Saturday, June 26, 2010

The Home Down the Road

The home down the road…

It’s where the young American man goes



The home down the road…

It’s where he makes his brevilles

It’s there he spends his Friday nights

There he goes for a touch of home.

Ah home

So warm and cozy

So nice and neat

So good ‘n’ lovely

So oddly similar

To the home down the road…


The young American man

G-d sent him to this country

To find the man he is

To decipher what it is he’s searching.

To collect the treasures and plant the seeds

Of his future and destiny.

So G-d made him find a home…

…Or rather…

Made a home find him

So he won’t forget from whence he came,

That he came from a home, a real home

Like the home down the road…


10,000 miles

Across the sea in a distant land

Nine months and two to go

And eleven after that

But the young man hardly feels it.

Whenever down whenever sad

When overwhelmed or overworked

Whenever bored whenever lonely

To escape his peers and dinky room,

The young man has what the other boys don’t;

The home down the road…


The mother is so sweet

The father is so funny

The parents are so nice

The classic type

So much like the young man’s own.

Proof is in the kids

Whom they raised so fine

Chassidish and bright, so genuine

Ambitious and thinking, quite entrepreneurial

Enthusiastic and wholehearted, a real good kid

That family, that lovely little bunch

At the home down the road…


Why do good things die?

Why must such people, such places only come in passing?

Two years

It seems all the young man has.

He saddened by what he cannot seem to change:

Good things end.

Good things

Like the home down the road…


Aye

But good things still stay good

For they don’t really end at all

Instead they turn to memories.


And what’s the present,


If not sweetened by the past?


Sweetened,


By the home down the road…

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

The Final Zman of the First Year

The last zman


8 ½ months

I’ve been here


2 ½ months

To go


I’ve been doing tons of stuff

Meeting tons of people

And having tons of fun

But it will be nice to finally pay a quick visit home


A new zman is always a new era


Last zman marked the move to Shiur Beis


This one marks the beginning of the end


A friend departs, another is soon to follow


A new room, the friend that left’s, far more cozy


A new adventure


A new goal:


Shiur Aleph

The Final Frontier

The Map of Taz

The young American man sat at his desk in the dead of night, hovering over a map lit up by a single lamp, a topographical map of a Tasmanian peninsula.


He was studying which mountains he’d have to scale, gauging how cold it would be, and calculating how much food he would bring.


For three days the young man would spend, traversing the elements of this lonely island, scaling a mountain in this worn peninsula, sleeping outdoors in the bitter cold, beholding sights he would have never seen, and having an experience that most young men his age would never have.


It’s gonna be cold


Early Sunday morning the young American man sets off on his adventure


Hopefully he’ll make it back

Belated Making-of

Bit of a belated making-of the sword fight
From the play

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Revin' to Rev Up

After getting reaccepted the young man pondered,


“Hmm

To come back next year I’m gonna need something along the lines of,


$8,000

Give or take a little


Time to rev up

Redesign the website

Market it like crazy

Bug the rich people

Sell stuff

Do stuff

Whatever!


We’re gonna get that money folks

The Man Who Raised Me

Some people like me

Perhaps a few don’t

But whatever it be

I am what I am

But not because of me


The man who raised me

When I first met him my mom asked something of me

Like the brat I was, I simply said “No!”

Believe me

It was one of the last times I disrespected my mother

He built me a cool plastic toy-box that week too


Yes, that’s my father, old-school

Mmm, he’s not my technical father?

