Comment time!

Now we come to comment post time blog type thing, in which I comment on your comments. How exciting! Yesterday the former almighty editor pointed out that Immanuel Shochet is quite repetitive. I would agree. Today I listened to another three hours, and now I know the stuff backward and forward. Well, close. But yes, he does basically say the same thing over and over. But no matter, still enjoyable.
Meanwhile, our friend Shillibeer commented that I have a perfect opportunity to remember shtuff as I can just tell it to over to the Bochurim. It's a good idea in theory, but getting people to actually sit down and listen takes great effort. Yesterday, I did manage it, and it was quite enjoyable.
Another thing. I put my blog on the jblog thingie. They have a rating system, which so far has proven to be rather odd. When I rate my own blog first, then a bunch of other people rate it too. Which is a pity, because at least one of the very highly rated blogs was not my best. Not by a long shot. Oh well. Hopefully people won't judge me by one semi-consciously produced post. And if they do, well, that's their business, right?

30 Days

Today is Rosh Chodesh Elul. In thirty days it's Rosh Hashanah. Start repenting now.
All right, so it isn't really the season of return. It's even more important. In just one month from now is the 19th of Kislev, a day which is likened to the birthday of a Chassid. Which is odd, because the tenth of Kislev is compared to the Bris, which obviously doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I remember the Rosh explaining this, but I really can't remember what he said. Sorry.
Anyway, I've gotten the question here in Yeshiva, why are you so excited? Why do you care so much about this day? And the answer, like all answers, sounds better in my head than it does here, and once again I'd like to say that I'm sorry.
Many years ago, in a land far far away, I attended a Yud-Tes Kislev Farbrengen with Rabbi Dubov from New Jersey. I don't remember what he said; I do remember that I wrote that night (actually, early in the morning) in my diary "Tonight I became a Chassid."
Ain't that cute. Sure, I was only 16, and pretty cute in general, if I say so myself, but the point is that even a little pisher like myself was sufficiently affected to think I became something.
Another thing. I spent about four hours listening to Rabbi Immanuel Shochet speak. I have all the answers now. Problem is, I know I'll forget 'em. What to do? I only wish I knew. Hey, that rhymed! Oh Frabjous Day!

So then

Education is a terrible thing. Or maybe not. Tonight the Shluchim from YHSTC went to Chabad of S. Louis Park, otherwise known as Rabbi Shagalow, for a Shiur on the Friedriker Rebbe's epistle on true education. What struck me the most was how much I don't enjoy Jewish geography, the game you play to figure out how everyone is related to everyone. But guess what? I'm not actually related to anyone. Well, at least to anyone in Lubavitch. Point is, I stand there on the side, catching onto a stray name that I can at least claim acquaintance with, while everyone else is figuring out how they're fourth cousins with half the universe.
Anyway, we discussed talents that people have. Which got me thinking, what talents do I, your faithful blogger, have? Writing relatively humorous stuff? Check. Eating Sushi? Check. Accomplishing great things? Well, do I? Have I? Will I?
Problem is, I started writing this now, past midnight, because I figured that it would be good to blog while my gristle was still fresh off the grill. But instead it's turned into one of those soul-searching, touchy-feely type blogs, and I for one am not interested in writing that kind of thing. So instead, I'll tell you all that it's not who you know, it's what you know. Right?

