The Crown Heights Picture Blog

In recent years, our community has been blessed with a tremendous influx of photographic talent from the Holy Land. In general, the amount of talent that comes from such a small country is astounding, but israeli photographers are really something. Chabad is no different. I don't know what it is, but when they come to Crown Heights they seem to see everything in a different light. Our nuances are always obvious to them, even when they can't speak a word of our language. It never ceases to amaze how so many young photographers can make a "living" out of shooting ordinary life stills in a community in which so many people unfortunately find the redundancy and predictable lifestyle so stifling (SO not true btw... join our writing group for more info, cough, cough). Yet, through their lens, every street corner has it's own story... every black hatter wears it differently, every snowfall is a milestone, every farbrengen is historic, every rabbi is an influence, every child is unique.

One such talented individual started the Crown Heights Picture Blog I particularly enjoy his "ventures" past the green line, AKA the "Jewish border", or the grid we relied on as kids as "the safe zone". Many local photographers have focused on these and other parts of crown heights, bringing to life the dynamic dichotomy that the Heights is famous for. (One such guy is Hanan Ohayon, he's absolutely brilliant, look him up on facebook). The picture blog focuses on a lot on the architecture in the area. One of Brooklyn's best kept secrets is North Crown Heights and towards Clinton Hill and what survived of BedStuy. Its a very interesting place to explore. although it can get real sketchy in places, there's some interesting gentrification going on, where you'll see projects neighboring new hipster havens. The old homes are beautiful and unique. One can only imagine what a magnificent place this used to be.
Here are two links to the pictures:

http://chpictures.blogspot.com/2010/01/friday-220110.html

http://chpictures.blogspot.com/2010/02/tuesday-020210.html

A Bachelor's Prayer

In my life, G-d
let me not
forget you
what I meant to you,
you to me,
together we completed
what the world was meant to be

And
In my final days
let me not
look back in remorse
wondering
what would have been
for joy was lost
in fantasies
of irreversibles
and people I envied

But
most of all
In my final days
Let me not
see the writings of my youth
My dreams and quests, my truths,
and laugh
at the innocence
of an idealistic life
of hopes
destined to fade
as my father
from my mind

Registration Day

"Kingsborough: School by the sea"
the poster (sails billowing and all) declares.
Old and fading
A novelty for too long?

"Please enter your Social"
She commands with care
Another semester, another year
She's seen us come and gone.
Ghetto prodigies, bashful drop-outs
a revolving door of hope and promise
never staying
never lingering
Community College 101:
Get in, get out, get smart
Just get going

Someone mentions the weather.
I think,
I can think of worse rooms to work in
The view is the endless blue of the bay
not the eternal brick wall
Her work is simple
albeit methodical
Yet isn't all work, so?

How bad can it be
to smile at people and say
"Please enter your social young boy"
"Would you care to dream
in the school by the sea
about becoming a man
of the world
with knowledge to power
a journey
That is yours
all yours?"

I don't know how
we got to talking about how once back then
way back when
Oh perhaps it was the seventies
yet she talks as if 'twhere yesterday
One year the school had sailing
and oh how nice it was
to look out the window
for just that one year

What a shame they discontinued
She says
a bit mournfully,
and I realize
that in 30 years
nothing had changed in the room
nor the scenery
Could it have been
the last significant event since?

And I think
how sad must it be
to stand here every day
and smile at people
and say
"Enter your social young man
and pray you grow
to dream outside of this school
on the sea"

Snowetry Slam Night

This one’s dedicated to Cheerio (not in a MotOG-friendly kindof way of course) and to all who tolerate/love/can't live without winter


I don’t care.

My legs are soaking wet from running around in the snow
rolling around in it
chasing and tackling my friends
a bunch of twenty five year olds refusing to grow up
howling at the moon behind the clouds
pretending not to know where we are
for a few timeless moments

I don’t care
Because tonight is Winter
and i’m sitting in my room flanked by three windows which are half covered
with two-dimensional mounds of snow plastered against the bottom half of the panes
as if some great Winter God had miraculously thwacked it against my window
while in truth it had collected there one minuscule flake at a time
I don’t care because tonight is magic
and I am free to roll in it, laugh at it, eat it
to be free as a child, nostalgic as a spinster

My snow framed windows
put my desk in perspective
littered with unopened library books renewed 11 times stacked upon unread bought books
And overdue reminders that I can’t remember where to stick them so that I may remember them
Im writing this poem
on the back of a medical insurance form
i was supposed to send in a long time ago
Soon it will join many other forms and lost ambitions
In a dark stuffy drawer
But i don’t care

I don’t care
because tonight is Winter
and the world is coated in guilt free powder
pure as a child
like a protective coating
against the harsh reminders of reality
The burning sidewalks of New York
normally snapping with the sound of heels
pounding lost dreams and identities into the pavement
are eerily silent, muffled by a God-given tranquility
And the cars sweep by slowly
as if transfixed by the serenity that holds the air
So fresh and full you can eat it for dinner


