The way I see it

Who stole the cookie?

2011-03-04T12:19:00.000+11:00

I find this actually hilarious. Google comes up with connections we may never have thought of. Just check the ads on the right side. Oh, and while we're at it, Gmail in general is pretty funny. Ever played Snake from the homescreen? Enable Labs, it's a different world!

Who deserves to fight for their life?

2011-02-20T19:16:00.000+11:00

Does he deserve to pay for these crimes...
Who has the right
and who deserves to fight for their life?

Been a long time, been a long year, must stand up and fight for sholom
Been a long time, been a long year, we can't stay quiet any longer!

I just discovered this song, and I keep on playing it, over and over again, at least 30 times today, and I keep on rewinding it to 0:59.

And who deserves to fight for their life???

It strikes a chord (no pun intended) in my heart. Several. Several thousand.

But before I continue
With this terrible story
Let me bring you back in time...

Where to? To 1998, when we arrived in Adelaide? To 2002, when my parents thought I was out of earshot and my mother told my father she couldn't do it anymore, that the people were "just too plastic". Now I know what she means, I know it's a synonym for 'backstabbing' and 'generally being disgusting' but then I popped up with one of my smart-alec comments, "At least they're not being hard plastic!" To 2006, where it all officially started? To 2010, when the charges were dropped, and they went around telling anyone who would listen, "Oh, he should have at least gotten a slap on the wrist!" To just yesterday, on Shabbos, when I was at a friend's Chabad House and one of their people brought a friend, who she'd gone on Birthright with...Yes, of course, it is that girl I grew up with, the only other semi-frum ones in town; her younger sister and I were inseperable, closer than sisters, for some nine years. Until, coincidentally enough, 2006.
"Why aren't you friends anymore?" my friend's cousin asks, wide-eyed, when demands to know why my friend thinks I'm brave, and I explain briefly.
"Politics," I say, smiling in what I hope is braveness.

I don't want to talk
About this CEO
I want to remind you what we're fighting for...

I'm not looking for pity. I'm not trying to compare our situation with Rubashkin's. Just the pain is there, and whenever I hear about Rubashkin, it cuts me, deeply, because I know what his family feels like. I know what it's like, to have your family branded as criminals, to have it splashed across the news, to have police coming to your house at all hours of the night, to have cars and computers taken away and the worst words in the world, 'detained for questioning'...and of course they have it a thousand times worse than I can imagine, me with my deeply buried memories - those are just a fraction of their experience...

We can't stay quiet any longer!

I guess I should be happy that I can truly empathize? But I wish there was something I could do. I don't have anything, as I rewind yet again to 0:59 and the terrible picture comes up of Rubashkin in handcuffs...please daven for Sholom Mordechai Halevi ben Rivkah.

And check out "A Song for Sholom" on YouTube.

Heartrate: 180 beats per minute. Alive.

2011-02-15T20:15:00.000+11:00

Usually i love reading. Besides for the fun factor, it's my refuge when things get annoying, a way to lose myself in another's story, another's anguishes, so far removed from my own. I get totally absorbed in the story, practically swallowing the neat lines of text in my eagerness to find out what happens next. It's great.

I just came home, jubilant, bouncing around and generally feeling like I'm pumped with helium. I could just about fly out the window. I have been looking for so many years for a mashpia, I didn't have one when I really needed it, and it made me feel oh so guilty. <i> The Rebbe asked, a bakasha nafshis, and you still can't find one? Stop being such a perfectionist!</i> No one seemed right, and several times I came close to asking people but something inside me just rebelled. Them?!? How low have we fallen? But that is arrogance, to think that you can't learn from everyone, and still I struggled immensely with the idea.

It was in the weeks before camp that the idea struck me full force, in the middle of a lazy Shabbos afternoon, and I watched with amazement as it developed and grew more convincing by the minute. Could I? Would I? Should I?

I did. She said yes. And I am so over the moon, so very excited, so absolutely tingling with thoughts of things to come, that I can't even read a book. I don't want to forget my life in someone else's now, I want to live and actively shape mine.

--Sent from my Nokia X6 touch phone--

Row, row, down the street...

2011-02-07T20:28:00.001+11:00

Hiya all. Things are, for a change, a little crazy here.
It's not the work of Year 12. Ok, that is totally swamping, and most of my classmates are totally delirious with the sheer volume of, like, time we have to spend on this stupid thing but I happen to have one of the heaviest workloads in the grade (that's a topic for another time) so I'm pretty philosophical about it. As in, it's never all going to get done anyway, so have a poke at it tonight and if it shifts, do some more tomorrow.

Whatever! (Voted America's most annoying word last year, but watevs as we say here) No, that's not really the crazy thing; the nuts-as stuff is the computer sitch. For goodness' sake, we're in the 21st century! My laptop charger is languishing somewhere in the tangle of cables that is my father's 'office' (a corner of our small dining room) - incidentally, in a different city than me - so that one's out. I used up all but 1Mb of my phone's internet usage for the month on a few YouTube videos, and I love you dearly, blogger, but email comes first. FB is fortunately free, and by 'fortunately' I mean 'currently the only thing keeping me from drowning, or at least paddling down the street in a bathtub and capsizing'. Speaking of paddling, and streets, and capsizing, the computer in the place I'm staying at is out of commission because of the floods over here. Floods! Hi, world. Nice to meet you. I'm deluged.

