Change is good because it adds dimension to life. Even now, working with a non-profit for poverty, I read articles with a different lens. Travel or meeting people gives me a kaleidoscope view of the world. Going outside my viewpoint of my daled amos (four cubits) gave me a new perspective on the town where I grew up.

To call the neighborhood I grew up in a town would be a fallacy. Towns to me elicit white picket fences and grass. Not so in my section of Brooklyn.

There are demographics and then there is the insular community where I was cocooned. This area was, when I was growing up, either Jewish or Caribbean. Today's topic is the insular community I grew up in within this neighborhood of diversity. My synagogue, my school, the shopping street.

I know that I have been called out for not being tznuis but I don't remember the particular incident. I remember the frustration of the possibility of such an occurrence. The itch I would feel at the rules of the school and the community. The fact that my older sister once got fined $2 for being spotted in bobby socks on the main street. The feeling of not being able to break out.

I was blessed to live on the outskirts of the Jewish community area. A lovely block. Situated near a park, a synagogue, a library and, most importantly, the train which enabled me to skulk out of the area out of view of imaginary prying eyes. My own little world where no one with a prominent, traditional, stuffy community position lived. Where we were all quirky and totally judged each others' oddities but accepted them. Where I could lean outside in my pajamas to test the day's weather or look like an absolute slob while running around the park without the awkwardness of running into a teacher (though yes, I realize that nobody actually cares but I think I'll think people care until I'm seventy. Then I shall stop).

It was an oasis. I never felt quite at equilibrium with my community. Admittedly, some insecurity there of not being of the socioeconomic status of some of my peers or not possessing the frum-chassidish-ch graces some of them possessed.

It was a place I loved to hate and hated to love. Hated it for I felt at odds with it. Loved it for the fun my friends and I had there. The hyped of excitement and energy in the air. The small town claustrophobia that sometimes permeated city living.

You know that question people ask twins? What's it like to be a twin? And the twins are like, "well, what's it like to be a singleton?" Like, seriously. This is the life we know. We don't know how it's like not to be twins. It just is. Growing up in this town was like that. The norm.

At several points of the year, people from around the world would camp out on the floor of our schools. Normal. It was a welcome reprieve, and fairly common occurrence, when a teacher would stop class after hearing about a student's sibling's engagement and play a round of Jewish geography.  It was normal to have farbrengans hosted in classmate's homes. High school was full of camp spirit.

I wasn't part of it though. I knew all the auspicious dates on the Chassidic calendar because those were the days classes would be cancelled for special programs. Meaning that if I stayed in school until one, chatted up to several afternoon teachers, I could ditch and one of those teachers would remember speaking to me and mark me for attendance as there was no formal roll call on those days. I had my own form of liberation on the 19th of Kislev.

I was giving a friend a tour of the area who had always been curious about her Jewish neighbors (she is part of the gentrification of the time). We passed by an artist gallery but it was closed. I had really wanted to show her his work as he is featured worldwide. So we went to the museum and I asked the security guard if we could nip upstairs to the second floor for a quick look at the artist's mural. He acquiesced and my friend expressed surprise at the ease of entering a museum so casually. She herself works at a museum. Though, ease of entry doesn't always happen it makes sense for my community to be understanding and...brotherly. I was wearing a skirt. I seem hemiashe. The gentile security guard knows the look.

For most of America, schools do not include wedding halls. Communal social services are not all supported by the high school girls. Public schools don't offer their classrooms as a place to sleep except in dire emergency. Most grocery stores don't have credit for families. Museums don't have swarms of teenage tour guides.

My town is cutesy and adorable and very imperfect. It is an iconic space  in the chronicles of Jewish history. This town has a powerful impact on the world.

I could appreciate it now for its quirks. Maybe because I'm not in the educational system. The faults are still there. The lack of the community service for the little guy. The ill treatment of those without social status. The nepotism of the school and communal leaders.

Leaving helped me come back. I no longer feel that the school I studied in or the people here are the dictators of a chassidic lifestyle. I have the right and ability to study a Chassidic text off the shelf and own my chassidus. It took me being away from this place, but not from the Chassidic lifestyle, to unearth my own agency in my relationship with G-d.

