A Poem by my Grandfather's Rabbi, Alvin Fine

Birth is a beginning
And death a destination.
And life is a journey:
From childhood to maturity
And youth to age;
From innocence to awareness
And ignorance to knowing;
From foolishness to discretion
And then, perhaps, to wisdom;
From weakness to strength
Or strength to weakness-
And, often, back again;
From health to sickness
And back, we pray, to health again;
From offense to forgiveness,
From loneliness to love,
From pain to compassion,
And grief to understanding-
From fear to faith;
From defeat to defeat to defeat-
Until, looking backward or ahead,
We see that victory lies
Not at some high place along the way,
But in having made the journey, stage by stage,
A sacred pilgrimage.
Birth is a beginning
And death a destination
And life is a journey,
A sacred pilgrimage-
To life everlasting.

New Year, New Attitude?

Shanah tovah!

This year will be a very different one for me. I am living on my own (well, with a roommate), but not at home or in a school dorm. I am looking to start a career. I am looking to be more myself.

I pray that I may have the confidence to be myself, to like myself, and to become a me that I like.

Drinking

Today is the first time in a long time I have wanted to drink, and it may be the time I have most wanted to drink in my life. I don't intend to break my sobriety, but it's awfully tempting right now.

Frustration

It's been a while. A long while. Yet still, every once in a while I am surprised that my love is not there, that she has not called, that I have received no letter recently. So I go to call, or write, and then realize the reality of the situation. Sometimes this provokes additional sadness or even tears, but most times it elicits inward-reflecting frustration on my part, for not being able to move on appropriately.

Shabbat Nachamu

Shabbat Nachamu, this past Shabbat, is the first in a series of seven special shabbatot with haftarot of conciliation. Shabbat Nachamu, named for the week's Haftarah portion, signifies the start of the build-up to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, a start to the end of oppression and to a new life. However, this year I don't feel comforted. I am not commanded to be comforted, and if I am, I disobey a commandment. I want to wallow in my grief. I need to wallow in my grief.