D'var Torah: Naso

At 176 verses, Parsha Naso is the longest Torah portion of them all. It only seems fitting to me that I be allowed to speak on this parsha, as 4 1/2 months is the longest time I’ve ever been away from my family, on my own ever in my entire life. There are three main parts to Parsha Naso: the Nazarite laws; the Sotah; and the priestly blessing. I’m going to put most of these three things aside and talk to you mostly about the Nazarites, those long haired feaky people.

The Nazarite laws state three simple things:

• they cannot drink wine or any form of grapes
• they cannot cut their hair
• and they cannot touch the dead.

Not too demanding right?

Nazarites are the only people who are as holy like the priests but without any of the responsibilities. Any one can be a nazarite too, you don’t have to be only from the tribe of Levi like the Kohainim or the priests do.

Interestingly enough the people who historically chose to be Nazarites where often adolescents who were trying to escape the negative temptations of the world. It makes sense to me that teens would choose this, since even in today’s world we face so many temptations: physical, mental, sexual, experimental, temptations on who we want to be, look, act, dress, speak, think, play.

People would become a Nazarite in order to detach themselves from society, but still be a part of the practices and worship. They rejected any form of grape product in order to not derive any of the pleasures of life, which is what wine symbolizes. By not touching or coming in contact with the dead they detached themselves from the unpleasant parts of life as well. The nazarite in today’s terms embodied the ideals of abstinence, the idea of resisting and waiting for the right and socially accepted time to give in to these temptations.

The priest cut off all of they’re hair (except for their payot) and nazarites didn’t cut their hair at all. The two extremes showed holiness. The idea of trimmed well kept hair speaks to the idea of balance and being able to restrain oneself from to much of a good thing and still maintain some holiness as well. Today we are able to understand how to limit ourselves and rejoice and enjoy life’s pleasures but still know when enough is enough. The nazarite showed sometimes you had to go to the edge in order to know where the middle is.

The idea of allowing anyone, man or women, or elderly, be as holy as the priests is in itself a very interesting and unique idea. It implies that being holy isn’t something to be reserved for only those of a certain tribe, age, gender, or social strata - that holiness is available to all. In a way, it permits the fulfillment of Hashem's commandment that we be "a kingdom of priests and a holy nation".

No one is 100% certain why anyone would want to be a Nazarite. The Torah doesn't say. But I understand on a personal level that compelling need to be holy, to live your life differently than the path normally taken. You see, the path I’m on isn’t leading straight to college or the other normal things. I’m looking more at the path of making aliyah and going into the Israeli Army.

That is, the road less traveled.

The land of Israel draws me to it like the letters to the torah. During the past four and a half months I grew in ways I didn’t know I would, or even could. Spiritually I grew, waking up every morning to see the sunrise and pray morning shachrit because to miss one sunrise would have been a shame. Hearing that sweet and beautiful ancient Hebrew language spoken all around me lulled me to sleep every night and followed me everywhere. While on yam l’yam - literally "sea to sea" - I hiked across Israel from the Galilee to the Mediterranean, on the last night of our camping and smelling very much like the Israelites who wandered through the desert for forty years probably did, we slept out under the stars. I didn’t sleep that night, I couldn’t, and everything was too beautiful to close my eyes. The breeze was to sweet smelling to let my sub-conscious mind take over and for my senses to not take it all in.

Why would I want to live a life so extremely different from the one I was born into? The same can be asked to that of the Nazarites - why would they want to do what they did? Maybe we’re the same people, Israel for me is that lover I long to be with, and without him I’m lost. Like the Nazarite, I’ve made my own vows: to come back to the home which, although far from my family, is where my my heart truly lies.

In Israel, I sit around and didn’t get a tan like the other girls, (I don’t ever tan, I reflect!). I didn’t try to meet any boys - Israeli or otherwise. Instead, I met up with my future. I saw myself driving through Jerusalem on my way to my home in Hertzelia, or where ever it may be; meeting up with my friends and making Shabbat dinner; singing daily prayers and psalms. At one point I wrote home saying “I've begun to feel myself being wrapped in eretz yisrael, as I become one with it. In more than just one way I found my family here.”

My Dad says "writing well means never having to say 'I guess you had to be there' ", and that in my words I've been able to bring people along on, to help them experience a connection without having to be there.