Israel, My Conflated Heart

I was at an iconic (favorite word alert) Brooklyn pizza shop with a friend. A woman who I had last met at the Tisha B'av break-the-fast at the kotel walked in. I flagged her down to say how do you do but really to inquire if she had made any headway on her Aliyah dreams.

"Are you going?"

"I need to sort out a job and a place to live. Honestly, I don't want to go right now though I know I should go now to feel solidarity."

I was astonished.

In my delusional mind Israel is the safest place on earth. It is home.
Maybe not my current home. But a home like the parents' or grandparents' home where you are enveloped by coziness and warmth.
Homes are havens. The place where we can be ourselves.
I never realized terror could destroy the ambience of our dwelling to this extent.
Never before, not even during the intifada and the bus bombings, were the streets this emptied.
It is horrific. My heart breaks. Dear G-d, what is going on?

This is an ode to a land that enlivens me. To support Israel, I can attempt to express my esoteric love for the place, that may only be understood by those who have also meandered the land and drank from its spirit.

I had a golden summer. I traveled in Europe for three weeks and then lived in Israel for five glorious weeks. For the first time, I was in Israel to meander the land and not an a whirlwind tour. All travel enlightens you. Opens your minds to different ideas about living. Israel, due to its Jewish diversity allows people to explore the many paths to one of the most vital relationships you'll ever have: your relationship with G-d and thereby uncover yourself themselves. This makes Israel different than any other place. You can discover in Israel what no other country has to offer.

You go to Europe to find yourself. You go to Israel to finesse your relationship with G-d. In Israel, you search for a conduit for your life source. One has to tread these waters carefully.

I met my Birthright guide and her fiancé for dinner one day. I inquired about the Jewish demographic of the area and discovered the various stratas of reform or conservative don't exist in Israel.  Someone is either Dati, keeps halacha, or not.  Which rabbi or halachic standard they follow differs but all our Jewish.

On a bus, I emailed my mom:

"I just left the tomb of Rochel, our mother.  There were women with turbans, others with outfits that almost made them look too covered,  Williamsburg style and more.  But we are all Jewish.  Everyone sitting on this bus. Common ancestry,  common Torah, common beliefs.

I adore this land where I can say Shabbat shalom to the bus driver,  play Jewish geography with nearly anyone and eat at a diner at the central bus station.  I cannot do this with such ease anywhere else in the world."

My mom responded:

"You can see how after spending two years in seminary, right afterwards, I really wanted to live there."

However, it is not all starbursts and marble halls. I met a man who had moved to Israel from Chicago, where, though he was not religious, he would attend the modern orthodox synagogue to see friends and to be involved in Jewish life. Since making Aliyah, he does need to make an effort to feel Jewish as just living in the Holy Land and seeing people dressed up in costume on Purim does that for him. I asked him where G-d was in what he described.  He said I touched upon a discerning point. He has not yet found his pathway to consciously connect to G-d though he moved to the Holy Land and had previously attended an American shul.

This scenario plays out on so many levels in Israel. Everything goes. We are all Jewish. And it's beautiful and uplifting and psychedelic but it is also abstract. I can feel Jewish, spiritual, connections. I got caught up in the rush of Judaism without checking in with G-d. My (halachic) boundaries that construct my relationship with G-d in a way of active awareness. That it is not just about the enchantment of our majestic lifestyle but more than that. (Disclaimer: this is about me finding my path which is not to say other paths aren't valid).

Being in Israel, I had to remind myself that I believe in halacha because it can be easy not to on Ben Yehuda. I believe there is a place where one's intrinsic person must be refined within the glow with Hashem's desires and will.  This is not via conforming on matters that are not halacha but living within the palace of Jewish law and using it to decorate your life.

Thus is the uniqueness of Israel, defining the grey areas for you. All paths of serving G-d are valid. However, for me, keeping that extra standard is what makes a chossid (pious person) as defined in the Path of Our Fathers. Not just doing whatever was floating everyone else's boat but holding steadfast and reaffirming or discovering what my mojo is without losing sight of who I am or the best person me I could be. Actually keeping halacha though it is easy to feel kosher without law and order.
 
It was Israel's gift to me that I got to hash this out over the summer and have clarity over the life I want to live. It can be Israel's gift to you too.

Subtle Rebellion

I hate strongly dislike sending a shadchan the mandated photo.

