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.

Just a bunch of stones

Well, angelfish, the solution to your problem is simple.  The only way to get what you want is to become a human yourself.


It was 1:53PM Monday afternoon as I stood outside of Pardes dialing the Jewish Agency.  When the call ended 4 minutes later, I felt so distant from this country and the people living here.  All I wanted to do was fly home and get away from it all.  Why?  Let's go back to the beginning.

The bearded old men say I'm not Jewish according to Jewish law.  Okay, fine.  I appreciate Jewish law from an Orthodox perspective and can accept that.  But I didn't just accept it.  I came to believe it.  So the men tell me that I need to go through another conversion process.  It's my understanding that the most widely accepted way is through the Rabbinate.  Wonderful, I can do that.  A not-so-bearded, not-so-old friend tells me that to make things easier, I need to prove my eligibility for making Aliyah.  No big deal.  I just need a couple of documents and everything will be wonderful.  So I get in touch with the Jewish Agency on this beautiful Monday afternoon.  It should have been a simple conversation but, as I came to learn, things are never simple with the Jewish Agency.

It doesn't really matter what was said during the phone call.  What does matter is the fact that I've never felt so distant from this community.  Israel is the country I pray about multiple times a day.  It's the place that every Jew can call home and feel welcomed in.  Yet, because a bunch of bearded old men claim that I'm not Jewish, I'm pushed farther and farther away.  So now I'm stuck.  I've been convinced to believe that I'm not Jewish and now obstacles that seem impossible to overcome are thrown in my pathway.  This isn't the land I've prayed about.  How am I supposed to deal with all of this?

Early Tuesday morning we left for the Pardes tiyul (trip) to the Negev.  It took all of 5 minutes for me to feel connected again.  Here we were surrounded by barren land, free of all politics, bureaucracies, and the bearded old men.  The next three days helped to put everything in perspective- this was the land that I prayed about.  This is the place where Abraham circumcised himself, Isaac was bound to Hashem, and Moses freed the Jewish people.  The barren land we traveled through gave life to the Jewish nation.

Last week's parsha was Vayeitzei.  We learn about Jacob's journey of leaving his home, falling in love with his cousin, jumping through hoops to marry said cousin, ending up with two wives and twelve kids, and eventually gaining the courage to stand up to his father in law.  Aside from the crazy love affairs, I connected deeply to this parsha.  I was reading an article (thank you Chabad) that zoomed in on Bereishit 31:46:

ויאמר יעקב לאחיו לקטו אבנים ויקחו אבנים ויעשו גל ויאכלו שם על הגל

And Jacob said to his brothers (Rashi: his sons) "Gather stones."  And they took stones and made a pile and they ate there on the pile.

Jacob builds a wall (pile) to separate his land from Laban's land.  Neither they, nor their descendants, will be able to cross over these stones for the sake of war.  The word the Torah uses for pile can also mean reveal (לגלות).  There's a Chasidic teaching that says this border can be seen as a separation between the sacred and mundane, yet sometimes it's necessary to cross this border in order to reveal the holiness in an ordinary world.

For me, the cross into the desert felt like exactly that- Jerusalem lost its holiness until I was able to discover what lied beyond its borders.  The גל, the pile, helped me regain a sense of balance to jump back into this fight with the bearded old men.  B'ezrat Hashem, it won't take me 14 years to reach my goal, but I'm back in the game for the long run.

Ready or not, here I come.

TGI (almost) Cheshvan

We dance, we kiss, we schmooze, we carry on, we go home happy.  What do you say?  Come on.

The holiday of Sukkot is sometimes referred to as the Festival of In-gathering.  In the agricultural world, this time period marks the completion of the harvest and the beginning of the planting/rainy season.  Sukkot is also referred to as the season of our rejoicing.  The end of the harvest cycle is a time for celebration but this holiday also starts a mere 4 days after Yom Kippur.  We spent 25 hours afflicting our souls and made it out alive.  What better time than this to celebrate?  

