Like a Runaway Truck

August 6th 2007
(inrich.com/entertainment/living)
Matisyahu, the Jewish rapper, often takes the stage in full Hasidic regalia. But yesterday, the man born Matthew Paul Miller opted for khakis, a powder-blue suit jacket and a fedora, soon removed to display a yarmulke underneath. The inclusion of a percussionist in his five-piece band elevates Matisyahu's reggae from the usual monotonous beats, and his rapid-fire rapping streams in a mellifluous flow.

Songs such as "Youth" and "Time of Your Song" contain uplifting messages about controlling one's destiny and battling self-destruction, and Matisyahu makes it obvious that he takes his religion seriously.

He introduced "Got No Water" as a cover song written by King David and began by chanting in what sounded to be Yiddish.

The 10,000-plus people attending his set waved their arms in the air appreciatively, seemingly taking something from his message.

August 2nd

Matis addresses the crowd.

"People are asking...

'Am I a Chassid, am I not a Chassid?'

...to that, all I have to say is this....

Tzoooooma L'chaaaa Naaaafshii...."

His refusal to get caught up in the meddle, and resisting a "screw everyone" attitude is, well, expected from him.

August 1st

A creative artist with a message that is not his own.

Supported and cherished by the community he seems to represent.

This community then feels like they own him.

They talk about him to all their friends. They try and get him to do shows.

“Matisyahu? Oh yea, he’s Lubavitch.”

All of a sudden, everyone is so proud to be Chabad.

Then, an unverified quote rocks the community.

Matisyahu doesn’t only identify with Chabad?

What? He feels boxed in?

Then, something strange happens.

In the name of Chabad, people slander his name.

In the name of Chassidisheit,, they judge.

Believing that someone’s famousness gives permission for such harsh gossip and misguided conclusions, people get a little crazy.

Sure, people care, and are trying to protect. But the method is crass, and the approach self-defeating.

If the non-Chabad and “irreligious” people affected by Matisyahu’s music could hear the folks from Crown Heights speak on the matter, they’d be appalled, even turned off.

When a Queens college student recently asked me, "Whats the deal?" he wasn't asking about Matisyahu, but the Chabad community's out-of-line reaction and embellishment on a simple statement.

So, it appears that Matisyahu’s feelings of being “boxed in” were more than warranted.

I don’t know all the facts, and I certainly can’t tell the future.

However, one thing seems pretty clear to me.

While Matisyahu is being falsely accused of separating from the Chabad movement, it’s very clear who’s abandoning whom.

______________________________________________________________________________

July 27th

Yesterday, I found myself chillin' with with my brother and sister on a bus with kosher pots and pans, a crib, and a picture of the Rebbe.

No, it was not a Mitzvah Tank.

It was Matisyahu's tour bus.

Well, so yea, it was a Mitzvah Tank.

As part of his "Unity Tour" with the band 311, he gave an energized show - or experience - to 15,000 people last night. The show tonight was "one huge farbrengen." In between songs, he spoke about "Chabad chassidus." To a crowd of thousands of youth, he explained the concept of tzimtzum, and how it happens that we come to exist in a world so great. He sang niggunim. Tzoma L'cha Nafshi. He swayed throughout. And afterwards, he gathered yidden for maariv.

On and offstage, Matisyahu's presence is humble, enlightening, and real.

You know, there are some things you just can't fake. It would be impossible to be a fiery light of inspiration and meaning to thousands of people day after day...unless you're light is coming from a higher place.

You know, Matisyahu's spiritual and religious standing is really none of our business. But, since he's in the spotlight, and holds the hearts of many, people care to speculate. I myself, in my die hard support, am doing that right now.

But then there's people who are just bored.

Or blind.

You know, when you see someone doing something good and making a positive impact on the world (something that, since yesterday, I'm convinced Matisyahu is doing), all you need to to is add fuel to the flame.

Or just step aside.

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I have much to say, but I'll let Matisyahu speak.

The following personal message was written for Matisyahu's fans. As the sun was setting yesterday, I helped my brother (Matisyahu's current Street Team Leader) hand out fliers. The words on the paper are straight from Matisyahu's pen - not botched by a newswoman or twisted by an ill-motived Chabadnik.

