It's come to my attention that I feel very far away

Four and a half years ago I got on plane to the Holy Land that is Tel Aviv. Well, Ra'anana to be honest and less than a week later I was in a 5-month sublet on King David Street living a life I could never have dreamed. And I met so many beautiful people who touched my life to its core. Four years ago on December 18th (my mom's birthday), for better or for worse, but mainly for necessity, I received my Teudat Zehut. And for those seven months prior and many months to follow, I loved, longed, lusted after, laughed, cried, danced, and drank too many bottles of wine. I don't regret a single thing, except for leaving. Or not leaving, but having not come back.

I think I tend to get so nostalgic for Israel in winter. It's easy to do so then, because I'm cursing New York's cold and questioning why the hell I am passing up Palm Trees and heat waves for snow. It's also because when it's cold here, I know I have so long to wait till summer comes and I choose to leave the best time to be in New York so I can have a Tel Aviv summer like it was in 2006 and the end of 2007.

It's been four and a half years - can you imagine? I've come to terms with the decisions I've made that have led me to Brooklyn with a boy I love, but nothing can compare to 2006/2007 of my mind. That was the only time in my life when I had a group of sisters who would call me out on my bullshit. Would tell me to stop pretending I didn't miss NY, chide me for treating my time in Israel like some "study abroad program", support me and my poetry needs, and simply love me for me. And sometimes it hits me just how lucky I was and how I feel so far away. I miss you all. I miss every second of it. I wish I could just go back in time to grab a group hug and carry on like it'll all be okay because it has to.

So, let's use technology to our advantage. Here I am on the cursed G train with vegan thai take-out and a lemonade mixer on my way to see a man in Williamsburg for a hug and to work a freelance life till the wee hours of the night. His hugs don't feel like sisterhood, but they certainly feel like home. And I'll make due until it's summer again, and you'll find me dancing. You'll know where I am because I'll be with you. xx

Cardio

For 1 hour 4-5 times a week. Because it's necessary. And bc I might make myself single soon.

Oh friends

I regret to tell you that religion always gets in the way. That our young heroine will tell you stories over drinks about the time when love came easy and she could have had it all. The rock on the finger. The big beautiful Manhattan sky rise. The 2.5 children while under the age of 30. But, dear friends, this young lass never makes the easy choices or the "right" decisions. Our leading lady left her prince years ago. She gave up the life in the palace for a desert that blooms. For the night that only ends when the sun comes up.

No decisions will be made, but those in my mind. But I will tell you, while I don't make the easy, smart decisions, I long for the dream day where my groom is danced to meet me for the first time after a week. The emotional moment where we see each other for the first time. And I'm not sure I'll have that in this current situation. Yes, I am in love. Yes, I haven't felt this way in quite some time. But ultimately I know who I am. I know what I want. This relationship won't yield the optimal results. So there you have it. What I think 2 drinks in. And now 3. On to the 4th possibly. Good night my loves.

Food journal

2 handfuls Kashi cereal
Water
Coffee (1 sm. sugar, milk)
Banana
2 chocolate kisses

Lunch
Salad w mozz cheese, avocado, string beans, the usual, tuna and home made honey balsamic dressing
Coffee
Water

Finding Inspiration

Channahboo has inspired me to think about my own health, weight, and appearance. Today starts project Lose That Belly, and boyfriend and I are going to do what we can to tighten up and lose some inches. While I planned to go to the gym today, I lack the discipline and that did not happen. If I try to go now and get in a quick workout, I will for sure be late in meeting a friend for drinks and will subsequently be late for dinner plans later. However, what I can do today is make sure the drink I consume does not have too many calories, and the dinner I eat later will be healthy. So my diet I hope will keep up with that of Channahboo's.

Not to say that this blog will now serve as a food journal, just that sometimes you need to put something out publicly with the goal of sticking to it. So please encourage me here or other places to remind myself that a 28 year old can still aim for a 20 year old's body. Tomorrow my calendar reminder is set for 8:30am at the gym. I'm in need of some morning cardio.

Where does one post things anymore?

With blogs, secret blogs, public ones, twitter, where am I supposed to note the sh*t I want to say like, I've been on the west coast for so f'n long that if I don't see my bf soon I am going to throw myself into traffic!!!

I am very grateful for tonight's flight back to NY. This cannot happen any sooner. I can't wait until Monday. Time for a cold shower. Thanks for listening.

