Hiatus and I

Putting an official stamp on my thusfar coincidental absence from Updating, I am happy to say that tomorrow I will, IY"H, be embarking on a rather ambitious and uncharacteristic vacation involving weekends, several airplanes, and more than one country to whom I do not owe citizenship.

Are you intrigued?

I am.

Much of the story, albeit with (I imagine) a great deal less tension and heat stress, to come in approximately two weeks.

Stay tuned...

...and out of the open water...

M.

Into the West

I only just finished watching a large chunk of documentary concerning the production of "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy. It ends with the goodbye parties and ceremonies and speeches of each castmember at the conclusion of filming. It's touching and tearful experience on many levels even if you haven't followed the making of these movies as I have, and it ties in very well with the song composed for the end credits of the final movie. The song is called "Into the West," and I have adopted it somewhat as an anthem for endings and goodbyes in general of which I have currently experienced many. Taking a leaf from TorontoPearl's wonderful book, these are the lyrics.

Lay down
Your sweet and weary head
Night is falling
You have come to journey's end.

Sleep now
And dream of the ones who came before
They are calling
From across a distant shore.

Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see
All of your fears will pass away
Safe in my arms
You're only sleeping.

What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home.

And all will turn
To silver glass
A light on the water
All souls pass.

Hope fades
Into the world of night
Through shadows falling
Out of memory and time.

DonÂ’t say
We have come now to the end
White shores are calling
You and I will meet again
And you'll be here in my arms
Just sleeping.

What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home.

And all will turn
To silver glass
A light on the water
Grey ships pass
Into the West.

I know the song is rather rife with "Lord of the Rings" symbolism and reference, and of course I am biased (the first time I heard it I burst into tears), but I think it maintains a certain untouchably poignant sentiment nonetheless.

Lessons Learned

I am sitting in my mother's gradually accelerating car, luxuriating in the innate inertia of the passenger's seat. I am curling back against the sun-warmed upholstery, dipping my toes in the constant ebbs of exhaustion that threaten to sweep me into emotional oblivion. I am trying not to think.

My mind and memory throb dully with the day's unrelenting assault of ceremonial symbolism. Graduates, straighten your caps. Graduates, pick up your corsages. Graduates, walk down the aisle. Graduates... turn your tassels... Tiny, glaring rectangles of light still speckle my vision, an unpleasant residue of innumerable camera flashes trying to plant ephemeral emotion onto solid memento. My sweaty palm tightens around the empty scroll I am handed, threatening to crush the feeble facsimile of academic notoriety.

And through it all I smile, because my tears have already been expended.

In the car, I am slowly slipping into the serendipity of a daydream when my mother slows the car at a stoplight. She points, her smile effervescence with joy, to a small square building across the intersection.

"Didn't you used to go to school there?" she rhetorics proudly, frankly, kindly.

It is a few moments before I recognize her pun, and understanding is bittersweet. But the past tense is my sudden, unwelcome remedy and no volume of copious exhaustion can keep such simple truth at bay.

The Silent Falls

How can one describe the place
Where Niagara is falling?
This place it seems that human eyes
Were scarcely meant to see.

The words that flood my head
Stretch like thread across a chasm
Measured and fine, and perfectly accurate
But pitifully, obviously empty.

The power of this place is... penultimate
Awesome and awful and brilliant
The crashing and pounding thunders my chest
And smothers my heartbeat while whispering
That nowhere is safe from her fury.

I imagine that eloquents before me have tried
To capture Niagara in meters or prose
And perhaps, another day, I too will follow,
But not yet.

For while new in my mind Niagara remains
And the fluidity flows in the memory
My attempts will be useless, because the knowledge retains:

Freedom is breath for Niagara,
And she will not brook her restraint.

Spread a Little Sunshine

Stx has tagged me to perform five Random Acts of Kindness- something I quickly and brutally discovered is a lot easier said than done. Here are my attempts:

1. I bought my brother two Harry Potter CD's that he really enjoyed but wouldn't ask for.

2. I helped my mother unload the car from grocery shopping and stocked the fridge without being asked (or silently guilt-tripped) into it.

3. I cleared the table on Shabbos night even though it was my sister's turn.

4. I brought my mother orange juice in the morning, because she likes to have orange juice in the morning.

5. I watched my friend's little brother in my backyard for a few minutes. (Ok, so he's adorable and I didn't have to do much, and it wasn't for very long , but I think it can still count... right?)

And to add to the survey if I may, I'll cite a Random Act of Kindness that someone performed for me:

1. A few weeks ago when I didn't feel well, a girl in my class walked me home- of her own initiative. In the middle of the day during lunch period, I might add.

And now for the fun part. I tag...
- Mr. Avrech
- TorontoPearl
- Shir Chadash

The Beautiful Distance

Last Sunday as my class made our weary way home from Shabbaton, we made a detour. We turned off the highway by the sign that said "New Square, New York" and we entered a different world.

The world in New Square is like nothing I have ever dreamed. It is possible, perhaps, that my visiting view tinted the scene with an imaginary piety, but somehow I don't think this is the case.

New Square is the central community of the Squverer Chassidim. It is a place where women and men walk down separate sides of the street, and where tricycles on the sidewalk are identified in Yiddish. In New Square, the Rebbe holds court over all decisions made, be it physical or mental, public or private. This is a place where the streets are laid on foundations of deepest faith, and where there is not a television, radio, video game, or computer to be found. In New Square, it is fashionable to be modest and it is popular to be happy.

My school had long ago adopted the tradition of sending senior students to spend a few hours in New Square, but I never could understand quite why. What was to be gained by gawking at "the other half," so to speak, for a few hours as though they were actors in colonial Williamsburg? What more did we need to know of Chassidus then what we had already been taught through history and community folklore? I wasn't scornful exactly, but I admit that the idea seemed like something of an insult to our intelligence.

But that was until Sunday, when finally I walked through this little, private world and began to understand. When I went to New Square, it was as though a closet I had thought locked and musty opened to reveal a glowing pasture of radiant vitality. There were little girls, rambunctious and lively as any I have met, answering our questions with bewildered glee. There were the women we watched, women of forty and fifty with cheeks smooth as glass and eyes bright as morning. There were the girls of our own age, almost all to be married within a span of two years who finally explained how this was quite alright, and I saw a trust in their eyes for their parents and for G-d that I could never hope to rival. I watched as men walked down the street, foreign and austere to me, but as they passed their female counterparts I could almost feel the baritone reverberations of purest respect.

And I saw the Squverer Rebbe shatter my ingrained misconceptions as he walked, swiftly and straight backed to his chair and spoke in a voice that rang with purpose and pride.

Now I understand why I went to New Square. In watching those I had thought were trapped, I freed myself from prejudice.