Thousands of people pocketed Matisyahu's insights, and hence a clear message from the Rebbe. Handing out the fliers, I didn't feel like I was doing something for a cool musical artist. Like Matisyahu, I was doing something much bigger.

__________

B'H
Summer 2007
Message from Matisyahu
Redemptions Coming Like A Runaway Truck

Week 4 and it’s starting to feel like Groundhog Day. Anyone ever feel like that? If you thought, (like I did) that the way out of getting a 9 to 5 was either become a mystic living in the hills or a rock star, well you’re wrong. Sorry to ruin anyone’s imagination of what it might be like to travel around the country and play music, but every amphitheatre across America is built the same way, like some kind of strip mall. Sooner or later thy all start to mesh together as one. With the exception of a few: The Gorge in Washington state, Red Rocks, and can’t forget my new favorite, Mud Island in Memphis. So first off, my apologies to those at the show in Charlotte. I’ve been sick since the tour started a month ago and it came to head the other night, so if you noticed me cracking during choruses and such, my apologies. I’m feeling better and tonight should be back on track. On the bright side, I feel there is a solution to this feeling of being stuck in life and lies in humility. For myself in becoming a better person, serving the Master of the World, and making music for you. In all those matters I feel that I am just an infant starting to figure things out. Like a child who is just starting to discover the world. I think this is the key: if one feels that he’s already there, then he is dead. When one feels that he is just starting out in life, no matter how old, and realizes his potential to truly leave his imprint in this world and not just die quietly into it, then each day becomes a lifetime unto itself. This world is incomplete, as in each one of us. Being that we are created in the image of G-d then it would seem that there is some place within Hashem that is also incomplete. We are all sick, including our Father, and we have the potential to heal even G-d, by bringing completeness to this world with music, with mitzvah’s, and with Torah. We will be the first generation of Moshiach, the first generation of completion. Peace and love. See you on tour.

A true loss

Today is the saddest day on the Jewish calendar.

There. Mimi the robot has repeated the designated Tisha B'Av slogan.

This is all getting a little monotonous.

Year after year.

No eating. Sit on the floor. Do this. Don’t do that. Our Temple was destroyed.

Yesterday, with the fast approaching, I was bothered that I left my Crocs at work. I got home, looked at my non-leather-shoe options, and let out a loud, “aaaaauuugh!”

And this morning, I slammed my finger in my bedroom door.

It hurt real badly, and I cried. Hard.

Yesterday, I was not overly bothered by the approaching fast.

And during the reading of Eicha last night, I did not shed a tear.

Nope.

Today, all I feel are my missing Crocs, and a slightly swollen finger.

Yet, today marks a day that meant destruction, exile, and estrangement for a nation constantly desiring closeness with G-d.

As Jews, we're meant to contemplate the meaning and feel the reality of the loss.

But, admittedly, I feel a little detached.

I see no ashes, no fire ascending to the sky.

I am hungry, but not for G-d’s Palace.

This heart does not ache in longing for what’s been lost.

And now I am forced to pause.

My eyes are wet.

My honesty right now is the first thing to pierce my heart all day.

And, as someone constantly striving to be in tune, my insensitivity is smacking me in the face.

Talk about a loss.

Today, when the whole world mourns what’s missing in Jerusalem, I really mourn what’s missing inside of me.

Today, I grieve because, after thousands of years of soul-numbing exile, my Crocs and aching finger cause me more distress than the absence of the Bais Hamikdash.

Just Build

[Today is the 17th of Tammuz, when we fast to mourn the breaching of Jerusalem's walls.]


The Jew is caught in the delicate balance.

To build.

To break.

To build the good.

To break the bad.

To build up, to create, to add.

To break, to erase, to destroy.

To teach, to inspire, to give, to smile.

To prevent, to reproach, to shout, to regret.

To move forward, and give strength to the light.

To look backwards, and highlight the loss.

To see a mountain.

Or to see a ditch.

So here goes the Jew.

Building.

And breaking.

Building.

