1+1=1

So this guy comes up to Reb Shlomo Carlebach z"tl and says to him, "Hey Reb Shlomo, I think you're great and I would really love to write your biography." So Reb Shlomo looks at this man and goes "Okay but first I have to ask you some questions." The man agrees and Reb Shlomo begins his questioning. "What's 1+1?" Reb Shlomo asks the man who looks at him curiously and answers quite naturally "Two." Reb Shlomo asks him "What's 1+1+1?" The man replies "Three." Reb Shlomo then asks "What's 1+1+1+1?" to which the man responds "Four." After a short amount of time Reb Shlomo thanks the man for coming and for his interest but let's him know that it wouldn't work out and he can't allow the man to write his biography.

What's the point? How can it be that 1+1+1+1+1=1? Because if we are to live as spiritual beings on this Earth we need to realize that everything is one. That the man sitting next to me is my brother and a reflection of G-d and should therefore be treated as such. That everything is a direct extension of G-d's hand and that everything has a direct effect on the world - spiritual and physical. And so you would think what's the big deal? Why couldn't that man just write Reb Shlomo's biography anyway? But see because for a man like Reb Shlomo only someone who understands that 1+1=1 is someone who could be trusted to write his biography and could understand him.

While spending time with a friend from NY we were related this story and immediately we got it. Even before the story's end we just knew, and our souls were alight as a result of it. I often feel that this is the difference between my friends in NY and my friends here. That while so few people in the world actually "get" and understand me, it seems like the only people I would trust to write my biography are in NY. Granted this can be a bit premature. You can't compare people who have known you for 12+ years to people who have know you for less than 12 months. But even so, I believe that my attraction to spiritual feel-good concepts is almost lost on those who get caught up in the law (in NY and abroad). I miss the ones I turn to when I feel like talking about G-d for 5 hours and how living in the moment is so important and to realize that there is only One Moment which is THE Moment. And once again, dear reader, I feel like I have lost you (and myself). Chag Sameach! xoxo!

Dream Sequence

The time: Shabbat. The place: Friend's bed in Jerusalem. Scene: In a dream he asks me if I'm ever planning on coming back. Coyly I answer, "Maybe."

But I am home (furrowed brow)

"So when are you coming home?" my mom's friend asked me. "Home in Tel Aviv or home in New York?" I asked. "NY silly, when are you going home?" she pressed again. Like a kid in the gan, "I am home," I whined to myself, as I furrowed my brow and pouted. How could she say that? I live here. I work here. It is home. Right?

Or is that just what they tell us?

Have I been brainwashed to believe that this is my home because it is the home of the Jewish people? Or is it simply my selfishness thinking I am so entitled because my father was born here? Either way, in the midst of my confusion, stubborness and frustration, this country has become just as much home as 23 years in New York. The air I breathe is my sustenance. I have found a community here. Still torn, my loyalties are towards two places. I hope to fuse them into one.

It's gonna be all right

Sometimes it's good to meet up with old friends even when you're so tired you feel like you might pass out mid-sentence. Last night I did what I always do when a friend is in town about to leave the country and I'm tired beyond belief - I pick myself up and go out.

We met at a bar/cafe across from the park which I realized I used to walk by all the time noticing the guitarist playing on the steps and yet never going in. We talked about the state of affairs of the country and our lives. After an attempt at defining cultural Judaism, the only clear sentence I could get out was "I need a plan." He promised that he would work one out with me by the time I got home. Turns out his stop was way before mine and I was left with the question "what are you passionate about?" In truth, I haven't a clue anymore. Honestly. What could I answer? G-d? Judaism? Torah? The idea of a family? My friends? Poetry??? I certainly can't say politics. What am I passionate about?

I thought it was a little depressing at first, so I slowly walked home in the cool Tel Aviv night alone wondering where my path will lead me and what my plan will be. As I turned the corner on my street, my iPod did that thing I love where it manages to find just the right song to suit my mood. Standing in front of my building listening to Coldplay, looking up at that lone star and appreciating the quiet moments Tel Aviv has to offer, I realized that none of that mattered anymore. I will find my passion, or rather it will find me. And in terms of a plan, I'll make it up as I go along.

Today I miss New York

For no real reason at all. I guess with my sleepiness comes nostalgia for the people, places and things I had. This morning I found myself saying that I miss my other two. Of course I do. All the time every day even when I'm unaware of it. How can I not? You take two people who know almost everything about you and then you're expected to find replacements when you leave the country? I can't do that. I trust easily, but not that easily. I don't know when to hold my tongue but I hope I can hold the things only meant to be shared with soul mates.