Apropos

And the truth comes out, as I always knew it would. We have discovered the identity of "Shillibeer." Joy rains down from on high. He was the guy who invented cars, or something like that. A Mason too. Look it up on Wiki.
So I started off wanting to write about the dangers of extremism, but then I realized that I'd be a terrible person to write about this, because I am a bit of an extremist. So what else to write about? How about Judaism. That's a topic that exhausts itself of opportunity's. Does there need to be an apostrophe over there? Probably not. But Google thinks there should be, and who am I to argue with the people who make this very blog possible?
So onward and upward to the Judaism. In today's Maamar (L'maan Daas, Kuntresim Aleph), (The Royal) we began to discuss how people could possibly abandon the eternal truth of Torah for the temporal delights of this, our physical existence. And once again, the answer rings out, through the streets of Shanghai, the temples of Timbuktu, the courts of Kazakhstan, the McDonalds of Middle America, that fault once again lies at the feet of the notorious villain and noted cigar afficiando, the YH.
Wouldn't it be nice to go through life with a soundtrack? That's why movies are better than reality, because of the score pulsating through the scenes. Plus a stenographer. Every really important guy has a stenographer writing down every one of his precious words, right? When I get rich, I'll have a stenographer and a Symphony Orchestra. Preferably the New York Philharmonic, though I'll take the San Fransisco in a pinch.
Point is, well, really, I haven't yet finished the Maamar, so there really is no point to speak of. Cheerio.

The mysteries of...(the ellipsis?)

So much to write, so little patience to write it. I'll try and get to some recent comments first, and then deal with a little spiritual shtuff. The former editor asks if my real name is taboo on this site. If someone was really interested they could find it out anyway, so don't worry about it too much. To Shillibeer, not only do I not know who you are, I fear that you misunderstood my intentions. It was Chaim who Farbrenged with us, not Manis. Though both are excellent, I agree. As to the Rockies, yes, they're more like the Rusties. Has that joke been made 400 times already? Nu Nu. LD deals more with the content (finally, someone pays attention!) and appreciates the subtle intentions with which I lovingly infuse each and every thought. Oh right, and Mr. CCL, yes, very professional. Like everything you inspire (awwhh). And one last quickie, again for the former editor, yes, you should go (have gone?) to sleep. Naps on Shabbos afternoons are killers, stalking their prey silently, striking when the guard is down, pouncing quickly and slowly sticking their teeth into the napes of the necks of the; oh, sorry, I confused them with cheetahs.
And now the spiritual love. When I was a young child, back in YOEC, I heard something so good that I still remember it. The Rosh (Our fearless leader) gives a speech every Shabbos, and four years ago yesterday was no exception. The Haftora for Parshas Vayera deals with the Shunamite woman who Elisha first promises a child and then brings back to life. The child I mean. Sephardim only read the Haftora half-way, up to the point where she (the woman) tells her husband not to worry about the dead kiddie. Ashkenazim read the whole thing, up until the actual resurrection. Lubavitch normally follows the Sephardim rite, but for this Haftora we read according to the Ashkenazic version. Why? Hold on a second, you'll soon find out. See, Sephardim are big believers. In fact, they'll believe anything you tell them (how do you think I go that bridge off my hands?) which is a beautiful thing. On the other hand, Ashkenazim are a bunch of skeptical Apikorsim. So, obviously, Chabad wants to believe. But in this Haftora, we follow the Ashkenazim, because it deals with redemption, and when it comes to redemption, we don't want just to be told that it's all going to be good, we want to see the redemption.
Isn't that beautiful? I certainly thought so.

Inspiring Thoughts (No, really)