With work, too, so I'd better be off before I can even explain how the school computers are mainly off limits too. I could say how it has to do with 4 subjects requiring summary notes typed up and that swallows all of my frees, plus more, and how excited I am to be on a laptop finally but I must run to finish one of those summary notes, but I really don't have time. I haven't typed so fast in a long time, I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

Oh, and person from Sw Europe who visited here 21 times on a Mac? Your secret is out, and I am demanding your Mac or else I shall reveal the precise times of your visits. Just call me 'nudnik-leaks'. And you Netherlander - fess up. I (wish I did) know who you are.

Late night love bright (gotcha, right?)

2011-01-26T02:52:00.001+11:00

1.30 am. A dark room, the waning moon shining through large picture windows the only light. Soft singing, tousled blankets and cheeky grins. A kiss.

Sounds...like someone hacked into my blogger account? Welcome, my dearests, to the world of double meaning, where an oddly commonplace happening turns scandalous.

It's sometime after 12, but before 4 (the air just has a different quality after 4...might be the more-caffeine-in-it-factor) and I'm just thinking about going to sleep when I hear...voices. High pitched voices. Not the most common occurrence when the only people awake are a teenaged boy and a man well past teens. All the high-pitchniks are asleep, and these voices are *decidedly* awake. I go to investigate. It is, of course, the 2 and 5 year olds. 'Dovid, what are you doing up?' I ask wearily.

'I didn't close my eyes, I opened them,' he explains helpfully. 'And I don't want to go back to sleep.'

'I didn't sleep at all,' the older one assures me.

'Well, it's sleep time now,' I say in my firmest it's-past-1-am-how-did-you-even-think-of-waking-up tone of voice. They categorically refuse and a mini-battle of wills ensues in which the only thing really mini is my patience levels. Somehow, I end up singing to them - me! My father might be a chazzan but me and singing, we don't do that shtick too well. But they insist. So we go through my repertoire, 'Alef Beis Veis', 'Twinkle Twinkle Kochavim', 'Little Torah' and finally out of desperation Shema, though we said it several hours ago when they went to bed, just cause the kids know it. Then the 2 year old gives me some suggestions - Baa Baa Black Sheep havueniyoooo, Torah Tziva...Soon they start eyeing the bookshelf and I declare it time for bed. They mumble and grumble a bit but I determinedly cover the 2 year old (he is powerless against the forces of sleep when covered) and kiss the 5 year old 'gutte nacht'. I'm heading out the door when I hear a little voice from under the covers.

'Can I have a kush too?'

Instantly I melt like the Tofuttis we ate today in 36 degree C heat. Because this shmushy little boy, with huge brown eyes and masses of curls, is an anti-kiss fanatic. He is opposed in principle to the idea. 'You kushed me too hard! Too loud! Too much! No more, Mushkie!' I do it anyway, but I get GLARES. And now, he's asking for it??

'Certainly,' I say graciously, patience levels now rivaling Brisbane River, and he beams at me, secure under his stripy blue blanket.

I head back to my room, blocking out the persistent sounds of chatting and bathroom+kitchen trips from next door and I laugh thinking of how that could sound scandalous, and this might too - but this (shmushy little) boy I love.
--Sent from my Nokia X6 touch phone--

Top 5 stuff I NEED to do NOW.

2011-01-17T13:09:00.001+11:00

It's just not fair. The whole world is busy doing exciting stuff, mainly in the US of A, and I have no way of getting there. Every time I look at my phone, it just gets worse - an email from the friend who's there, telling me what she's up to and how much she wants me to come...a post about snow or CH late at night, or a slam...FB statuses from friends who are living it up overseas...I NEED to be there! Top 5 things I NEED to be doing RIGHT NOW:

1. Be at a certain address on Lefferts street where two very special someones are waiting.
2. Attend a poetry slam - this I really want to do, so bad! Or just find some other way of meeting this corner of the bloggerville.
3. Taking the subway absolutely anywhere with a certain someone on her birthday TOMORROW.
4. Bnos Menachem. Several reasons and seasons. This would also mean getting away from the stuff I've got to do here, and also seeing people I haven't seen in a while, and going to a normal school, and...
5. This is getting too depressing, so I'll stop now, but the Kinus would be pretty awesome too.

Gotta be happy where you are though...

--Sent from my Nokia X6 touch phone--

The Yahrtzeit

2011-01-16T16:51:00.001+11:00

K'shem she'ani rokeid k'negedeich...

The words of Kiddush Levanah are really beautiful. 'Just as I leap towards You, but I cannot reach You, so to may my enemies be unable to reach me for the bad.' I've never really thought about it before - it's just something we say every month, that's supposed to have great power and meaning.

The words reach me especially now, now as I'm thinking and reaching, thinking of those who have been touched by bad, not by enemies though, and I reach to understand.

