needless to say, it was an extremely humbling experience for me.

By the end of the semester, I had gained a lot of knowledge, not just of history, but of the human condition and that sometimes all you need to do is step outside of yourself and look to the positive in others, trust in them and they will deliver.

Curly or straight, does it really matter?

Last week I straightened my hair. In my au natural state I am as curly as can be, so every once in a while I like a change, I like to be able to run my fingers through my hair (without getting stuck), I like to be able to go without the gooey feeling of product in my hair and I like the light feeling on my head.

So I straightened my hair and as usual I received a lot of compliments and shocked faces from people who have never seen me in straight hair before. I was reveling in my glorious straight hair, a sophisticated, older look, that to me is more glamorous. And then came Shabbos and it was time to wash my hair before it started to drip oil. I was disappointed, I was feeling so good and care-free with my straight hair, I had an unusual spring of security and confidence in my step. I almost didn’t want to go back to my curls. But cleanliness rules, so (not to worry) I did take a shower.

But a bizarre thing occurred; my curls did not rejuvenate like they usually do when I drench them with water. Most of my hair sprung back into place but there was a chunk of hair on the front left side that was mostly straight with a slight indent (that some may call a wave). I was horrified. My friends tried to reassure me saying, “don’t worry, wash your hair again and it will spring back.” I tried to believe them on the surface level, but deep inside I knew the truth and it was painful; I had killed my hair with the iron and I was going to have to wait for my hair to grow out to get my curls back again.

The past couple of days I have gone through a mourning period of denial, anger, acceptance and rebuilding. It really has been a deeply altering experience, after all, this is my hair we are talking about! This is often how people are able to pick me out of a crowd. It is a fundamental aspect of who I am! My precious curls!

Tonight I was sitting at my kitchen table and I was reading about the existence of mankind in a book by Rabbi David Aaron, “The Secret Life of G-D,” and how our existence is not completely necessary, but rather we exist solely because G-D chose to and continues to create us, and then it got me thinking about my existence in general and then without further notice a light bulb turned on and I had an epiphany: my hair does not define my existence, my soul does.

The way I act, my confidence, my real value is not contingent on whether my hair is straight or curly, its origin comes from a more lasting source. It comes from a deep rooted core called the soul, our divine source, which is the root of our confidence. It is our soul that is created in a Godly image, which makes us unique, invaluable and indispensable. Hair or any physical aspect of ourselves is just an external representation of our unique soul, just a physical reminder that each person is truly an individual.

The fact that we are a Godly soul is what dictates our true value.

Nothing more and nothing less.

Still Singing

I woke up this morning and my soul is still singing.

The feeling is still here.

The music is still playing.

I am still soaring.

My smile still stretching from ear to ear.

And now, I want to take on the world, one positive action at a time.

I don't want to play the victim anymore, no more, "why is this happening", or "how could this happen," it is time for action.

It is time to truly trust in Hashem.

It is time to tap into the music of my soul and understand my mission.

It is time to take the music, GO and DO.

It is time to start life.

Music of My Soul

I went to shiur tonight that has been going on for 25 years, merely 16 blocks from my apartment. The wisdom and sparks of light that have been filling that room for 25 years, are only now coming to rest in my soul.

From the moment I sat down on that hard, wooden bench, I felt the energy of truth and sincerity that only comes from a place so real that it cannot be dismissed. When we finished my heart was singing out in jubilation and my soul felt like exploding from the power of the truth, like something swelling deep within that needs to be released.

What a contrast to my night of emptiness just last week.

The missing link has been found.

I have discovered truth.

I was right, you know truth when you see it.

The words I heard resonated with the inner music of my soul.

It is a feeling of euphoria, my ecstasy knows no bounds and tears spring from my eyes in an expression of love and connectedness.

It is about unifying my soul with the world and tapping back into the source of my holiness.

My soul is soaring high and I dont want to come down.

As I heard tonight, I have to tap into the music of my soul so that everything I do becomes musical and uplifts myself and my sorroundings.

Every encounter can bring light, can prevail over the darkness.

I feel energized, rejuvenated, uplifted and inspired and most importantly the music of my soul is becoming a little louder and clearer, breaking through the barriers and exposing its light.

The Missing Link

I was feeling tired and achy when my freind reminded me that there was a shiur she was going to and asked if I wanted to join her.

The inner battle began, should I just stay home do some work and go to bed early? But if I stay home will I go to bed early anyway? Maybe I just need some fresh air to enliven me a little?

Then I reminded myself that last time I had gone to a shiur, even though my physical being was yelling "no!", I had been transformed and rejuvenated through the Torah and as a result my physical weariness had been thrust to the wayside as a 'by the way'.

So I decided to pull myself together and just go, and as a comfort I assured myself that if I really needed to I could leave.

So my friends and I went and we arrived just as the speaker was starting. Relieved we made it, we took off our coats, pulled out our notebooks and were ready to be uplifted.

I sat and listened, and listened and sat and pondered through some of what the speaker was saying and listened some more and I never felt it. I didn't feel myself filling up with the light, goodness and beauty that Torah has to offer. Sure, he had a few interesting points where I nodded and thought, "hmmm that sounds nice," and at certain points I thought, "hmmm, well maybe I could see how that fits." But something was missing.

What happened?

What went wrong?

Was it me?

Was it the speaker?

Where did the Torah's infinite light disappear to?

I left feeling empty, disturbed at the gaping hole and yearning for something more.

I sit here now confused, was the speaker lacking? Was he trying? Did he feel passion for what he was speaking?

He was saying the right words but truth wasn't coming out.