Maybe that's the secret to the Nazarite - they wanted what I want: to choose to live differently not out of selfishness, but in order to share, to serve as a link between the daily life which is important and necessary and the extraordinary and holy.

Shabbat shalom!

This was my father's letter to me, sent right before I came back home...

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Prelude
The Kabalists tell us the story of creation through their mystical lens:

Hashem, infused in every molecule
spinning inside each atom and neutrino.
The first act of creation was to make the nothingness,
hanging holiness like lanterns to light the way.
The spherote shattered in a-dam/dirtperson's first sin
Godliness spilling, blending, twisting, merging,
ruining the perfect havdallah

Premise
Our mission, which we accepted
mere moments ago
at Har Sinai
is to expose, uncover, unveil, unearth
the bits of blessedness
collect it to us
tuck it safely in the deep pockets of our nefesh
to be delivered at the end of our travels

Preparations
In these last hours and minutes,
remember that job,
the task you took on during that infinte moment
when God's voice plucked at the strings of our soul,
Truth singing through you

I can't explain how you could
Walk out in the morning's first light
spread your arms, hands, fingers wide, like a net
collect the rays of sun.
I have no trick for catching the wind,
capturing it in your hair, your cloths
So that it will survive the 7,000 miles to us

So do this instead:
Before you go, walk barefoot across the ground.
Promise that no matter how clean you get,
Israel's soil will remain between your toes.

During your break, ignore the doctor's advice
go out without your hat
until you feel the tips of your ears heat from the sun
Promise that even after red fades to tan and eventually to peach,
You will always walk in Jerusalem's light

If you can get back there,
walk once more to the Kotel
Rub your hands raw against the ancient stones
Promise that even after the scabs and scrapes fade
Holiness will be held in every handshake

Imprint Israel, make it part of every sense

Promises
I won't say don't cry.
What a waste that would be.

Cry for the joy of the gift you have received
Cry for those who didn't live long enough to see the things
that became mundane to you, in the months you were there
Cry in frustration for the friendships that will fade
when the distance between you is more than a dorm room.
And cry for joy at the ones that won't.

Water the Land with your tears.
Plant a seed fashioned from your soul
and marvel at what will grow
in holy soil.

T'shuva (Return)

Outside in the warm Israeli summer air, the chatter of girls is all around me, sitting outside, trying to concentrate, trying to clear my thoughts. My head is distracted by thoughts of leaving. My heart is heavy, filled beyond capacity it seems with the the friendships that I know will be hard to keep in the weeks ahead.

Here in this place of chaos I've learned so much about myself - things I never thought possible, things I didn't even know existed. I've learned how I survive without the guidance of my parents, without the constant reinforcement of “the rules”.

I will be going home to a different chaos, which I know won't be as relaxing as I am wishing it to be. I want to stay, I want to never leave. I want to know that this period of fun and learning, this time of kesher (connection) will stay with me forever.

These people who walked so calmly (at least they seemed calm to me, frazzled and frenzied as I felt inside) into my life and made such a difference - I want them to come home with me.

I feel sick inside. Going to Israel is called “Aliyah”, “going up”. But it's as if the transition home is giving me the bends, as if I am rising up out of the depths of learning, out of the complete immersion of The Land and back toward the thin glaring harshness of the surface, where nothing is as meaningful.

I am comforted knowing that not a single moment spent here in Israel was wasted. Every laugh was cherished every smile had a reason, every song sung with passion. Everything happened for a purpose, not one moment was spent without knowing that it was not the happiest time of my life.

It's come down to the last 2 weeks, and I feel as if I will hate them and and love them more than any 2 weeks of my life. The strongest and most sincere emotions are coming forward, and I don't know how I will deal with it all.

But with the help of these amazing friends that I've made, for the rest of my life and on, I know that I'll get through.

Perspectives: Returning from Poland

A butterfly was caught in the window of a gas chamber. How it got there, and how it continues to survive there, I don't know.

In Poland I felt like there was a piece of glass between me and the rest of the world - something that was keeping me from being able to reach out emotionally and connect with or be a part of the rest of the world.

When the plane landed back in Israel that barrier shattered into a million pieces - 6 million to be exact - and I swept all 6 million shards of glass up and buried them all individually into the holy ground of Israel. I found myself making many vows (privately, to myself only): To never cut my hair, after seeing the clothing and sea nets that they made out hair taken brutally and painfully; To put others before me, because by making sure that I act humanely, I win against Hitler; To choose my words more carefully, as I've seen they effect people just as much as blood and war and death can, if not more. I vowed to face the world as it is, because pretending or ignoring lead to suffering.