It is not that I have anything to hide; aside for about 20 pounds.

I'm okay with the potential date seeing a picture of me if he wants to. In fact, I prefer it. This is me, take it or leave it. The trouble is that the picture isn't me. It's only a side of me. Me dolled up for a friend's l'chaim or, worse, me dolled up for the purpose of a shidduch picture.

Let's raise a glass to "putting your best foot forward."

Maybe it is my insecurity blaring that he will be disappointed when he sees the contrast from the flattering photo or it is my unease that I'm not being honest. That this is not the me I want to be portrayed. It is not the most me.

"Put your best foot forward"

So I sent a shadchan a collage of four pictures taken over these past months of summer.  Pictures of me in my ordinary, blessed, everyday element. Where I look happy and, yes, am wearing some makeup. She didn't like it. Nor did my mother who selected a picture of me dolled up for a friend's lchaim.

I'm okay with the superficiality that is necessary when it comes to dating. That yes, you have to be attracted to your date and some guys will want to see a picture before a date. Hey, I want to know that the guy is taller than me before the date. No judgments on that. 

I only wish this marketing campaign was not limited to being branded in one particular way.

While I seem to have hit a wall in my attempt to change the standard of how it's done, I did dig a small tunnel. I took the four picture collage that been rejected by the shadchan and posted it on my Facebook page. I rarely post pictures but if a guy really wants to see a picture, that's the first place he'll look. There he'll get a better sense of me in my fabulously blessed, ordinary element.  

Chistory or Chassidic History

I went to volunteer at the museum where I used to intern on Sunday.

It was really cool to arrive and to see some Jewish guys in the lobby. Though the museum is a historically Jewish, it doesn't attract the masses of Orthodox Jews it should as a great place for families to visit. It especially doesn't attract young adults on a Sunday morning.

One of the guys was a lanky giant, over six feet tall with overgrown hair and peyot (side locks). Another had a beard but no peyot. All three were wearing yalmulkas and tzitzit. I was super excited to see orthodox Jews my age taking an interest in something I feel passionate about.

A few minutes later, the Director of Visitor Services started chatting with them and I realized they weren't there for a tour. They were a band scoping out a location for a music video. #disappointed #zusha #neverheardofthem

On the Germany Close Up program this summer, two of the participants were students of history so I know history is not lost art. However, Orthodox Jews, particularly Chasidic Jews, have a different American history than other Jews. The museum celebrates Jewish American culture, a lot of which is not part of the Chassidic heritage. I wonder if that accounts for the dearth of Orthodox visitors.

Chassidish Jews did not generally partake in Yiddish theatre nor read American Jewish literature that shaped the culture of secular Jews today. The Jewish culture that the museum celebrates does not always transfer to chassidish history.

Chassidic culture emphasis oral history. I did not realize until I was older and waiting on line for Moth events to hear people tell stories how much it had been a part of my upbringing and education. Speakers at our school would tell stories about their lives as emissaries of the Chabad Rebbe. The stories usually had a lesson. The oral history happened at farbrengen and dinner tables. Growing up, I heard tales of Chassidic masters spanning the centuries and anecdotes of their disciples. These stories nurtured my identity and gave me an understanding of where I come from.

There is a fascinating discussion by a psychologists on how family narratives lend to identity and how they boost self confidence to withstand challenges. Telling family stories to children is not just about moral lessons, it is also armor. This idea is immensely powerful and there is a museum in Israel encouraging families to share that story

These narratives also lent itself to developing my love of history even for history that is not wholly my own as it shows how society was shaped and can even predict where society will go. The museum hosts as lot of culturally American-Jewish events. Klezmer music, Yiddish theatre and the like however that is not my family history nor the history of the Chassidism. Regardless, it shapes where we are today.

An orthodox synagogue in my neighborhood is doing klezmer nights though it is culturally Jewish. We share each others history. All branches of Judaism collectively make up where we stand today. Learning each other's history may allow us to understand each other better. Come visit the museum some time.

Happy Chanukah!

At what point will Chabad not be Chassidishe?

I had a discussion about modern orthodox with a Rabbi who works for the OU. He said something about Chabad being considered modern to the chassidishe communities in Borough Park and Williamsburg. I was slightly affronted but it was also something I had not considered before. Other than the knowledge that tznuis manifests itself differently, I did not have a lot of interactions with those communities.