Kiddush Levanah means nearing the middle of the month, middle of the month means yud daled, and this month is Shvat...Suddenly I'm hyperaware, my senses going into overdrive. Yes, there's Yud Shvat, 60 years of the Rebbe's nesius - wow! More on that later. Then there's yud gimmel, Rebbetzin Shterna Sora's yahrtzeit and my friend's birthday, and then...what is this? Why am I getting so tense? What's this looming in my consciousness? Yud daled, that's the day school started last year...oh.

My mind flashes back to that day, sitting on a desk in the classroom chatting with friends I haven't seen since camp. The mood is upbeat, excited, buzzing with the energy of a new year. A friend walks into the classroom somewhat worriedly. 'D and C...they look like something's wrong,' she says, frowning. I am hyper, full of energy, not wanting anything to dampen this new start. It can't be anything, it's not allowed to be, this year will be perfect, right?

'I'm sure it's nothing serious,' I say soothingly. 'I mean, they wouldn't be here if it was, would they? Maybe they're just not happy with the classes or...or something.' She nods and says she hope's I'm right. The chatter continues, bubbling like champagne with everyone's excitement. Then another friend walks in, supported by two others, crying hysterically. This girl never cries.

I look at the girl supporting her. She avoids our gaze. I look at the other holding her hand. She looks down. Then she tells us, and the world stops briefly before shattering into millions of neat little pieces.

'______'s father passed away this morning.'

...ve'eini yachol lingoa bach, ve'eini yachol lingoa bach, kach lo yachlu kol ovai lingoa bi, lingoa bi lera'ah...

And as I say the words this month, they're a prayer for my friend, and I can only hope that her life is only ever touched by open, revealed good.

Yes, soda water's kosher.

2011-01-14T01:45:00.001+11:00

'Ma, please, can we just go already? It's so late!'

She looks at the clock, mildly amused. It's only 3.20pm, early enough; time to start thinking about supper while still clearing away lunch. She's online doing some banking, I'm in the middle of a pasta salad for Shabbos - a typical Thursday afternoon.

'Ma, I really need to go to Coles!'

I've been nudging her since last night - in fact, we were going to go then, one of those normal dashes out of the house at 8.15 to get to the store before it closes at 9. We do it regularly, it's almost par for the course, and this week we've done it almost every night.

'Put together some vegetables for the soup and we'll go,' she had said then, a little before 8. I'm desperate to get to Coles - they have the PVC binders for cheapest, as well as the highlighters, and the white-out...I consult my carefully-constructed list. Oh yes, and paper clips too, they were ridiculously expensive in Big W and Officeworks. She comes into the kitchen at 8.15, walking slowly...
'I'm just too tired, Mushkie, it's late already and I don't have the energy to go...we'll go first thing tomorrow.'
At 11am, I'm making a cake for Shabbos when she comes into the kitchen.
'I'm taking the baby to creche, I'll be back soon, just going to go to Coles on my way back.'

'But Ma! I need to go to Coles!'

'Oy Mushkie, okay I'll do some other errands now and when I come back we'll go to Coles.'

I'm starting to get annoyed - this is so silly! We go to Coles like 10 times a week, I usually have to be dragged along to help with the bags or what-not and now when I want to go it's just not happening? And all the times before, when I forgot my list at home...this is weird.

'Ma, seriously! It's 3.20, you've been home for like 2 hours, can we please go?' She is about to say yes, I'm holding my breath - honestly what's WITH this, I just want to finish my stationary shopping already! - when she notices that the room is messy. As is the next one. And the next. 'In fact, the whole house is messy! Kids, come here right now - yes I mean you! Mushkie, we're not leaving till this place is cleaned up.'

There goes another hour. I mentally say goodbye to my binders. Finally, finally we are ready to go! It's pouring rain.

'Sure you still want to go, Mushkie?' she teases me. I grab my umbrella and jump in the car; even though it's raining, I'm ready to drive myself now. At Coles, I finally get my binders and the other stuff (they're all out of paper clips!) and we go aisle by aisle picking up stuff we need. I'm loading the cart up with soda water, picking out the 7th bottle, when a voice comes from behind.

'Zeh kasher?'

I turn around in surprise. This is a shlichus town, after all, not Caulfield!

'Zeh kasher?' he repeats. He's an Israeli with a mischievous expression and sharp, curious eyes.

'Of course,' my mother smiles. 'Soda water, always.'

'I saw how you were dressed,' he explains, gesturing towards our skirts and high necklines, 'and I knew you were Jewish.'

'You're here for long? Will you join us for Shabbat?' my mother offers. His eyes widen.

<i>'Chabad?'</i> We grin, guilty as charged. Soon, we have him on the phone to my father, he's telling us his life story, and I'm getting out my GPS app to work out where he lives and how far it is from us.