Tonight we had a Farbrengen with Rabbi Chayim Friedman. I didn't arrive on time, and I left early. What an idiot. Rabbi F. is an amazing Mashpia. Here's the little that I caught: What is society's main problem? So there's a famous story. First of all, while the following makes sense, please know that #1. I have the rights to any self-improvement engendered, and #2. Don't blame me when things go wrong. Now that we've dealt with the disclaimers, here comes, in relatively serious fashion, the story. The Rebbe Rashab had a Chassid who came to Yechidus (Private meeting) once a year from Moscow. Whenever he came he would wear a Chassidic coat, but the rest of the year he wore a fashionable suit. After several years the Chassid said to himself, "Who am I fooling? The Rebbe knows I dress like a modern guy the whole year, and I fake for one day, I might as well stop the bluff and show him the truth." SO the Chassid comes in, and the Rebbe asks him where his long Chassidic coat is, and he says, "In the dry-cleaners." Just kidding, they didn't have dry-cleaning in the 19th century. The Chassid explains his wardrobe change. And the Rebbe says, "I had it all wrong. I thought that you were truthful the one day a year, in your long black Chassidic coat, in Lubavitch, and that the rest of the year you were faking it. But now I see that you think that the 'Moscow you' is the real you, and the 'Lubavitch you' is the fake.
History does not record what happened in the next year's Yechidus.
Point is, we all have this problem on some level. The problem is that we see ourselves as faking. OK, so this isn't so bad. We do fake. The problem is that we mix up the real and the fake. People are too scared to realize that what they think they're faking is actually the real them. They don't believe that they have the capability to live up their (supposed) bluff. So what do they do? They give up hope. But, my dear friends, you got the power (cue the gospel choir). If you only believe in yourself, the real self, you can do it. Who are the people who succeed? Those you believe in themselves. All right, and some of them are crackpots. Don't blame me.
Obviously I'm talking to myself just as much, and even more, than I'm talking to you. Only thing is that I dislike using the word "I" too much. In fact, at all.

Horns

Continuing in the recent vein of these posts, we'll be discussing something recent that I've learned, in a somewhat humorous manner. Because remember folks, life is only worth living if you can laugh. Preferably at someone else. But yourself will do in a pinch.
Today I started learning about Chanuka. You ask why? That's a perfectly legitimate question. After all, the holiday doesn't begin for well over a month. But you know what? My favorite Maamarim are those on Chanuka, because they deal with essential issues of Judaism. You're right, all Maamarim deal with essential issues of Judaism. So what's your point?
So today's Maamar, (Toras Menachem 1969), V'al Hanisim, deals with the essential conflict between the Assyrian-Greek hordes and the tiny band of brothers who we know today as the Maccabees. Back then they knew 'em as the Hammers. Sort of like a basketball team, just without a very deep bench. (Was that analogy forced? You betcha). So what was the fight about? G-d, of course. The Assyrian-Greek hordes (from now on known as, well, whatever I call them) didn't particularly like G-d very much. They didn't mind if you kept the Torah; that's a beautiful thing. Even the Mitzvos which man can't understand they were fine with, because after all, intellect is infinite (or so they thought), so there must be a reason somewhere. But to follow the Torah because G-d said to? Heresy! And then they went around killing Jews. How typical, eh? If every anti-semite went around slaughtering Jews, where would be?
As usual, I could go much deeper into this topic, but then your eyes would glaze over your brain would go to sleep, and I'd be stuck preaching to myself. So instead I'll just repeat that forever I am yours. Or something very much like that.

The veins

Some people take things very personally. I try to avoid this kind of behavior, because it inevitably leads to disappointment and increased girth, not to mention you get written up in smarmy blogs like this one. Oh, stam, if you click on the link below to find info on 8th Day, you'll discover that there is actually a Goyish band by the same name. I am not listening to them.
Back to the original topic, (how difficult it is not to tangentalise [Google doesn't like this word])I was affected by a recent Maamar that I just completed. The Yetzer Hora, the evil inclination, the angel of death (as the Talmud says) is intent on causing the downfall of man, leading him from the trodden path of Torah and good deeds, and bringing him into the ditch of iniquity, sin, and eventually death, whether spiritual or physical (which is why they call him the angel of death). Now this inclination dude is variously described as being a doddering old king, and sometimes a brilliant young nuclear physicist at Lawrence Livermore National Library who somehow got mixed up with the young crowd, irradiated himself with (what else?) nuclear radiation, and is now The Yetzer Hora. Regardless, he has two ways of causing man to sin. The first, which is superior, is when the guy sins, and feels incredibly guilty, repents, and leads an irreproachable life for the rest of his days. How beautiful.
Alternatively, the Yetzer Hora convinces man that what he's doing is really fine, and then there's no knowing what will occur. "Hey," our local friendly sinner says, "not only am I your local friendly sinner, but I'm not sinning! I have an excuse for everything!" This guy is basically all of us.
The solution? Get a spiritual adviser, or start gaining girth. Nothing like chocolate-chip cookies to increase spiritually and physically, right? Of course, I'm only kidding. About one of these two options anyway. As Fox says, you decide.
Oh, and by the way, do to the insistence of the almighty editor, the source for all the above genius is a Sefer called Kuntreisim Aleph, Maamar Ki Karov, by the Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe. He says thank you.