Instead of feeling energized I feel sad and disappointed.

But then again, maybe it was me? Maybe I wasn't focusing and appreciating his thoughts.

But then again, c'mon, truth is truth, it hits you smack in the face when it is there. You can't miss it when you are looking for it.

So if the man was teaching Torah, and Torah is truth, what went wrong? How did I miss it?

Was it my ego? Was I looking to be blown away with some amazing, intricate new idea? Was I hoping for too much?

Was it the man's ego? Is he trying to shove his ideas into a Torah framework?

This circle of thoughts all lead back to one thing? I am still feeling empty and drained.

My soul just wants to be filled with the light of truth.

Where is it?

A man named Ernie

I strolled into Walgreens feeling just fine, thinking this was going to be a quick and easy trip, since all I needed to do was copy a picture for my great-grandmother. I walked up to the counter and explained what I wanted to do, the clerk asked me what size picture I wanted, so I whipped out the photograph and showed it to her. She then proceeded to explain that because it was taken by a professional photographer, there were copyright laws that applied and I couldn't copy it. We went around in circles for a few minutes, me expressing my shock and dismay because it was MY picture and why couldn't I copy it and she, the clerk, getting agitated as she repeated herself to me. I finally left, mumbling a thank you, feeling disgruntled.

As I got back in the car and calmed down a little, I felt disappointed about the way I had responded to this little incident.

I was upset because things didn't go smoothly as I had planned.

Then it occured to me.

G-d was present. Not only me.

I had forgotten that when there is a G-d things don't always go my way.

And, since when is my way the best way?

I pondered my way to Safeway and it was there that I met Ernie.
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So there I was, waiting in the express line at the Safeway on Rainer, which actually seemed to be going slower than the regular lines, and so I contemplated switching lines but then I realized that it's like when you are driving; the lane next to you is always going faster until you switch over to it.

So there I was, waiting, and as I inched closer I could see that the man behind the counter was Ernie, a tall, full-faced, black man with a huge smile on his face; the kind of guy that you would see whistling a tune as he walked down the street with a jump in his step. Then I realized why the express lane was moving at snails pace, because Ernie treated his customers like his closest friends, with care, concern and compassion and he inquired about the lives of each customer and responded with sincere words of advice and comfort. I stood there wondering how he was able to be so positive and act towards every single person with such joy and care. It wasn't long before I understood.

A couple more minutes of waiting and it was my turn to have chat with Ernie.

"Hello there," Ernie said, with a big contagious smile.

"Hello, how are you doing?" I responded, with an equally big smile (I couldn't resist, even if I wanted to).

"Oh, alright-a little hungry," he proclaimed.

"Didn't have your break yet?" I inquired

"Nah, but I'll grab something in a bit," he said, still smiling, "but enough about me, how are YOU?" he insisted.

"Good, Thank G-D," I exclaimed, I am really enjoying the snow, it is just so beautiful!"

"ALL of G-D's creations are beautiful," He insisted.

-------

You are so right, sir.

And there it was. Ernie has got it down.

It is crystal clear to him that each and every single person is deeper than their physical body, each person has a soul that is beautiful-even if it is hard to see.

Because he knows this with every fiber of his being, he can bring out the humanity in each and every person, no matter how big of a sneer they have on their face.

It also means, that whatever G-d throws his way, Ernie is prepared and ready to integrate it with joy, because ALL of G-d's creations are beautiful.

He doesn't let a little thing get in the way of his smile.

Not even a photograph.

And I thought I just had some errands to run?

G-d had another idea.

Burst of Truth

B"H
Forget Punishment----

If you are thinking that G-d is out to punish you, that He will not save you from your trouble because you are undeserving, then you are not trusting Him. Trust knows not a shade of doubt that He will deliver.

A Daily Dose of Wisdom from the Rebbe-words and condensation by Tzvi Freeman
Tevet 14, 5767 * January 4, 2007

A rude awakening

It is the Tenth day of the month of Teves, I am mourning the siege of the walls of our holy city Yerushalayim. My spirit is calm, my mood sorrowful and I am feeling a deep connection with my people. I am in Staples making some photo copies for my final the following day. The door opens and a woman strolls in, her arms overflowing with packages to rerturn, a black scarf wrapped around her head, a long jean skirt flowing to the floor and sneakers peeking out; clearly she is a fellow Jew. I try to catch her eye in an acknowledgment that we are internally the same. She eyes me suspiciously, and as the elevator door is closing, mutters in a strong Brooklyn accent, “What, you never seen someone return things before?” I was shocked and saddened. My gesture that I saw as connecting and revitalizing she interpreted as degrading, insulting and made her feel self-conscious.

On her way out of the elevator to leave the store she passed me once again, but this time I stopped her and started apologizing profusely, explaining to her that my intentions were far from contempt or disparaging, but that I saw she was Jewish and so I wanted to acknowledge that. Her response hit me hard, “Oh so are you not from around here, do you not realize that this is a very Jewish neighborhood?”

That was it, she was so entrenched in American society, that it was not a value of hers to feel pride or even make a distinction in her mind when she saw a Jew. My mourning intensified and I saw the walls of Jerusalem being surrounded and besieged all over again in 2006. I wanted to connect, validate her existence, take pride in her outward display of her internal soul, and she wanted to blend in, live amongst the society and felt no connection to my soul. This is galus. Assimilation is rising and even the people that have not cut their ties have disconnected. Pain shoots through my heart. Tears well up in my eyes. I yearn for my people in their state of holiness or even in their state of imperfection, but at least in a state of unity, feeling and acknowledging each others presence.