Conversation #5: Blog about that

We’re walking down Kingston.

We’re about to walk through a small crowd of young men.

She says, “I don’t get how they all recognize each other, they all look the same.”

I say, “No. You see, that’s the beauty of it. So many people can conform to such strict guidelines and do the same thing, and yet their real uniqueness is all the more apparent. The way they walk, the way they talk...”

She interrupts me and says, “Yea, why don’t you blog about that?”

And the conversation is over.

I smile inside, and wonder where the conversation might have gone had I not started a “Conversation” posts to my blog.

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I know this conversation goes on everywhere. I myself have heard it a few times since moving to Crown Heights.

The question implies that the way people “recognize” each other is by their outside appearance. This is almost insulting, being that every human has a vast array of distinctiveness that singles them out and makes them recognizable.

The question is so ridiculous, it doesn’t really deserve to be entertained.

So I guess that’s why the conversation ended so quickly.

And there ya go - I blogged about it.

Conversation #4: Only one path

We’re somewhere in Crown Heights, just talking.

My friend is experiencing some qualms about her living situation.

She says: I need to be around people who are on the same derech (path) as me.

Her wording caught me offgaurd and I say: Same derech? All Jews are on the same derech.

She thinks I'm just being poetic and replied: Eh…not really.

For me, this is an essential and practical thing.

I say: Yea, that’s what being a Jew is. Our whole nation, we’re all on the same derech.

She sees what I mean underneath, but her experiences keep her from being convinced.

I say: We’ve just all been given different cars. But we’re all going to the same place, driving on the same road. Really.

She says: I guess so.

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The conversation was quick, fleeting. But it left me thinking.

I don’t sit well with the idea of Jews being on different paths.

When I think of the essence, sparks, redemption, G-dliness, our often unrevealed wants - I really do feel we’re all on the same road.

But then we look outside, see differences, an array of styles and habits, struggles and hopes and dreams.

But so what?

Why can’t we all just be around each other and not care about the car we’re driving?

Maimonides says that friends are two people headed in the same direction. So, sure, it’s hard to be around people who are going somewhere else. How can you be one if you’re not going in the same place? Yea, I get that. And so, the thing with Jews is that we’re all headed in the same place. Buried underneath every Jew is the same map. I strongly believe that. I’ve seen it. I can’t think otherwise, for it just doesn’t make sense.

Even those Jews who want to be on a different path are still on the same path as every other Jew. It’s unavoidable. If two Jews can be “on different derechs,” then how can we call ourselves a nation?

I believe that Jews are a nation, a family – we have oneness.

This world owns one real path.

I don’t’ care what my friends are driving.

Ultimately, we’re all in the same traffic.

Right?

I guess I’ve just never thought about other Jews being on any other path but, you know, the Jewish one.

Conversation #3: The face in the mirror

Yochanan is a man who takes a rolley suitcase of books to learn from everywhere he travels.

After the class tonight, we both find ourselves in conversation by the refreshments table.

He overheard me mentioning to someone else something about learning in a non-Chabad school.

Turns out, he has a story that makes him intrigued in my experience.

So, after he asks, I share it with him.

And he shares his story with mine - a story filled with Boropark, witchcraft, and ultimately the growing of a beard.

He's been through a lot of searching.

I ask: So, after all that, how would you define yourself today?

He lets out a soft sigh and gives a strong stare at the ground.

He says: You know, when I look at myself in the mirror, I don't know who is looking back, how he defines himself. But, I do know what it means to do good things, so I try to do them, and, uh...that's where I am."

His answer was so simple and so real.

Where he is...

...maybe it's where we all should be.

I immediately felt like my question about definition was ugly at the core.

For one buzzing young girl, looking in the mirror will be different tomorrow.

Conversation #2: "That's Good"

(Although the basic back and forth is the same, the following conversation is not verbatim.)

She was having a hard day. We were talking and sharing.

A religious person she knows has hurt her.

She says: You see, this is why I hate institutions. This is why I hate Judaim sometimes.

I hear in her tone that she is expecting me, the outspoken Chabadnik, to be defensive, hard and insensitive to her claim. She's expecting me to stick up for religious people around the world. She is expecting me to turn her feelings to unwarranted nonsense, and to be insulted.

Instead, I say: Me too.

She says: You too?

I say: Yes, I hate institutionalized religion, just like you.

Life has made her distrust such claims coming from identifiably "religious" Jews. So that's where I come in, to shatter a warped perception and show her that I too, "the Lubavitcher," see religious/institutionalized Judaism as the key ingredient to the disintegration of our people. The Judaism that looks like an institution is man-made. It is corrupt in it's refusal to see our nations unity - something we are nothing without.

