dreams

No weapon can destroy,
No flame can consume,
The strength,
the will,
the passion of a dream

Like a butterfly,
That flits about
A dream
Spreads it wings
And flies...

Like a rushing spring,
A river flowing strong,
An ocean's waves crashing,
A dream flows,
It grows,
It's thirsts....

Like a mountain,
Like a boulder,
Like a building made of brick,
A dream is strong
It can not
Ever
Be destroyed

Vena Al Tatzricheinu

Venah al tatzricheinu, Hashem elokeinu, lo lidei matnas basar vadom, velo lidei halva'asam, ki im liyadecha, hameleia, hapesucha, hakedosha veharechava, shelo neivosh velo nikaleim le'olam va'ed.

I lay in bed, it's the middle of the night, and I need to be up soon, but I just can't sleep. This has been weighing on my mind all day. All day, I managed to push it away, to do what I needed to do with a big smile, but now, in the privacy of my bed, hidden by the veil of darkness, I indulge in the thoughts that refuse to escape my conscience.

I turn on the music, quietly, so as not to wake anyone, and I chose a song from shwekey 2: Vana al tatzricheinu....ki im liyadecha.... And the tears spring to my eyes. The last few months have been rough financially. Now, in the past few weeks the expenses have piled up more than ever before, culminating in the last few days of more expenses than I dreamed about, even in my worst nightmares.

And so the tzedaka issue is taking center stage with my thoughts. I wonder what's harder, me giving the money to my mother, or her taking it.

I knew she had a ton of expenses that needed to be covered. So I took my paycheck, I went to the bank, and I cashed it. Two weeks of work, over eighty hours of difficult tasks, reports and meetings, and here is the product: an envelope from the bank, stating simply....loose change.

If only it were merely loose change. If only this was as insignificant to us as a few dollars... My selfish nature began protesting. The voice of my yetzer harah came through loud and clear. "Think about everything you could by with this quantity of cash." "Think about your future, about your dreams of a Torah home!" He's tricky that yetzer harah, he knows how to sound like a tzaddik...he almost got to me.

I took the envelope, counted the money, and realized I had a dilemma. I knew it would be too painful for both of us if I would simply hand my mother the cash. I sat there holding the envelope, fighting tears from coming out, and I came up with a plan. I put the envelope back in my drawer.

I went over to my mother and asked told her that I know there are so many more expenses than usual, and I would like to help out. "Would that be ok with you mommy?" My mothers facial expression at that point was the saddest mixture of relief and embarrassment. "To tell you the truth, I already asked your older siblings for help, because there is no way that I can make it. I appreciate you offering....that you didn't make me come to you."

I don't think I ever felt such pity for my mother as I did at that moment. Imagine having to swallow every vestige of pride and actually approach your kids, asking for money?

I knew she was receptive, so I went and got the envelope. I was literally shaking. It's not easy for a person with a selfish nature like mine to hand over two weeks pay like that. Sadly, that was the easy part. I walked into my parent's room, and saw my mother sitting down. I placed the envelope across the room, on a shelf. I tried to make my voice sound like I'd just left her a couple of quarters for the parking meter, a I said "Here Ma, I'm leaving the envelope here. You'll take it when you have a chance." I turned and left the room, acting with total nonchalance.

I was sitting on the couch, trying to ignore the steady sound of rain dripping onto the floor a mere few feet away. I knew I was kidding myself. The noise was coming from my pounding heart. I knew there would be an encounter soon. I wasn't wrong. A minute or two later, my mother popped her head into the room. "DF, I didn't mean for you to give me this much! I can't take so much from you." Here it is, the confrontation I was afraid of. How does a person convince one's parent that the biggest favor their parent can do is take their money?

In all honesty, I don't remember what happened in the ensuing conversation. What I do remember, is that my mother walked away with a smile on her face, and I walked away emotionally drained. Hashem must have put the right words into my mouth.