To make a long story short - he 'just happens' to be staying 1.2 kilometres from our house, out of the whole city; 'just happens' to be passing through on his way from Sydney to Perth; 'just happens' to be close with Chabadniks in Sydney that both my parents know very well and 'just happened' to be in that Coles at that time, walking down the aisle as we were walking up...and it gets better: I was wearing a school jumper, from our Song&Dance last year, and it has a school emblem on the front with a picture of a sefer torah in it. The whole day my Ma had been nudging me to change - who wears sweaters on a humid day like this, it's shlochy, it's old...but I just didn't get around to it. He told us that he hadn't been sure if he should approach us or not, but then he saw the emblem - of the jumper I 'just happened' to be wearing - and knew we were the real deal.

Oh, and did I mention how I wasn't sure why all these things kept on happening to prevent us getting to Coles earlier? Yeah? Yeah.

--Sent from my Nokia X6 touch phone--

Testing testing 123...

2011-01-10T23:05:00.000+11:00

Testing Mail2Blogger, hoping it works because then I'll be able to post all the stuff I have from camp straight from my phone! My netbook and Internet are not the best of friends at the moment which is a little annoying, and also makes me realize how dependent on the net I am - blame my phone plan! Free Facebook really turns one into a Facebook junkie. My thoughts have seriously started coming in status-sized spurts, or sometimes post-sized - remember the days before either?

--Sent from my Nokia X6 touch phone--

Worries, mate!

2011-01-10T01:26:00.000+11:00

I don’t have a place to stay next year.

It’s a problem, a big fat problem, and it’s been eating me up because as hard as I try, it’s just bigger than me and everyone else put together, and there’s really nothing I can do about it. People are sympathetic, people tried to help, some people showed how they really cared by taking it very seriously and giving constructive suggestions. That was touching.

But after suggestion #108 has been found to be unsuitable, the suggestions start to sound...circular. And depressing.

“Did you try ___?”

“They have boys.”

“How about ___?”

“They’re having someone already.”

“Them?”

“Young kids/ no space / just plain said no.”

“Ah, that’s tough...oh what about-”

“Boys.”

No-one knows who to recommend anymore, and they tell me, “I’m sorry, I just can’t think of anyone!” “S’ok,” I tell them wearily, really wearily because I am tired of this. Tired of being put in a situation that I never asked to be in, that's hard even in the best place; tired of the incessant need to ask for favours, to take care of myself and be constantly organizing tickets home and ways to the airport and catching up missed school and dealing with angry teachers because I dared try spend a Shabbos with my family... And then I have to tell them that “it’s ok, I fully understand, I can’t think of anywhere either! Thanks so much for trying, I really appreciate it.”

So I am stressed, totally overwhelmed, and sitting in camp trying to enjoy myself it’ll hit me full force where am I going to stay next year I have no-where to go no-one wants a boarder I don’t want to be a boarder where am I going to stay?? But there is no answer, and talking about it makes it worse, so I paste a smile on and struggle to contain my thoughts and deal with the inquisitive friends – “Mushkie, you’re being very quiet. It’s not like you. What’s with it?” The stress is building up in me, so much I could scream till my voice was gone (oops I forgot, it is gone, I’m in camp), but I can’t so instead I clench my hands together till they ask why I’m doing that and zoom around at twice my normal speed burning off all the nervous energy. Then I start thinking about how stressed I am and almost have a panic attack. It is nearly too much.

On the second last day of camp I’m davening Mincha, a few minutes behind everyone else as usual (korbanos, anyone?) so they’re already doing Chumash, and I’m in the corner of the big room staring out of the huge windows at the scene below as I get ready for Shemoneh Esrei. I can feel the pressure in me, bubbling just beneath the surface, and I firmly push it down. I am busy now. But it is forcing its way through anyway, totally overwhelming, and I just cannot handle it anymore! I realize suddenly that there’s something so obvious I haven’t yet done. I pick up my Chitas, take a deep breath, 3 steps forward – 3 steps back...

Hashem, please help me find a place to stay next year.

I still don’t have a place, the worries are all still there, but the relief is overpowering.

So forgive me for not writing...

2010-11-16T22:57:00.003+11:00

...and, we're back! Sort of, at least.

I do exist, I am still here

I know, it feels like it’s been a year

Not much to write - you wonder why?

Hard time’s we’re in...and if I try

To write, to let it all come out

It hits me hard, I want to shout

As it is, the tears come quick

COLLive...every time I click

So young, OB”M

Hashem...Hashem...

If I write I’ll remember

How I feel, when I hear

The pain of the news,

Another so dear...

I want to forget, ignorance is bliss

So forgive me for not writing -

Only Moshiach can cure this.

17/3=?

2010-10-10T00:49:00.000+11:00

Major dilemma: should I clear off my bed or sleep on the floor? Having had 17 hours sleep in the last 3 nights, the 2nd option looks incredibly appealing. We'll keep you updated on this story and other breaking news as they happen, here at Exam Coming News. Chao.

What could we have done?

2010-09-28T23:20:00.000+10:00

She left today. It was sudden, an overnight thing; decide in the morning and book the ticket in the evening. But it's been building up for a long time, a slippery slope of incidents leaving worry lines on faces and desparation in hearts.

