A Terrible Thing to Waste

I love music. Have I mentioned that before? It seems like no matter my mood and no matter what emotions are plaguing me, there’s a song for that. I love walking around campus with my earbuds in and my iPod on. Somehow tuning out the world to my own personal soundtrack makes the world open up: I see details I wouldn’t normally see, I get inspired in ways that wouldn’t happen if I just walked normally, listening to the wind.

Songs inspire me. They narrate my life. And occasionally I find a song that resonates with me so perfectly for a time I play it on repeat until the words are burned in my cochleas like the frozen waves of arctic oceans. What better way can I show my love and appreciation for these songs and the artists that made them than by writing about them?

Mirror, Mirror

On the one hand, 2011 was a great success. I did great in school, had lots of fun writing, finished my sixth consecutive year of NaNoWriMo, and became GTCC’s Student Government Association president. Not to mention I got to see the President of the Unites States speak in person, attend a conference on campus activities in Myrtle Beach and a conference on Jewish education in Jackson, Mississippi, and receive nominations for multiple scholarships and awards.

On the other hand, however, after looking forward to 2011 this time last year, looking back at 2011 only shows a picture of failure.

H is for Ḥaverim

These past four days I was attending the ISJL Education Conference, the ISJL being shorthand for the Institute of Southern Jewish Life, the organization that provides Hebrew school curriculum and other services to over sixty congregations in thirteen southern states. It was a gathering of at least a hundred, if not two hundred, Jews from more cities than I’d ever heard of and it was wonderful.

We had a fellow from the ISJL who visits every few months. It’s just part of the program, you could say. One thing she told me often is that I must, that I absolutely without a doubt had to meet the ISJL staff rabbi, one Rabbi Marshal Klaven. He was unlike any other rabbi I’d ever meet, she said, and I’d like him.

I did like him. And he really was unlike any other rabbi I’d ever met.

Pessimism on a Stick

As a forewarning, I’m procrastinating on getting to the meat of this post. I took a look-see last night to start mulling over this next mishneh, and let me tell you, it was not pretty.

It was, no matter, on my mind this morning when I went to Shabbat services, which is the perfect place for this brief distraction to begin. There’s two things, really, that I’d like to mention–although with all the old faces I saw and all the intriguing conversations I had all morning and well into the afternoon, my inspiration for excursions is certainly not at all on the low-end, if you get what I mean.

First off, today marked the ninth anniversary of my Bar Mitzvah Torah portion, Parshat Naso. It’s the longest book of the Bible (I can see why they gave it to me), continuing the counting of the Levites, mentioning the sotah (that is, the unfaithful–or rather, presumed unfaithful–wife), various offerings and retributions, the Nazir (aka, the Nazirite, sworn to God to drink not even a single drop of wine and never to cut their hair), and the offerings for the dedication of the Mishkan, the Holy Tabernacle. Of course, none of this has any bearing on the topic, but as I said, I’m procrastinating.

Anyways, today I read the first aliyah (the Torah reading being broken into seven parts and each being called an aliyah), which was a full column of text. And every time I read this parshah, no matter how much experience in public speaking I’ve so far had, I still get intensely nervous looking at all the words. Even when I know them. There’s just so many and it’s overwhelming. What if I forget a word? What if I pass out before I reach the end?

These, my friends, are sometimes my worst fears.

The second was a little subtler. An eight- or nine-year old was leading the Ashrei, and to my amusement, he was wearing one of the blue-and-green tye-dyed kippot that I had made for my Bar Mitzvah. Amidst the irony, I was greatly amused.

And with all my anecdotes exhausted, I guess it’s finally time to get down to business. It’s not a pretty teaching, though, not at all. But here it is, if you dare.

A Song for the Seige of Society

Last week left me no time, but this week has left me plenty, and I’m happy to return to this once more. I must say, though, this teaching is not only longer than usual, it appears, but also a little more challenging to decipher. Why not take a look and see what you think?

2.2 Rabban Gamliel, son of Rabbi Yehudah Ha-Nassi, taught:

The study of Torah is commendable when combined with a gainful occupation, for when a person toils in both, sin is driven out of mind. Study alone without an occupation leads to idleness, and ultimately to sin. All who serve in behalf of the community should do so for Heaven’s sake. Their work will prosper because the inherited merit of our ancestors endures forever. God will abundantly reward them as though they had achieved it all through their own efforts.

From this, after reading it nearly half a dozen times, I derive two points of inflection: The first, that knowledge without purpose is not knowledge but misdirection, and the second, that progression built upon the work of others still remains a singular endeavor.

Both of these seem straightforward enough on their own, but I feel as if a straightforward solution is sometimes the easiest to miss. It’s too simple, we think, and therefore not important enough or else not significant enough. And trust me, both of these are quite important and quite significant enough, if only–as with any lesson–you look at it deeply enough.

So read on, my friend, and let’s see if we can decipher this one together.

The Silver Ships

In the end, this story will be nothing. In the end, in a few years maybe, all of this will be forgotten. You there, sitting on the other side of this screen, you will reach your end as well. There will be nothing left.

This is just another story now.

* * *

I stepped on a rock. You might call it a mountain, but if we’re the best thing in the world (of which I’m still not convinced), then I’m telling you it’s a rock. The sea’s a half-full cup of water, and the wind is merely someone’s breath across the Atlantic.

Nothing is what it seems. Nothing ever is.

Across the Sea and Sideways

For BDV.

Patrick Vicencio was an odd sort of man. He was the kind of man who wore wool sweaters and cardigans to walk across snow-laden beaches in the winter. Although his name sounded thoroughly Italian (or perhaps French), he was neither Italian nor French and both his parents were thoroughly American (and by “thoroughly American” I mean that his ancestry, if followed far enough in any direction, could be traced back across every known continental divide and country border in known modern history). He wasn’t remarkably handsome, for although at first sight he could seem the most beautiful man in the world, his face was not one typically remembered. He also had few friends at any given time, for he felt the ones he did have left him sooner or later and he was thereby inclined not to make friends too easily or too often.

He rode the train regularly, but today he was at the beach.

He pulled his brown cardigan tighter and pressed into the wind. There wasn’t any snow today, though certainly it was cold enough and cloudy enough for it to seem suspicious there wasn’t any, but he just watched the surf and walked on. There was a white foam that came and went almost with his breath, and so entranced by this was he that he barely had time to step to the side before walking into a tall woman with long black hair.

Friendly Fire (Keeps Me Burning Brighter)

There are so many things to be thankful for! I have been so busy this week, working with college administration to approve plans for the GSA and studying for midterms and tests and quizzes all while trying to keep up with homework! I’m not sure how I’ve managed to make it so far this week without going insane or losing it, but somehow I’ve done it.

I think the biggest thing I’m thankful right now are the ones that have made all of this bearable:

16: Friends