Today I spent Shabbos (interesting grammar?)
with a family who lost two children in one year
And it seems as if every day younger people are getting cancer
And almost everyone knows someone
who died with some unexplainable turn of fate
But tonight I don’t care, tonight the slate is clean and we can dream
and mushy songs on the radio hit the spot


So let it effin snow
because tonight is winter
Because tonight I remembered that I can remember what it means to be alive

Hub a Freilichen

http://www.lionetwork.net/images/Hanuka-LH.swf

All you have to know to survive college

The secret to writing essays lies within the segues. A line that properly connects two paragraphs, ideas, or bubbeh mysses (mostly the latter for me) is the difference between a 5 page essay that reads as a 2 paged one (i.e. an A) and a 2 paged one that reads as a 10 pager (i.e. an F)!

Silent Night

He stood at the podium
his faced full of blood
from the heat of the body-filled room
and the pressure of the eyes all turned to him

The heavy room was silent
a pin dropped would be heard
Except for by him
for he heard nothing

At last he spoke
from a determination he did not know he possessed
Words, nervously chasing each other
A landslide of emotion
a toppling verbal fort
gaining momentum
as did his courage

He spoke of beauty,
isolation, peace, sadness and strength
He spoke of the sounds of things
the language of the cosmos, our thoughts turned action
Turned speech

The sounds of life
sweet and sour
Comforting as waves breaking
As simple as a single bird chirping
The sounds we often take for granted
until we hear it no more

Nostalgic and regretful
he pined for the life that was
When the world was full of sound,
resonated with life
He yearned for a simple tune
Oh just to hear a baby laugh
one more time!

He concludes
his soul bare
his breath spent
The audience erupts
He can feel the room vibrating with applause
and the light in their ecstatic faces
He is glad, relieved
As he returns to his seat
a stranger claps him on the back and whispers something
A word of encouragement
Perhaps
But he will never know
for he is deaf

Just another poet
alone in his words
Alone in our world

mi héroe Super Jew Moshe

In Memory of Rochie ע"ה

Tonight, the 13th of Av, is the first Yahrzeit (anniversary) of my sister's passing. Rochie was one of the most beautiful people I have known, inside and out. Perhaps it is cliche to say that God takes the best, but I can't think of another way to put it. Rochie was a model Jew, person, wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend, and for being a straight out Mentch. She had this special gift of being able to see past frivolity and self interest. She believed in doing the right thing plain and simple, whether or not it gave her more popularity or status did not even occur to her. She lived not for herself, but for her loved ones. Our lives now will never be complete without her love, her unforgettable smile, and a million moments, strengths and selfless gifts that we once took for granted, and now will never be.

On the morning following Shavuos last year, Rochie (who had no serious health issues prior) failed to wake up, possibly due to an aneurysm, causing her heart to go into cardiac arrest. On the way to hospital and in ER the paramedics struggled to keep her heart beating. Eventually they managed to "stabilize" her enough to move her to the CCU, where she remained in coma. The doctors said she needed a miracle, and hundreds of friends and strangers alike prayed for it. For seven weeks we Davened, cried, sang by her side. Hundreds of amazing people blogged and prayed, gathered and prayed, visited and prayed. Many took on resolutions to better themselves to merit her recovery; following in her example to excel in Ahavas Yisrael and to speak favorably of others. Even as she lay in her hospital bed, seemingly powerless, she managed to turn the world upside down. Even when we could no longer hear her reassuring voice, she continued to bring out the best in us, bring us together, helping us see the world through that special scope she had, that special gift.

On the 13th of Av, four days after her son's first birthday, 26 years and 7 months days after God blessed this earth with her presence, she was taken back to His holy abode. The void is overwhelming, her legacy beyond description.

Dozens of people sent in their stories of how Rochie had inconspicuously touched their lives. How she had reached out to them when others would not have thought of it. Rochie was the friend who gave you her all, the one who remembered your birthday, the one who could be there for you when else failed. No one knew she had made so had so many friends and admirers; she never made a deal of it. If she managed to affect the world so much in such a short lifetime, imagine if she was still here, imagine if she was able to continue raise her family and care for others. Without her, the world feels darker, lonelier.

Please do something that would make Rochie happy today. Call someone you've been meaning to call... Offer a smile to someone who can use it... Think twice before giving your opinion on others; Rochie's approach to constructive criticism was so uniquely sensitive; even when it came to shidduchim she couldn't bring herself to speak negatively about others, you had to read in between the lines...

Rochie, we know you are there, listening, as always, forever. Give us the strength, as always, to continue in your example, to reunite us again, with Moshiach. As you believed and waited, so will we… together.

אשת חיל מי ימצא....
בטח בה לב בעלה ושלל לא יחסר
גמלתהו טוב ולא רע כל ימי חייה

פיה פתחה בחכמה ותורת חסד על לשונה
צופיה הליכות ביתה
ולחם עצלות לא תאכל

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תהא נפשה צרורה בצרור החיים

LandArch in the Park with Yossi