I vowed to never forget that I'm strong and can handle it.

I vowed to move through this life with eyes wide open, taking it all in. Nothing is to be forgotten and nothing overlooked.

I'm no longer a butterfly contained by the glass in a window. The window is open and it's my time to fly.

Olive drab, desert bloom

BANG...BANG....BANG...BANG.... "Ouch!".

The M16 gun that I'm shooting screams loudly through the sound proof headphones that I'm wearing. I feel the hot metal of a shell casing hit my face, flying sideways from the person's gun next to me as she shoots her 11 rounds as well. I'm not sure what I'm doing with this large murder device, I'm just shooting it to get it done with. I can't stand the smell of the gun smoke, the sound of the bullets leaving the barrel, the feeling of the gun itself, it makes me feel dirty and grimy all over. I finish shooting follow the commands given and sit at attention and wait for further instruction. I hate this part of the reality of being in the army. The running and the push-ups was nothing compared to this. My only motivation to shoot it at all was the thought that it was 11 less bullets that wouldn't kill or hurt someone else.

I go to scratch my leg after I've been let out of the shooting range and realize that it's bleeding. I look over and see why - I had walked into some barbed wire in the rush of the adreneline and hadn't felt it cut my leg. I pour some water over it and let it dry itself out naturally. I take in the pain, seemingly the only thing that this week has brought me.

In our army uniforms we all looked absolutely ridiculous. No worries about the boys being attracted to any of the girls in this outfit, we all look like crosss dressers with no fashion sense. Plus, we're all really gross. You could say I became a really dull blonde during the week of Gadna, or you could take a closer look and simply see all that dust and dirt in my hair from all of the rolling and crawling and crazy other things we where doing in the dirt.

I found things to appreciate though. First off I never once had to worry about clothing, we where all wearing the same general thing, so who cares what you look like! Second we all smell bad, so no one really cares what anyone smells like, we all contribute to the general bad smell. Last but not least, we're all just trying to get through the day without having to do to many extra push-ups or any extra excersize.

After this 4 day taste of army life, I've decided I could - and will - survive basic training. I will survive it because when I make aliyah in another year, if I didn't take time to serve, I wouldn't be able to call myself a citizen, either.

The Land of my Sojourning

Life was never ment to be an easy thing. Living is not a concept or a theory or even an idea. It's something that many people feel like it should be a choice, living is not an option, it's a commandment.

There are so many people here who don't want to live for some reason or another. I'm finding it harder and harder to be simpathetic for some people, I'm finding that the people who I originally hang out with, aren't the people I'm drawn to.

The way my heart feels now is hard, I'm tired no matter how much I sleep, I'm upset and angry with anyone who've gotten close to me, or trying to be all that even if they're not. I'm not sure what I want anymore, trying to guide myself is a lot harder than I thought.

I like my roomates but, I also am not close with them. I long for the friends I can spill my guts to and just cry to. I need to cry but it won't come out. I'm scared, upset, I'm happy and overjoyed.

I love everything about this country everything about this land, I'm learning so much and benefiting from it. I'm happy with the "friends" I've made, but I want my Mommy, I want her here when I'm not feeling well, when I'm tired and can't get to sleep. I want her here when I lead services, or when I read Torah. I want my family, I want my security blanket. I want to cry and let it all out, the pain, the joy, the fears, the loss and the sorrow. I want to know why I'm really here, and I want to just be done. Just like our ancestors travled so many miles to find the promised land, I'm traveling thousands of miles to find myself.

I try to figure out who I am, I'm a 17 year old girl, trying to find my way through a dark wet tunnel. The tunnel is filled with sharp rocks, animals, other people trying to find their way as well, and no light to guide us. Some of us speak the same language while other's speak languages I don't know. I try to climb over or around them, somtimes it's a full out brawl, other times it's just an exchange or words. Sometimes they're kind enough to tell me about something on the way.

My hands are dirty and have cuts, my knees are bloody, the scars tell the story of the battles I've been through. Some are deeper than other's, some are just scratches. I can't see where I'm going, there's no light, but I keep looking.

I hope to one day see what my face looks like, I can't wait to be with the people who are like me. I can't wait till I find me, so until then I crawl through this hole, holding back my tears, keeping my guard up, and praying that I get there soon.

