Fighting

Ten years ago we fought. Ten years ago we fought an epic battle of words. It lasted many hours. I even insulted her because I knew it would hurt. She did the same. She wanted me not to go to camp. I'd be far away, out of touch. (She was the only successful pen-pal I have ever had, and the only person I habitually wrote from camp.) I wanted her to understand that going to camp did not mean I cared any less about her. I wouldn't be able to see her more if I didn't go, and it sure beat my parents' house for the summer. Plus, that was my Chalutzim year and it was only 7 weeks long, so maybe I could visit for longer at the end of the summer. She wanted me to understand that she would be lonelier without me on the other end of the telephone. But instead of speaking in civilized voices, we yelled angrily. When she hung up the phone, she said, "I love you. I love you more than anything, but, honestly, I kind of hate you right now." That conversation is one of ours I remember most.

A First

I broke down night before last. I cried. I cried because I had a woman in my arms. I cried because I wanted to kiss her and could not, because I am a gentleman. I excused myself from the room and found myself in a conversation with my beloved about what had just happened. I didn't realize it then, but this woman is the first of my interests I have told my love about.

Elohai N'shamah

Looking through my old poetry, I found this gem, a meditation on Elohai N'shamah:

God, is my soul pure?

Is it true, what I've been told?

Did You take the time to create it,

to shape it, to breathe it into me?

Is it a gift or a burden?

Is it on loan?

(I can't pay the interest.)

God, is my soul pure?

Parents and trees

Being at my parent's house is weird and horrible. I get frustrated with the way my parents treat me, which is some mixture of a free-thinking adult and a three-year-old. I got so frustrated tonight that I yelled at them. However, I can't really say I regret doing it. I hope that doesn't make me a horrible person.

This past fall, my parents had to take out two trees from our back yard. One was over 75 feet tall. It was a beautiful two-trunk cottonwood, which had served as plentiful shade (and also first base in our childhood whiffle ball games). The other was a modest white pine. The yard looks completely different (and also largely empty) despite the two remaining trees. It's weird to adjust to, but the weirdest thing is that in order to take the cottonwood out, a crane had to be brought into our neighbors' yard. So they have a different tree in their front yard now, making their house not look at all like the memories I have of it. There is no more tulip poplar there, now there is a small maple.

Love

When I was a freshman in high school, I went to some sort of workshop at a NFTY event run by Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolf, z"l. I don't remember what this particular workshop involved, but I remember Rabbi Wolf coming up with a definition of love. He said that love is an entirely selfless thing, not a give-and-take situation. At the time, though I was in love, I did not believe him. When my love died, I understood what he meant. I would have given anything for her.