Don't Compliment My Writing

Writing is nothing more than an impulse.

It's like gasping for air after holding your breath for too long, or running to the grocery store at 11 pm to satisfy a craving for pickles. I can't tell you how many times I've arrived late to appointments because I start writing and I just can't switch off the flow of ideas. My judgment is overpowered by the sense of urgency that underlies everything I create.

I acknowledge the value in the fact that I've found a way for my natural drives to vest themselves in spiritual expression. I thank G-d every day that I need not turn to the unwholesome comic strips and corny song lyrics I used to come up with to let off steam during high school study hall (although some of my friends might miss the entertainment).

But my writing only wears a costume of holiness. Yeah, the contents of this blog relate to my life as a Jew, composed through the lens of the Torah I've learned and the community I've experienced. But I'm propelled by a lust for thought and expression that often controls me more than I control it. Which makes writing about spiritual matters just a glorified game of dress-up.

I don't mean to self-demean. I just think it's important to come clean about why I'm doing what I'm doing. This is just the way we were created. We engage in holy pursuits with animalistic motivations, endowed by G-d with the mission of purifying those motives.

So don't compliment my writing. I write because I can't help it.

Instead, compliment me when I tell my brain to shut up and I get up to do someone a favor. Compliment me when I decide to postpone outlining an essay because I know I'm being disrespectful by showing up late to class. When I do something that I'm really not good at but I know it's the right thing to do- that's when your praise and encouragement will really mean something.

I believe every artist is presented with the challenge of transforming artistic needs into wants and turning instincts into choices. To create should not be a submission to desire but an assertion of purpose in this world.

The Reckoning

I told you a story.

You listened with greedy ears 

and hands outstretched, 

probing 

violating. 

You poked and prodded at my words 

until their edges flaked away, 

Their syllables disjointed 

and crushed 

In the stifling grip of your intellect. 

You displayed them on your 

trophy shelf, 

glistening next to your smug smile, 

Their meanings 

contorted to please your 

hungry heart. 

I told you a story, 

But you told me yours 

Instead of hearing mine. 

So I retreated, 

Leaving you in the company of your pride 

And your internal applause 

And you didn't even see me slip away. 

A sharp inhale, 

A pensive silence. 

Why say anything more? 

I reconsider my self-disclosure, 

Longing for your partnership 

But knowing I could do without it. 

In truth, 

I'd have more space to breathe 

and to be me 

My love could soar in an endless stream 

Without a worry of whether you'd be there to 

receive it. 

You, on the contrary 

Need me more than you know. 

For without me 

Your heart would betray you, 

Pumping life into limbs 

that will sweep you into a frigid sea. 

The sun will grow dim 

And you'll lose your breath, 

Your raspy cries just a note in the droning wind. 

What do you want? 

You stand, unfeeling, 

your hands coiled around the elegant trophy 

That used to be mine. 

Your knuckles are white. 

If only you knew that 

Smothering my story 

Is denying your own 

And even more than you are bound up 

in your own sophistication 

I am bound to you. 

And what you do with clenched fists 

And a staunch stare 

I can bring you to effortlessly. 

Because all that you know 

Resides in simplicity too. 

You'll sense the sameness in our souls, 

our interlocking journeys 

And the triumphant surrender 

of letting go. 

Because to hear my words 

Is to find yourself. 

We want the same thing, 

To reach the same end. 

Our story 

My story 

Will direct you there. 

I think all this 

But say nothing 

Waiting for you to turn around 

in a fit of love 

and remorse, 

pining for a reunion. 

But you don't, and that's okay. 

It's all part of the story. 

Maybe me just wanting this is enough for you. 

My love will swell through the silence 

Rippling through your lovely mind 

Until your knowledge 

relinquishes its solitary reign 

And merges with mine. 

I'll tell you my story 

and you won't even need to 

listen 

because 

You'll just know.

One day.

For now, I'll feign distance

And let the silence do its work.

From Potential to Actuality

A few months ago, I lost my mailbox key. I put off requesting a new one from the apartment management office out of fear that I'd be charged an unreasonable fee (and any fee is unreasonable for a grad student). Instead, I opted to temporarily go without my paycheck, magazine subscriptions, and wedding and birthday invitations, hoping I'd magically discover the key poking out of the couch cushions someday.