Well if you’re so smart then you tell me

What a real father is

Because yea yea

I’m a good guy, I try

But I know where my capabilities lie

Selfishness, deceit, manipulation, thievery, craftiness

But you might never know it

Because I have a father


Who said you gotta give before, and more, than you take

Who taught you can’t just live life for yourself son


Who said honesty is key, the number one rule

Who taught me to be a straight-up and stand-up man

Who built a home where lying was the ultimate sin, a spanking every time

All I had to do was tell the truth dang it


Who said you can’t play around with people. It’s not right

Who taught me that you gotta work with not against


Who said you gotta have respect for people’s things

Who taught me to have respect for another’s property


Respect

That’s a common word in my house

That’s the way my father raised his two boys

With respect

You can’t go through life doin’ whatever you want


Respect for peoples things

Respect for people’s business

Respect for older adults

Yes sir and no sir

Yes maam and no maam


Don’t ever ‘yea’ to your mom. Say yes maam


Do what you’re told

Speak when spoken to

And don’t ever

Show disrespect


And when you respect others

They’ll respect you


As a cop for nearly two decades he’s seen a lot

He uses those things as lessons on how not to be

Tells me what can happen to a man, what he can do to his life

How people are stupid, but how I’m better than that

Cuz I come from a different home

And he’ll kick me out if I did somethin’ so dumb


I make him sound too scary

He’s a wickedly funny man

He’s great at the Shobbos table

And he never forgets

To reward and acknowledge the good and a job well done


He taught me to have dignity in my things

Take pride in what you earn and earn what you have

Take care of your things and they’ll last forever

Keep things clean, have somethin’ to show for yourself


He taught me dignity in myself

Don’t act/speak/dress like that

People are gonna be lookin’ at you like you’re some kinda hooligan

And wondering where the heck that boy’s raised


He taught me responsibility

All actions have a consequence

And clean up after yourself it aint that hard

And don’t ever do a half job

You do it all the way, the right way, the first time

And then you don’t gotta keep doing it again and again

And in all things in life you gotta be that way


He spoke often to me about how a man thinks and lives

He told me a lot on how to go about life

Sitting down he’d tell me the importance of family

He’d tell me how I should raise my kids…

…And I should send ‘em over

So he can spoil ‘em rotten and then send ‘em back…

And those things he told me I’ll never forget

And one day I’ll tell my kids the same


Parents raise parents which is how I know I’ll be good

My father raised me the way his dad raised him

Grandpa Staples is a true rags to riches man

And he told my father who also told me

That you know you did well…

So long as your children and their families do well


Growing up tatty didn’t have much

So the things he had and the things his family cared for

Were the things that matter.

And so I feel myself lucky, that ourselves were never rich

That I didn’t become conceited or spoiled

That my father works and works

So I can go to yeshiva and make him proud


We don’t have the kinda relationship others have

It’s not like either one of us ever says I love you

Or any of that other fluffy crap of today.

When I’m away at school we hardly speak

When I’m at home he always works

But when we’re both around and having a good time

Building the succa or watching the game

Cleaning for Shobbos or having Kiddush

He knows and I know.

So no need for the fluffy stuff


So there we have it, just a glimpse

To know where I came from so I can know where to go

Whether you think I’m good or bad

Unique or clique

A success or a washout…


I am who I am and always will be

Because of my tatty…


…Who is who he is and always was


Happy birthday to him

Rebbe Aint No Excuse

I just love how people justify everything


Punctuality

It was called for 10:15

10:25

No one’s around


“10 minutes late. Where is everybody?”

“Lubavitch is supposed to be late to my friend”

Ahem, no

“That’s a stupid excuse. The Rebbe was always on time.”


This is where the justify-the-blatantly-obvious tangent begins

You know,

Well how do you know the Rebbe was always on time…

And

The Rebbe defined time so…

And

The Rebbe showed up when he needed to…

And

Sometimes the Rebbe davened Mincha ‘late’, are you saying he’s…

And

They called something for this time but the Rebbe showed up at…

And…..


You’re point?

You

Are not

The Rebbe


But we have an obligation to be like him,

To act the way he wants us to act.

So to put it in the most simplistic of levels,

Putting aside that he’s a Tzaadik, a Nassi Ha’dor, etc,

To use a term everyone in the world understands,

The Rebbe is a true gentleman


Gentlemen are on time


Chassidim are on time


Be a gentleman, quit makin’ excuses

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Coming and Going

The young American man

At the home down the road…


It’s the four together

That four

The one’s with the home-away-from-home

The home down the road…


…but…

For one it’s the last Shobbos with the four

The last Shobbos

At the home down the road…


Four will become three

Three will soon be two

And then?


The one who’s leaving

Two years he’s been in this far-away land

Two years of growing

Two years of friends

Two years of family

At the home down the road…


The four came together in this far-away land

Pushed another to do better

To be better

And now one’s finished

And now one leaves


They’re all gonna miss him

A real good guy

Moved up, did well

His mum has gotta be proud


Wait…

The young man,

He shares the same fate!