And breaking.

Sweat boiling on his forehead.

But he is going nowhere.

Everything he builds, he breaks.

He is ready to fall apart.

And he's crying.

Along comes the Rebbe.

He says, Just build.

Stop sweating to break.

Just build.

Build.

And build.

And build.

You won't notice the ditch.

Just build.

And build.

And build.

Light mocks the darkness.

And build.

And build.

Evil will vanish.

So, don't stop.

Don't fall in the ditch.

Just build.

A Wedding Parable

The wedding hall

Jumping, screaming, smiling, singing, dancing.

The bride at the center, pulling people in.

The music is throbbing with our hearts. This is everyone's happiness.

The joy is unbridled, and we're all feeling light and limitless.

The dancing is coming from another place.

Suddenly, over yonder, the brides groom can be seen, bopping up and down.

There he is. There he goes. There he is. There he goes.

Atop a circular table being supported by his enthusiastic friends, he is waving his hands.

He is looking for his bride.

On our side, the girls are racing to clear the closest table.

Plates. Off. Cups. Off. napkins. Off. Cell phones. Off. Centerpiece. Off. Tablecloth. Off.

We bring the table to the bride. She looks a little apprehensive.

But her groom is waiting. There's no time to waste.

She climbs onto the table. And here we go. Let's do this, ladies.

We surround the table, putting our hands under the edge and lifting.

Up she goes.

But the table is heavy. And we're all a different height and a different strength, so the table is wobbly.

The bride can't stand straight. She's looking down, watching the floor, fearing her fall.

But with unity is balance. We all do our best, lifting our hands to the same level. For the short, they hold high. For the tall, they hold low.

All of a sudden, the bride is standing straight. She looks up. She sees her groom.

And us below her, we're in a momentum. The table is not heavy anymore. When you have many hands all doing their best, it's a lot easier on everyone. And, of course, there's that one person who's trying so hard that it lightens our load, and motivates us. And then, it's like the table is just floating.

The bride is smiling. The balance has brought her groom into clear vision. She is waving her hands, eyes focused on her new husband.

Using only her smile and her eyes, the bride tells her husband, "I want to hold you, and never let go."

We're all cheering.

----------

The Jewish people are jumping, screaming, smiling, singing, dancing.

Hashem is looking for his bride. But he wants to meet us halfway. So he's bopping up and down.

Now we see Him, now we don't. Now we see Him, now we don't.

He's waiting for us to climb to him, to do everything in our might to put him in sight. To sweat just a little bit.

We, his betrothed, catch sight of him. We go racing. We want him.

Our desire makes us irresistible to G-d.

First, we have to clear our tables. We have to clean the surface, removing all barriers. There cant be any mess. There can't be a brick wall in between. On our journey to G-d, we need a strong support and internal strength. This way, our marriage comes from within - we can't easily fall.

Distractions. Off. Sadness. Off. Hatred. Off. Ego. Off. More ego. Off.

There is a sense of urgency. Every second of not seeing Him is an eternity. Hurry.

We want to be close. We want to be close. We want to be close.

Clear the table.

Joy reigns. Breaking down limits to let him in. Let him in. We're getting closer.

But we're a little scared, a little apprehensive.

Life on the ground is so much better. Raising higher to make heaven meet earth is a tremendous feat. What if we wobble? What if we fall?

Alas, sometimes you just have to jump. You just gotta do it.

And at first, we do wobble. We're looking down. We can't seem to let go.

So we try harder. We all do our best to find the balance. We have to stand straighter than this. We're G-d's people.

So, the more we do our part, the easier it is for everyone. We're all one. Totally connected. Our efforts together make it easier for the entire nation. I'm conquering this here in Brooklyn, and the burden lightens for a Jew in Jerusalem.

And then there's that one leader who comes with his strong arms to help us move forward a little quicker. He champions our cause, beseeches on our behalf, and listens to our successes, our failures, our souls. We all feel him bringing us closer, higher.

Now, we're gaining momentum. We're all doing what we got to do. With joy. With unity.

And now, with G-d in our sight but still distant, we're moving mountains to get to his heart.

