Let's Go To Wonderland

Welcome to tha land
Where dreams come true
Where anything can happen
In all that you do

A place where smiles
Stretch from ear to ear
Welcome to Wonderland
I am so happy that you are here

Come join our dance
As we spin in circles round and round
Enter this realm of the world
Where joys know no bounds

Here, sadness and sorrow
Disappear for a spell
A place where everything
Is perfect and well

Wonderland filled
With creatures of all kinds
People who care
For the happiness of your mind

Welcome to Wonderland
A place where all pain goes away
Here for a short while
The memories last every single day

Was, Is, Will Be- Im Ain Ani Li, Mi Li?

I can deal with loneliness
The solitude of no one who understands
Is almost comforting
Cuz who can I rely on
If don't choose to rely on myself.

There is only me
I have to look out for myself
My heart, my head
My limits
Maybe I push boundaries
Maybe I break rules
Maybe that's just me.

Who I am
Can't be defined
I am more than a picture
A description
But who I am
Is me
Whoever that may be

You can't pin me down
Put me in a box
You cornered me once
You shoved me down
And trampled on my spirit
You broke me
But I emerged
I didn't succumb
I soared
I won't be chained down
I will fly.

You tried to crush me
And you almost did
I almost gave in to the pain
I almost let my life go off the edge
Like it did once before
But I fought
Tooth and nail
For my happiness
I would not lose

And now here I am
I see the finish line
Of this race that I am running now
I hear the cheers
See the signs
And there you are
Arms wide open
Ready to hold me
Thank you for everything
Thank you for pulling from the pain
Thank you for giving my my wings.

A Problem Plaguing Our People-- Shmiras HaLashon... A Call for Help

I have this potentially problematic predicament that plagues me periodically (How's that for alliteration?)
Anyhow, it always starts with a simple conversation. It could be with a friend, in the hallway, at the Shabbos table, over the phone, on Gchat-- you name it, I have had it.
And it doesn't even seem so bad.
At first.
I start telling an innocent, generic story or anecdote-- something someone mentioned to me, and I relate it to someone else, NAMES FREE (that doesn't make me less guilty of passing on news but...) then comes the big question: Who is it? or Who said it? or Where did you hear it from?
So me, being a clever little chicky, answer ' A little birdie told me."
Yet, for whatever reason, that doesn't fly. They MUST have names. Names, names, names, and I try SO hard to keep quiet. I don't want to say. I don't have to say! Yet for some reason, I MUST say. And only when I do is the yentish curiosity satisfied, only then do they stop pestering me... and only then do I feel like falling into the floor. I feel sick for succumbing to the pressure of revealing a piece of information that didn't NEED to be shared.
A few weeks ago at an assembly my teacher was talking to the school about tznius. We were sitting in a circle on the floor and she spoke to us giving us straightforward facts about covering the shok and what Torah dictates. And then she quoted an unnamed source about an additional piece of information about tznius. Now this teacher, I respect WHOLE-HEARTEDLY. She is smart, funny, intelligent, and is NOT one to mince words.
After she spoke, a riot broke out.
She can't say things like that!
Who is her source!
It's not right.
So I asked "What's the problem?"
Her source.
And I replied, "Why does it matter? She is a respectable person- would she quote some moron of the street? And if you wanted to know her source so you could contact them to inquire further about what he said (she said it was a Rabbi) would you really? If it were R' Elyashiv, would you call to say you had a problem? NO! You wouldn't! You just want to satisfy your own desire of knowing WHO said it. WHAT he said doesn't matter. Who HE is does. But it shouldnt."
I know that my teacher would only quote reputable sources. Obviously there was a reason her source remained nameless. Maybe because whoever said it would dictate how the girls accepted it. But it doesn't matter. If he is a Rav, his Torah is HASHEM's Torah, so why should we stoop so low to busy-body around about WHO he is.
This has been on my mind a lot lately.
Stories need names. I won't say I am Loshon Hora free. I'm not. But it bugs me to know end when names ALWAYS have to be given... and what's worse than that, is the shamed feeling I feel when I TRY to change the topic of Loshon Hora to something more neutral and people get all HUFFY and disregard my desperate attempt to change conversation.
I know about all the Shmiras Halashon campaigns. I have read books, heard speakers, watched plays and even seen/experienced its effects... yet has any real change been accomplished? Is Moshiach any closer? Have we really watched our words, guarded our lips? Can we... can I go to sleep at night knowing I didnt harm another person with my words?
No. And I don't think anyone out there can say they didn't.
And that... is so sad.