But as I sit here, in the dead of the night, listening the the sounds of Shwekey singing Vena Al Tatzricheinu, I think about the importance of this tefillah. I think about the incredible timeliness of it. I think about the "behind the scenes" of giving tzedaka, the pain, the raw emotions, the terrible impact of both giving and receiving tzedaka, and I realize that I'll start to daven for this even harder.

Halevai one day in the near future my family will be supported directly from Yad Hashem, not via the painful method of His gomlei chassadim. Halevai someday soon we will recite this tefillah and look hack at the days when it used to be so real for us. In short, Halevai soon we will be zoche to see the yad of Hashem...the yad hameleia hapesucha hakedosha veharechava of Hakodosh Baruch Hu.

A True Story

It was erev pesach, and Mr. Gold, the butcher, was very busy in his shop. People were coming and buying their large pesach orders. Business, one could say, was booming. R' Yosef, a kollel yungeleit from the neighborhood, walked into the shop. He looked around at the hustle and bustle of the many customers selecting their meats for pesach, at the rush of the per-pesach poultry shopping, and he got an idea. He approached Mr. Gold, and asked to speak with him.

"Mr. Gold," began R' Yosef, "I am a yeshivah student. You know I don't have much money. You have so much business during this time of the year, can't you please give me a reduced price on my meat?" Mr. Gold looked at R' Yosef and shook his head. "You are better off than I am."

R' Yosef was shocked. How could that be? He asked Mr. Gold for an explanation. So Mr. Gold explained. "All day, I every day, I work from morning to night, preparing chicken and meat for ther store. I am busy with animals, with fleish, all day long. And you, I am sure, also work from morning to night. The difference is, when I go to sleep at night, I dream about what? I dream about fleish, about the shop, and worst of all, I dream about money. You? You go to sleep and dream about amar R' Abaye.... And if you think that the shop is busy, and therefore I have lots of extra money, you are sadly mistaken. Nobody ever has too much or too little money. Hashem has many ways of ensuring that the correct amounts of money are distributed.

"For example, All year long, I manage with the money I have. Suddenly, it's erev pesach, and I am making more money than before. So what happens? One of my children gets a toothache, and needs a root canal. Another child falls and breaks a bone, and needs to be seen by a fancy private doctor. The car needs repairs... All these things never happen to me normally.

"And what happens with you? You need the extra money, as Pesach is coming, so you get an idea into your head, and you make a shidduch. Then someone needs you to tutor their son. All kinds of extra sources of income that you normally don't have...because you need the money now. Just because you are learning and I am working...you don't make less money than I do."

Reb Yosef understood what Mr. Gold had said, but he had one last question. "So why have you chosen to work, rather than learn?" Mr. Gold's answer was simple. "My nature is that I can't sit. So instead I have to work, therefore, I go out and I supply the tzibur with kosher meat."

Imagine if we could all reach the level of bitachon that Mr. Gold is on?


(Names have been changed.)

why is he poor?

I had suppressed this memory for years, and for some reason, it just came back to me, and I am in tears as I write this...

We are sitting in class, learning about hilchos tzedaka. Having just heard the shocking news from my parents that the only way we would be able to continue to exist, was through tzedaka funds....I found the class hard, to say the least. I was trying to sort of tune out, because I didn't really want to hear the halachos that a person would have to learn before pulling out a checkbook...to support...us. As hard as I tried, I simply couldn't tune out completely. The teacher was discussing the Halacha to support an ani up to their former standards. He gave an example. "If a man comes to me and says that his business went sour, and he is no longer able to make the payments on the four high-luxury cars sitting in his driveway, and he is no longer able to make his mortgage payments on his mansion on the fanciest street in town, I might be tempted to say 'hey! Cut back! I don't even have all that stuff!' but I am not allowed to, according to Halacha. We have to support the ani up to his former standards."

My classmates had a hard time understanding this. As I sat there, trying to sink further and further into my seat, my classmates debated with our teacher about this. "How could it be? If the man is poor let him go out and get a job. I work hard, he should too!"