When it started, a mutual friend and I tried to form a plan of action. We came up - blank. We tried everything: ignoring it and pretending we didn't notice the changes, keeping things stable; speaking to her - first gentle reminders, then long heart-to-hearts, then little remarks dropped casually into conversation - nothing worked. Another friend joined the worrying team, but that seemed all we could do - worry, and watch as things got worse and worse. Late night walks, up and down Inkerman and Alma, discussing and feeling helpless as the clock wound past eleven, then twelve, with no end in sight. And now I feel - weird. She's gone, so quick, I didn't get to say goodbye, and there's a very weird emptiness, echoes of four years ago. But that's not the worst of it.

I feel like I've failed. Failed, failed, failed. We have such a focus on outreach in Chabad, and of course it's so important, it's what my whole life has been for the past 12 years. But I feel like, what's the use if we can't do inreach? What's the use if I can help a non-frum Yid more than - my own cousin? What else could we have done??

I only hope that she finds what she needs over there.

Gut Yom Tov!

2010-09-25T23:29:00.000+10:00

When I grow up I want to be my Mommy*. She is a pretty awesome cook/co-ordinator/organizer/cleaner/etc. She's also currently asleep, at the unearthly hour of 10.42, which is earlier than she's gone to bed since 1989. Yup, all the signs are there: we've just run the marathon of a 3-Day Yom Tov. Fillin' up 5 freezers till they're popping, plus farming out bread and meat that just wouldn't fit, then dishing it out to tremendous amounts of people**. She also has this delightful tendency to want to try new recipes, a job which usually falls on me to actually carry out once she's drawn up menus and maps of the freezers (no joke, they're vital). A new recipe for every dish. For every meal. Nearly for every person, too, but at some point we started falling asleep into the pots on the stove, so we cut it down to only wheat and wheat-free. Because, let me tell you, sauteed onions smell way better in the pan than in your face.

Speaking of which, 3-Day Yomim Tovim are...delightful. BoSD says it absolutely best - I absolutely urge you to go check out her masterpiece, quickly, before my Ma wakes up. Cause no way is she gonna stay asleep the whole night, and once she wakes up - bye bye, cyberspace. Hello, kitchen. There's clean-up to do.

* Although I actually call her 'Ma'. But 'Mommy' sounds way cuter.
** For example: this Yom Tov, for every meal we were a minimum of 13 people, and we had plenty guests too. Don't believe me? There's actually space for the leftovers in the fridge - there, you're convinced.

Lo nigmar?

2010-09-22T01:00:00.000+10:00

I'm standing here in the kitchen. It's 12.20 am. Way past the witching hour or anything like that; now is the waiting-for-pot-of-eggs-to-boil-while-Facebooking-on-father's-iPhone hour. The eggs are taking their sweet time. I'm already half asleep. In walks our resident Israeli, who doesn't seem fazed by the time. He is fazed, though, at something else.

"Lo nigmar habishulim?" he asks in surprise. I grin sheepishly and nod toward the pot.

"Rak zeh," I mumble, fiddling with the tiny iPhone keyboard.

He sighs deeply and sympathetically, and miracle of miracles, the pot starts to boil.

Thank you for participating in the teach-Mushkie-how-to-use-an-iPhone-keyboard session. May this be the last of very few, mostly since my eggs are ready to be mashed and mayoed (ew). Toodle-doo.

If you want it...you should write it.

2010-09-21T21:08:00.000+10:00

It has been very gently and oh-so-kindly suggested to me that I should write a disclaimer for this site. Oh, sure, like I've got nothing better to do with my time. Do I wear a sign on my back? Do I - alright, alright, I'll try write one. But really, if you want one you should write it.

~~This blog is male free~~
What are they, germs?
~~This is a female-only blog, thank you~~
So what's your brother then, chopped liver? Besides, I only said they shouldn't comment -
~~Stay away~~
------

Okay! Fine! Have it your way.

This blog is wheat-free. Please respect this and keep all mentions of wheat far, far away lest I be half as tempted as I am by what's currently in the oven. Thanks, and go easy on the gluten, too.

Well, that settles it. Check this link if you have a bad memory.

Let's go backwards!

2010-09-20T19:35:00.001+10:00

That last post was way too serious. Ladies and jellyspoons, let's have a bit of fun. There are many versions out there, not to mention the one I know and love (and posted on Buzz). After some heavy research, I proudly present to you: the best version that I could find of The Backwards poem.

Ladies and Gentlemen, skinny and stout,

I'll tell you a tale I know nothing about;

The Admission is free, so pay at the door,

Now pull up a chair and sit on the floor.

One fine day in the middle of the night,

Two dead boys got up to fight;

Back to back they faced each other,

Drew their swords and shot each other.

A blind man came to watch fair play,

A mute man came to shout "Horray!"

A deaf policeman heard the noise and

Came to stop those two dead boys.

He lived on the corner in the middle of the block,

In a two-story house on a vacant lot;

A man with no legs came walking by,

and kicked the lawman in his thigh.

He crashed through a wall without making a sound,

into a dry creek bed and suddenly drowned;

The long black hearse came to cart him away,

But he ran for his life and is still gone today.