9/6/10

3 little stops and you once thought the weight of the world was held in those moments
Thought love lurked around the corner
Thought promise was held in his hands
But they were held in yours all along
And there are men who will love the smile in your eyes
The fire in your heart
The fear of G-d in your soul
Love will consume you when you're ready
When you've deciphered the difference between infatuation and till death do us part
There will be time for passion, but only after there has been soul searching
Strengthen your connection with the All Mighty
For He will always be there in times of need
Walk with G-d when those around you won't
Remember body and brain are Holy
For they elevate the typewriter too

Hey girl keep your head up because if there's a G-d who loves you there's a man who will too. He'll carry fire in his belly and love in his heart, and the only tears you'll cry from him will be of joy when he gets down on one knee and tells you how this moment was waiting just for you. He'll know how to build things (like your father), he'll know how to fix things (like your father), and he'll know secrets that make your toes curl. He'll be the man to teach your sons to be men - teach them how to love a woman right - and teach your daughters to love themselves enough to never let a single man take away their self-worth (like you did). He won't be perfect but perfectly for you. He's out there, because if you believe there's a G-d and that He's everywhere then you just have to believe...

9/2/10

I'm trying to understand this thing called love. Why we as humans have this basic need for love. To love another, but more importantly to be loved. Why we hit a certain age where this quest for love consumes us, and if it didn't then happiness would come easier.

Why we feel less valuable without love. Why we cling when there's a glimpse of love in our midst, allow ourselves to be set up for a crushing fall when things don't go as that sliver of hope counted on.

Once, I wasn't 28. Once, I wasn't like this. Didn't feel this deadline looming over my head. I always looked for love in all the wrong places. Always looked for love lurking around the corner. But never like this. Never with this urgency. This rush. This disappointment. How do we reconcile this need for love? The weight of the world is love and now it's resting heavy on my shoulders to the point where my eyes brim with tears threatening to come out at any given moment at the thought of once potential lovers who just want to take take take so much all at once and then without a moment's notice just leave with everything they were able to get out, and when you've already been sucked dry what else is left to give to the next? But the thing is, just when we think there's nothing left to give there's always some reserve we find tucked away far behind our secrets we save for late nights staying up with lovers licking opened wounds.

I've tried praying. I've tried talking to G-d sincerely and earnestly, leveling with Him, bargaining. I've written a list hoping it would manifest itself in the form of a perfect person created just to complement me. I've threatened to switch teams when I've become too jaded. And I know the advice that will be given is to not sweat it and not stress. Is anyone able to do that successfully without the help of our vices to distract us? How strong can I pretend to be before I crumble underneath the gaze of a man who holds the promise of a future in his hands?

8/29/10

Your disingenuous ways have made me question everything
Like why men feign love and devotion all for the sake of sex that doesn't happen
Why 3 subway stops once separated my heart from yours
Left me waiting and anticipating
Seemed like infinite hours
And now I can't wait for you to be so far away from my F train.
You can keep the G
Be gone with it. Ride it all the way to San Francisco.
There will be no flowers left at your doorstep for you to place in your hair
No silent vigils when you leave
No dramatic returns of items that belong to you
Just the waiting and the waiting and the glorious waiting for you to leave this borough that was/is yours
Will soon be mine
Waiting waiting delicious waiting for Brooklyn to become my new love
My new lover
I will go down on Brooklyn
Go down in Brooklyn
Brooklyn and I will go down in history as being the most genuine couple
Novels will be written about us
Posters with our bodies on it
Musky oils made to smell like our sex
Left as lingering reminders
Evoking memories of summer love that expired well before its time.

Bearded men not Jewish
Kipa wearers
Married facial-haired men are the only "trust-worthy" ones
I fight to wake up another day
I fight through crowds
Beards
Accents
Don't talk to me
I wear pants to confuse you
Let's meet for a drink and talk Torah
I'll tell you how Jerusalem lacks Holiness for me
I'll confuse you
Maybe I'll shock you
Maybe that's what I want
Maybe I don't know what I want
Summer's slipping through my fingers
So's my libido
It happens
I'll just drink and dance
And you'll pause
Scratch your head
Shake it
Shake me away

This suddenly feels like a bad f*cking idea

I like to say that nine years ago I could have never predicted that I'd turn out to be "modern orthodox," however I know the truth is otherwise. That if someone would have let me peek at my future amidst hits of ecstasy, I would've known this to be true. That eventually, somewhere along my life's graph, I would find meaning in the mundane; open my heart to belief; that one day I would find G-d, whether at that moment in time or 20 years from then, I knew it would happen; I could see it coming.