I couldn't believe the naivete going on all around me. Were they actually saying all this? Do they honestly believe all this? Do they think that my father is just copping out? Do they think that it isn't destroying every fiber of my father's being, just accepting these checks? Do they think that we don't choke on food that comes from charity boxes? Do these privileged little girls seriously not get it?

Do they think that just because their tatty goes out to work and makes money that all people who go out to work make money?

How could I ever explain to these girls the shame, the embarrassment, the worry, the fear, the pain, the tension, the horror, the heartache that goes into accepting tzedaka?

No words in the world could ever take all the emotions and the misery of not being able to support your family. Nothing I could ever say or write would ever let this girl understand even a fraction of how wrong she was.

Lazy? My father worked his heart out, quite literally, to make a parnassa. If efforts would me reflected in livelihood, my father would be among the richest men in the community.
Lazy? My family is fighting for survival. I don't think that she would handle this life for an hour, and yet she calls us lazy.
Lazy? I wish I would have the luxury of spending a bit of time remembering the meaning of that word. Right now It remains a hazy memory buried somewhere deep inside my soul.

No my classmate. We aren't lazy. We aren't copping out. We aren't living on easy street. We are suffering. Please try to understand that. We did not chose this life, nor would we ever.

What can they do about it?

When I watched my sisters come home from the last day of school...empty handed, I can't help but wonder how a school can do this to a child.


They don't know that she stayed up half the night studying for a really tough Novi test...
But I do.

They don't know that she spent hours and hours rewriting her notes, teaching other girls the material, all in preparation for the big test.
But I do.

They don't know that she needed a lot of tutoring, and that I used over 500 dollars of my hard earned money.
But I do.

They don't see my sisters come home and finally be able to release their tears of shame, embarrassment, and utter disappointment, when they were told that they were not getting report cards.
But I do.

They don't know that she needed to see the results of her hard work in order to motivate herself to continue working so hard in the future.
But I do.



On the other hand...



I don't know about the teachers who are waiting to be paid.
But I am sure they do.

I don't know about the bills they have that have yet to be paid.
But I am sure they do.

I don't know how many students have parents who are suddenly unable to pay tuition
But I am sure they do.


So what can we schools do about unpaid tuition bills?

Have You Ever Felt Like This?

I was in the grocery store, when I saw a young child, about three years old, that had gotten separated from her family. She was roaming around the isles, crying and looking for her father. She had tears in her eyes as she walked through the isles of the grocery store crying out "Tatty, Tatty, Vi bist du?"

His Hand

I was walking on the street with my friend today. We saw a mother scold her (obviously upset) son. "Go! Run to Tatty! You will be late for shul! Run!" There had been a number of men who had just came from that house, and my friend and I were speculating which of the men might be the young boy's father.
"I think it is the one to the right," my friend declared. I had to disagree. "Sorry, but you can't be right. Look, the man on the left stuck out his hand, obviously waiting for his son to grab onto it."

And sure enough, we watched the scene play out another few seconds, and the young boy grabbed onto the hand of the man on the left. Because, the boy's father was holding out his hand....he was waiting for his son.

Lately, things have been tough. I have been challenged again and again, and in the last week or so, more than ever before. I have felt alone. But...if I look carefully enough........there is my father, sticking His hand out, waiting patiently for me to join Him. He is holding out His hand at all times, simply waiting...waiting for me to grab onto it.

The Best Time

There really never is a good time for your father's business to collapse. Nor is there ever a time when it is easy for you and your family to start accepting tzedakah instead of giving it. But the time when a girl is crossing the threshold of school, and entering the new phase called "real life" seemed, to me, like the worst possible time.

Here I was, just finishing my seminary year, about to step into a new world. The world I had envisioned stepping into was one of shadchanim, of young men shyly stepping up to my door to take me out. It was a world of resumes and job applications. It was a world of professors and term papers. It was a world of fun and friends...that I would remain a part of until I would enter the world of my marriage.

