How Long Is "Time"?

Time will help heal.
Time will soothe the pain.
Time will console.
Time will pass.
Time will ease it all.

Either my clock is distorted,
or these were just empty words told to stop the flow.
When will I reach this blessing entitled "Time"?
Can anyone answer me in truth?

Just tell me.
I need to know.
Because I believe six years is time enough;
yet the pain is still as strong as the day the earth was pierced.
The day my heart was pierced six feet deep.

I Don't Know What To Say

I want to write so badly.
I truly do.
Yet, I can't seem to get it out
of my broken
and aching
heart.

It comes out
not as
ink;
rather the words roll
down my cheek
as
teardrops;
ruining
my keyboard.

Time has flown on by
yet crawled at the same speed.
One moment she is here;
then I'm left yearning.

Many positive things
came from her leaving:
people I have met,
choices I have made,
journeys I have traveled,
lessons I have unearthed.

Yet, sometimes I ponder:
Does that make it ok?
Does that justify it all?

I. Just. Don't. Know.

I do know that I miss
her
terribly.
Six years
have gone on by
since I last
heard her voice,
saw her face,
felt her warm embrace.

What is there to really say
at this point?
What can possibly be said
that hasn't been said
over six years' time?

All that is left
is the emptiness
in my heart;
a hole
that just can't be filled
with the numerous
namesakes;
for a namesake
is not the same
as the original.

I miss you Pesha.
I wish you could teach
me the Tanya
that I learn with Avi each week.

Like, I know you are there
spiritually,
but that isn't quite
enough
anymore.
I want you back.
I need you back.

There is really nothing more to say;
except
I hope I am making you proud
up there.
Oh!
And, of course,
I love you dearly.

Not Black & White

Written for a close friend of mine - may she see the beauty and strength that is her.

But For Now A Prayer

I sit around the china-covered table surrounded by family and friends,
watching as the candles dance in the holiness around.
We already sung the Song of the Angels,
they have blessed us and flew up home.

Now, I close my eyes and softly sing
a question of three thousand years;
one that changes over time;
every week a new meaning.

It began as just a song;
one that I would sing hungrily.
Then it became a goal,
as I pondered its meaning.

Now, as I question the same as King Shlomo,
it has become a prayer from my soul.
One day I know it will be what it was always meant as:
a song of praise for my missing half.

When will I find the one that the song portrays?
Am I even looking in the right direction?
Will it be a rough road, or one freshly paved?
Who will be my better half; my pearl of an Aishes Chayil?

I think I know what I am looking for,
yet, I pray that I'm correct in what I want.
I whisper that I just want what is the best for me,
as my eyes open and watch the flames carry my prayer within their dance.

I then smile and prepare for Kiddush,
content in my prayer's success.
I soak in all that I am thankful for,
and look forward to a week of beauty.

I know now that I have done all that I can,
it is in the hands of the Holy One.
Yes, for now it is just a prayer,
But I know that one day it will be much more.

The Red Pen Oath

            Throughout my life, I have been the “Class Nerd”, the “Bookworm”, or the horrid “Teacher’s Pet”. Thus I was constantly picked on and bullied. My classmates taunted me for picking up a pen instead of a bat; for reading while they were dribbling. They harassed me for talking about authors while they discussed athletes.

            While they threw me in the figurative (and, on quite a few occasions, literal) mud, I had those who picked me up, cleaned me, and handed me back my dreams: Teachers. For you see, many can “teach”, but it takes a special person to BE a teacher. Someone who will never stop encouraging you; who will keep tabs on your career to date; who look forward to seeing your name in print. Thankfully, I had, and have, many such teachers to this very day.

            In twenty-four days I will leave Oakland Community College with my Associate in Liberal Arts degree and enter the doors of Oakland University’s College of Arts and Science for a Bachelor in English. Yet, I hope to return to OCC as an English Professor armed with an empty notebook and the infamous ‘Red Pen’. But the pen doesn’t have to evil; true teachers use it to write encouraging notes to their students. And that is what my pen will only spell.

            And to those who bully nerds, I have just one thing to say to you: I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you will never have the privilege to fight dragons, to collaborate with aliens, to become Sacagawea; to be the town’s hero. May you one day let someone turn the page of your story together with you.

            The following is my rendition of the “Red Pen Oath” of a teacher:

The Red Pen Oath

May I take a child and turn him into his dream,

Mold him carefully only into the shape that he requests,

Lift him up when others shove him down,

Love him like a son.

I vow to use my pen of red to only spell encouragement,

To write bits of devotion in the margins,

Underline the greatness and circle the potential,

Highlight his passion for the world to see.

May I stay awake at night feeling the pains of my student,

Heal the worries out of his heart,

Cry tears of joy at his success,

Guide him on the path of truth.