One afternoon, I happened to be exiting the building as the postal worker was sorting mail into the appropriate boxes. My mailbox door hung open, its bulging contents gleaming like exposed treasure. Most notably was my subscription of Chayenu, a weekly Torah study magazine that I relied on to enliven my 45 minute commute to work. Lately I had felt disconnected and unreflective without Torah study as part of this routine, going through the motions of the daily grind without infusing a fresh spiritual consciousness into it.

This was my chance! With a brash "Excuse me," I impulsively reached past the postal worker for my mail.

She glared at me disapprovingly. "Uh-uh. You can't just take your mail, honey. You need to open your mailbox with your key."

I wasn't in the mood to try to explain myself. With a defeated sigh, I hurried outside to catch my dreaded train to the city.

During my commute, I mentally reviewed the mailbox incident. How did that just happen? Everything I needed was plainly visible, inches away from falling into my possession. But I couldn't have any of it. I needed to open my mailbox myself- with my own key. It wasn't good enough that someone opened it for me.

Until I took initiative to acquire a key- regardless of the financial sacrifice involved- my precious Torah magazines were worthless. They were trapped in a box, powerless and unbreathing. They couldn't affect me.

That's how a lot of Judaism is. We look to others to "open our mailbox." We go to shiurim and try to surround ourselves with positive influences, looking to the wisdom and conviction of our community leaders, schools, and mentors. They open the door to inspiration. But that's all inspiration is: An open door. We're shown what's there- a preview of what could be- and then it's left to us to internalize those teachings and integrate them into our lives.

It's crucial to know what exists in potential. Catching that initial glimpse of our beautiful heritage through another's guidance is what gives us both focus and motivation. But that can't be the end. It's only a beginning. And moving forward requires a lot of effort, and maybe even self-sacrifice. Only you can create real change within yourself.

It took a while, but I eventually got a new key and I didn't even have to pay for it. I emptied my mailbox and sifted through a month's worth of letters. The next day, the postal worker loyally returned with a new series of items addressed to me. Now, I was ready to receive them.

In life, our incoming flow of spiritual inspiration comes with responsibility: We must latch onto it, study its contents, and figure out how it can better the world. Only through our own efforts can we actualize the potential that awaits in our "spiritual mailbox."

I Drank the Kool-Aid (and I'm Not Ashamed of It)

I was recently at a shabbos meal when a teenage girl, raised in the Orthodox community, asked me "Who made you frum?"

I was pretty taken aback at the question. I didn't know how to respond at first. What did she mean, who made me frum? I made myself frum, thank you very much. Do I look like a product of brainwashing? After I stuttered for an answer, she rephrased the question in a less derogatory way.

Later, I thought about this interaction and my defensive response. Why did I feel this question was so derogatory? Why was I ashamed about the fact that a well-intentioned Jewish organization helped me become closer to my heritage?

It probably had a lot to do with the attitudes circulating around me.

Attitudes like:

"My Judaism is more real because I didn't come to it through some sort of contrived outreach program."

On the flip side, those who do become connected through a Chabad house or outreach center often struggle with others' appraisal of their observance. "Beware of the the Kool-Aid! Stop being naive. Don't let them control you." As a result, these baal teshuvas might later choose to disassociate with that community, organization, or individuals involved as a way to assert their independence. They maintain an observant lifestyle, but intentionally distance themselves from their starting line to prove they aren't simply a product of others' efforts.

I can certainly see this quality in myself. If I'm being painfully honest, there is something very self-satisfying about parading my independent thinking to those who offered me support in the beginning of my journey, showing them I've risen above their Kool-Aid.

What is "Kool-Aid," anyway? I was always a bit unclear about the intended meaning of this term. People refer to this metaphor and laugh cynically about it, their sarcasm laced with resentment toward their outreach communities.

Kool-Aid is not G-d or Torah or living an observant lifestyle, assuming these are all rooted in Truth. What I think is that when people accuse you of drinking the Kool-Aid, they're accusing you of buying into others' justifications for becoming frum. What people have labeled Kool-Aid can be defined as the body of reasoning that people employ to demonstrate the value of observance. Some of this reasoning is valid, some is misinformed. In many cases, criticism stems from others' interpretations of why you became frum- not the mere fact that you did so. If it appears that you are simply absorbing others' messages like a porous sponge without really thinking about anything, that's when people start accusing you of being brainwashed. They refuse to respect your choices when you can't substantiate them with conclusions you've drawn on your own.