Fresh Kishke

I intended to write a Sicha. But I'll first respond to two comments that were recently posted on this here blog. Then, if I still have the drive, I'll write over some of the Sicha.
Mr. Cold Chopped Liver, whoever he may be, asked if, when I said "your's forever", U really meant it. What kind of question is that? What could possibly be higher in my mind than truth? Honor? Destiny? All right, so I've put humor on top a couple times, but that's hardly the point. When I wrote that I was forever yours, I meant it. Anything, really, just drop a line and I'll try to oblige. Maybe.
Onto the Sicha! So, essentially, the Rebbe asks why the punishments of Sodom and Gomorrah were different from that of the other two cities, whose names I can't recall at the moment.If you want the answer, go learn the second Sicha in Cheilek 35 of Likkutei Sichos.
What particularly affected me was the fact that...OK, truth is, the whole thing affected me pretty equally. It's just that I didn't come out with the feeling that I must change my life now. All right, I haven't learned it well enough. Perhaps I'll try again tomorrow.
Forever Your's (You know what I mean)

Travails...

What is it about good weather that makes people happy? If I remember correctly I wrote about this once before, but I may as well do it again, because who knows when we'll see the sun again? All right, so I'm the only one actually seeing light, but that's hardly the point.
What I'm trying to say (write) is that I finally understand why the primitive peoples would worship our own local star. Think about it; after it rains for two weeks, and suddenly, joy! The sun! If you were a primitive cave person, wouldn't you prostrate yourself?
Now serving gold I don't get. Wouldn't you rather spend it? Maybe not. There is something intensely satisfying about a wallet full of Ben Franklins. Now a wallet full of bullion, that could be an issue.
And so, until next time, forever yours,
The Real Shliach.
(How melodramatic)

Jumblings

I spent my first Shabbos at Yeshiva this past week. In fact, it was my first Shabbos in a Mesivta ever, because I dormed at home back in the day (when I was in Mesivta).
All in all, not too many complaints. The interesting thing that did happen was that I noticed a glaring omission in our sanctuary's floor plan. There was a distinct lack of a table in front of the Bima, and the Chazzen's Shtender was straight in front of the holy ark, as opposed to being on the left. Why are these things important? I didn't know why, so I opened up my trusty Shulchan Oruch and learned the applicable Halachos. Nothing. Not a cotton-picking word about proper synagogue layout.
Eventually the truth came out; the reason Shuls have this setup is in order to differentiate them from reform places of worship (who are they worshiping? No idea) which, at least when they started, tried to emulate churches as much as possible. "And now," as I said to Rabbi Chayim Friedman, our Rosh Yeshiva and fearless leader, "I understand why Misnagdim call us reform."
This morning I remedied the problem, and now the Yeshiva High School of the Twin Cities has joined the ranks of orthodox synagogues. Happy Happy Joy Joy.
And so, my dear friends, comrades, and other forms of life, this is it until next time... (Key the opening of Beethoven's fifth).

This time

This time folks, it is for real. I have moved into the Yeshiva High School of the Twin Cities. In other news, I got an email from the guys who made my original blog possible. What was strange about that was that they had cut off my access to the site. So I tried going on, and boom, it worked! All right, so it wasn't actually a boom. Truth is, I made no audible sound, but my heart was jumping for joy. I couldn't find a link to get off the mailing list, as I'm not really doing anything with it anymore, so I marked it as "spam" in my gmail account, and hopefully that'll work.
With regard to the comment on my previous post, obviously that is totally true, but I'd sure like to believe that procreation, or the desire thereof, is not the only force driving mankind, and particularly Bochurim.