I watched from the corner of the big round table,

The only eyewitness to facts of my fable;

But if you doubt my lies are true,

Just ask the blind man, he saw it too.

This one is also pretty good:

Ladies and jellyspoons, hobos and tramps,

cross-eyed mosquitos and bow-legged ants,

I stand before you to sit behind you

to tell you something I know nothing about.

Next Thursday, which is Good Friday,

there's a Mother's Day meeting for fathers only;

wear your best clothes if you haven't any.

Please come if you can't; if you can, stay at home.

Admission is free, pay at the door;

pull up a chair and sit on the floor.

It makes no difference where you sit,

the man in the gallery's sure to spit.

The show is over, but before you go,

let me tell you a story I don't really know.

One bright day in the middle of the night,

two dead boys got up to fight.

(The blind man went to see fair play;

the mute man went to shout "hooray!")

Back to back they faced each other,

drew their swords and shot each other.

A deaf policeman heard the noise,

and came and killed the two dead boys.

A paralysed donkey passing by

kicked the blind man in the eye;

knocked him through a nine-inch wall,

into a dry ditch and drowned them all.

If you don't believe this lie is true,

ask the blind man; he saw it too,

through a knothole in a wooden brick wall.

And the man with no legs walked away.

Sheesh, peeps, don't take yourselves so seriously.

Chassidishe chaloimos about...

2010-09-20T00:05:00.001+10:00

It's funny the way things change.

A few years ago, we had a French bochur for Pesach who spoke perfect French and Ivrit, and approxiamtely 20 words each of English and Yiddish (speaking Yiddish). It caused major problems. My father speaks Ivrit like an Israeli, but my mother and I didn't at all (then). We communicated by sign language and still managed to get an amazing recipe from him for Pesachdik mayo using potatoes and eggs, but not much else.

Now, ivrit fluency is practically a prerequisite for any bochur we get. We have Israeli(s) staying with us every Shabbos and Yom Tov, and page numbers in Shul are announced in English. Hebrew and Russian. Conversation at the table is about 80% Ivrit usually.

Things change in other ways, too. I remember the first bochurim we had, some 12.5 years back. They really took a liking to me and my brother and I and spent a lot of their time telling us stories and teaching me how to use a falling brick game I'd just got. A few years later, one spent a few patient hours teaching me the teitch for kiddush till I knew it off by heart, which I then proudly showed off for the rest of Pesach, after which I promptly forgot it.

Now, our interaction - isn't. Obviously. They go about their business, filling up empty spots in the minyan, announcing pages and keeping busy during the day, while I go about mine. And never the twain shall meet, except when they need a fork or something.

But in a few years, who knows how things will (continue to) change...

About the title: a friend of mine always used to tell me, "Chassidishe chaloimos about chassidishe bochurim!" Now, as we gchat late at night, me sprawled on my bed, typing frantically on my laptop about random things spanning from Melbourne to CH to London and back, and she sits at her family's computer clacking away, staring at the giant screen - she just says "chassidishe chaloimos". And I say "gutte nacht".

So, that's life - and death.

2010-09-12T23:03:00.000+10:00

I come home Monday before Rosh Hashana and immediately get thrown into things. We may have a place for shul! We may have a newsletter before Yom Tov! We have 4 bulging freezers and 2 fridges full of food which may fit into those freezers! Nu, what's new, everything is going according to plan - which by us means 'three days behind schedule'. But we are used to it, and I quickly start working and forget that just hours before I had been in school, taking notes and daydreaming (usually at the same time).

That's life, huh? Life is when things are crazy busy, but they're getting done, all according to some vague master plan - right? Wrong. Erev Rosh Hashana, my little brother (we share a room) wakes me up at the ungodly hour of 8 am, yelling 'Muskshi!' I take him out of bed and promptly go back to sleep. Even his yelling can't wake me up until 9.20, when I drag myself out of bed and hear my mother come in the house (she'd taken the kids to school). She's talking on the phone, a serious look on her face.

'Uh huh...I hear you...what was that? Right, yes, today if possible...wait, here's the Rabbi.'

My father takes the phone and I rush to my mother. 'Ma, what happened?' She tells me. One of our people has passed away. He's been sick for a while, so it's no surprise exactly, but today of all days! I mentally toss the master plan out the window and go get dressed.

Two hours later, the master plan seems to have gone through a shredder and my baby brother, combined, as all 3 phones don't stop ringing; my father seems to be on all of them, talking in a mixture of Ivrit, English and Russian. I field the Ivrit calls as best as I can while putting together an email my father needs sent out to our community, letting them know the venue for our services - 4 hours before Yom Tov comes in! All our food plans are put on hold as my mother empties the freezer and fills the stove as she puts together a box of food for the new widow.

Go visit the widow, overcome the massive hurdle of having the levaya today, arrange a minyan, pick up the bochur from the airport, try find a 2nd bochur in place of the one that canceled early this morning, try print out the newsletter (give up), try fix our printer (hand the job over to me), try print a guide to the tefillos, go to the widow again, do the levaya, transport the contents of our shul to a nearby hall, set up for our Rosh Hashana meal of 40 people, kasher the kitchen of the hall - master plan? Ha, ha, ha.

