Life is like a rollercoaster

Did you ever think to yourself that your life is like a roller coaster?

I have.

But it suddenly struck me. Life may be a roller coaster, steep inclines, sharp drops. Dizzying heights that crash down into the lowest point imaginable. Sure, life is like a roller coaster.

But- Think about it for a minute. When you go on a roller coaster, do you have to worry about your safety? True, for some people roller coasters are far from enjoyable, but, either way, when you get into that little cart, you know that you don't have to be afraid for your safe return...that the roller coaster runs on a pre-designed track, and that, no matter how much you get thrown around, no matter how high you climb or how low you fall, you will always be being guided toward your safe return....

wings of my own

the airport is
a busy place
full of people
busy
running
rushing
to a far away
destination

the planes take off
they soar
high
into the sky
moving
upward
and onward
carrying
dozens of people
to a new place
a new life

watching
the scene
makes me sad
for I know
that
here I am
just me
by myself
lonely and stuck
in today
in yesterday
in the steep
downward spiral
of mundane
activities
of mind-numbing
endeavors

its a reality
rooted
in the hopelessness
that surrounds me
it is grounded
in the unrest
that threatens
to engulf
my being

but yet
I hold on tight
to the dream
to the hope
to the knowledge
that one day
I too
will spread my wings
and fly

fly...
to a better tomorrow

U'Teshuvah, U'Teffilah, U'Tzedaka...

On Rosh Hashanah, when the ba'al tefilah began to chant the heart wrenching words of Unesaneh Tokef, a lot of cries could be heard in the shul. Countless faces were buried in tear stained machzorim as the chazan proclaimed: "b'rosh hashanah yikasevu....mi yichye umi
yamus..." And then, the words came, the ones that peirced my soul, and simultaneously gave me hope.

I wonder if an outside observer, who knew nothing about my family would have been able to see a difference. There we were, myself, my mother and all of my sisters, simply standing there in a row, heads buried in our machzorim. Yet, as those words were uttered, "mi ye'ani umi ye'asher," no doubt I wasn't the only one with my shoulders shaking, reaching for a tissue from behind the privacy of my machzor. From the sounds I heard from the sisters on each side of me, I knew it wasn't only me for whom this concept hit home.

Yes, the other things listed in Unesane Tokef are far worse, far more tragic than "mi ye'ani," but after all, chazal say that ani chashuv kemeis, a poor person is like a dead person. It is from personal experience that I tell you that there is a good reason behind that.

Being poor is, as readers of this blog know, not about simply lacking material things. It's about emotions, fear, lack of stability. It's about lack of pride. It's about lack of certainty. Lack of peace of mind. Lack of peace in the house.

I don't have all that much to say about "mi ye'ani" that hasn't already been written here, but one thing both scares me and gives me hope: "mi ye'ani umi ye'asher." Last year, we were on the "mi ye'ani" side of it. But, as we all know, this rosh hashana, there is a new judgement, and now, we all have the same chance of being rich. My neighbor might have millions in the bank, yet this year, we have as much of a chance of "mi ye'asher" as he does.

Are you scared? Do you realize that it could be you next year? Do you want to know what to do? Look a little further in the machzor....


U'Teshuvah, U'Tefilah, U'Tzadakah....ma'avirin es ro'ah hagezeirah. Tzedaka is so important, so vital. Not just for those getting it, who will stay in the light, under a roof, and have food on yom tov, but for you also. This is one of the three things you need to do in order to break any harsh decrees.

In case it sounds like I am making an appeal for my family, I wouldn't do that. I'm asking, for your sake, please take out your credit card and call your local tomchei shabbos. Call your local tzedaka organization, a local yeshivah. Give tzedakah.....we all know, it saves lives!

Rosh Hashana Lessons

I left work sad and upset.

With everything else going on in my life, the last thing I need now is problems at my job. Just one month ago, my position was invincible, my salary was excellent, I felt so confident about my job. It's hard to believe how quickly things have deteriorated. In a relatively short time, the company ran into problems, my salary was cut, and my supervisor, possibly as a result of stress, has been treating those of us working under her....pretty badly.

So I sit here, thinking of my uncertain future, thinking of how awful it is to be searching for a job, thinking of how quickly those fanciful castles I've built in the air have crashed forcefully to the ground.

How could I have speculated on salary? How could I have ever dreamed that I knew what lay ahead, and that things were settled?

And then, suddenly, I realized how incredibly lucky I am. When davening this Rosh Hashanah, I doubt anybody would say that I'm anything but painfully aware of the need to daven for parnassah. After all, lack of money for even the basics is beyond believable to me. It's my reality.

But-

With a very well paying job, where I was happy and treated well, would I have been as aware of the need to daven for my personal parnassah? Can a person who is slated to make a really nice salary in a great job really have kavanah when davening for a job, regardless of where their salary goes?

Imagine, if I had gone into Rosh Hashanah feeling as complacent about my job as I did so recently. Would I have begged Hashem for a good job where I will be happy, content and appreciated?

And then, I realized the incredible lesson that Hashem had taught me. One might have a good job today, but look how quickly it can deteriorate! One might have a lot of money in the bank, in stocks, in investments, but look how easily he can lose it all! One might have a successful business, but look how easily it can all turn to dust....

Now, with the close proximity to Rosh Hashanah, I am reminded, as strongly as a person can be, we must beg, plead, beseach Hakadosh Baruch Hu, ask Him to give us banei, chayei, umezonei. We remember that nothing is guaranteed. We might think it's all under wraps, but that was last year. This is a new year, a new judgement, a new page in the book of our lives.

Nothing is guaranteed. A person who had a good job last year needs to beg Hashem that He will have a good job this year. A person that had a lot of savings last year has to beg Hashem that he will have them again this year. A beautiful house? Beg Hashem! Trust me, it's easily lost. And it's not only money. You think you're healthy? Perhaps you have others in mind when saying "Avinu malkeinu, shlach refuah sheleima lecholei amecha." Do you realize, that could be you? Good health is an enormous bracha, one we have to daven for.

Think of the horrible tragedies that took place over the last year. All those people who lost their lives. Do you think that they expected to? Do you realize that life is the most basic thing we have, yet we have to daven for it this Rosh Hashanah?

All of the good in our lives, and even our lives themselves, are things that Hashem, in His infinite goodness and mercy, granted to us last Rosh Hashanah. And now, it's a new year, a new start, a new chance to daven....

In case anyone found the above discouraging, let me point out the flip side. A person can think that things are so bleak, so hopeless, and yet, here they are, presented with a totally fresh chance to daven for a turnaround. For example, a girl I know, quite a few years older than me, was single last year. I am sure that she shed a lot of tears on Rosh Hashana, asking Hashem to send her bashert. This year, I am sure she also has a lot to daven for, after all, she has her husband and her unborn child to think about.... Yet to think, that last year, it looked so bleak, and now, there has been such an astonishing reversal.

And so, to all of my readers, I wish a kesivah vechasima tovah, a gut gebentched yur, and Hashem should answer all of your teffilos for good. May the coming year bring yeshuos, nechamos, simcha, mazel, bracha, brius, parnassa, and geulah for klal yisroel.

Daven well my friends, daven well.

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?"