To My Special Sister,

*This post is a response to Gittel moving to an adult home with other young women like her.

To my Special Sister,

I have loved you all my life and I still don't know how to be with you or without you. We cannot communicate but with few words, hugs, kisses, and smiles and yet I feel so deeply connected to you. You will be leaving our home and venturing out on your own and I am scared.

I am scared that I will no longer know you.

I am scared that you will forget about me.

I am scared that our family is dispersing.

I am scared that I will forget your joys and your love.

I am scared that I will miss out on your life.

I am scared that you are not just leaving our home but our family as well.

I am scared that you might be scared.

I am scared that you might sad.

I am scared that you might miss us.

I am scared that they will not understand you.

I am scared that they will not love you.

I am scared that they won't tend to your holy soul.

I am scared that they won't appreciate your rythym

I am scared that they won't appreciate your uncanny memory for dates.

But mostly, I am scared of forgetting you and living a life that doesn't include you. I fear you will vanish from the outer circles of my world.

I don't want you to be the sister than no one knows about.

I love you with all my heart and all my soul and I want your loving, fun, happy, energetic and vivacious self in my life always and forever.

I love the way you look sad when you know I'm sad.

I love how excited you get when you see me and always ask when I am coming home next.

I love your stubbornness and the way you know exactly what you want.

I love the way you sigh in exasperation when your bored and say, "buzzzyyy..."

I feel lost, sad, and helpless when you throw up your hands in frustration and say, "forget it," when there is something you are trying to say and I just can't understand you.

I love how you love little babies and children and it breaks my heart when they are scared of your gentle soul.

I love the way you love my friends and have bonded with them.

I love the way they love you back.

I love how you bring cheer to so many people.

My heart swells with pride to hear about all the people who love you and see you for the incredibly special girl you are.

My blessings to you my dearest and darling sister is that HaShem send you an angel to care for you, who will guide you, let you grow, be independent and stay connected to our family and surround you with people all the time who love you, cherish you, strive to understand and appreciate you and will give you the best the world has to offer.

I miss you already.

My love forever and always,

Your Proud Sister

Redemption is Near

Where is my father?

I cannot see him.

He has gone away.

But wait.

There is a glimmer in the distance.

The scent of a rose.

The laughter of children.

The joy of newlyweds.

The chirp of a bird.

The miracle of a newborn.

and then.


A Jew extends himself for another.

A smile is sent across the room.

Two friends make peace.

A child respects his parent.

She helps an old man cross the street.

He comforts an ailing friend.

She calls a lonely woman.

He gives strength to a struggling soul.

She opens her home to those in need.

He prays for a soldier's welfare.

and then.

My father comes closer.

There is hope in the future.

The redemption is near.

The World in the Palm of Your Hand

The wind blows, a leaf moves
an ant scurries, a dog barks,

Our lives continue forward, each step altering the next
Shaping history with a turn of the head
Each smile, each sneeze
a nod, a simple yawn
It reverberates around our great universe
Effecting change big and small
There is no way to know how far that whisper will reach,
where that pebble will land
who the bread crumbs will sustain
what your hello will do
A tiny action can impact millions
A small gesture can shake the world
A little thing can go a long way

So don't think about how little you are
But just how big your impact can be

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.