It was, also, as it turned out, the world of my dreams. Because I soon discovered that I was wrong. That was the world that others stepped into. Instead, I stepped into a world of collection calls and credit cards. A world of negligent mortgage payments and late insurance payments. A world of leaky roofs and broken appliances. A world of tomchei shabbos boxes and battered pride. In short, the world I had unwillingly stepped into was one of financial ruin. It was a world that was as far from the world I had envisioned as two worlds could possibly be.

So I moved into my new world with more than a little reluctance. While my friends were concerned with which job they would enjoy the most, I was concerned only with which would pay the best. And while technically, I was in shidduchim, we were obviously not actively pursuing much. If a yom tov was enough to push us over the financial brink, surely an engagement and the ensuing wedding was far beyond the scope of our financial capabilities.

And college...! Nobody could understand why the smartest kid in the class, the one for whom all teachers had such high hopes, would stop her schooling so abruptly. But what they didn't realize was that after all the numerous financial obligations I had, there was nothing left from my paycheck to even consider anything as unnecessary as college and the pursuit of higher education.

Throughout numerous seminary classes on chashivus hatorah, I made up my mind. From the minute I would get my first paycheck, up until the day of my wedding, I would save my money, carefully and scrupulously. The money would then be deposited into my savings account, which, in my mind, I had lovingly dubbed "the Kollel fund." Using the money I had saved, I would be free to pursue my lofty dream of building up a home of torah.

In this new world which I had so reluctantly stepped into, I was about to discover that some dreams, no matter how lofty, have to step aside to make room for the sometimes bitter reality.

It was with this realization that I took on my second job. It was with this same realization that I pulled out my debit card, week after week, to buy the shabbos groceries. It was also this realization that led me to pay off the balance at the grocery store and give my father the money to pay a backlog of unpaid telephone bills.

Each occasion was a stab through my heart. Each occasion was a little needle being savagely thrust into the little bubble of dreams residing deep inside my heart. Each time I pulled out my card, my hand shook. Each time I my father asked me for money and I answered "sure ta, how much?", my voice quivered.

It was with a heavy heart that I listened to shidduch talk all around me. When other girls spoke about support, so their future husbands could learn in Kollel, my heart contracted in pain. I sat there thinking to myself, "Hashem, they talk about their new clothes and shoes, and I don't feel a tinge of jealousy. It is with no trace of envy that I listen to them talk about their upcoming vacations to Israel. But here, they talk of husband in Kollel, of the sweet sounds of Torah resonating in their homes, and my heart fills with such envy I can barely contain it. Please Hashem, Asei Le'manacha im lo le'maneinu! I am not asking for myself, for any kind of personal comfort or glory. I am asking for the sake of You and Your heilige Torah! Please Hashem, grant me the zechus to be able to build a home around the beauty of Limud Torah."

And that is how I started on the next phase of my life. As I sat there with these thoughts, I came upon a new realization.

All of these girls thought that their fathers are sending them a monthly check to help with their expenses. But, I suddenly realized, they were wrong. Because there is only one source of money, or any kind of goodness, and that is Hashem. The same One who sent the money to these girls, in their case through their fathers, can just as easily find another means to send me sustenance.

Suddenly, there was a new bounce in my step. There was this new found feeling of joy and excitement in the very actions which had pained me so deeply. My hand, instead of shaking as I wrote out a check, was completely steady. Money comes and money goes. For the first eighteen years of my life, my father had the money, and he supported me. Now, things have shifted. I now have the money, and I am helping him. One day, when I need the money again, G-d will find an alternative way to provide.

So now, when people ask me what I am looking for in a boy, my answer is simple. I say I am looking for a boy who, when I say that I have a very rich Father who is promising to give me everything I need for the rest of my life...he won't think I am joking. Because I am completely serious.