All the wonderful people the young man’s met

The experiences

The families

The home down the road

What will become of them?

Are they destined to fade into happy memories?

Only to be stirred up by reminiscent sounds and smells?

The young man looks at the friend who’s leaving

He realizes what he cannot change

No matter how good it is

No matter how well he does

No matter how much he loves these people

He’s only passing through where G-d sent him

Collecting seeds for his desert abode

At the home down the road…


Two years will be up

The young man will leave just like his friend

He’ll stay in touch but then it’ll end

And Australia will again be a distant land

That’s just life

Hmf


The young man chuckles at a funny thought

Australia will fade away

Hm

Unless

He marries an ozzy girl that is



To the one who leaves:

Good luck!

Well miss ya!

Say hi to your mom for me

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Me and a Ring

The young bochur was making coffee.

Long night

Inspiring fabrengen,

The type that reaches his heart


An elderly man was making coffee to

He had met the man before

The old rabbi asked the young man where he was from

The young man answered

Arizona


“Ah I remember you.”

He said in a fairly heavy accent


Suddenly the elder Rabbi remembered

“My son goes to Arizona often,

To sell jewelry.”


Interesting


“Give me your family’s address,”

Hm?

He wrote down his address, name, number, and father’s name

He gave it to the elderly Rabbi


“So I can have him give you good deals if they need Jewlery”

Very nice


“Perhaps a ring for your kallah”

?


“How old are you?”

The young man told him


“Oh, you should be getting married!

And your birthday, in Cheshvan,

I’ll tell my son to give you a very good price since you’re in YG”

Not the first time he was told to get married


The young man, flattered, responded,

“Perhaps I should finish Smicha first?”


“Nonsense! You do that after. You get married next year. OK?

Time to daven.”


Hm

This man has been around longer than most.

A wedding ring

I'll have who to call when I need one

Can many bochurim say that?

Sealing the Deal

The young American man was in the midst of reviewing the Gemara. It was a mere week and one day until he would be orally reviewed. He was interrupted. He was summoned by R Cohen.


This was bound to be as dramatic as last time


As the young bochur traversed the short distance from his spot to the office his mind quickly raced through the possible cause of such a summons. He was a good bochur. What on earth could it be?


He knocked and entered the dank little office. There R. Cohen sat, a Gemara open before him on the small round table and various papers at his hands. He looked up at the young man and gave his characteristic nod. Please, have a SEAT.” The young man sat.


“You exPRESSED your desire to…return, or shall I say…CONTINue here. We on our part are ready to fulfill such a reQUEST that you…remain here for anotha year….however…[this is the part where the young man panicks at the pause, dreading the drama]…the honholah want you to first COMMIT to make some…changes or…imPROVEments on yourself before returning.”


R. Cohen gave a sheet of paper to the young man. It was written specifically for him. He saw the other sheets of paper before the Rosh were of a similar kind, each for a different person with different things written on them. He took his.


“Read it CAREfully and THINK about what it is that they are ASking. ONly if you really feel you want to, then you should…go to the mashgiach and say that you are… ready to SIGN it. Do you underSTAND?”


The young man read the paper. Three points. Minor ones that showed just how much attention the yeshiva paid to the bochurim. Two of them he didn’t even realize were issues, just things that could be improved. It wouldn’t have mattered what the paper said anyway. If it demanded he jump into a frozen lake he’d sign it. The young man had fallen in love with the place. He had met so many people, grown and improved so much, gathered so many things and experiences, all of which were leading him to finding himself. No way he’s leave just yet. There was still more to take and spread to his community back home.


He took a pen, firmly resolved to do what the paper asked of him, and signed his name. With the ink that flowed from that pen to the paper he signed his soul over to the institution for a whole year,


Again

A Weekly Detail: Street Art

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Couple a Lubavs at a Litvish Tish

To really capture the experiences here, not only to capture them, but to show what it is I see in them as well, to somehow form it into articulate words, to somehow condense it to but a few paragraphs


Is damn near impossible


Yet I’ll try

Though it will be a mere glimmer


My week revolves around Shobbos.

This is going to be a very good week.


