No, really, it was nice

It's pretty funny, walking into a Chabad House and being treated like a BT, not like the card-carrying member of the International Chabad-Lubavitch movement that I am. It's different, because instead of being the one serving, I felt like I was being served, and let me state clearly here that I never ever ever want to have that feeling again. It seems like once a year there's an article on one of the Chabad news sites about shluchim overworking the kids they hire. Sure, it's a terrible thing, but at least the kids are used to it. In Lubavitch we grow up thinking that it's our duty to save the world. This Shabbos, I felt like I was being saved. I didn't enjoy that.I felt like an outsider, as if I was visiting Chabad, not that it was my permanent residence.
Of course, I compounded the problem by doing something quite BT. The Stone Chumash usually says what the minhag for the Haftora is for Sephardim and Ashkenazim. Sometimes they'll mention the custom of Frankfurt, and I think maybe twice they say what the Lubavitch minhag is. Odd then, that this week they mention what the Lubavitch minhag is; it's odd because this week the Lubavitch minhag is exactly the opposite of what the Stone Chumash says to do. It's all explained in this post from last year. Read it.
So anyway, the guy reading the Haftora ends early, exactly as we don't do, and starts to say the Berachos. I start to think, "Should I say something? Should I not say something?" I go along this line for about a minute, and as the guy is wrapping up the third Bracha I walk over to the Shliach and mention the mistake. Now, what is he going to do? Tell the guy and go back? No. So the only reason I had for going up was to show off my knowledge. And that is a terrible reason. The Shliach, who had no idea what I knew or who I was, said that he didn't know, but the Artscroll Chumash said what it said. I felt like an idiot.
The good news, he's a really nice guy, pretty funny too, and as soon as I get a chance to shmooze with him a little he'll get it. And maybe, just maybe, I'll get it too. But the chances are much greater for the former. Oh yeah, and in case you're wondering, I did enjoy Shabbos. I really did.

In other news, I started reading Alice in Wonderland, the annotated edition. The man was a genius. And pretty sick. And I wish I wasn't so lazy, and could write like that. Nu nu.

Splendadid

There seems to be a conspiracy in Morristown: make it rain Wednesday night and Thursday, so when TRS writes a brilliant post on Wednesday night, he can't post it on Thursday, and by the time he gets a chance it's too late anyway. So maybe I'll save it for next week.

That's it. I'm done.

Battling the good battle

One of the bochurim here in Morristown was pontificating about the greatness of Lubavitch bochurim. He commented on their tremendous kabbalas ol, and how roshei yeshivos who claim that today's bochur refuses to listen to rules and accept guidance are utterly wrong. "All right," he allowed, "so maybe they're not perfect, but to say that they don't take upon themselves the yoke of heaven at all? How could you say this?" I said, "What they're doing is not kabbalas ol, it's convenience!"
Now listen, I'm the first one in the world to say that Lubavitch bochurim are incredible, and on top of the world, but when someone is waxing lyrical, I often feel the need to burst their bubbles. And listen, I did have a point. When you're just doing something out of habit, then it's not worth too much. As the good 'ol Bible says, Mitzvos Anashim Melumdah. So yes, maybe it's not the nicest thing in the world to do (bursting of bubbles I speak of), but a guy got to do what a guy got to do.

Better?

People don't seem to understand that tragedy is the parent of art. Without struggle to overcome, adversity to upstage, what exactly is the point? So when my blog seems a bit depressing, it's because I have nothing happy to write about. Not because I'm not happy, of at least content, but because there's little point in recording that state for posterity in multiple variations. Today, I'm happy to report, I'm feeling rather annoyed with this whole smicha thing. See, there's this massive Shach, not to mention an equally daunting Taz, that I simply don't understand, even after spending the better part of a day trying to assimilate whatever of is they're trying to say. A smart guy in Tiferes here, by the name of Adam Epstein, told me tonight that my frustration is a good thing, because you only get frustrated when you care, which I suppose is true. R. Schapiro here says that you won't understand the first time you learn, and probably not the second time either, but if you sweat enough, then good things will happen.

In other news, it seems to me that wifi works better when it's cold than when it's hot. This is of course good news for my iPod, even if it's bad news for my body. Oh well, I suppose that this is one of the sacrifices I have to make to keep my faithful readers happy.

Joshua's fired

Some people say that every story is worthy of being told. Other people helpfully point out that while this is true, it doesn't change the fact that not every story should be published for the world to read. The following is one of those stories. Oh, and of course it features Joshua, in a slightly less annoying format than usual.