So why then, 9 years down the line, when I'm the girl who bares cleavage while making brachot, would I willingly enter a living arrangement with more potential difficulties than ease? Maybe it makes sense within the confusion, as I never seem to go for the easy choices, for the decisions that always follow logic. No, instead I go against the grain. Throw logic to the wind and tell G-d in defiance that I'll make it work, as if He has no choice in what will happen. But it's too late now. No turning back. No matter what, no matter how cyclical life becomes. It always seems a lost job is paired with a new apartment. Change your makom and you change your mazal, but is this any better? Time will tell.

So now I'm in the market for a bearded man who I can trust. Who will come bearing a blow torch and secrets of the Torah. Who will help make my home as Holy as it can be in the moment. It's funny how this whole time I was more concerned about kashering the kitchen than the size of my bedroom; toveling dishes over living room decor. And of course immediately after signing my soul to the devil all thoughts turn to Israel, and my heart has never experienced such hurt as seeing photos for the first time of a friend's ripening belly, round and ready to raise the future. These things, they happen. Life happens. Without caution. No stopping it now so I must go with the flow as cliched as I may become. There was another ending but then I got tired.

8/3/10

Looking at you makes me sick.
It didn't always.
I actually rather fancied you until you turned into an asshole.
Or at least in my eyes.

I don't want to love you anymore.
Don't have the urge to have your babies
Hold your hand
Stroke your hair
Or look you straight in the eye.
Instead, when I see your face, I have to hold myself back from vomiting just a little bit.

You became the rule when I thought you were the exception.
And now I'm realizing there are no exceptions.
At least not in my world.
So thank you for finally showing your true colors like they all seem to do.
Eventually.

7/8/10

My phone buzzes and I hope it's him. A generic him. Could be anyone at this point. Anyone could be the love of my life at this point. And I don't mean it in a way that's like settling. Just that at this age and this stage of the game, the man of your dreams is either the guy you've known for years or the boy you haven't met yet.

I look for love in all the wrong places. I stop looking. The wrong ones find me. I stop being found. I hide. I get curious. I start to look again. I wish I never looked in the first place. I want to stop looking. I feel myself changing. I hate what I am turning into. I'm becoming like everyone else. Sometimes I can smell the desperation on myself. It's sour. Sometimes I taste bitter when I wish I tasted like my lover's kisses. But I don't have a lover. I left lovers in the past. I always seem to be leaving. I'm sorry for leaving all the time. I fear karma. I fear the day I'll be left. I'm sorry for leaving all the time. I always leave all the time. Always. I'm sorry.

I am day dreaming of backyard barbecues in summer. Washing dishes while watching my kin through the window. They are golden, and their father is our hero. He holds the sun in his smile, stars in his eyes, fire in his belly and only has love in his heart. He is as tall as trees sometimes, and protects us like his arms are an umbrella bear hug.

This is all fantasy that may or may not prove itself to be true as days turn to weeks to months to years, but I know I can put myself in the moment for but a moment and find that truth feels like a beautiful summer day from the comfort of your kitchen.

I'm too pretty to be eating dinner alone

I've decided and I'm sticking to it. This was an exercise in commitment and resilience. No more! While I can pay for my own dinner, if I'm eating alone let it be in the comfort of my own home!

When I imagine us we shine like stars exploding on the night sky canvas singing "holy holy holy." Today I realized 613 = 1 and it all made sense.

Saturday night I drunkenly fell asleep clutching a bowl of popcorn. That is all.

Today I did the unthinkable

I convinced myself to sign up for Jdate. After less than 24 hours of using it, I'd like my money back. Most of the men who have messaged me are overweight, short, unattractive, and/or bald. Oh, and a couple are extra socially awkward and have proceeded to insult me WHILE complimenting me! "You're really pretty, but why else should I be interested in you?" Um, maybe for all the lovely reasons stated in my fucking profile I wasted 30 minutes of my life agonizing over, Mr. 40-year-old divorced, bald, modern orthodox man. Why don't YOU tell ME why I even bothered responding to you with "I think my neshama shines more than my outward appearance."

I think it's safe to say my soul mate is not on Jdate. I have yet to find a kosher keeping, shabbat loving, music appreciating hipster who can kick my ass at the gym while quoting poetry to me on or offline. I will give this thing an honest week. Dear G-d give me the strength to ignore the crazies.

I wonder if I'll ever fall in love again. Quite doubtful.