I admit it. I drank the Kool-Aid. I marveled at all the new perspectives I was ingesting, gaping with wonder like a starry-eyed child. I initially found no reason to disagree with anything I heard. But the thing about Kool-Aid is that it didn't really quench my thirst. Yeah, it's marked "beverage," but it's mostly preservatives and food coloring. So it just bubbled inside me, compelling me to make some very pivotal choices but never becoming fully absorbed into my system.

At a certain point, my opinions and feelings began to stealthily creep out from under the woodwork. Suddenly, they wanted a say in everything I was doing! They didn't want to take a back seat to the foreign influence temporarily inhabiting me. So they rose up and protested the slimy red substance that had conquered their terrain, upon which an explosive chemical reaction occurred. The result was a new flavor of Kool-Aid: One that I had created through my own flesh, blood, heart and mind. But it couldn't have developed without first ingesting something from the outside.

Kool-Aid doesn't kill. It's simply meant to be an instigator. It's when you misuse it that the problems begin. If you don't integrate everything you've learned into YOUR mind, and you delude yourself into thinking that Kool-Aid is water, that's when you start being unhealthy.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that G-d guided you in a certain direction because He knew that's what you'd be responsive to. He orchestrated your contact with Jewish Outreach, or Chabad, or whatever channel "made you frum." Don't be ashamed of your journey. Don't disown the experiences G-d gave you. Remember that it's all hashgacha pratis- even the part where you "drank the Kool-Aid." It's not like some alien force came out of nowhere and force-fed you some perversion of Truth. Sure, Torah is sometimes distorted when people try to present it in a way that will be meaningful to you. But G-d led you toward those distortions too, because He trusted you could turn them into something real.

Chai Elul: Embrace the Details

Today I was sitting in one of my graduate courses, bored out of my mind. I had learned the majority of the content in a previous class, allbeit in a very general sense, and I saw no reason to fixate on the multitude of "fascinating" details my professor was drooling about. I knew my basic familiarity with the concepts would still permit an A on the final. But the teacher insisted on gnawing each detail to shreds, the original concept now fragmented into a hundred entities that bore no resemblance to their original singular form.

So rather than listen to my teacher drone on for the next two hours and forty minutes, I decided to buy time (and stay awake) by preparing a Dvar Torah for the coming shabbos. I quickly became engrossed in a sicha (a speech) I found online (thank G-d for the internet!) about Chai Elul, the date on which both the Baal Shem Tov and Alter Rebbe were born. These leaders founded revolutionary movements in Judaism: The Baal Shem Tov revealed the deeper, mystical dimension underlying Torah, and from that grew the Alter Rebbe's Chabad movement, a more intellectual application of the former.

The sicha quoted the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, who gave over two versions of an aphorism: "Chai Elul is the day which infuses vitality into Elul" and "Chai Elul is the day which infuses vitality into the Divine service of 'I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine.'"

There are layers of meaning embedded in these phrases. What I'd like to focus on is the fact that the first aphorism speaks about Chai Elul energizing our Divine service in a general sense, accounting for any and every aspect of human-G-d interaction that occurs during Elul. In contrast, the second version specifies that Chai Elul enlivens our Divine service in a particular way, arousing us to approach G-d in the specific manner of "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine."

The mode of Divine service specified in the second aphorism is by default included within the first. The energy of Chai Elul is equally diffused throughout all aspects of avodah, naturally including "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine." So why the repetition? Why emphasize a detail that is already so obvious it should require no explanation?

In truth, details are more than just details. Their value extends beyond the fact that they are included within a significant main idea. Take Torah study, for example. Diving into the particulars of a topic not only substantiates one's understanding of the original idea, but it actually generates new knowledge. The process of exerting your intellect to understand the inner workings of an idea churns up a new experience inside you. New ideas are born, new feelings arise, a new perspective on G-d consolidates inside the psyche. Your new outlook motivates action. You commit to G-d and serve Him with sincerity. These developments must be preceded by a certain complexity of understanding.