Last Shabbos, someone asked me what Chabad is. Technically, it is a type of chassidus. What chabad is as a movement is another story. The sects from Borough Park, Williamsburg and Crown Heights are all chassidish. The mystery: how does this common denominator translate to daily life? And does Chabad share the implications in their daily conduct?

Chassidus philosophy was first taught to the average man by the Baal Shem Tov  in the year 5490 (1730).  After his passing on the first day of Shavuot  of  5520 (1760), his disciple the Maggid of Mezeritch took over until his passing on the 19th day of Kislev 5533 (1772). At this point the Chassidic movement was split between three of his students. (Read more here, subtitle Spread of Hasidism).  At this point the different sects developed.

During another discussion, the same Rabbi from the OU said something to the effect that Maimonides in  Moreh Nevuchim, third chelek, section 18 claims that hashgacha protis is proportionate to spiritual level. This in contradiction to the teaching of the Baal Shem Tov. There is a famous story of the Baal Shem Tov, when he was walking with his students and pointed out a leaf floating softly to the ground. He asked his students what caused this to happen. It was not the wind, but G-d who directed the leaf to fall precisely so to shade a worm from the blazing sun. Chassidim believe in Divine Providence in the inanimate object as much as the spiritual being.

How to resolve this?  I asked my Bobov coworker who knew the story and said her understanding of Hashgacha Protis went according to the Baal Shem Tov. The point of this essay is to discover commonality between my community and hers and this confirmed we have the same root philosophy. For the answer to the conundrum, see Chapter 2 of the book Led By G-d's Hand.

What are traditions we share?

My chassidish co-worker met her husband three times before they became engaged. Once at her house, once at his house and once at the home of her grandmother. Some chabad couples date very little. However they still go out on dates. Then again, some chabad couples date for a few months or even a year.

My Satmar co-worker had a nine month engagement. In Chabad, the average engagement is two to three months. If it is more it is usually because Chabad custom is not to marry during the Omar weeks between Pesach and Shavout.

The Rebbe encouraged the idea that the prospective bride and groom should not be in the same town during the engagement and should not spend an excessive amount of time together. My Satmar co-worker chatted with her husband once every three weeks! Her husband spoke to her dad weekly to wish her family a good Shabbos. More chassidish Chabad adheres to this idea and meet at Shabbos meals or meet up for wedding preparations. Most Chabad couples hang out frequently during the engagment

There is also a shared tradition not to be photographed together during the engagement. Both get around this by taking un-posed pictures. Today, it is a normal practice for Chabad families to hire a photographer for the engagement party.

All this makes Chabad another variant on the chassidishe lifestyle. However, the things that make Chabad chassidish, outside of its philosophy, are not widely recognized. The shared customs and traditions connect us and as we get lax about them we lose something of that shared heritage.

Girl On Telucha

It started off as a much needed walk after all the holiday meals and a good preparation for the festivities of Simchat Torah. Just before we reached Prospect Park, my friend and I realized last year we had taken a walk on Sukkot and had meandered into the historic Kol Israel Synagogue.

This reminded me that I had always wanted to see the Eldirdge Street Synagogue in action. After a should we, dare we, why not conversation we went along Flatbush Avenue and then onto the Manhattan Bridge for a five mile walk to Eldridge Street.  At long last we reached the majestic building. I was so anticipating the joy of Torah in the space where Jews have celebrated for a hundred years. The gate was open but the doors were locked! I knocked and then my friend pounded the doors so hard I thought the alarm would go off. All this way for naught.

We were determined to see a shul at this point. Any really. I knew further into the Lower East Side there would be more synagogues but I did not know where. We stopped by the fire station for directions. When we saw the Chabad boys behind us so we knew we were going the right way. Until they turned someplace far back and we were lost again.

Chabad chassidim, men anyway, go on telucha on Sukkos. I am not actually sure of what the exact definition of the Hebrew word is except that its source is in the word 'to go'. They go on long walks to increase the celebration in shuls all over. This year, my friend and I, unintentionally as it was, were joining the telucha march. I would say that we are uber chassidish.