Dreams and Visions

I've begun to feel myself being wrapped in eretz yisrael, as I become one with it. In more than just one way I find my family here.

I imagine Kaleb running across the green field, a date in his hand to eat, laughing, singing, and talking in Hebrew with other children around him. I see Joram, talking in very fast, sloppy, and happy Hebrew with his classmates. I can picture Isabelle and I both talking to each other and on the phone with friends in comfortable slang-filled Hebrew, and then switching to English in front of friends, but none the less, smiles stretched to their fullest, and radiating love and a heavenly glow. I see dad, going to and from work in his car here, learning the language as he goes, but a smile on his face in a job he loves and is happy to be in. I see mom, picking up phrases during the day, and basking in the warm Israeli sun, her hair turning blonder each day, and making friends with the others around us. I see all of us walking to a nearby park, a Shabbat lunch in tow, and just enjoying each other's company, all of us talking, being Jewish no matter what, tzittzits hanging freely, wearing skirts, and 3/4 length sleeves or whatever it is we choose.

I see my family here, I see the family I may one day have, and create myself here.

I see in the streets the sheep that once roamed the hills, my ancestors all around me. The battles that took place here, the celebrations, the losses, the victories, the forfeits, in this land with every step I take, I see it all before me. I understand better how and why I pray and am proud to be a Jew, I feel my connection to G-d growing stronger, my areas of questions coming up more often and my hesitation to question them shrinking back.

I feel myself as a person growing, a deeper understanding of who I am coming around, my body grows stronger in pace with my mind.

I've grown so much in just 2 weeks, it's impossible to imagine I could grow any more in the next 3 and a half months. I'm grateful that there is more time ahead than has passed. I love this land too much to give it up just yet...

Loss

As with all life event's, there's a beginning and an end. Today we said goodbye to one of the kids in my unit for at least a short while, how long, we're not exactly sure, but he plans on coming back.

Today we found out that the father of one of the boys in my unit passed away Friday morning. A heart attack.

So while many of use are staying in our rooms feeling icky cause we're coming down with the common cold, he's flying home to only be met with the worst possible thing, the loss of a parent. The idea of coming home to an incomplete family, or one in which someone I love very much wasn't there, would make me question my faith in G-d or even my veiw on life and religion, or what life has in store for me.

At Friday night services, peoples eyes where filled with tears of sorrow, our songs are not so joyful nor uplifting. All over the campus is a quiet and solemn air, those who knew this young man well grieve in pain for his loss, and those who don't know him so well try to comfort them. Our talks and daily discussion become carefully spoken. We're all treading on thin ice, not wanting to say something offensive nor say something to sensitive. For this Shabbat we walk on our eggshells, treading on silent feet and praying for him to come back soon and for our community of learning to be whole once again.

Shabbat #2

I'm kissing the wall, my eyes are closed, in my head I hear voices. No I'm not crazy, these voices are talking to me. They're singing, they're singing the shabbat prayers. I find a crack in the great and mighty wall putting my lips up to it, and singing into it those familar sabbath prayers that have so many memories attached to them. I hear Joram singing loudly, not really aware of how loud he is, but knowing his prayers are reaching G-d loud and clear. I hear Kaleb, singing clearly where he knows it, and watching peoples mouths carfully where he doesn't. I hear Isabelle and Jenna next to me, the three of us singing and trying to not laugh as Jacob, Kaleb, Joram, Anastasia, Phil, or Jonah does something only they can get away with. I hear Marci singing next to me, and singing loudly when Jenna, Isabelle, or I does something we shouldn't and giving us that hard stare with the look of "really?" on her face. I hear Mom, singing next to me, making sure we're all doing what we're supposed to be doing and not misbehaving since it's one of the few things we do best, but also making sure, we're having fun, but not to much fun, only a nice healthy dose of it. I hear Dad, harmonizing along, being himself, and smiling at the community we have, and the family of ours that we love so much. I see everyone around the shabbat table, Mr. and Mrs. Fink, Uncle Phil, Aunt Alicia, Marci, Mom and Dad, all of us kids (There's really to many to name.) I sing to the wall, and pray hard for so many things. I pray for dad to get a better job, or at least one that he likes. I pray for all of these wars to end. I pray for people to use better judgement, and have a more open heart. I pray for the day when being a Jew isn't something you must worry about hiding, but something to be proud of. I pray for my family to join me here in Israel, this land that's so magical, it's my neverland, my heaven, my place where I am at home, my niche in this biome around me. I press my hand to the now warm surface of the wall, and feel that it's wet as well, I was crying and I did not know. I realize how much I miss my family, biological or unbiological, it does not matter to me. I say one last prayer, not one written in a book, nor pounded into my head, but one I felt needed to be said.