I say: I strive every day to become less institutionalized.

She says: That's good.

And there ends Conversation #2, a conversation that will resurface and be the basis to a lot of new questions and discoveries.

She is forced to think, and is relieved. People have given her the false impression that being institutionalized is a must to be a good Jew. Her soft, searching, and intuitive soul is relieved to hear my words.

Just as I was, when someone finally told me the same thing.

Chabad has nothing to do with an institution. It forces me to make claims based on my people, my G-d - not based on a sect. I am Chabad, yea, sure, if we must. But the more I learn all this, the less of a robot I become.

The person I spoke to is upset about a Judaism that forgot about the clear focus that came and went for our people. It was a focus hand-fed to us, with clear instructions to get out of slave-mentality, seek truth and freedom, be one with our family, and always choose humility.

It's what happened at Mt. Sinai.

Anytime you get closer to a Jewish group and begin to feel tight, critical, and higher than everyone else - you are probably becoming institutionalized.

Run for your life.

You were not put here to be a robot.

Don't hurt people who don't wear your company's uniform.

G-d is not a corporation.

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Look into it.

This has been Conversation #2.

Conversation #1: "Chabad is hard to copy"

(Picture approved by G-d)

(Visiting a non-Chabad seminary, I find myself in a class headed by a small, glasses-wearing, wide-eyed Rabbi. The following conversation is abbreviated, there being much more details, but everything mentioned here is true.)


He introduced the topic by saying, "I would like to discuss the advantages of the Chareidi community over the Modern Orthodox world."

I'm thinking, "Who sits and entertains such distinctions? Does anyone talk about Judaism anymore?"

But that wasn't part of the conversation. The conversation started when....

He said: In order for Chareidi communities to remain G-d fearing and Torah-focused, they must have a certain amount of intolerance to other Jews.

I say: But wait, Torah is one. Do you believe that?

He says: Yes, of course.

I say: G-d asks us to fear him and to learn Torah. He also asks us to love our fellow Jews. Who are you to deny the unity and symmetry - the interconnectedness and harmony - of G-d's commands? G-d asked both. Therefore, we are capable of both.

He says: Yes, but, um, yea, but, well, it seems to be that intolerance is a necessary evil in Torah-true communities.

I say: Necessary evil?

He says: Yea, meaning to say, that you need this intolerance to truly create a Torah community.

I say: But how can you actually have a Torah community with intolerance to other Jews?! Intolerance to other Jews isn't Torah at all!

He says: Well, it seems to be that only the Gedolim can really pull off this balance.

I'm thinking, "Well, all you're gedolim are sitting in secluded neighborhood - what kind of a harmony are they ever asked to strike? And was Torah only given to these so-called Gedolim? Were G-ds commands not meant for the nation? And beyond that, why put all the weight on the Gedolim? Have you tried? Aren't you meant to copy their ways?"

I'm thinking, "This is twisted", but I let him continue his talk to me and the other 5 girls I am only visiting.

When he is done, all the girls thank him and leave. Just like that.

I, the stranger, stay behind.

I say: I'm still confused. Are you saying that G-d's command to be G-d-fearing and Torah learning can't be fulfilled while following out the command to love every Jew?

He says: Um, well, yea - with exception of the Gedolim, yea, aha.

I am bursting. I just have to.

I say: So what do you think about Chabad?

He says: What do you mean?

I say: I mean how they are observant, G-d fearing, learned - all while maintaining a very natural and all-embracing attitude of openness towards all Jews. How do they pull it off?

He says: Well, uh, what you have with Chabad, is uh...something very hard to copy.

I say: But clearly if Chabad does it, it means it's possible. They didn't make it up, or copyright it. It's Torah.

He says: Well, yes, but, they have their losses too. I mean...we (non-Chabad/Litvish folks) definitely have more Talmidei Chachamim.

I suddenly realize I am dealing with an ego.

I say: Well, I guess not everyone in Chabad is struggling to become a Talmid Chacham.

He moves his head and rolls his eyes in an "Okay, fine" sort of way.

And then, there's not much more to say.

Conversation #1 ends here.

After parting ways, I'm left thinking, "Is Chabad the only thing out there that believes Torah is one and true?"

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As the next Rabbi gets up to speak to the girls, I hear him begin his speech on the premise that, "Girls, we are all here to be Gedolim!"

And so I'm left there, sitting, marveling at the inconsistencies of a struggling and swaying philosophy that the student - robots dare not notice.

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Make your own conclusions.

This has been Conversation #1.