There never is a good time to have a mountain of financial troubles heaped upon a girls head, is there? But, I must say, if they are going to happen anyway, there are certain times that are better or worse than others. And a time when a girl stands at a crossroads of major life decisions is starting to seem like the best possible time...

A question for my readers...

I have been thinking about the past few months...since I have started this blog. A lot has changed...but I think back to my original reasons for starting this blog, and wish I had recorded them more carefully, so I could do a progress check...but in truth, I am not sure...

So instead, I ask you, my readers, to tell me-


Why are you reading this?
What have you learned from this blog?

(if you feel uncomfortable to publish your response as a comment, feel free to email me)

what its really about

Sometimes I wish I could properly convey to you what it means to really be lacking in money, but I doubt I can.

You see...it is not about the surface hardships.

When I am standing in the grocery store, contemplating a box of crackers that costs 2 dollars, and I decide that it's not really a necessity, so I manage without my crackers...
its not about me, its not about crackers...


When I get my bank statement, and see that I am spending more than I deposit, though I deposit more than most girls do, because I work so hard...
its not about me, and its not about my bank account...

When my little sister moves her bed to a different part of her room, because there is a leak over the spot where her bed was...
its not about my sister, and its not about leaky roofs...

When we go to sleep in 83 degrees, despite an air conditioner that works perfectly, simply because we can't afford the extra electricity involved in turning it on...
its not about my family, and its not about the electricity bills...

When my little siblings stay home all summer rather than go to camp, because even day camp is simply out of our budgets...
its not about my little siblings, its not about camps tuition...

When I walk in my old and tattered shoes, and I feel every pebble on the ground...
its not about me, and its not about my shoes...

When my mother is scared to look at the mail because she knows its all a bunch of bills that she can't afford to pay...
its not about my mother, and its not about the mail...

When nobody wants to pick up the phone because we know that it is most likely a nasty and pushy collection agency, so we miss important calls from our friends...
its not about us, and its not about the phone calls...

When my family finishes supper and we are all almost, but not quite full...
its not about my family and its not about the supper...

When a meshulach comes to the door and my father turns them away, saying "I don't have", and he means it, more than the meshulach can imagine...
its not about my father, and its not about the meshulach...

When the washing machine barely works and we have to hope and pray that it won't stop in the middle of a load, yet we don't dream of fixing it or replacing it...
its not about us and its not about the laundry...

When we wash our dishes by hand and put them into the broken dishwashers, which now serve as dish racks...
its not about us and its not about dishes...

When we go out to buy more buckets, because there is a forecast for a massive storm, and each one disintegrates our roof a little more...
its not about us and its not about buckets...

When my mother is mistreated at work but is afraid to stick up for herself because she can't afford to lose her job or take a pay cut...
its not about my mother and its not about her job...

When me or my siblings go on a date and my parents smile but inside they groan because they have absolutely no way to pay for a wedding...
its not about my parents and its not about wedding expenses...

When my friend calls me and asks me to go out with her, but I have to say no because I am working late...
its not about me, and its not about my work schedule...

When my father is sick but doesn't go to the doctor because he doesn't have the $20 for the copay...
its not about my father and its not about the copay...

When I go to sleep kind of hungry, but not wanting to eat anymore because I can manage without it...
its not about me and its not about hunger...

When the door falls off of our kitchen cabinet, and we smile and put it in the storage room with the other broken doors and handles that we can't afford to fix...
its not about us and its not about doors or handles...

When friends discuss their new clothes, shoes and jewelry, and I know that I won't be getting any of it for a while...
its not about me and its not about new clothes...

When I know I should send my skirt to the cleaners to be cleaned and pressed, but I decide to spot clean it and then iron it to save the money...
its not about me and its not about my skirt...

When a box comes from tomchei shabbos and nobody wants to look at it, much less eat what's inside...
its not about us and its not about the box...


But when everyone is fighting, and everyone is tense, and everyone is upset at everyone else...
I realize that its about a family....in distress...