Tuesday, October 28, 2008

I'm Finally Home.


* I wrote this on my way to Israel on October 7th. This is the introduction to my transformative journey that characterized my trip to the holy land. More about the actual trip soon to come...

The Holy land awaits me. I have heard her calling my name for some time now.

The ache for her that lies deep in my soul has not waned, but has been covered by layers of dust of jaded cynicism.

But I am returning now, and as I get closer to her the ache increases and and my heart beats a little faster. The thought of kissing the ancient stones, of inhaling the air that has revived the soul of many, of hearing the vivacious tongue of the Jewish people alive in the streets, of seeing masses of Jews in search of their God, of His presence, trying to connect to the infinite and do what is right.

I remember the first time I went to Israel to learn the Holy words of truth in seminary. As we were driving back from the airport I gazed out the window into the the midnight-blue sky and the moon pierced my gaze, its brightness astounding my virgin-eyes. And then I recall smiling at the "nah, nach nachm.." graffiti painted with broad, bold strokes across the highway wall. I remember the newness, the excitement, and the thrill of discovering my true home; the land of my people.

Now, I am revisiting this dynamic and ever-changing world of people and I too am a new person. But the thrill of the newness I once experienced is soon to be replaced by the comfort of the familiar The world I am returning to, the world that transformed and shook mine upside down, is now receiving my presence once more with a sense of calm acceptance.

I was a different person back then. I was an 18 year old girl in search of my identity, confidence, a sense of self, excitement, adventure and truth. Now I am a 23 year old woman and am still in search of truth, but the tumult and turmoil that marked my adolescence has been replaced by a stirring for simplicity, peace, harmony, love, clarity and a deep and lasting connection with my people and my God.

The holy land beats in my aching heart.

I'm finally coming home.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

For the love of G-d

She did it for the love of God.

She strolled down the street with her hands in her shirt pockets, the humid and gray air building moisture on her forehead.
She did it for the love of God.

She chatted, laughed and then felt her hand graze over something in her pocket.
She did it for the love of God.

She looked down in surprise and to her shock and simultaneous amusement a folded $10 bill stared innocently back at her.
She did it for the love of God.

Stopping abruptly she turned her pocket inside out and let the green bill fall gently to the pavement below.
She did it for the love of God.

She stood around with her friends for a brief moment, discussing the fate of the $10 dollar bill.
She did it for the love of God.

She walked up to the man blowing leaves on the sidewalk and pointed to the money laying casually on the sidewalk.
She did it for the love of God.

"Go take it, " she said, "It's all yours. For it is our Sabbath and I cannot carry it."
She did it for the love of God.

She strolled away laughing with her friends at the leaf blower's bewildered look about the money that was no longer hers.
She did it for the love of God.

The question was posed; money or God?

And the answer was simple. The answer was clear.

And she did it for the love of God.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

I'm Almost There, My King

*A response to R' Simon Jacobson's 8th day in the 60 day journey through Elul and Tishrei.

He is in the field.

He is waiting for me to open the screen door and run in to His arms,

to speak to Him,

or at least give Him a little wave, make eye contact-something.

My King is waiting, He is knocking on my door calling out my name.

The blessings are imminent, "Just ask," He says.

The veil has been lifted it is just Him and I.

He wants to give. His love is real. His love is now.

He just wants acknowledgment. "Bring me into your life," He says. "I want to be involved."

I opened the door, peered through the screen and saw His form standing amidst my shrubs.

I cracked open the screen door and saw an arm waving.

I gingerly stepped outside and saw a smiling face beckoning with love.

"I know I've been distant," I said. "But I'm coming back to you."

"Please don't leave," I said softly, "I am mending a broken heart."

My King stood there offering comfort, catching my tears. "I am here forever and always," He said. "I will await your return, my precious one."

He stands right outside my door, His hand extended, His blessings abundant.

Where will I go?

How long will it take me to get there?

My King is so patient.

My King accepts my flaws.

My King lets me be me.

My King just wants my love in return.

But I have been wounded and I need time to heal.

I open the screen door, smile and give a wave.

"I'm almost there," I whisper, "I'm almost there, My King."

Friday, August 29, 2008

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

Friday, August 08, 2008

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.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

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

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

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.