Another year, another day, another dollar

I want to chalk up today's lackluster feelings of melancholy to prolonged sleep deprivation. Channahboo called to serenade me a happy birthday song and tears came to my eyes. I blame exhaustion for my emotions.

When I was 16 I dreaded my birthday. I remember thinking 18 was old and getting depressed just from trying to envision such a number. Now 30 is the new 18 (possibly in more ways than one?).

I wore sweats all day, masked my sadness with happiness for others, appreciating young love, defiantly refusing to be bitter. No, I am not that kind of friend.

Today has seen the light of 3 international phone calls, 4 voices serenading me, countless messages, and the realization that for the first time in years I did not receive flowers on my birthday. Maybe that's what you get when you push away every man who has ever loved you so much without reason that they envision arising with you every morning. It took me an hour just to motivate myself to make coffee. I can't remember the last time I felt so alone. (Our conversation does not go unappreciated.)

Maybe I should have read tehillim, or went to the gym straight away. Maybe I should have put on a pretty dress and made up my face. I leave that for tomorrow. Let this weekend wash away all of last month's stress. Am I allowed to be selfish now? Am I allowed to find love? What have I been chasing after for the past 3 years...?

This is a sad day

I don't remember what's it's like to be in love. I think it involves being utterly in awe of the one you're with, but I think I could use confirmation.

I tell him I'm a poet
He looks at me with skeptical eyes
Any other man would see me in a different light
Instantly I would be special
Different from any girl he has ever met

But no
He wishes I were a woman whose main desire was to be barefoot, pregnant and cooking something spicy in the kitchen
Someone who obeys
Who doesn't think for herself
Who doesn't know how to create anything but babies
And even then needs a man for everything
Someone possibly like his mother
Old school and the opposite of free-thinking
The embodiment of traditional

I tell him I'm a poet
And I've never been made to feel like that's anything less than beautiful until now

I don't want to see you in my Facebook stream
I want to forget that you ever existed
That we contemplated the future
Because you are not the boy I once knew then
The one I want to savor in memories
Have appear in dreams
This new found you is too harsh
Too rough around the edges
Avoids real confrontation at all costs
And still won't take risks

I want to hide hide hide you
So I don't have to see what you're bothered by today
What happened that prompted an email and an update
Let it all just come as a surprise to me, or better that I had not known at all
I don't need a random reminder of what would have been
What once was
What will never be
I have my memories for that
My brain that does not sleep
Even now
Even past the point of exhaustion
And 16 hour days
And I didn't know you would pop up again so often, so unexpectedly

Tonight I am one year older in G-d's eyes and yet in an instant I went back in time by three

I think my heart hurts today.

Your self-righteous words are appalling

One day I'm gonna write a poem about this.

Truth Stings

Never trust a man with a beard, no matter how holy he appears to be.

Warning

My emotions can be really fickle so if I tell you I love you I suggest you run.

Revelation

I think I'm ready to be a wife.

Confession

So often I want to ask my mother what would be "worse": if I married a convert or a Chabadnik.

This morning I woke up thinking I was in Israel. 15 seconds later I came to and felt the sting of disappointment having realized I was in fact in my own bed. I just want to go home.

Pensive

About every 10 months or so I make my usual pilgrimage to Israel. It's like my Mecca. Being in limbo over the past couple of years has allotted me the time to stay for a while, at least 4 weeks. This time is all too short. I gave myself 2 weeks. No sight-seeing planned, no day trips, no hiking, no shopping, no sun tanning, just homies and a visit to a grave.

What usually happens is that I feel the energy of the atoms of every being inhabiting this country fill my body where everything feels alive and I become Dean Moriarty with all the manic highs and lows. This time is different. I have become Kerouac's Mother Boddhisatva who feels the need to pray for all of Am Yisrael. I am the Divine wrapped in tank tops and flip flops. I have become an enigma even to myself. I like to think it makes life interesting.

This time, sometimes, when walking Tel Aviv streets I get a little depressed; my memories come back to haunt me. They take shape in the form of buildings never lived in, street corners having kissed on, bar stools, galleries, cafes, sea salt filling my nostrils reminding of once upon a time, reminding me of the last time, reminding me of love lost, heart break, body ache, romance, a fight for life.

There will never be another summer of 2004. There will never be another summer of 2006. Summers to follow. Israel, I always love you in summer. I love you today, even though the sun isn't peeking through overcast skies and everything looks the same shade of tan. Today I'm wearing a brown dress. I will blend in well. "In this country girls like me are a dime a dozen," too many times I've said that and meant it.

