It's all just a power struggle

No matter how the wind howls, the mountain cannot bow to it.

What Being Jewish Means to Me

By Sam Stern

I think it's safe to say that we've all written this essay before.  It probably talks about receiving Hanukka presents, eating matza balls, playing with your friends at temple, and watching Prince of Egypt.  These are all great things but, far too often, they lack substantial meaning.  If we, way past bar/bat mitzvah years, were asked to write the same essay, how much would it differ?  (Insert obligatory pew report comment here).

A couple of weeks ago, I had to write a letter to the Beit Din about why I want to be Jewish.  Unfortunately, I was told that leaving it at "so I can partake in the whiskey l'chaims right after shacharit and make Jewish babies" wasn't going to cut it.  So I took my Jewish resume and turned it into semi-coherent sentences.  And let me tell you, there's nothing worse than having a poorly written "letter" read out loud to you.  In any case, I've been thinking about this question for awhile.  Why am I at Pardes when I had the opportunity to start receiving an income this year?  Why have I decided to "re-convert" through the Rabbanute when I could have just left things as is and not sell my soul to the devil (don't tell the rabbis I just compared them to the devil...)?  Why be Jewish?

During the Pardes intersession, I traveled to Hawaii with my family.  Before departing, I thought about all of the practices that I've started to take on while in Israel and debated for awhile about which ones I wanted to maintain during the week I was away.  After many conversations with other students and my teachers, I decided I was going to actively not follow these practices.  One of my teachers put it best:  "So basically, this is your bachelorette party before officially converting?"  There may not have been any strippers (aside from all of the man-butts walking around in Polynesian garb) but I did fly back with a deeper understanding of the commitment that I'm about to make.

"Israel" literally means "struggle with God."  We, as the Jewish people, are referred to as Bnei Yisrael- the sons of Israel.  We are the children of God's struggle and, as such, won't always be able to find peace within everything we do in our daily lives.  Who would want to be in a constant battle with the world around them?  Why would someone submit themselves to such a lifestyle full of rules that don't make sense and "restrictions" to limit their freedom?

More often than not, the conversations I have with people at Pardes are about these struggles:
Do I really want to wake up for minyan in the morning?
Am I comfortable wearing skirts/pants/kippot/tzitzit/tefillin etc... ?
Will I eat dairy out/only cold dairy/only vegan/only at kosher restaurants with my friends/family?
If there isn't an eruv, am I comfortable carrying on Shabbat?
What's more important- following Halacha to a T or living in the spirit of the law?

While in Hawaii, I didn't have to think about any of these things.  It was a matter of going with the flow and, well, being on vacation from everything.  By the end of the trip, I was starting to feel empty.  Don't get me wrong, I had SUCH an amazing time and would absolutely LOVE to go back.  At the end of the day, however, I've come to realize what's important to me.  I need that constant struggle- the constant debate that keeps me on my toes.

It's kind of like working out.  You have an inner dialogue about whether or not you want to go to the gym.  You finally make the reluctant decision to get off of the couch.  Post workout, you feel great.  The next day comes and you're incredibly sore.  Dialogue #2 enters your head about whether you should stay in bed all day or painfully get up and do something.  This goes on for awhile and suddenly the gym doesn't sound so terrible.  So you decide it's time to up the weights or increase time spent on the treadmill.  Next thing you know, you're back at square one.  But the difference this time is that you're stronger.  The workouts become more meaningful and you find reason in what you're doing.

What's the alternative?  Sitting on the couch, watching yourself get flabbier and flabbier.

So what does being Jewish mean to me?  It's all about the constant struggle- whether it be making decisions on my Shabbat/kashrut observances, where to daven, what to wear, or finding time between Torah study to get to the gym.  I don't want to live my life as a flabby couch potato so I continue to explore the world of Halacha while eagerly awaiting every struggle that comes my way.

But let's be honest- I've never been one to just sit still and let things happen.

50 down...what's next?

Second star on the right and straight on till morning.


12 hour time difference, 35 hour commute, 2 public bathroom bathings, 3 flights, 4 takeoffs, and a partridge in a pear tree.  We have officially made it to our 50th state!

I left Israel around midnight and quickly learned that any attempt at making small talk in Israeli airports is probably a terrible idea.  Unless you're into personal escorts to security...which I'm not.

Flight #1 (TLV to JFK) turned out to be quite pleasant.  I sat with two girls- one who was studying at Hebrew University for the past two weeks and the other who was at seminary for a year and a half.  Pretty sure they both slept for the entire time.  I finally got to watch Despicable Me 2 (SO GOOD) and started studying some Women and Mitzvot.  Other than that, can't say I remember much of what happened.  Xanax is beautiful.

We jumped off the plane and went through customs:
"Good morning!  You look exhausted."
Oh yes, and there are 2 more flights where that came from.
"Where do you live?"
Uhhh, I'm originally from New York, living in Israel for the year, but going to Hawaii today.
"That makes perfect sense.  Have a nice day!"

I forgot friendly people exist in this world.  After claiming my luggage, rechecking it, and going through security (without any escorts), it was time to "shower" in the bathroom.  I may have grabbed a whole bunch of wet wipes from BWW when no one was looking.  Best decision I've ever made.  2 hours later, it was time to go again.

Flight #2 (JFK to LAX) was pretty terrible.  Before takeoff, the pilot announces that "We plan to experience a lot of weather.  It's going to be a bumpy ride but we'll do everything we can to make it a comfortable one."  That was the first time I've ever felt the need to grab that handy dandy barf bag that they kindly provide for you.  Thank goodness for Dramamine.

"Shower" number 2, courtesy of some sympathetic flight attendants and their generous wet wipe donation.

Flight #3 (LAX to HNL) came 6 hours later.  The flight attendant was pretty great:
"Do you have a question?"
Nope, I'm just sick of flying.
"I feel ya on that one."
I don't know how you guys do this.
"Me neither.  But my mortgage company does."

And I learned that you shouldn't always ask people if they live somewhere or are going on vacation because they may actually be going to a funeral that they're pretty upset about...
The flight was great and we were about to land.  I could literally smell the ground and then it hit.  You know that feeling when the light turns red but the car keeps accelerating and you feel like you're going to crash?  Yep, that's what it felt like.  One second we were about to land and the next second we were back in the air.  I almost broke my stress ball.  Apparently we were too close to the next plane that just landed.  But we did a nice turn around and landed safely.

What a trip...


It's weird being here.  In a good way, but still weird.  A million transitions and decisions to make.  I'm still processing, but I feel a lot of blog posts coming up.  As Mike put it today, "If you go to bed with diarrhea, you're going to wake up constipated."
Strike that, reverse it.  You get the point.