What can we do to make change? How can we solidify all our Machsom Lfi's and learning groups to make REAL change to bring Moshiach? How can reading Shmiras Halashon, A Lesson A Day, Purity of Speech, Positive Word Power and the countless other books on the topic affect us if the words we READ only stop at our eyes, and our lips somehow keep going?

How can we save ourselves when we don't even care to save each other?

Oh, The Places You'll Go!

I wrote about Dr. Seuss's brilliant poem here a few months ago. And then, as luck would have it, Little Sheep wrote about it here as part of, what I think to be a creative therapy. It's mamish so clever how she incorporated it into her own life and growth. So, I whole heartedly suggest you head over and check out her explosion of creativity! (And inventive use of every type of craft product out there!)

I Am Not Who I Am

Look at me,
And who do you see
The faint resemblance
Of who I was formally.

A mere shadow of similarity
To the life that I once lead
Yet, it looks nothing like
The road that lays ahead.

I am not who I am
The person that the world does know
I am a traveling person
Looking and seeking, only to grow

I am not who I am
The darker side remains hidden
For there is a lighter path
That has yet to be ridden

Can the past shape my future
Or do the two no longer connect
When it is my past that has fallen
And does not continue to keep me erect

For the bridges I burned
To bring me where I am now
I still wonder, and ponder
Could it be, and how?

The flames have fallen
And cold they now remain
Former brightness and falsehood
Now are bleeding and slain.

I am not who I am
The person who lives in my mind
Is a secret, scarred being
Whom I never again wish to find

She was a dark being
Filled with secrets and pain
And her twisted life and ways
Left nothing to be gained

Yet somehow in her trickery
She turned into the person that is me
A person of whom to be proud of
I wonder, can it be?

Accomplished, and happy
To bask in a positive glow
No longer marred by red and black lights
Of an illicit, depressing show

Finally free from the chains
That once held me back
I am no longer a person
Who thrives and strives on lack.

I am not who I am
Or whom I once seemed to be
I am a person, no, a SOUL
Changing, evolving, continuously.

Living Life In The Fast Lane

Get in,
Get going,
Keep moving,
Don't stop.
Pressures mounting,
Time is running out,
Speed up,
Don't stop.

Faster,
Faster,
So what if they will catch you?
So what if someone will find out?
So what if I am racing against the clock?
If I stop,
I'll crash.

Remembrance

It's not like I actually have time to post. In fact, I really have no time at all for extraneous activities, but if this sits in my notebook any longer, I might burst... Here goes...




My child, you asked,
For the story of my past,
The war torn years,
Have yet to disappear,
They still linger in my heart.


The thunder of war still rattles my bones,
Those monsters of Hatred destroyed all our homes,
Their cruelty and killing,
Remains deadly and chilling,
And tears my dreams apart.


The sky was soaked with the color of red,
The fields were strewn with bodies of the dead.
The screams of pain filled the air,
And those sick monsters did not even care.
It seemed as if our world would end.


Mothers and children were separated,
By the savagery those soldiers committed.
We rebelled in the night
By keeping our spirits a-light,
Our burning faith would never bend.


To camps we were sent,
To be broken and bent
At the hand of the gun and the cold
Where black bread was considered gold
And there we thought we would die.


In the early morning hours we would awake
Our spirits they would beat and break
Before our eyes, loved ones would fall,
"Shema Yisroel" would be their final call
As their souls soared to the sky


"Bubbe, I beg, is this tale true?"
My child, it is, the words that I speak to you
"Bubbe, I am so sorry the world was so dark."
It was, but my dear, you are the continuing spark
Who will continue to shine and carry our people high...