"Please G-d, let this world hear the music of life, and let it move them to a higher place."
Shabbat Shalom

Shabbat #1

My fingers run over the smooth surfaces, finding the places in between that are rough or hard to find. My hands guide me along the wall like brail on a page I begin to see the mysteries before me unfold, like a story in a book, the triumphs and the failures begin to unfold. I come to a spot where my body drags me against the warm rock. I press my face gently to it, taking in everything, the smell of history around me, the sounds of prayer and being there for the first time.

Next to me the woman is crying, for what reason I don't know. I keep praying. "Barauch atah Adonai..." I begin, filling in with the rest of the prayer I've come to know by heart. My hand brushes the hand of the woman next to me and I rest it there. I hold her hand her tears fall against my hand. This stranger that I don't know, I help and comfort her, her head on my shoulder and me praying. My prayers I know have reached Hashem. Praying for more than just myself, the tears begin to flow down my own cheeks. I wipe them off, bid my crying friend goodbye, and turn to return to the rest of the group.

The wind flows over my face, and I breathe it in, shabbat is in the air. Back at the kibbutz, we come in to begin tefillah. The Rabbi asks quietly if anyone know a this one niggun, I do. I begin humming along with him. People look up as if to question what's going on, some look at me with strange looks on their faces, other's give me a pitiful look. I keep singing, and soon, everyone has joined in. My soul begins to reach Hashem as I let my soul unwind from all of the weeks troubles and self concious worries, or any other such tiresome care. I place my heart in my hands, and raise it to G-d, I pray a full shabbat evening service, even though we're only doing a reform service. I sing the tunes that the Beth-El'ers use. I harmonize where no one else but my family does.

I smell Mom's challah all of sudden, and my eyes are filled with tears, as I remember what I'm missing. The challah here pales in comparison, the foods okay, but nothing I'd really eat to satisfy my cravings, just to keep me healthy.

I so much miss home, but I'm in love with this country that it's hard to find a specific balance between the two. And as I sit here in my room all by myself, in the quiet solitude of my own company, I'm able to hear it as just one more helpful voice telling me where my heart is. It's not with the boys, they're to over-rated for now. It's not with the girls here, for as amazing as some of them, I just haven't been intruiged nor wanted them. It's in the history of Judaism and where my ancestors and my family's ancestors came from. It's in the language that is spoken so beautifully here. It's in the place where my parents are and where my dreams meet them at night. It's why I wake up at night crying softly sometimes. It's why I'm not wanting to tell people things anymore. The silent geeky kid, the one who know's everything. That's me to everyone else who can't see deeper into me. It's why I know more about themselves than they do, I've grown up, I don't shed my tears over them, I shed my tears for those who couldn't come, for my parents who aren't coming. I shed tears for being able to be here, to expierence this and yet not wanting it because no one is here to share it with me. I shed my tears for the emotions I have but can't explain, for the hug I need but can't receive, for the people I love so much but can't see right when I need them. I shed tears for reason's only I feel important.

Tonight I shed my tears because I cannot be with you on this shabbat, for the portion that I don't get to discuss, for the things I miss now seem more important. Life is good, it really is, but it's not home either. Things get better day by day, we become closer, I talk a little more, I breathe a little easier, I speak a little more freely. I use less duct-tape on my mouth to hold myself back. I love this place but I hate not having you here. I need you but I need to rely on myself, and this is hard, but I can do it... Hineni... Here I am.........


Shabbat Shalom,
Heather

Day three

As I sit in the near quiet confines of my now nearly evacuated room, I'm able to get into the mindset to be able to finally write. Between the emotional conflict that is constantly running inside of me as I try to figure out how I indeed do feel about this country and how I feel about the people here I am able to enjoy certain moments as they come and go.