To preface:

Adam and I got special permission to leave yeshiva Friday night even though next week is an off Shobbos. We had gotten ourselves set up to have Adam be chazzan at a Mizrachi shul and made the mistake of thinking this week was an off Shobbos. We had to go since he had already invited a bunch of people for Shobbos night and rescheduled all of them to come this Friday night since we had originally thought it was the next Friday night that was off and then thought it was this one and it turned out we were wrong in the end anyway. Did you follow that? Either way, everyone got to watch us mysteriously disappear.

The Mizrachi shul was a little place. It was nice. The nusach aint so different though it does have a few curveballs.

==================


After davening everyone gathered outside the shul. It was a storefront right on the road. The young American bochur and his friend were introduced to the rabbi of the shul and to one of the guests, we’ll call him Shimon, that would be eating with them that night. They exchanged pleasantries, declared where they hailed from; the young man from Arizona and his friend from Vermont, and explained how they had met their wonderful host over Pesach. Also present were the Doctor and his wife whom the American had not seen since Pesach. It was nice to see the lovely couple again and he noted how much more, well, pregnant the doctor’s wife was than last time.

They remained there on the sidewalk as they waited for the Shimon’s wife to emerge from the shul. The American readers enjoying the start of their warm summer; bear in mind that Australia is yet to be in the dead of winter and Melbourne gets mighty cold. However, the chilly air didn’t trouble the young American the least bit. The sight of those people, smiling, laughing, talking, Shimon’s kids jumping up on the bench and playing with their father, all of them bundled up in winter garb, painted something classic in the young man’s eyes.

Shimon’s wife joined the group and they all began to migrate to the host’s home. The young American and his friend walked along side their host chatting and catching up on what was new in yeshiva life. As they turned onto the dimly lit street where the hosts home was, lo-and-behold yet another Jew appeared from the wintry darkness! It was another guest of the gracious host. The host introduced the two Americans and they shook hands with the man whom we’ll call Yosef.

They arrived at the host’s home. The door opened and the guests were greeted by the host’s wife and daughters beckoning them to leave the cold and dark and enter into the bright and warm. The guests filed in happy to escape. They gathered in the family room and removed their coats. Yosef’s wife, also an American, and son were already there. This lovely bunch of Jews was finally complete and needless to say, ready to eat.

The kids had their own table in the kitchen as the rest took their places in the dining room. The two young American men were both placed at the end, opposite the host and hostess, so they could see all and all could see them. The host began Kiddush much to the surprise of the young American man. Different customs perhaps? Perhaps I missed out? When the host finished Kiddush all slapped their heads and laughed


Oh!

My goodness!

We forgot Shalom Aleichem!

So the night began


They all washed and returned. At the head sat the host and to his right was his wife. To their right, on the side of the table, sat their older daughter, to her right, Yosef’s wife, next to her was Yosef, who was next to Shimon’s eldest son, who sat next to the young American at the end, who was next to his friend at the end, and at the side of the table next to the American’s friend sat Shimon, and next to him his wife, who sat next to the doctor’s wife, who was placed next to her husband, right near the end of the table where the host and hostess were.


Fish was served on a rectangle platter

With tongs that were shaped like fish


The conversation was great, the humor was dry, and the young American enjoyed every moment. The table was ever so vibrant. Many a good laugh they had as colorful exchanges were given all around. Of course, as the only two Lubavitchers and young Americans at the table, some fun was directed at the two gentlemen at the end who took it in good faith and even returned some chides to their Australian friends. As the courses changed so did the topics of their conversations.

All the other men were involved in daf-yomi which the young American man found to be quite intriguing. They told him how profound and unifying it was, how they it enabled them to know all the background information for all our laws and customs and how you could meet a random Jew on a plane who’s also doing daf-yomi and learn with him for the whole flight. The host had just completed the entire Sanhedrin, a big accomplishment, and the meal had more (often humorous) references to Sanhedrin than the American thought possible.

For much of the meal the young man was put on the hot-seat by Yosef. His respectful, well thought out, and practical questions kept the Lubavitcher on his toes as he navigated the very engaging discussion about Lubavitch, Moshiach and the Rebbe, and the meaning of and what is a leader of a generation. He managed to hold his ground though, leaving the rest of the table well informed and himself acutely aware of how much he needs to learn.


