Hub a Freilichen

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

All you have to know in order 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)!

Poetry Slam

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

{><}

תהא נפשה צרורה בצרור החיים

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring, Euphoria

Thank you dear friend
for sharing as much
on this most glorious of days
A poem, like the sun,
that reaches to our touch

Of all the countless gifts
G-d has bestowed
There is nothing quite like Spring
The world awakens!
Behold!

On a day like today
(still) having radio is a gift
albeit near antiquated,
for it lets your eyes, mind open,
'llows imagination to drift

(A Prairie Home Companion
is just the right muse
Be it with a cozy winter beverage,
a rain-soaked Autumn reflection
Happy days or blues)

As a child I'd lay
on a Spring afternoon
The bedsheets are crisp, the house glimmers,
aromas of Pesach, swiftly approaching;
Soon, soon!

Yet the clatter in the kitchen
seems miles away
My world is my clock radio, the azure blue sky
the voice of the Yankees;
It's opening day!

Through the crack in the window
I can almost smell the game,
as if through the air we share, the scent of Spring
I can almost see the sell-out crowd
shouting for Bernie! Tino! O'Niel!
Soon will come the crack
now comes the swing

R.I.P. Baseball

Empty luxury seats at the opening series of the new Yankees Stadium

(Blogger's Note: Please excuse the overly bitter tone; it just came out this way and I lack the "hey-scheck" to change it)

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5gSn19IpdZn7FbgJXU4k5wAqyPhWAD97NQ7VG1

Serves you right, you stupid, stupid people. You built a stadium for millionaires. Forever your approach has been single-minded; revenue, revenue, revenue. Even when you make your B.S. statements about how you’ve made some of the seats more affordable then they were before, it’s all with one thing in mind; keep the little guy happy as well, after all... someone needs to sit in the upper deck.
It’s all very logical, less seats in higher demand equals more dough then the other way around. And of course if you’re paying $2,000 to watch an overpaid, overrated team you shouldn’t have to sit next to a guy who doesn’t quite fit in his seat, doesn’t quite know when to stop buying $8 beers, and doesn’t quite know how to keep his dirty mouth shut. Purely logical. So build them a stadium within a stadium, guarded by ushers who will make sure no one who can’t afford to, won’t even pass in front of you. After all, why pay $2000 for a view just to have it obscured. Purely logical.

You forgot one thing though. You forgot how baseball was built, from the bottom up. The game was where the factory worker could leave his harsh world behind for a few hours of entertainment, excitement and a hope for victory. Where the kid who slaved all week hawking newspapers to buy a ticket for a buck twenty five came to dream. Why did he come? Because no matter how destitute the reality at home was, he could leave it behind at the majestic gates. Gazing upon the green field of his dreams, it was just him and his heroes. True, he wished he could afford a better seat, but it was still worth it. He may be too far away to see who was up to bat, but there was one thing he and the guy sitting in the box seat had in common, they both shared the same fence. Together they shared the joy, the sighs, the cheers, the tears, laughter, heartache. Together they prayed, hoped, swore, and knew that this year, this year would be different.

Baseball didn’t survive the depression because they raised the prices on the luxury boxes; it survived because everyone knew they were always welcome; at home. Where any kid could feel like a million bucks because he got The Mick’s autograph. (Today you can still get an autograph, if your parents are rich enough to buy The Mick so you can get close enough to the field) The field was a haven, an escape. But even baseball can’t escape greed. We loved the game so much, we allowed it to outgrow itself; greed feeding it like a drug. Like an artificially ballooned 70 home run hitter, the sport has spun out of control.

It's no wonder all across America baseball diamonds sit vacant, while the game prospers in third world countries. For a passionate player you need passionate fans who dream of becoming that player. And to attract those fans you need passionate players, not millionaires of whom you spend most of your time worrying about whether they will get injured or not.

R.I.P. baseball, I’ll miss you so much.

p.s. On a lighter note:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7VJjpeBnrs

Why Do We Eat?

Cute, very well done

How Jews Eat from MyJewishLearning.com on Vimeo.

Nigun ShVY"T (AKA "Tatenyu") ~ Cello

Chabad niggunim on the cello... why didn't anyone think of this before??

The haunting sound of the cello so perfectly captures the mood and character of the old-country niggun. Yet, the manner in which it has been recorded would have offended it's composers.

Perhaps it is symbolic of how the the movement has evolved. Although we pride ourselves in practices that Chabad'a founders may have considered sacreligious, it is still nice to know that the more things change, certain thing stay the same; just like the eternal purity of a niggun.

What do you think?