I miss skyscrapers and Saturday nights and American Sundays. I miss the way the city looks with the sun shining brightly in my eyes, blinding me until I squint between buildings. I miss seeing the rastas in Washington Square Park trying to sell schwag. I miss NYU students while I secretly loathe them. I miss Soho walks and Broadway and 8th. 4 AM drunken Chickpea where we forget about watching our weight and request babaganoush and fried eggplant. I miss the Park at 3 AM when they start to play bad but deliciously good 80s music. I miss dinners before I got to the point where I won't eat out anymore unless it's Kosh.

I miss the UWS crew and summers in Central Park, shopping at the flea market where you can get a fur coat fit for a pimp for cheap. I miss bagels and lemon Snapple. I miss hooka bars that feel more Israel than Israel, and places in Israel that are Mid-East enough they remind me of NY.

But I don't miss Jones Beach. Sometimes I miss Sunset Island watching the sticks on liquid diets consisting of mojitos and cigarettes. And I don't miss snow, but I do miss wearing white at Oasis that time when we...

I miss names I will never mention and I miss names I may allude to. Like soul sisters and jellybeans and Israeli princesses and a guh-guh and even a mei-mei. I also miss my piano.

And I miss summer camp days, as funny as that may sound. Basically I have an overactive mind today that is forcing me to remember everything. Like being a cute, funny-looking kid with curly hair that didn't start to grow till I was 3 and chubby little thighs being called a chicken and made to perform for the camera when asked who the president was "Wonald Weagan! Claaaaappp!!!"

Dream a little dream of me

My dreams are starting to mess with me a bit. I don't know what goes on in my mind before I drift off rather suddenly to sleep, but man do I wake up in a funk in the mornings. Latest mess with my mind dream? Someone - my parents maybe? - ask him what his plans are in the near future and he says "maybe I'll go to New York for 5 months." De ja vu, only not.

While reading the parsha this past Shabbat, there was a short commentary that said we should tune into our dreams and other people. That once we lower our egos we can realize that Hashem is sending messages to us through them. Well what kind of a message was that? I think I am destined to be a scared little mouse for the rest of my life, too chicken shit to act while acting in every moment.

Note to every one/reminder to self: I want certainty I want certainty I want certainty

New mantra and maybe if I say it enough times it will actually happen.

Tonight I will prepare myself for another message and hopefully will not be as shaken up as most mornings. Bring it.

Once there was a girl from New York

Once there was a girl from New York who had a plan and thought that having a plan was enough. Until that plan didn't work out and she realized that plans are never finite. So she stopped planning and started to live by the wind, moving wherever it took her with the clothes on her back and a MetroCard she may still have use for. She started rolling with different crews and talking to the birds to learn as much as she could. Eventually she began to make a home, however temporary it may be. And while she found a job and kept a regular schedule she still didn't have a plan. This started to scare the friends she flew from and concern the friends she flew to. And while the boys always found her so charming, even they too were left unsettled as they went with the flow, wanting to ground her but knowing she couldn't be caged. And whenever she sensed anything resembling love and commitment she flew away.

Until one day this girl from New York realized how long it had been since she actually used her MetroCard. And she began to long for the love like she had known when she once had a plan. She went from not being able to picture a stable life to feeling the pang of longing whenever she saw children. She wanted to stop flying, she wanted to feel at home, she wanted to let her guard down and stop being scared, she wanted a plan. But she didn't know how to go about it.

The girl from New York thought to seek answers from the Buddah in the road but wasn't sure if he'd talk to her. So she continued searching until she saw a local drunk she recognized sitting on a piece of cardboard on the corner. She stopped and asked him what he thought her life plan should be but the only thing she could decipher was "Get me a bottle of wine." Not the answer she was looking for, she gave him some change and continued to walk. Realizing the only thing she could do is search within herself, she felt more lost than ever. She started to cry and when she heard the sound of her tears hitting a puddle at her feet instead of the ground, she wanted to see herself. Staring down at her reflection in this puddle, she thought that maybe this is where her future laid. Like waiting for a fotune teller to interpret what the cards say, the girl from New York just stood and stared, willing something to happen.

Soon the image staring back at her began to change. Her reflection blurred and morphed into a vision of herself that she did not recognize. A mature face from the years that had passed, this version of the girl from New York looked content, if not happy.

The wind blew and ripples in the puddle began to distort the image once again. The girl from New York was left with her reflection in the puddle. Although she still did not have a plan, she was calm and reassured with a feeling that everything would work out in the end. The only thing she now had to decide was if she was going to stay or if she would fly.