I am open to every possibility. I am open for love. My body wants to have babies while my brain doesn't. I'm ready for the process. I'm ready for love to come find me. Whether in NY or Tel Aviv, geography makes no difference as long as it has a place for me to rest my head and call home.

To all the single ladies (put your hands up), I bless you (us) with the ability to stop being such women all the time and to be open. I bless you to be open to love - but not too eager. Just open. He may be around the corner, or lying next to you on the beach. Or he may not. May this be the year that there are too many weddings that I will just have to stay once and for all, free of regret. Tagidu Amen!

I'm lonely. I'm torn. I'm thinking. I wish I wasn't. I wish I didn't miss too many people.

Not good not good not good

Today feels like a Monday and I feel I may blow a fuse. Almost everyone can suck it. This includes some babies and small dogs.

Today I thought I saw you waiting at the bus stop. Glasses and earmuffs and all. I drove by on my way home, after helping a friend try on engagement rings for the first time and dinner where the most satisfying part was the chocolate chip cookie at the end.

Maybe I just have you on my brain. Or maybe I just have relationships on my brain. We never did get to experience normalcy, did we? No, instead it was intensified blips on the graph of life. You will always be my summer fling. I've seen normal through the eyes of strangers and I wonder if I'll see it through my own. I don't do normal very well. In fact, I starting tearing after a conversation with a potential set-up. This is all very strange to me.

Dear New York,

Sometimes, in those rare moments when I force myself to look up from this device, I see you in your entire glory. I see you for the grit and glam, the bright lights that can outshine those of the Vegas strip. I see you for the stuff that poems and movies and photos and songs and history are made of, and I see you for the epithets that were made just for you.

I admit, sometimes I don't see your beauty. Sometimes I don't always stop in awe of the Empire State building in the distance, nor marvel in Central Park summers. But I live for the Bowery poetry nights - the nights that make you feel alive, that awaken the soul after it's been sleeping for far too long. And I long to find the non-cliches you have to offer. Something that makes me feel like I selfishly have a little piece of home.

Because I'm not allowed to say

I miss you.

It is November
And Kate Nash doesn't know it yet but she will love me
We are the only ones dancing while the rest of the music hall is filled with zombies

We dance, and how we dance
Desperate to show her we love her so
And her music
It touches us
In ways we've never felt before
And my hair - I am self-conscious of it
And I'm not wearing makeup
And compared to Kate Nash's red-flamed hair I feel inadequate
But we
We dance despite that
Holding on to the night
Holding on to everything she has to give us before it's all over
Just one more song
Let her cockney accent take us to higher planes

And I think I may love her more than you
But you let me believe that our love is equal because you love me more than her
Even though I have no exceptional beauty to offer tonight

Her voice
I pretend it's like mine
And her beauty
I live vicariously through it for just one night
Let us live in her unconventional beauty
Let us pretend for one night that our love for her equals our love for each other
And we will never have to utter one word
All we have to do is dance

Dear _____,

Today I encountered a man on the subway who questioned the definition of "schlep" written on my bag. I want to note that today is the first time I have used said bag. After debating whether or not "schlep" on his own was written in Hebrew or Yiddish, I accepted a tissue he offered for my sniffling nose. As I was leaving the train I thanked him and he wished me shabbat shalom. Taken aback I said, "you too" in a tone as if I was asking "how did you know?"

Waiting for the next train I mulled over this "random" chance happening, wondering how many people experience these moments daily. I also couldn't help but think if his shabbat shalom goodbye was his way of saying "hey, I'm Jewish too" and all the urges I get to somehow relate Jewishly to chareidi men and women I see on the train. I often find myself searching for my little book of Tehillim that I usually have left at home, knowing that if only I could read a few chapters with the fervor of a yeshiva girl I might win their favor.

Remember that story you told me once? About how a religious man came to the office and for whatever reason something not so ideal happened. And because you are who you are, you wanted to do everything you could to fix it. And after all was said and done, and you knew he would still leave with a bad taste in his mouth, you wished him shabbat shalom as he went on his way. You also joked that it wasn't even on Thursday, that it was probably on a Monday but you wanted to let him know somehow you had something in common.

It's winter in New York. I'm writing this without gloves, my body shaking and fingers frozen from the cold. And I wish I could ask you to re-tell that story just one more time, but instead I'll think about how I'm in one of the most wonderful cities in the world, and even I can't see the beauty of the Empire State Building.