pack (maybe the worst blog entry ever)

Wanderingstu is in a grouchy way, dear reader. Not because of a woman or a class or a frustrated attempt to do this or that or this. Rather, as those who know me most deeply will surely deduce, because i am packing for a trip.

perhaps the worst-ever was packing to come to Israel. This summer I spent weeks in psychic agony, tormenting Troy and Jillian and probably the rest of Brooklyn and lower Manhattan with my rantings, my packings and unpackings my contemplations and my detailed schematic drawings.

In the end, I got to Israel and wished I had more sweaters and more plastic bags and more vitamin tablets. I ended up paying an overage weight on baggage, and could have slipped in an extra 50lbs with my new overage alotment.

But none of that is the issue. The issue is that
JASON AND SARAH GOT ENGAGED IN YELLOWKNIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (sarah's hometown) MAZAL TOV!!

It's just proof that having your photo featured on wanderingstu.com is a guarantee of good fortune, especially in matters of the heart.


I don't look like that anymore, by the way.

But anyhow, Esta is here, and we are leaving tomorrow for a week up north, and I am packed as though we are trekking across Asia Minor to do pilgrimage at the shrine of Turkish False Messiah Shabbtai Tzvi of Smyra.

Uh.... what am i saying?
Right. So one bag has the menorah; one bag has the 58 books I NEED so i can be a good yeshiva boy while i skip class for three weeks; one large bag has lots of clothes so i don't have to be too stinky; one bag has the computer and other mildly fun stuff; one bag has snacks and tea; one bag is a space heater in case esta gets cold; one bag makes you smaller, one bag makes your larger.

Truth-be-Told, I am tired, and tired of this post. So pretend you never read it,
and accept glorious Hanukah-Christmas-JaySarRog Day-New Years wishes from me and mom.

much love

My best friend is exceedingly more cuter than yours

And he's not afraid to hug the devil.

I was hanging out in Tel Aviv the other night with someone excellent and, on the way out of Yafo, passed this little candle store that had a little Christmas tree in the window. Aaaahh... I miss Christmas, and all the lights and smells and new yorkiness and hullaballoo, and eggnog flavored burgers from White Castle. And I miss you, cuddly reader.

I went to sleep and woke up at all the wrong times including a mouse-invoked midnight arousal that lasted several hours. It may not have been a mouse; it may have been my friend Snotty the cat lurking in the rafters of the trailer, or my friend Micha the South African coming home late and doing his thing. Irregardably regardless, right not I am hungry, haven't had my old man oatmeal yet, and have shirked several of my duties to spirit, mind and body, duties to Am Yisrael, The Holy One of Being and myself.

But shimmy on a shingle if my Jason Rogers isn't the mostest.

Esta comes to town Tuesday night. First time here in 18 years. First time ever hanging out with the religious fanatics I now call mispacha. 'sgonna be live, folks. Good times ahead.

terms to clarify:

am yisrael- The people Israel
Esta- My mom (mom Yisrael)
mishpacha- All Y'all- the fam'ly

men of spirit

here's something from a yeshiva around the corner from us, from a fellow named Rav Aharon Lichtenstein. sounded pretty good to me, especially these days, when i'm feeling like a man of no spirit-- but of many dreams:

The requirement to acquire all this by the time one leaves yeshiva is, of course, quite difficult. Nevertheless, there is, perhaps, one central point whose realization it is reasonable to hope for. It is fair to hope that one completing his yeshiva studies will leave a spiritual person, one in whose heart beats an eternal spirit, one who thinks and weighs, builds and plans, in a manner different from that of the pragmatic technocrats who fill the world. This is not a small thing. When God calls upon Moshe to appoint Yehoshua in his stead, He defines to the new leader in one phrase: "a man who has spirit in him" (Bamidbar 27:18). The word "spirit" has multiple meanings: it includes courage and prophecy, wisdom and fear of God. What, if not these, distinguishes the Messiah? (See Yeshayahu 11.) In this, everyone is obligated.

The Talmud (Berakhot 55b) states: "Anyone who goes seven days without a dream is considered wicked." Anyone capable of traveling on a path for one complete cycle - a full week - with everything in its proper place and according to its routine, without any striving, without a spirit pulsating and screaming to break out of the routine - such a person is wicked. A good person strives, dreams, and thinks. He dreams about achieving greatness, scope and depth, and clinging to God. The particular dream each person must decide for himself. Although the actualization is not always up to us, surely the individual in whom there is spirit can become a dreamer.

Get off the bus, Jewboy

So my friend Avraham held the bus for me, while I ran like a maniac to pack my backpack. I zoomed back and leapt onto the bus, en route to Jerusalem to launder some borrowed sheets, to bring my famous blue raincoat to Shalom the Tailor, and to meet with some good folks for tea and sympathy.

On the bus, I felt around-- no phone. Ach!! No phone. I panicked, then felt every pocket another 3 times, then checked the backpack and other places in which the phone could not possibly be. No phone. I must have dropped it while running.

"Oh well," I told myself, "I don't really need a phone, do I?"

Well of course I did. How else to call Jeffrey and Raz and Shalom the Tailor?? I don't even have their numbers, except on the phone. Stop the bus- I lost my phone!!!

Bus driver (in Hebrew): You lost it, or you forgot it??

Huh-- if I had merely forgotten it, would he have refused to stop and let me off??

He stopped at the top of the big hill, I jumped out. Feet hit the ground, and I bellow- as barbaric a yawp as I can muster. Argh. The urge to give the Finger to the One Who Createth All electrifies my tongue. Luckily, my reason set in, and I did not curse the Maker [thanks, Dr. B_.]. Rather, I screamed to the Heavens:

What the F*&@ was that all about??!!

A bold challenge if there ever was one, I reckon...

At that moment, I turned my head and saw a rare sight in Bat Ayin (never seen before, in my case): A group of 4 or 5 deer sprinting across the forest. Beautiful. Pristine. Perfect.

"So that's what that was all about," I muttered, effectively humbled, and walked back to town.

A walk in the park in Romania

While discussing times of high-livingness and moments of sudden, ecstatic resolution in my life (perhaps I should detail some of these someday-- you might find one or two in your wanderingstu: romania archive), I uttered some sort of pithy summation of my deepest yearnings:

The point of life is to be tapped into the true source of being.

Ugh.
It sounded great on a hillside overlooking the terraced olive groves.
Now it sounds like poopy.
But I wanted to get it out there.

Wanderingstu.com is a soundingboard, brethren and sistren, not a polished museum piece.
Now get some damn comments up here before i cry again.