So nothing went to plan. Wait - I unpacked! That went to plan! But the rest was ~~a crazy mess~~ a little bit nuts. But a Yid got buried on the day he passed away, instead of having to wait 4 days, and we had a minyan 1st day plus a nice turnout 1st night, so I can't complain. But, oh, where did I put that master plan? We need a place now for Yom Kippur!

K'siva v'chasima tova...here's to hoping that all your plans, master or what, are fulfilled. n'eNow!

A vote of achdus

2010-09-05T22:47:00.000+10:00

Hi guys. I know I haven’t posted in a while – sorry! I’ve been busy, a weird sort of busy, and before you accuse me of being overly studious - please. Don’t make me laugh.

B”H, there have been other things besides school happening. One of them was this – it was such a smash! To tell the truth, I don’t actually have time now to post – I should be packing, or doing the other 1,001 things on my list before tomorrow – but I saw something that really caught my eye.

I’m sure everyone’s heard of the Kohl’s Cares campaign on Facebook. Social media is really having a big impact on our lives now! Voting’s over, and b”h many Chabad schools had enough votes to win some money, I’m not sure how much. If you go to http://apps.facebook.com/kohlscares/ (if you have Facebook), you can see the list of the top 20 schools, who are currently being verified before Kohl’s announces them as the winners. My cousins, Yeshiva Achei Temimim in Worcester are on there, and I was blown away by the amount of votes they and the other Chabad/Jewish schools got. 145,341 votes just for my cousins, who are #8, and similar numbers for the others. Even if you divide that by 5 (you could give a school up to 5 votes), it’s 29,068.2 (I wonder who that .2 was!) voters.

Yay for Worcester!

WOW! What tremendous achdus, that around 30,000 people got together and took the time to vote for a Chabad school! Just think about it – there was nothing in it for anything of the voters. They weren’t going to get any of the money. Ok, some of them probably did it to get nudgers off their back (like me), and I think there may have been a prize up for grabs. But the majority did it just out of the goodness of their hearts.

It really makes me proud to be part of Chabad. Yes, there was kvetching and some not-so-gentle nudging – just check the latest Op-Eds on Chabad news sites (before CH politics took centre stage) and news feeds over the past few weeks. But y’know what? It really showed how, when we put our minds to it, we can really band together and get some results. We have power. Ever heard of a 'vote of no confidence'? This was a vote of achdus. I think Kohl’s themselves said it best:

And, thank you for your achdus. Now there’s something for COLLive and Crownheights.info to have an Op-Ed about.

Soda high (school)

2010-08-12T17:32:00.000+10:00

Davening's over, the Hayom Yom has been read and the shluchot are wrapping up their announcements. Everyone's shifting around in their seats, chatting with the people in the row behind them and listening out for the bell that signals the start of first lesson. The shluchot sit down and 300 girls wait expectantly to be told to go to class. Instead, our principal clomps up the stairs onto the stage and leans heavily on the shtender.

"Before you go to class," he begins, raising his voice to be heard over the talking, "I have an announcement to make. NU! Year 8 in the back, stop talking!" He glares at them and continues in his strong Russian accent, which hasn't stopped him from being a principal for 40-odd years but does make for good fun in imitations. "I have decided," he pauses theatrically, "that there will be no more fizzy drinks sold in tuck-shop."

Immediately the hall erupts in talking. First they took away the can machine, now this? What will we do with our coins now? Buy oil-drenched chips or over-priced pasta? Why the ban, anyhow?

"There will still be juice," he yells over the din, "but no more fizzy, because it makes you too hyper!"

The hall erupts again and we are dismissed, but without soft drinks the world just seems duller...at least, until our next free, when we can go down the street and waste all the money we want. If you call a sugar high a waste, that is.

Goin' by my clock

2010-08-04T23:42:00.000+10:00

I always do this. Not Taipei, it doesn't fit with my time-zone, but somewhere between here and South Africa would be good. For a good two months after coming back from America when I was 11, I complained that I was jet-lagged. Finally one day my mother got fed up and snapped, no Mushkie, you're just in your own time zone!

But seriously, my sleep schedule is totally out of whack, and I'm campaigning for change. They say a teenager's brain wakes up at about 11 am (just ask the teachers I usually have in the morning and see the way they light up in agreement), and starts going to bed after 11 pm, so why should we be dictated by the sun? C'mon guys, stand up for yourselves. Who are we to let a sun dictate what we do? Who are we to actually go to sleep at a normal hour and write crazy zany posts on very little sleep? Who are we...yikes I'm going to be crazily tired tomorrow and I have a test. Shoot, better get to bed before the sun comes up - is it past 11 pm? Phew, it's late enough that they let me.

So we're in the 21st century?

