Cold place

There's a thing called hashgacha pratis, individual divine providence. Twice tonight I wrote lengthy posts about tonight's mivtzoyim, and twice tonight they vanished into the ether, as of they had never been. Why did G-d want me to waste well over an hour on things that will never be seen be seen by anyone? I don't know the answer to that question. Is it annoying? Sure, and perhaps there's a lesson here. Maybe G-d doesn't like it when I complain about mivtzoyim, about the intense cold, the lack of Jews in Old Tappan, the way bikur bayis is always foisted on poor innocents like myself. Maybe. I don't know. Though I would probably enjoy the experience, I haven't yet been invited to read G-d's thoughts, so I don't know what it is he was thinking. All I can do is my best here in this dank little world we have, and hope to goodness that in this case the third time will truly be the charm.
I'm reminded of an emeseh maaseh shehaya, so lab davka so true, that I hears while I was in yeshiva in LA. It wasn't the Rosh that told it, so depending on your particular political viewpoint that is either a good thing or a bad thing. Anyway, there was once a gabbai in a non-Lubavitch shul who wasn't the biggest lover of chabad. Once at a kiddush during this, the holiday season, he got up and, holding a besantad bottle of coke in his hand, he said, "Look everybody, it's the Lubavitcher Rebbe!"
A week later his house burned down. A week after that he was fired from his lucrative day job. A week after that his wife sued for divorce. After a quick cheshbon hanefesh he realized wherein his problem lay, and the next time there was a kiddush he begged mechilah, publicly for his moronic behavior. Things brightened up considerably after that.

I have a lot more to write, but I'm really tired, and anyway, I wrote it down a couple times already. Sorry 'bout that.