The following line appears in the Torah reading of the 8th day of Sukkot:

שבעת ימים תחג ליהוה אלהיך במקום אשר יבחר יהוה כי יברכך יהוה אלהיך בכל תבואתך ובכל מעשה ידיך והיית אך שמח

Seven days you will celebrate to Hashem, your God, in the place that He will choose, because Hashem, your God, will bless you in all of your produce and in all of the work of your hands and you will only be happy.

The Torah commands that you only experience joy during this festival.  There have been lengthy discussions held by everyone as to how this is possible.  Human emotions are a complicated thing that we generally don't have much control over.  How can we maintain this level of happiness for a whole week?

I've been thinking about this for awhile.  This commandment reminds me of the big red button that says, in all caps, "do not push."  The second you see this button, the only thing you want to do is push it and see what happens.  It's human nature- when you're told to do one thing, you're inclined to do the opposite.  So why would God command us to feel a certain way?

Sukkot is a time for us to get back in touch with the basics.  We live in temporary booths for the week where we do all of our sleeping, eating, and "hanging out."  It's so easy for us to connect with the natural world and feel God's presence.  The Torah was quite brilliant to declare such a holiday happen right after Yom Kippur and the Days of Awe.  We've been given a clean slate and can now start over.  Like infants, we begin from nothing.  The commandment to be happy (in my personal, non-rabbinic opinion) has a deeper meaning.  Sadness/anger may start to develop as it's generally impossible to escape.  Instead of wallowing in these emotions (like we normally do) we should take this time to let the negative feelings pass and actively concentrate on the happier times.  By sitting in the Sukkah, we realize just how tiny our lives can be and how huge Hashem's presence is.  Like the infant that relies on its parents for everything, so too do we rely on God's kindness and giving nature.

This became quite apparent during Simchat Torah.  It's no secret that this is one of my favorite holidays.  My calves are still fairly mad at me and like to send constant reminders of their anger every time I go up and down the stairs.  In any case, things felt different this year.  I've dedicated 10 months to studying Torah- the same Torah I was holding during the Hakafot.  There was a moment when I blocked out the singing and dancing around me and thought about what it was that I was holding.  Hashem gave this to me to learn from and to develop into an "adult" from the "infant" that I am.  It connects the Jewish people, not just to each other, but to the world around us.  I could feel my heart glowing.  Or maybe that was just my locked up neshama trying to get out.  Ha...


It was great to finally get things back to "normal"- full of Kabbalat Shabbat and the whole shebang.  I was invited to Shabbos dinner by one of the families from Yedidya.  The night was incredible.  There was another couple there (math and science geeks!) with their newborn daughter.  Dinner conversation was full of exhilirating topics and deep questions.  After everyone else left, we ended up standing in the kitchen until midnight talking the night away.  I felt such a sense of being home.  They're truly an incredible family.

I'm happy to see the month of Tishrei come to an end.  The chaggim were beyond amazing, but I'm incredibly excited to jump into the meat and potatoes of my classes.  This month was such a whirlwind of emotions but now it's time to settle down and jump into Torah all day erryday.

Playing a game of nighttime daytime...

This is no ordinary lamp.  It once changed the course of a young man's life.  A young man, who, like this lamp, was more than what he seemed.  A diamond in the rough.


Yom Kippur did not bring about the fast that I had expected.  During my Friday afternoon prep, I made sure to pack a bag of tissues to prevent the snot-tastrophe of Rosh Hashanna.  As it turns out, I didn't need any of them.  Davening proved to be extremely frustrating until we hit Mincha.  But let's back track first.  My story (in a super small nutshell) goes as follows:

During my various experiences at school, I made the decision to be Shomer Shabbat.  I started asking a million questions and took on every learning experience that I could get my hands on.  At some point, I was informed that I wasn't Halachically Jewish.  Now this came as a huge slap in the face.  I was raised Jewish.  I believed in this stuff.  How could anyone look at me and tell me that it was all an illusion?  In the months following that conversation, I felt completely disconnected from the Jewish world.  The anxiety would build up just walking past Chabad on the way to campus.  Being the Director of Shabbat Experience became a nearly impossible task.  Praying was absolutely out of the question.  There's no way that the God I believed in could possibly allow someone to take my identity away from me.  I was hurt and angry and felt nothing but betrayal.  My faith was shot for awhile.  It took some time to get things back on track but my relationship with God hadn't fully repaired itself.  There was still a lot of anger and confusion present but I tried to look at it as any relationship.  You get angry at your lover and then kiss and make up.  It's all part of the game.  All I could do was continue praying in hopes that things would smooth out.  Then I hopped on a plane to dedicate a year to understanding the ways of the community that I so deeply wanted to be a part of.