Joshua walked into the room and said to no one in particular, "Hello everybody!" The three occupants of the room, who had been staring morosely at the far wall, where a broken TV wasn't showing anything, didn't even bother to look up. One of them said, "What is this, you want to feature in a story, so the rest of us have to suffer?" Joshua didn't quite know what to make of this response, and he proceeded to say, "What's that supposed to mean? I thought you guys enjoyed the publicity. If I had known that this wasn't quite your cup of tea then I-" He was cut off in mid-sentence when one of the guys pounded loudly on the table and said, "Enough of your infantile prattle, Joshua, do you have nothing better to do than tell us your problems? Go star in your stories somewhere else. Just leave us in peace." Joshua was quite put out when he heard these words, and he turned to leave the room, saying as he exited, "I see. After all I've done for you, all the hard work I put into making you guys successful, this is how you treat me. Well, you know what? I'm finished with you. Good day!" With that he slammed the door and walked outside, impressed with his own resolve but also scared at what he had just done. These guys were his best friends, if only because they were his only friends. He didn't know what he would do now, but he supposed he had burnt his bridges behind him, and now he would have to think of something.
Joshua took his cellphone out of his pocket and dialed his therapist. His therapist picked up, and said, "Hello Joshua." Joshua was so shocked that his therapist had picked up the phone (usually he just let it ring) that he couldn't think of anything coherent to say, and just mumbled greetings. His therapist was quite concerned, and expressed this yodeling loudly. Joshua was quite concerned at this, because his ear felt like it was about to fall off, and he ended the call. As that hadn't been much help he called his spiritual adviser, and she too answered the phone. Unfortunately for Joshua, she only spoke Sanskrit, and they were forced to communicate by grunting. "Oomph, eemph," began Joshua, and she immediately countered with, "Oaph Oomph." After doing this for a few more minutes Joshua's throat began to hurt, and anyway, she wasn't helping too much, so he ended the call. It wasn't a hard decision to make.
Joshua considered his options for a moment, and realizing that they were severely limited he began to walk down the path. Behind him the door opened and one of the men who had been in the room popped his head out and said, "I knew it would take him forever to leave, that guy is so weird, and he has absolutely no idea what's going on." Another of the men joined him at the door, and as they watched Joshua get into his car, he said, "Yeah, he really is a piece of work. Who does he think he is exactly? And you're right, he has no idea what's going on. For a guy who spends all he days thinking about other people's opinions of himself, you would think he would notice what other people thought about him. But no, he's too caught up in his own little world for that." The third man, the one who had originally spoken to Joshua, joined them, and he said, "There but for the grace of fifteen years of expensive private education goes I. You see that? All that promise, all that potential, and he wastes it like the stuff was cheaply available, like-" His metaphor failed him, and all he could do was gesticulate violently with his left hand as he said, "Like, well, you know what I mean. Joshua could have been so much, but he threw it all away, and now he's left with nothing."
Joshua was, as these bright thoughts were being aired, engaged in maneuvering his way out of the parking lot and into the street. He knew he'd have ten minutes to ruminate over the morning, and try to figure out what to tell his charlady, who would soon be asking him how his latest story was going. What would he tell her this time? She wasn't very persistent, and he knew he could get her off his case with a couple of intelligent answers, but he didn't have the strength to even formulate these. He was beaten, and he knew it. Still, he hated to end off a story this way, so he pulled into a gas station and bought a dozen doughnuts. If he was going to be depressed he might at least have a little company.

Shorter than sweet

I'm sure some of you out there in cyberland think me so crushed by the results of Tuesday's election as to make me incapable of blogging. In fact, last night I had a brilliant post all written and ready to go, but it was raining outside, and since my internet in Morristown is based on my being able to access the great outdoors, I never got to publish it.
Now of course it's three days later, and I'm happy to report that I'm finally able, after nearly two years, to put politics out of my mind. Sure, there's lots of important shtuff going on in the world, and I'm sure it's all quite fascinating, but why should I get involved? And there'll be elections in Israel quite soon, but again, why should I stick my nose in there? No, a little peace and quiet is what I now need. At least, a little peace and quiet from all this election shtuff.

In other news, I started learning Siman 90 today with my Chavrusa. Oh brudder, it's udderly wild!

Smicha joke

I'm sure that everyone can't wait to hear the brilliant joke I thought up today while learning smicha. What is an example of tavshil bassar?The cheese on top of a cheeseburger!