The evils of...

I have a toothache. So far I haven't been shown a whole lot of sympathy. But I'm a guy, I'll tough it out. That's the problem with us men; we'd rather suffer than complain.
And now that I've gotten that self-righteous garbage off my back I can blog about my one true passion.
Problem is, I haven't quite figured out what that one true passion is. Continuing with last night's theme (a little), it is very difficult to find one's true calling. What is it to be? It's all very well to dedicate one's life to G-d, but that doesn't necessarily put bread on the table. If you're on the Atkins diet then that's fine, but what about the rest of us, who still enjoy a croissant with their morning coffee? It would be nice if a letter came down from heaven with personalized directions. Oh, it has you say? The Torah? How could I forget. Our one true guiding light, eh?
You know what they say? If you have nothing to say, shut up. So I think I'll do that right now.

Live with Manis

I was going to post this yesterday, but then I posted something else, so I'll post it now. We, the Shluchim of YHSTW had a shiur/bs/farbie with Rabbi Manis Friedman yesterday. There were a couple basic points, which I will now proceed to expound upon. Firstly is the issue of a lack of responsibility among today's generation. Back in the good 'ol days people were proud to be Jewish, and knew that they represented Judaism among the masses. The result was Frum people. Now it's not like this.
All right, I know that the more things change the more things stay the same. I'm actually a big believer in this dictum. Are Bochurim today really that evil? Not evil, but misguided? Were the Bochurim of the 60's and 70's really so holy?
This leads us into the next topic: Bochurim of today have no willpower. Back in the day, if a guy fried out, it was because he wanted to become a doctor or a lawyer or a candlestick maker. But now? They don't want to be in Yeshiva, they don't want to be in college, they don't want to be at home. They just don't know.
Ditto for my previous editorial comment. And now, last, and perhaps least, comes the story of a wonderful and holy man. Um, I mean the fact that Bochurim now refuse all commands. They simply refuse to do what they're told to do. Simple as that. Why do they refuse? Oppositional defiance syndrome was my guess. And my solution? Medication. These guys would love to be drugged up anyway, right, so why not give 'em the opportunity?
My pet theory is that King Solomon was right, and there's nothing new under the sun. Whether people have simply forgotten, or chosen to ignore the problem, it was, is, and will be an issue until the coming of the Messiah.
Now for some joy, I recently started posting my blog on some sort of Jewish blog type thing, so hopefully more people will read it.

Thoughts on peace

I wasn't even planning on posting tonight, but I saw something so incredible and amazing and utterly redundant, not to mention tautological, that I just had to post. Israel returned the bodies of two Hamas terrorists, plus an ill one, for the body of a Jewish guy who had drowned and ended up in Lebanon. First of all, where exactly do they keep all these bodies? Is there some giant freezer under the Knesset filled with dead terrorists. Or perhaps are live ones brought there and then they slowly freeze to death, suffering inhumane and indescribable agonies as their lives are slowly sucked out from their evil selves? Either way, this just goes to show you how incredible Israel is. Well, not Israel, the Jews. What other nation would give up a live terrorist, a person who is fully capable (um...) of killing even more Jews, for the body of some unfortunate dudeski. Sorry, Judeski. Point is, we're a bunch of nice guys, which is exactly why we'll never win this war. Until Moshiach comes, anyway.

Back again

The great day shall soon arrive. Very soon I move into Yeshiva. Well, not actually Yeshiva, because there's no room here, but rather to a house. What this means in terms of the blog is that I'll probably have less opportunity to write, but hopefully they'll be as insightful as ever. Right.

Just a quickie

It's (relatively) late, I'm (relatively) tired, so good night. In other news, I'm quite disappointed that Al Gore won the Nobel prize. Actually, when I think about it, he's good company for Yasser Arafat.
Do I have anything personal against the terrorists occupying Jewish land in Israel? Yes. Do they have anything against me? Probably. The solution? They could all move to Uganda. I could do that. They could do. Just imagine thousands of terrorists blowing themselves up in the faces of stampeding wildebeests. What a glorious thought.
I'll shut up now.