Maybe it's the fact that I'm in Jerusalem.  Maybe it's a result of the few classes we've had at Pardes.  Maybe it's a matter of the people I've been meeting or the conversations I've been able to engage in.  Whatever it was, I had such a sense of clarity by the time Yom Kippur was over.  It seemed (at first) that my prayers were completely empty.  All I could feel was a grumbly stomach and the beginnings of a massive headache.  My heart seemed to be hiding.  For someone who almost always connected to prayer on a deeper level, this was beyond frustrating.  Why wasn't I connecting?  It finally hit me at Mincha- I didn't feel the usual turmoil because, for once, I was completely at peace.  The time period during the Days of Awe was such an intense journey.  I was forced to examine my life from so many different perspectives that I finally had a complete picture.  It became so clear that God had never betrayed me.  The anger and frustration had left.  I was completely at ease for the first time in months.

This, hands down, was the most meaningful Yom Kippur I've yet to experience.  It wasn't just about my journey but about the day as a whole.  To sum it up, here's a video:

The entire 25-hour period was full of contrast.  We sat through Kol Nidrei Friday night and then left shul to see every single Israeli out in the streets.  It was like happy hour without the drinks.  And the bikes?  Kids everywhere on bikes!  You thought you were finally safe from crazy Israeli drivers but their 4-year-olds on bicycles are just as bad.  Then there's the actual content during the service.  We go from singing upbeat praises about Hashem to standing hunched over, humbly acknowledging all of our sins.  During the Temple Service, we find ourselves on the floor as an expression of total submission to God.  It ends in a celebration that the Cohen Gadol was able to atone for all of our sins and actually made it out alive.  People were singing and clapping and parading around shul.  Who knew such things could take place on Yom Kippur.

The final blast of the shofar opened the tear gates (signature move...it had to happen).  This piercing sound marked the end of the intense 10 day journey we had just traveled along.  The past 25 hours alone were a complete roller coaster.  I had done everything I possibly could to find favor in Hashem's eyes.  The reality of everything started to set in and I was left to feel nothing but awe.


I feel confident moving forward and can finally say that I'm excited to see what comes next.  Only time will tell what this year will bring.

Like sheep, we flock.

We all go a little mad sometimes.  Haven't you?



You remember Cobble's Knot from Maniac Magee?  The large ball of knotted string that Cobble would award a year's worth of pizza to anyone who could untie it?  That's what the inside of my mind feels like.  Something tells me this post won't do it justice, but here goes nothing...


I made the decision to daven at Yedidya for the Holidays.  It's a Modern Orthodox shul located about 2 minutes from Pardes.  They don't have a Rabbi but they sure do have a strong sense of community.  I went to check them out last Shabbos to make sure I'd be comfortable there.  Shacharit started at 8:30 and I got there around 8:25...only to find that they were in the middle of the repetition of the Musaf Amida.  Something wasn't right.  A woman came over and informed me that I had stumbled into the early morning minyan and that I really wanted to be upstairs.  We started talking and I asked about Rosh Hashanna seating.  The conversation resulted in an invite to 2nd day lunch (score!).

In my Self, Soul, and Text class, we analyzed sources that discussed that the best time to pray is when you're in a state of semi-consciousness.  When you're half asleep, you don't have the ability to logically think and therefore can put your complete heart into your prayers.  I didn't need these source sheets to understand the truth behind this idea.  Due to some miscommunications, I made the decision to go to 5:40 Shacharit every morning.  I soon discovered that 5AM is such a beautiful time to be awake.  In our Mishna class, we've been discussing what the latest time is to say the nighttime Shema.  According to Rabbi Gamliel, you can say it until the column of light starts to come up (aka: dawn).  It was comforting to know that if a bunch of rabbi's sons wandered into our apartment after a night in the "drinking house" and hadn't yet said their nighttime Shema, it wouldn't have been too late.  But I digress.  I made the short trip to shul in the crisp, chilly air and joined the other morning birds.