Besides unintentionally labeling myself as a nerd in Judaic History class, I'm able to enjoy everything that I'm learning. So far we've begun by learning some basic gamatria, it's really cool actually, all those letters having numeric value, and the rules along with it. Going to the archeological dig was pretty cool as well, despite my fears of being crushed to death and no one ever hearing me or saving me only to be found by some archeologist many years later and being discarded as unimportant. I was able to find what I believe to be a femur of an animal. My theory is that the room we where searching in was used as a food storage room or a slaughter house. I was identified as a great classmate (I knew the answers to all the questions the teacher asked as well as many other others. In hebrew class I've found that so far it's reletively easy, I'm in level 5, there are 6 levels. With a whopping 6 other classmates, 7 counting myself, I have a strange feeling that I won't actually be in this class for to long, we're starting in the middle of our book anyway. I once again proved my a nerd using vocabulary that most kids didn't understand. Unfortunately I don't know the past tense very well, and so I can't move up a level yet. Algebra went really well, there are 9 kids in my class, and as far as I can tell from the syllabus we're covering a lot of stuff that I already know. That's good though, my teacher (Jen Gold), is really cool, she teaches things in a way I pick up really fast....in song! I now have a song to remember things like the quadratic equation. I haven't had chemistry yet I go to that very soon though and I'm actually really excited for that.

Between missing everyone at home, peeing 5 rivers a day, and helping everyone else feel good about themselves and being used as a therapist while I actually IM, facebook chat or e-mail other people, things are okay. Homework is really light for right now....I say that very cautiously though. Tomorrow we go to the kotel for Shabbat, we're still spending it on the kibbutz, and unlike our trip to the archeological dig where I found out that after you drink 2 and a half liter's of water, if you feel like you have to go you HAVE to go, I now know that I will be using the bathroom every time I get the chance.

Anyway, last night as I complained I found peace with the cool wind blowing all around me, the stars shining above me, and the spirit of Israel all around me whispering "it's going to be okay" in my ear, G-d wrapping his/her arms around me like a protective blanket or a shield there to help me through the tough times.

Well I will have more to tell you later and in about an hour or two I will be on again. I've got Chemistry class soon and then I'm done for the day. I can do my homework in peace and quiet and talk to you as well without anyone else there to bother me! I love you all and will talk to you all later.

Leheetraot!

Day Two

So at the moment, my emotions are getting the better part of me. I'm holding it all together, or at least trying to. I have about an hour until I need to go meet my general studies teachers. I also have to go get a bunch of stuff changed because it says I'm in all three of the classes that I pulled out of, I'm not sure though, but I'm getting it taken care of.

We prayed weekday morning shachrit today, and it was the best thing of my life. There were so many moments of the day that just made me feel like I was where I needed to be at the right time. Starting out we began singing a niggun that no one knew what so ever, but within a few moments the room was filled with over half of us struggling to learn it and singing along with the guitar.

I'm gradually making more friends...kind of. I'm not doing so well at it, I'm not quiet, just a lot of people already know each other and aren't exactly working on making other friends either.

I got put in the highest intermediate class, I'm the closest to being put into the advanced class. I'm really proud of myself the teacher told me that I spoke really well, and that she can tell I understand at the level of an advanced student I just don't have enough vocabulary to get there.

It's so beautiful out here. I woke up this morning at about 4:30am, and just looked outside, my room has a view of Jerusalem, and I watched the sunrise and said a shehechianu. I sneezed 3 times, Katie told me to make a wish, and all I could wish for was that you guys were here. I can tell that I'm starting to become homesick. It feels like camp, but at the same time I can tell this wasn't what I thought it would be. It's so much more, and I haven't even gotten to the half of it just yet. I've not taken any pictures yet, I'm going to do that tonight I think, but I've been in a lot of pictures.

I'm the only Heather in the group, the official count in 119 kids. All of my counselors are amazing. We're taking a field trip tomorrow to the archaeological dig tomorrow I think, but I could be wrong.

I'm attempting to not cry right now. I don't know why I'm going to cry, but I know that emotionally I'm so overwhelmed.

I found out that the kibbutz produces safety glass, which is good cause I run into a lot of things, so at least I know I won't break anything.

I've been doing a ton of walking and my tushy is killing me! I'm going to have buns of steal when I get home.... fun! Anyway, not much of the great life changing blogs yet. I'll probably write one tonight or tomorrow or sometime this week. So that's my update for right now as of my break today!

I love and miss you all way more than I would ever normally admit to.

Don't worry daddy, the guys still see me as a wall flower and as someone who's funny and apparently the only person who can sow and mend clothes.... I've already made about 5 repairs to jeans, sweaters, shirts...etc. okay time to go calm down and see if any of you are on-line and talk to you if you are!