Desert was served

Great (parve) cheesecake!

Melted chocolate!

Lemon moraine [reader's correction: meringue] pie!

Fruit!

Marshmellows!

Gummy bears!

Liquorish!

Jelly Bellies!

Oh goodness!


When desert was served everyone mutually fell into a sing-song mood. Their host passed out benchers that contained a good deal of songs within them. Being Lubavitchers, the young men at the end were hardly familiar with some of the songs, but they were able to follow and sing along with most.


One song after another

Singing singing singing


The young American man’s friend was quite musically inclined. However, he himself did not habitually sing loudly being himself too self-conscious. He looked around to all those at the table. This was no setting to be at all insecure. He was in an atmosphere where perfection was not at all expected. There was no pressure. No judging eye deciding how well he knew his stuff. At this table there were Jews and that’s all they were; Jews. They grew not beards nor wore hats and jackets. These people were to the young American what he was to them; another fellow doing what he can, the best he can, with a few wise words to share. He realized these people were just like him: mortal, with things that they worry about, things that they laugh about, and their Jewish heritage to unite them.

As the young American man looked around at these people, singing and smiling, joking and talking, words of torah and words of random, he decided to sing as loud as we wanted to.

He even led the bentching. Stuttered a bit. Messed up twice because of different customs, but he didn’t care. He laughed.

The meal ended but the young American man and his friend stayed. Played cards with the host’s children. Finally in the end, the said goodbye to their host, thanks for the meal and until next time.

Half-past one, the two young American men entered the cold. Not a soul in the street, not a car on the road. They walked on the long track home, talking and laughing about the highlights of their meal. As they traveled on the empty road, save for last of trams whizzing past to that mysterious place where all trams sleep, it started to drizzle. Being neither a soul on the street nor a car on the road, all you could hear was the sound of the piddle piddle piddle of rain and two American laughs.

They arrived in yeshiva way late at night. A few were still up and wanted to know where the heck they were.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Fabrenging Old School

This guy,

He too religious for these bochurim huh.

Naw

He’s just an

Old school chassid

And he’s callin’ out all the stuff I always do…

Eating in zal

Eating cake before davening

Eating in restaurants

Eating a hot dog with ketchup and mustard on it


He knocked us for the way we eat, drink and sleep

You know, the fundamentals of human existence

And he told stories from the old-school-Lubavitch days

  • Throughout his fabrengen he asked “Are ya ready for this or are ya not ready for this?” eleven times (and then proceeded to tell us anyway)
  • He said “this is gonna knock ya socks off when ya hear this” five times
  • “Hold on to ya seats cuz this’ll blow you away” – four times
  • “…cuz this ones gonna knock off ya shoes cuz ya already lost ya socks.”
  • “If ya don’t got prahplems yeh dead.”
  • “…big fat hippopahtamus …” –regarding the yetzer hara


He was the kind of fabrenger that would call you out:

“Hello, sir, in the corner. [from way across the room mind you] How are you sir? Are you with the program? Then why don’t ya listen a little.”

Oh snap


The guy was Fredikre rebbe style. It was a classic what-the-heck-is-wrong-with-you-do-you-know-what-they-used-to-do kind of ordeal. Yiras shamayim, doing it right, not making excuses to justify or make ourselves all holy, and all that jazz.


He was a tad intense about though

“yeh gonna put ketchup on yeh hotdog?”

But it’s what us bochurim need to hear sometimes

And he said that right when I finished making the most amazing mixture of humus and salsa and was about to dip chips into it.

Come on, give me a break


At one point it started to rain. Such a memorable scene. Everyone sitting around a huge rectangle made of tables. Listening to the rabbi from across no man’s land*. There’s no noise but his voice and the torrent of rain striking the skylights above us in the huge expanse of the zal made me think:

Dang

I’m so lucky to be here


That coffee I have before davening?

You’re gonna have to pry that from my cold dead fingers



*no-man’s land is a term I made up for the absolutely wasted space that constitutes the inner area of the square of tables. The bochurim are prone to risk throwing a bag of chips or a roll of tissues across it per request of a fellow peer. If it doesn’t make it across and lands in no-man’s land then it stays there, unless a daring soul goes under the table and nabs it if it’s close enough and most of the time they make it back safely.