Mamash inspiring

I read something very wise a couple of days ago, and it went something like this: According to the amount of suffering you have when your team loses, that's how much joy you have when they win. All right , so excuse the Oholei Torah English, but the sentiment remains true; if you're not emotionally invested all the way, through the tough times, then how can you possibly enjoy the light at the end of the Holland tunnel? I mean sure, it's only New Jersey, but hey, that's better than nothing. So yes, as I was saying, how much will I either celebrate McCain's win or loss? Do I deserve to be a real part of it? If he loses, then at least I'm kind of protected, but is that a good thing?All this of course applies to a much more important result than a presidential election. That reminds me of something that's bothered me the whole campaign; everyone gets up there and says that this Is the most important election we've ever had. And guess what? They said this four years ago. And they'll day it on four years too. In fact, they'll say it in two years. And probably in just one year too. Leading me to the obvious conclusion that in fact every election is on fact the most important ever. In this world, the only thing that matters is what
you've done for me lately. The past is dead and buried, and the future is our children's problem. For us, it's just us.

Back to what I was starting to say. Judaism is exactly the same way. The only thing that matters is what you've done for me now. You sinned a minute ago? Move on. You'll have a problem in ten minutes? Burn that bridge when you come to it. The most important thing in the entire universe now, the reason you were created, the reason the entire universe was created, is in order that you should do the right thing right now. And if you're not emotionally invested in this one, how do you expect to accomplish anything? If it doesn't bother you that the Jewish people are suffering, that the holy Shechinah is in exile, then how can you hope to truly partake in the ultimate salvation?

All right, all right, I'm sorry for that self-righteous, pompous, and pretentious little word of mine. Still, it did seem to come out pretty well, and hey, if anyone is inspired or anything, then I'm happy to take credit for it. And thus endeth the lesson for today; check back later for the official TRS reaction to whatever it us that will be happening pretty darned soon.

Pithy votes

As you have all probably guessed by now, I'm bored sick of this election. I've been arguing about it for over two years now, and I don't even enjoy supporting Obama anymore. Or pretending to support. Same difference. I'll be quite happy when it's all over, and we can be free of presidential politics for six months at least. Because believe you me, the break ain't lasting any longer than that. More's the pity.And did I vote? Of course I voted! What kind of American doesn't vote? In fact, I voted before Sukkos even started. As I stood there, ready to mark off my ballot, I was trying to figure which choice would annoy more people. Bob Barr and Ralph Nader, among others, though they would be fun, would not quite answer. After all, each side would be able to claim victory. No, for this lifelong contrarian, there were only two possible candidates: Mickey Mouse and Brett Favre.So there I was, trying to choose between a fictional character and a gunslinger with more interceptions than some HOF QBs have TDs. The analogy, at least to my conservative friends, is perfectly clear. If you happen to be of the liberal bent, then perhaps you'd rather imagine the two possibilities to be the good lord himself, and his opponent to be Satan, surrounded of course by many myriads of evil warmongering neocons. So who could I vote for?Unfortunately, I haven't yet figured out a hack that will allow me to show you the picture which shows my marked ballot, so you'll have to trust me when I say that it does exist. If you don't believe me, ask SZB.
As for the suggestion of voting for myself; what exactly would that accomplish? It's not like anyone would ever know, and it would be a bit of a waste. Obviously, there is a bit if a thrill involved, but once you've gotten past that infantile emotion, what exactly would be the point? As E would say, the point is that there is no point, but I would rejoinder that that is not the point. And so.

The day's day

Tomorrow is Parshas Lech Lecha. The day when we, as Jews, can finally get over this whole flood thing and concentrate on moving to the land G-d will show us. I know you're as excited as I am about this one. Seriously, Bereishis and Noach are pretty weird. They just don't seem to fit into the whole narrative thing. And Noah. What a poor, misunderstood guy. All right, so he was a bit of a weirdo too. I mean, after spending a year cooped up in an ark, would you go and plant a vineyard first thing? And then get drunk? You know what his problem was? He didn't invite anyone over to come and Farbreng with him. How did he expect his kids to become Chassidim if he was saying Lchaim himself? Naturally, things turned out badly for him.
But as I was saying, Lech Lecha is all right by me. It's funny, because most people think about wrapping up their life by the time they're 75. But not Abraham. He was just starting. And he did a pretty good job of it too. I mean, how many other people do you know who are responsible for several major religions and consequently most of the bloodshed this world has seen?

In other news, I was once again in Crown Heights for Shabbos. 770 was full. Not as full as last week, but still pretty full. Now, you all know me, I'm as tolerant as they come, but still, it's getting a little ridiculous here. Why are there so many people, and why do they insist on singing so much? I much prefer a calm and collected environment, where taking a deep breath is a possibility, and speaking Hebrew is not a requirement.

Yup. That sounds about right.