Davening this year was an experience and a half.  I was filled with such a wide range of emotions.  This was the first time that I was ever away from my home shul and my family for the Holidays.  I went from knowing everyone to being the visiting stranger in the back of the shul.  If I was going to be welcomed back, there was no opportunity to hide the shoes of the Cohanim.  This was the first time I've ever been homesick.  On the other hand, I was able to really focus on the service and the prayers coming out of my mouth.  I was able to reflect on the previous year- the ups and downs and all arounds.  I thought about my roller coaster relationship with Hashem.  I thought about my raging emotions towards Judaism ranging from complete anger and confusion to absolute awe and amazement.  Will God judge me harshly or was this all part of the plan?  They say that on Rosh Hashana, every human is like a sheep being inspected by God, one by one.  Imagining myself as a sheep being inspected to the fullest extent was such a nerve wracking experience.

I did, however, find a lot of comfort in the shul's technical problems.  There was an electrical fire in the middle of the second night.  Fortunately, there was no serious damage but the shul was without electricity until after chag.  This meant no lights or air conditioning.  We davened the beginning of Shacharit outside along with the birds waking up with the sunrise.  And, of course, with the obnoxious cats running around our feet.  One of the women made a sarcastic comment about the shul and all of its problems.  If only she had realized that everyone at home was sitting there with their snorkels and umbrellas praying to stay dry...

All in all, it was a pretty intense couple of days.  I still don't think I've fully recovered but there will be time for that on another day.

Things I've learned recently:
1.  Just because the "column of light" has appeared doesn't mean there will be enough light in the apartment to get ready.  We should have set the timer a little later so the lights would still be on at 5:40AM.
2.  Always know where the blech is and be sure to plug it in before chag.  Just because you don't mind eating cold dino nuggets and pizza doesn't mean you should be forced into doing so.
3.  Bring an ample supply of tissues to shul.  It's pretty terrible getting on the floor for Aleinu and discovering just how much snot can come out of the human body.
4.  Stumbling into wrong places will lead to delicious meals with strangers.
5.  Delicious meals with strangers will lead to familiar conversations about the pros and cons of shul and what changes can and should be made.

Something tells me it's going to be a beautiful year.

שנה טובה ומתוקה וגמר חתימה טובה

כל ההתחלות קשות

Of course, I'm just a cricket singing my way from hearth to hearth.  But let me tell you what made me change my mind.


The month of Elul is the last month of the Jewish civil calendar.  It leads us into the High Holidays and prepares us for the Days of Repentance.  When done properly, this time period can be extremely intense.  People will begin the process of asking for forgiveness by reaching out to others that they've hurt during the past year.  God will not be able to forgive us for our wrongdoings to other people until those individuals forgive us first- which is not as easy as it may seem.  My favorite custom of this time period is the blowing of the shofar.  The shofar is blown every day (except for Shabbat) from the 2nd of Elul until the 28th.  Some say that this piercing sound will arouse our souls as we prepare for the Days of Awe.  It will inspire us to jump out of our normal routine and prepare us for the Holy Days to follow.

This morning was our first official day of school (and yes, we have a roommate "first day of school" picture).  Orientation took place in the morning and the afternoon was spent in meetings with our Chumash/Talmud teachers.  It seems like everyone is wonderful and this is going to be a great year.  But what was the most memorable part of the day?  Hearing the shofar blown.  I stood there, with my eyes closed, listening to this piercing sound.  Something erupted within my heart.  It was like a fire had been ignited and the light began to spread throughout my whole body.  I felt it deep within my bones, slowly spreading to the surface of my skin.  By the time it was over, I was covered in goosebumps.  Never in my life has a single sound created such an emotional and physical response from me.  I honestly feel so blessed to be in this place in my life where such things can be felt.

In such a black and white world, I've never seen so many colors before.