I vow to never give up on a difficult pupil,

To patiently repeat lessons as needed,

To grade exams by the student never by the answers,

To give him endless worlds of opportunities.

May I begin every lesson with a smile,

End each with the same,

Compliment each child personally when he enters,

And bid goodbye with words of hope.

I vow to view each pupil like the diamond that he is,

To never allow administration or parents to warp his creativity,

To protect him from the playground bullies,

And help him shine forever more.

May I do more than present lesson plans,

To live a 9-5 job,

To leave my students within the confines of the classroom,

To look at them as paychecks.

I vow to follow the path of my pupil,

Even long after he leaves my care,

For he will remain forever in my roster,

Just like a red pen’s ink is permanently displayed.

My Brother Journeys Forward

Pinchus' Hachnosas Tefillin

           

             The Fall 2014 semester began at Oakland Community College with me taking a class I didn’t plan on: Creative Writing. I had planned to take the class in the upcoming winter, however it was in my shopping cart and I accidentally clicked ‘Register’.

            Someone else also didn’t plan on taking the class, yet did so for the English credits he needed. His name was Brandon Rosenblatt.

            I entered the classroom and saw a familiar face, Brandon looks quite a bit like myself, so I sat down next to him and inquired his name. Upon hearing his last name, I immediately asked if he was Jewish. He hesitantly responded yes, but was quick to inform me that he is not religious in any sense of the word – nor does he plan on being. I let the topic drop for the time being.

            As the semester was nearing its end, I asked Brandon if he would like to join my family for a Shabbos meal. He said no thanks and that he hasn’t been religious since he was twelve years old. That won’t change. Once again I dropped the subject for next while.

            Brandon and I quickly became close friends. We would hang out a bit when possible and, at the time, planned on transferring to the same college together. Mid-August I asked Brandon to show me around Oakland University and he agreed. While waiting for the bus to arrive, I asked him if he would like to join me at my brother Red’s home for the upcoming Friday night Shabbos meal. He somewhat reluctantly agreed.

            As the special meal grew closer, Brandon became slightly more excited and even began to anticipate the occasion. He asked what should he expect and I explained the basic schedule of events. He joined me for the Shabbos day services at the Woodward Avenue Shul and then we parted ways. That Shabbos was unbelievable and it was the beginning of a new Brandon.

            Shortly after Brandon began wearing a Yarmulka at One Stop, where he works as a cashier. Sukkos came around and Brandon and his uncle, Louis, was invited to my sister’s house for one of the Yom Tov meals. Brandon called me in advanced and asked me to bring him something for the meal: a pair of Tzitzis so he can start wearing them.

            And now, about a month later, he has been keeping Shabbos frequently with the amazing guidance of the Kogan family, who have taken him in like a son, and he asked me Shabbos morning to help him put on Tefillin later on in the week for his very first time.

            This morning, the 30^th of Marcheshvan, 5776, Brandon, now known as Pinchus, woke up early and together we learned the laws of Tefillin. Afterwards the moment arrived. We began with reciting the day’s Hayom Yom and then as the niggun of the Bar Mitzvah Maamer flowed throughout the room, Brandon/Pinchus donned Tefillin for his first time. Reciting vital prayers together with him, word by word, brought tears to my eyes. I watched in admiration as he silently spoke with Hashem. Once completed with his prayers the room burst with the song Siman Tov U’Mazel Tov blasting through the speakers as we took off the Tefillin and wrapped them up; my soul was bursting with joy for my brother.

            My dear Pinchus, may you only grow from this moment on as you embark further on your journey of spirituality. Know that I am always with you and will never leave your side. May today be the first of many and just one of the many firsts you will take into your soul. May these straps be your rope to pull you closer to G-d, one mitzvah at a time.

To The One Who Made Me An Uncle

Dedicated in honor of the Bas Mitzvah of my dear niece Devorah Sarah Kriegsman

Twelve years ago,

you entered this world,

and changed

Everything!

You turned a Bride & Groom

into Mommy & Tatty;

A couple

into a family;

Proud Parents

into prouder Grandparents;

Brothers and Sisters

into eager Uncles and Aunts.

You touched lives

With your

Itty fingers

and huge

heart.

You grew from a baby

to a child

to a girl

and now

into a

proud

young

woman.

You have grown in ways

that have made everyone

near you glow with pride.

You are a

True

Bas Melech:

the King’s

beloved daughter;

on her pathway

to becoming the next Queen.

I don’t say it often,

Perhaps not even show it enough,

But I love you dearly,

My dear Devorah Sarah.

May you always

continue to be

True to yourself

and show the world

the power of a Princess.

I hope this special day

Brings you a step closer

to changing the world;

one beloved smile,

one heart filled hug,

at a time.

Keep growing,

Keep yearning,

Keep proving,

Keep bringing pride

the world that you changed

Twelve years ago.