Can you believe it?

For all who read yesterday's blog, good job, and the following will make sense. Otherwise, go back and read it, for your own good. I started learning a Maamar this morning, from Kuntreisim Aleph, Karov Hashem Lichol Korav, and it started talking about the Egyptian exile, and why it was so terrible for the Jews. There are two reasons. The first, and this is the one I'll be harping on now, so pay attention, is that the Jews suffered so much because Egyptians are simply nasty people to be around, utterly classless, no morals, deodorant, anything, and therefore the Jews suffered, just hanging around creeps like that. Is this not incredible? All right, so the Egyptians of that time are not the same as we have now, but they're still pretty similar.
The second answer, if you're interested, is that the Jews slave labor was not fulfilling; they felt no accomplishment with their work. That's because they were building on swamps, and the stuff vanished every night overnight. That's a basic explanation. For a more detailed one you can feel free to email me. Or you could feel free to do whatever you want. It's your feelings, not mine.

Strange things

Whenever I read something particularly asinine online I say (out loud of course) "Shut up you stupid people!" This usually occurs when I read that Israel is planning on giving away land or helping terrorists in any other way, and when I read that the world is going to end in 2047 because of greenhouse gases, or any other such nonsense.
Are all terrorists terrorists? Of course. Is there such a thing as Palestinian? Of course not. Therefore, for lack of a better name, I'm forced to call them terrorists. Does that make them all terrorists? Of course, that's their name.
Another pet peeve is garbage Jewish music, of which there is a vast amount, particularly playing on shmais, which I have to listen to. All right, I don't have to listen to it, but there's not too much else to listen to. I guess we all have our little crosses to bear.
Back to the terrorists, there's a serious problem. Why do they all look so dirty? Haven't they been introduced to showers? How can we be expected to deal with these people as equals when they don't seem to understand the rudiments of proper hygiene? Are we really ready to bring these smelly things into the sacred confines of Annapolis, or the whole of the western world in general? Issues like these are what keep me up at night.

Title

So I assume that everyone reading this blog has heard about the disappearance of the Sefer Torah from myyeshiva. It's so melodramatic. I've always been one for the ultimate anything, meaning that if there's a hurricane, I want the entire city destroyed; if there's a terrorist attack, I want everyone dying fiery deaths. Truth is, I'm like this in all aspects, but I can't seem to think of any other good examples. All right, so on Simchas Torah, I want everyone bombed out of their brains. Lucky for me, a couple people actually did it it this year. I guess you could say that I'm a product of my times: bigger, better, faster, more powerful, deadly, stupid, funny, strange, whatever. How do you get more whatever? It's tough, but that's what G-d gave man perseverance for.
Very rarely is the ultimate achieved. Except of course in the superlative world of the media, where everything that can possible go wrong will be spectacular. Except that they always disappoint. Jerks.
Enough about me, the Torah is gone, no one knows who done it (except that thief of course) and meanwhile life continues on, as it always does, in the life of myself. Brilliant, eh? Or not.
More whatever.

Jewish Enviromentalism?

In yesterday's portion of Chumash Rashi comments that the first floor of Noah's Ark was reserved for Zevel, garbage. This got me thinking. The first floor is the biggest floor. Where was the food stored? With the animals? Unlikely. With the people? Must be. But why do you need the whole bottom for garbage? Why not just throw it off the ship? What are we, a bunch of enviro nutcases? Besides, it would all get washed away anyway. Heck, it was organic material! Besides, what happened to it all exactly after the flood?
A local Friedman suggested that they couldn't throw anything off the boat, even if they had wanted to. Makes sense. Could be great for a "green" campaign about how we can't throw garbage off earth, our own personal ark.
What is this, have I become Al Gore or something? I'll never live this down at the Junior Republican's League.
In other news, Israel wants to give back Jerusalem. Idiots. 'Nuff said.