The apparent repetition in the second version of the aphorism reminds us that feeling connected to G-d in a general sense is not enough. Divine service isn't only about acknowledging that vague, mysterious feeling that G-d is guiding your life. It's about understanding why you have that feeling, where it comes from, and what you're supposed to do with it. It means changing yourself so that you can change the world and change G-d's presence in the world. And in order to do all that, you have to REALLY understand G-d and REALLY understand His world. Only by knowing Him intimately through intellectual exertion can change flourish.

Sitting in class at that moment, I realized that I have a choice. I can go about life in one of two ways: I can seek the minimum knowledge necessary to get by. I can ace my counseling practicum without ever opening a textbook, without investing an ounce more effort than absolutely necessary. But will I really be able to help people? Will my expertise dwindle to mere "expertise," a bullet-point understanding of how things should be but with no real tools to make them that way?

Or, I can invest in a mission. I can formulate meaningful conclusions about how to transform the world using the detailed information I've absorbed.

Rather than letting yourself become "bored out of your mind," delve into your mind for a change. Details are only boring until you really think about them.

G-d is at Your Doorstep

G-d knocked on my front door this morning.

My first instinct was to panic. "I'm not ready!" I blurted as I fumbled through my dresser drawer. My head was spinning.

I need to look presentable. Brush my hair, put in my contacts. Down a cup of coffee. Horrified, I imagined all the ways in which I might make a bad impression. Surely I can't hide my irritable morning mood from Him. Or worse, He'll reprimand me for my untidy living space.

Why was He here, anyway? Shouldn't He have waited until I had something to show for myself? My life is a bit...under construction, at the moment. There are so many things I want to do that I haven't accomplished, so much I could have done differently in the past. So what does the Master of the universe want with me?

All at once, the thoughts whirring around in my brain slowed to a halt.

The King is at my doorstep. This is real.

It dawned on me that He wouldn't have come here unannounced at 6 am if He wanted me to look glamorous. G-d is a smart guy. Maybe He wants it this way. He wants to give me the choice to let Him into my life when I'm just being myself, moseying around the house in my pajamas or sorting through paperwork at the office. He transcends the context of a holiday and the walls of a synagogue. He's pretty much giving me an open invitation. "I'm available 24-7," G-d will assure me. "Even if we have to sit on your old, musty couch. There's no prerequisite for you to commune with Me."

It's like when guys are approached on the street and asked to put on tefillin. "I'm not Orthodox," they mistakenly protest. Or, "I just ate a non-kosher steak. I better not. One day, when I'm religious, then I'll put on tefillin."

We never think we're worthy of having a relationship with G-d. And yet G-d created us, so how backwards is that?! News flash: All those parts of us that we think G-d doesn't want or doesn't approve of? He created those too. He gave you that inclination to the leave the dishes in the sink for two days. He gave you that little voice that tells you doing a favor for someone can wait. And He also gave you the ability to change and become better and do the right thing. It's all from Him.

We think we have to become perfect, refined, "religious" individuals before we can be on G-d's team. But really, G-d is ready to be our King right now. We just have to decide to be ready too. So step up to the plate. Commit. Do a mitzvah. Fulfill G-d's desire, and that will make you better.

Oh, and by the way, G-d will keep showing up on your doorstep every day this month. 

In my opinion, it's hard to ignore that kind of devotion.

Why You Should Never Be Satisfied

I've noticed that people often defend their frumkeit by claiming that observance has rendered them immune to many of the problems that face secular society. They point to the worldwide epidemic of emptiness and dissatisfaction and sigh, "If only they knew the Truth, they would feel whole and content and not go on these reckless searches for fulfillment. Judaism fills the void."

They couldn't be any more wrong.

Because if you are a truly pious person, you are never satisfied.

The more you learn about G-d, the more you realize you can never know Him. The more you appreciate G-d's infinity, the more sharply you are confronted by your finitude. The more knowledge you acquire, the more nuanced and complex your questions become.

The hole just grows bigger.

So don't think becoming religious is going to solve all your problems and allow you to sleep soundly at night. 

You're going to be more dissatisfied than ever before.

What's different is that this time, you won't be tormented by that feeling.
You'll fall in love with it.

Your doubts will energize you, your fears will drive you forward. The crazy notion of infinity that used to jolt your nervous system like nails on a chalkboard will now be your greatest comfort. When you study that discourse about the most hidden parts of G-d that He shows no one, you'll be smiling.

Your deepest pleasure will come not from the answers you find, but the mystery that remains.