D'var Torah: Shemot

I could give you the whole synopsis of this weeks' parsha, but I’m pretty sure that Disney already did that with the movie The Prince of Egypt. Dad keeps telling me there was another movie before that one too. So instead I’m going to think a little abstractly and relate this to me, after all it does seem to be what teens do best.

I was looking at this week's portion and the part that caught my eye is at the part where Moses’s mother puts him in a basket and places him in the Nile. Such blind faith seems unrealistic in today’s time. That a mother could believe that her child will make it without a mother’s protection is quite an extreme, especially for a baby. As Richard Friedman points out, she's betting that the same river where all the other Jewish babies are being drowned is somehow going to save hers. I initially thought that baby Moses was perfectly quiet during his journey – that Prince of Egypt thing again – but then I read the portion and found out he was weeping. But a midrash in the JPS Tanakh says he sounded like a toddler and not a baby, obviously Moses was not a normal child!

At this moment, I can relate on a very personal level to Moses situation – to be put into a small confined space, and rather loudly wonder where on earth you’re going and when you’re going to get there. You see, in 8 short days I will leave my home for Israel, my other home. As part of the Eisendrath International Exchange I will be spending the rest of this semester there. I will be getting into my own basket, placed there by my loving parents, and going down my own Nile. It is a river in which, right now, many mothers are losing their babies, but in which my parents (and I) feel I will discover my life. Who will open my basket I don’t know, but by my blind faith I will go on my own.

Another interesting midrash explores why pharaoh’s daughter reaches out for the basket. They say that she heard a cry for help and reached out towards it to help. A while back some archaeologists found some biblical scenes depicting pharaoh’s daughter reaching out with abnormally long arms to receive the basket. The rabbi’s go on to say that it means that one shouldn’t stop at any lengths to help another. The sages also say that the daughter of pharaoh was stricken with leprosy, so she went down to the River to bathe herself. As soon as she touched the basket, she was healed and because of this she took pity on Moses and loved him even more.

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Shemot means names, our names are one of the most important things in our life. They give us an identity. If I called anyone of you, “hey you!” instead of Mom, or Mrs. Shiloh, or Mr. Gabonea, it wouldn’t be the same. The meaning would be lost. Pharaoh's daughter explains that the name it is related to “mashah” or “draw out” since he was drawn out of the water. But Mashah also meant son of. The Egyptians used it to name their children and put one of their gods names in front of it – Ramaseh, Batmaseh and so on. Whether intentionally or not, Pharaoh's daughter named the baby “son of the nameless G-d” or Hashem. What is even more interesting is that for the first 3 months of Moses’s life, he has no name. Not in Torah or in Haftorah, we are not told of what he’s called before Pharaoh’s daughter names him. To begin in the world on such a journey but without anything to be called by seems quite difficult, especially for 3 months. But it’s hard to think of the name Moshe as not being someone of greatness, power, and leadership. For Moses’s gave it all that and more. Becoming Shemot – growing into a name - is more than just being given a name, but giving it meaning, life, an image, a personality. There is a poem that was passed along to me, dealing explicitly with this week’s portion and the ideas of Becoming (Shemot) by Rachel Barenblat;

BECOMING (SHEMOT)
But Moshe said to God
Who am I to go to Pharaoh?
And God said
I will be with you
I am becoming who I am becoming
it is time for you to do the same
everyone else walked right by
but you saw the miracle burning
Pick up your staff now
and make yourself ready
The journey ahead is long
and generations will comb their stories
to learn how you tied your shoes
and how to lead the people
with compassion and with vision
as you are about to do.

For me at this moment, I can relate to Moses the shepherd, being afraid of becoming. Most people have trouble with this concept. For me it’s more than just becoming myself, but living up to everything that I know I can do. I believe that we all had this problem at one point or another. For me it almost feels unrealistic, because I don’t like traveling into the unknown, and becoming all that I’m supposed to be, means taking a chance at blind faith and praying that it will all come out okay. It’s what we all seem to do everyday.

If this week's portion has anything to teach me about next week's journey, it's that it often begins with a parental push. It may have a destination that is foreign but friendly. It can define who I am and transform me so much that people may not remember I was ever anything else. And that Hashem isn't afraid to change, or of my changes so I shouldn't be either.

Shabbat Shalom