15th Cousins?

What do you do, how are you supposed to feel, when you find out that someone you never met until three seconds ago is really your 15th cousin? (Or somewhere around that number, anyway.) For some reason I feel like I should have a connection with such a person, because we can both trace ourselves back to the same Tzadick from the 17th century. On the other hand, though, I'm probably related to more people than I realize if I want to go that far back. So why the big deal?

Also, the farther back you go, the more ancestors you have. Which in turn means that I may have more 'great', 'special' ancestors the farther back I go.

Either way, for those (like me) interested in family, this is a special treat.
  

Musings (19)

Instead of saying Bye to me when I leave, 

say Hi to me on the phone when you call.

   

The Other Side

A place so far away - I am,

Yet not a place at all;

Where all the good things grow - indeed,

My trees are thick and tall.

People will work hard to reach

the land where I do lay,

But when they come here they look at 

Each other in dismay:

"This is not what I thought

Or wished I'd ever see;

The land I worked so hard to reach

Yet lies beyonder me.

Look at how despicable

Is all the greenery,

The land of trees - thick and tall

Is where I want to be."

So off they go now to a land

No better than my own;

But listen friend, there is one thing

I wish they would have known:

"Do gaze at my very trees 

While on the ground you lie,

And even lowliest of leaves

Will always touch the sky."

     

Carrots

 

   The cook in my school, noticing that I was eating some carrots during breakfast, approached me and said: "Hehe, carrots are healthy. Good for you. After all, when's the last time you saw a rabbit with glasses?"

Meals and Memories

   Take a bunch of people that otherwise didn't lose anything in the same place, and put them all together. What do you get? Last Friday nights' meal. You know, the type that makes me regret the little body language I do know...

    Let's just take a look. The couple that sits nearest to me, hmm. Well, she's trying to tell him in a nice way -and without anybody noticing- that he has something in his hair. Too bad; I caught that. Later on they filled in for each other when the host asked them to say a story. It was cute.

    The next couple is distant family of the host, and they're what seems to be a little uncomfortable (like me, for that matter). Shifting hands from on the lap to on the table to playing with the napkin rings back to on the table. A piece of Challah every five minutes also helps alleviate tension, at least for the eater.

    Then there's me. I don't know where I fit into this picture. I help with the singing. I clean up a little. I observe. And I absorb what I see. When I walk back to my place I try to figure out if this was a memory worth creating. Retrospectively I guess it's always worth it.
   

Dying Flowers

  
   I felt almost like hitting him. "Insolent child! How dare you!"

.   .   .

  
   There I was, sitting on a bench in the park, enjoying the fragrance of blossoming flowers from the nearby bushes. Along he came. Armed with a pair of scissors, he clambered onto the bench and reached for the highest flower. Snip! It was cut. Dead to the world. Never to live again.

   Well, I'm a timid person. I don't react openly when things aren't my way. But my mind was racing; tearing this kid apart: Why? Where do such thoughtless actions come from? Where is the father of this child, who would have certainly prevented such an occurrence? Where is he?

   Lagging he was, but not too far behind. To him I'll give a piece of my mind, I thought to myself. As I approached, the father bent down and took the flower from his son. Hugging him tightly, he said: "Thank you."

   With all my politeness, I'm sure my ire must have seeped through my words: "How could you let your child bring about death to a poor flower? What did it do wrong? Have you no appreciation for beauty?"

   Said he to me: "Look at the bigger picture! Know that flowers were created to bring joy to people like you and me. Can't you see the delight I have in my child's deed? And as for the flower - in time another will grow on this very branch; just as lovely. To bring another smile to one more father."

.   .   .

   We look around us, and all we see is the death of flowers. Some neatly cut, others roughly pulled off their branches. At times even just a normal wind seems enough to sever them from their source of life. We want to scream out; to yell at the father that could let all this happen. The one who seems to let things spin out of control. Can our father not see the pain, the loss?

   Sometimes we're lucky. We are explained the way things really work; the way they're seen from the true perspective. We see the smile on the fathers' face, and we know intuitively that the right thing was done. But what about the rest of the time? Other dying flowers? When will the time come that we will be able to forever see the fathers' smile?

   I hope and pray that the day comes soon. But until then, I'll rely on my faith. After all, Daddy always knows best.

(For the sake of honesty (and for those who don't get it) I must say that this story never happened. It is a product of my thinking.)
 

Novels

Its words they will take me,

To faraway places,

To times long by-gone - 

Other clock faces.

I am still

In my seat,

Where I was 

Half past noon,

And the sun

It was beat -

Now its swapped

For the moon.

Oh, who conjured this work which

I cannot lay down,

"It sure does its job well!"

I remark with a frown.

'Cause hire I did

This book from the store,

Seventeen bucks -

Not a penny more!

    

Striking Skills

   In my yeshiva there are two people who (unfortunately) Daven for the Amud. I'll call them Mr. P. and Mr. H.

   Mr. H. - Will light the candles by himself. After Davening, he extinguishes the candles with one stroke of the hand.

   Mr. P. - Always manages to get someone to light the candles for him. Usually the boys that eat at his house more often end up doing him the favor. When this happens I'm reminded of a child whose mother always spoon-fed him, and still can't eat on his own. Do you really think you're doing him a favor?

    After the Davening is over, Mr. P. goes through what seems to be the agonizing process of extinguishing the candles. See, it takes him five individual waves of the hand to do it. He resembles to me what I think the Queen of England would look like trying to brush away a fly... (as daintily and as unsuccessfully)

    Which one of these people are you and who do you want to be?

Why not...

   I used to think that bloggers are a sub-species of humans who actually don't get convinced by or go for the petty stuff. Little did I know at the time. So here's to all of you. In case you visit this blog and don't want to read and think about what I write, I changed the template. Now you guys will spend (waste) some more time on this site without coming out with anything. Oh, and I also put out a new poll. It's very important.
  

On Plasticware and Pollution

  
   The cook in my school turns to me and says: 'You know, this whole plastic business, it's really bad for the environment. I think we should all be using real silverware. After all, the used plastic is thrown in the garbage and dumped, and is never used again.'

   A sound opinion, I thought to myself. But two minutes later: 'But sometimes it's good to have plastic; after you just finished making a party, and you're dreading the cleanup, using plastic makes it just so much easier.'

   It just left me wondering if she realizes that even after a party the plastic is thrown out and dumped, never to be used again.

   Maybe the accent barrier played a part in me not understanding what she said. She is "Ehhsssaaan" after all. (Asian, for all you who don't get it.)