2010-08-02T03:00:00.000+10:00

I finally got around to watching YBC Live II (I know, I know, I'm a few years behind the times), and I was basically cracking up the whole time. I'm really into music, so I know all of YBC's songs from their first 3 albums off by heart, including their harmonies and about half of the original choir (think Yehuda Leib Saks, Ariel Lever, Elimelech Bialo and the twins, plus some other non-soloists and of course Yaakov Mordechai Gerstner) by name because of the named yarmulkes they wore, and because I have a nutty brother who makes a point of knowing these things! I grew up with the old choir; they were the CD we played in the car and we spent hours fighting over whose voice was whose and which track to play (to this day I cannot listen to their Adon Olam without hearing my sister clamoring for 'Track six! Track SIX!'). I was horrified when YBC moved to NYC - no more Yehuda Leib??

So when I saw the new choir, they made me laugh. They are such 21st century kids; they all have so much confidence, bordering on arrogance. The soloists are excellent - and they know it. Not in a bad way, except for one of them, but it is intensely amusing the way they talk to the audience (another new thing!) with a swagger, gesturing with their hands and their microphone as if they aren't like, ten years old. The old ones used to look nervous as they were coming onstage; these kids exude coolness and a . And when I stopped laughing long enough to listen, they are good. Very good, in fact. (Ego is healthy, Mushkie. Say it enough times and you'll start to believe it.)

Let's post!

2010-08-01T19:50:00.001+10:00

Back in the day, there was a little voice in my head that popped up sometimes. Usually it was when something exciting happened, or inspiring, or a cool train of thought occurred to me. Post that, it would say. Develop the idea and add random words and make it into a post. I would play around with it in my head for a bit, toss around a few directions, maybe scribble something down on a piece of paper or into my phone. Most of the time, it wouldn't pan out, but I'd just wait for the next time.

Then I started getting sick of the whole thing. It was plain annoying! I couldn't get anywhere without that voice popping up. You know, this would make an excellent post, and the best thing for you to be doing right now is messing up a perfectly good thought in your tortured attempt to bring a point across. No, you cannot leave it perfectly happily sitting in your head, without trying to do something with it that will invariably fail and receive a lukewarm response. That would be too easy. So I made a point of ignoring the voice. It wasn't easy - there were frequent relapses, and I even once typed up a word document of 'post ideas' when my internet was down. But after a while of gently detaching myself from bloggerville, I had done it. The voice was silenced, and I was left feeling empty but victorious.

Now on a bleary day in the middle of a Melbourne hailstorm, sitting in bed being sick as a (very sick) dog, the voice popped up again. It was faint, I don't even know what it was in relevance to. It sounded like a tape player with one battery in it and a half-ruined tape inside, an echo of its former strength. 'Post...' The word drifted out at me and scurried away. No! I thought. Everything I write comes out bad anyway, and when I start to write it the idea gets all messed up and totally lost, what do I need it for? Why post? Then out of absolutely no-where, the voice charged back, stronger than ever, bringing to mind a feigned retreat from the battlefield only to lure the enemy deeper into your territory for renewed attack. Why do anything? it demended. Why write, ever, why do anything that you enjoy, that makes you feel alive? Why share things with other people, why? Why do anything that could fail?

Which of course brought me to one of my favorite quotes: There is no certainty; there is only adventure. Even stars explode. -Roberto Assagioli.

And as for the failure? Well, there's just gonna have to be some bad posts then. I probably won't post again for a bit, but I am going to listen to that little voice and next time it pipes up, I'll give it a good smash on the head with a sledgehammer and write the post myself.

2010-06-27T16:22:00.000+10:00

In 1900, the British Medical Journal ran an article declaring that human hibernation was possible, and that in fact for peasants in the Pskov region of Russia, it was part of their culture (the article claimed they hibernate for 6 months of the year and work for the other 6 because of lack of food in their region). Modern science has dismissed this claim, and refuted it many times, but I’m here to back up the Journal. Human hibernation is possible – I should know, I just came out of hibernation.

What else can you call two weeks of exams? Where your world is words and figures, endless pages filled with inequations, the difference between hindgut and foregut fermenters, the definition of defensive homicide, why the League of Nations failed and if Bertrand de Rols or Martin Guerre were responsible for the presence of Arnaud du Tilh (Martin, obviously, check page 12). Where every waking moment is spent studying, avoiding studying (my mother may be reading this, so I won’t say the proportions of each...), or calming down hysterical friends who have spent way too much time studying. Add to that the sem here finishing, and all my friends there leaving, plus all the Australians that graduated last year going with them...take away sleep, add some guilt (for not studying), hand cramp (from writing too much), nervousness (I’m rambling, stop rambling Mushkie)...

“Hibernation is a state characterized by inactivity, slower metabolism and lower body temperature.”[i] Check, check, check. So – a medical breakthrough has been made! And as I slowly open my eyes, turn on the heater and wonder at the way the world has changed in the past two weeks – it’s good to be back. But I’m not ruling it out for next exams, 'cause it sure is easier to deal with the million and one things that go wrong in a state of hibernation. A Pskov trip, anyone?

[i] http://inhumanexperiment.blogspot.com/2010/03/curious-case-of-human-hibernation.html