Do you understand?

On Tuesday night I read the entire book of Devarim (Deutronomy) and the entire book of Tehillim (Psalms). Wednesday night I made Kiddush. On what you ask? Frozen Absolut. Big mistake. I took one sip and I couldn't breathe. The stuff was almost as bad as "Simcha" Wine, which I did choke on, because it's as thick as maple syrup. Lesson is, make Kiddush on lukewarm Absolut, which I did on Thursday night. Friday I got smart and made on Smirnoff. Shabbos got me back to the whole saying thing, with the whole Tehillim and the whole Chitas of Bereishes too. Almost no time to do Shnayim Mikrah of Bereishis. Correction: there was no time. Was that a trite literary trick, overused to the point that even I feel sick using it? But what of it. Anyway, I'll be finishing up that Shm"ot before Tuesday. Missing from all this is some solid dancing and singing (I got hoarse before the first Hokafoh was done on Shemini Atzeres), eating, Farbrening, a little sleeping, even some flirting. Just kidding, there's no one to flirt with in this great state. Believe you me, I looked.

Which brings me to another issue. Something quite momentous happened in Shul on Friday. My reporting it would involve several names. Sure, it's quite entertaining, but do I really want this blog to become like the other seventeen million "Jewish" blogs and write about stupid local politics? And again, the names. Would it be fair to put these people's names online for all the world to see? OK, so it's not like all the world is reading this blog, but a quick Google would turn them up in no time.

Actually, I just did a quick search and came up with some great stuff on the main players. Mainly, on the main player: Rabbi Asher Zeilengold. Firstly, a slightly personal quibble. I Davened Maariv on Shemini Atzeres for the Amud. I started off with the Rosh Hashanah Niggun, getting all the way through Kaddish when, right before Borchu, he walked over to me and notified me that I was Davening with the Rosh Hashanah Niggun, and that he'd help me with the rest of Davening. So essentially he was Chazzen. Firstly, this was rather embarrassing.
Secondly, I had at least three members of the Shul come over to me and tell me that I was not singing the wrong Niggun. Thirdly, every year we sing this in Shul, for various Yomim Tovim, and there is nary a peep heard from our esteemed leader. But that wasn't what got me. It was the fact that he Davened Maariv the next night with the Rosh Hashanah Niggun. How sick is that?

Anyway, I think that's as far as I'll go with this whole thing. I'm rather tired, as usual, and I've lost the patience to deal with all this.

How's that for a disappointing ending?

This Religion!

So yeah, this is a wild religion we've got going here. Never gives you time to rest. Which is good, of course, because rest is stagnation, which is failure, which means it's time for a nap. Why only a nap? Because it's Davening in 3 hours. And I'm not even ready to go to bed yet. Tishrei is the wildest time of the year. It's scary, because I'm in Boringtown, USA, and I can barely keep up. Imagine Crown Heights. Or Israel. Truth is, I don't think I'd like to go to Israel for Sukkos. Just one day Yom Tov? Or Pesach. Just one Seder? Oh the humanity! They better think of something good for when Moshiach comes.

Fishing

Today we went fishing. There are two ways that I could write about this. The first is to use adjectives like there's no tomorrow. I wouldn't enjoy that. I'm too lazy. I could just lay out the bare facts, and this is what I'll probably end up doing. But it's inadequate, and rarely does justice. While we went fishing I nearly caught a fish. But it didn't want to stay on the bait. Two hours later My fishing-partner caught a nice-sized bass. Two minutes later an old man in a Minnesota Vikings cap pulled up beside us and offered us a Northern Pike. We accepted. Tonight we grilled the fish. Yum. It's also now 3:38. In the morning. Asinine, eh? Tomorrow, which appears to have come, looms in the present. My rambling slowly takes a more intelligent air, and I drift off on the waves of stuff, evermore lost to something or other.
Charmed, I'm sure.