After spotting Hebrew letters we tried the door of the first building we saw. That's when my friend read the sign and said we were breaking into the Chevra Kadisha.  Whoops. We knew we had  finally reached the right street by the myriad groups of Chabad boys milling in front. It was party time. At last I was going to see Shtiebel Row, a famous street on the LES leftover from days when all the streets were teeming with Jewish houses of prayer, and I was going to see it in action! Bounding up the steps we thought we had missed it but the upstairs congregation was still going strong. We must have looked exhausted because a woman offered us seltzer. Everyone was so welcoming without asking questions. Just welcome. No cross examination though they were probably a tad curious as to how a girl in sneakers and a girl dressed to the nines had wandered into their midst.

We stayed for an hakafa and then went to the next shul. There we were welcomed by a girl named Tikva who explained that the white curtain over the Aron was there just for the holiday season.

At our next stop, we tailgated on a chassidish man's Kiddush. We burst into the room with his back toward us but this mother said, "keep them in mind!" He turned around and nodded. They gave us cake and we chatted and she told us that Young Israel and Bialystocker Shul did a hakafa together in the street. We raced further down the block to see the street blocked off and people singing, dancing, rejoicing.

My friend met her high school principal whose father had been the Baal Tefilah at the Bialystocker Synagogue. She told us that it had previously been a church and a stop on the underground railroad. It is a breathtaking synagogue. It has stunning murals of the Jewish signs for each month on the ceiling.

We saw six shuls rejoicing that night. My favorite moment though was the boys who had participated in the outdoor hakafah. They danced backward in a row, arms thrown across each others shoulders as they faced the Sefar Torah. They escorted the Torah back into the shul while singing Lishana Haba BiYerushalayim.

Simchat Torah is a holiday in celebration of the Torah. We dance around the bima, reader's platform, with the Torah scrolls in hand. However it was in that moment, with the boys facing the Torah that I saw the love as well as the joy.

The Torah starts off with the letter Bet and ends with the letter Lamed. Spelling the Hebrew word "lev" which means heart. The Torah is the heart of the Jewish people. Watching those boys dance in honor of the Torah reminded me of how cherished it is and of how cherished we are.

The beautiful night did not end there. We still had our long trek home. This time we kept up with the amazing Chabad kids who come to the city, dance furiously, walk back to Crown Heights and then continue the celebration a 770.

The Israeli thirteen year olds, who come to spend Tirshria in Crown Heights, generally drive me crazy. However, they are also a lifeline of passion and fervor in what it means to have mesiras nefesh in the twenty first century. To save in order to scrape enough for a flight to New York. Then to attend classes and celebrate Tirshria in Crown Heights. To see the iconic shul they had only seen in videos. To celebrate in a space where their inspiring lessons stemmed from.

They're crazy but in a good way.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Validations

In Germany, we went to the Reichsparteitagsgelände, the rallying grounds in Nuremberg. There, we took this photo:

 

The story behind the picture can be read here. We stood where we once could not. Where my great-great grandmother, who was murdered by Nazis, could not stand. We stood to say we are here.

 

In my pursuit to visit as many New York City museums as possible this year, I went to the Museum of Chinese Americans. It was largely about the history and culture of the Chinese in America and the challenges, including racism, they face(d). In the exhibit exploring the definition of what it means to be a Chinese immigrant or even a United States citizen this was displayed:

 

 

 

Does it remind you of anything? Perhaps something you saw in your grade school history book?

 

Take a look at this and see what you can remember:

 

 

The famed railway which, in 1869, united the contiguous United States. Look at the picture closely. There are no Chinese in the photo though there were over 12,000 Chinese and Chinese Americans who helped build it. Many who took on dangerous tasks in desperation for a few dollars.

 

So why did the photographer want to go back and take a picture there with Chinese Americans? What do we accomplish by these photos? We are obviously here. Why take on the expense for a mere photo? What are you communicating by doing this?

 

In an article, Mr. Corky, the photographer, asks for participants to come "reclaim a bit of Asian American history."

 

 

Maybe when we go somewhere and we study the history we also change it. Some say history is dead. Maybe it is alive. Or if it is dead it does not rest in peace. It haunts us continuously by playing an incredibly active role in shaping our lives today. How we respond to it changes its impact and thereby changes the status of the past. It puts an intense power into our hands.