Soon, we will finally see him.

Hashem will have his bride.

We will both smile. And it will be a moment full of transcendence and love.

We will look at Hashem and say, "I want to hold you, and never let go."

And the whole world - all the nations, the oceans, the birds, the trees - oh, how they'll cheer.

Sweat and all

A young child was looking for his father.

It was years ago, during Shavuos, right outside 770.

A humble corner on Eastern Parkway was packed with people, strollers, and running children. Shul was out, and everyone was waiting to watch the Rebbe leave.

It was a hot day. Sweat trickled down the foreheads of eager onlookers.

But, while everyone was looking for the Rebbe, one young child was lost in a sea of black. He too wanted to see the Rebbe, and his mother had encouraged him to brave the swarms with his father. But now, his father had dissolved into the black mass, nowhere to be found.

All of a sudden, the Chassidim started singing. The crowd got tighter.

Just then, among the rush, the child caught a glimpse of his father. He quickly grabbed onto his kapote. He wasn't going to lose him this time. Now content, but still feeling harried, he used his father's black jacket to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

When he looked up, he saw someone far older than his father. He saw someone that, along with him, hundreds had their eyes on.

The young child had just wiped his sweat on the Rebbe's kapote.

----------

The young child's mother, who had been watching the Rebbe, was humiliated when she noticed her child. In a letter, she poured out her elaborate request for the Rebbe's forgiveness.

But the Rebbe did not accept her apology.

In a letter, he responded:

"If you only knew the great (spiritual) pleasure that gave me. If only it was this way with the adults ("Ein leshaer godel hanachas ruach, v'halvai hoyo mein ze bagedolim")."

Holding the letter in her hand, right then and there, she was privy to the depths of just how much the Rebbe wanted to be everyone's Tatty.

----------

The Rebbe's response was a protest to our notions of him as an untouchable holy figure.
A child wiping sweat on his kapote was worth so much to the Rebbe - and certainly more than all the distant veneration.

The Rebbe refused to stay in everyone's mind, stuck in their frame of reverence.

He was constantly saying, "Get closer."

He was saying, "If I'm not a father, than what am I?"

In the Rebbe's simple response lies the whole of our relationship to G-d.

G-d is constantly asking us to bring him closer into our lives, our hearts. Blood, sweat, and tears - he wants it all. Why? Because He wants us.

Just like the Rebbe is more of a Rebbe when we wipe our sweat on him, so too with Hashem...

... you can never get too close.

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So, it was years ago, Shavuos time, right outside of 770.

A young child was lost in a sea of black, searching for his father.

Instead, he found the Rebbe.

But still, it was his father he found.

Two Minutes

On the way.

Niggunim are playing.

The vintage tape is unclear, but the Rebbe's voice is strong. Relevant. Urgent.

Out my window, the Jewish faces zoom by.

We have begun the march.

We're on our way.

There's a lot of traffic for 10 pm.

"Are they going to the Ohel?"

"Don't think so. They're black."

"Ya, you'd be surprised."

The Rebbe was everyone's Rebbe.

We are quite the flock.

Parking.

I'm trying to prepare.

I'm thinking, "Who is the Rebbe? What is this all about?"

I'm thinking, "Who am I? What am I all about?"

In line.

So it's not just me.

We all want to be Chassidim.

The men. The women. The young. The old. The bearded. The shaven. The skirt. The pants. No one's claiming rights here. G-d wants us all, and the Rebbe proved it.

I watch the policemen.

While they see a graveyard, we see life.

Crazy crazy Jews.

I write my letter.

My heart spills in black ink.

From, Miriam bas Leah Simcha.

Your proud soldier.

I open my Tehillim. Always the right words.

All of a sudden, someone wants to use my phone. There's no such thing as strangers in a line like this, a line with this purpose. Sure, here's my phone. And here's my pen. And I have paper, too. Hi Doris from Iran. Nice to meet you. My name is Mimi, or Miriam.

A baby is crying. We all feel the mother's needs. Afterall, Chassidim are one family. Come here, nurse your baby. We'll block you. The crying stops. The family of hundreds feels calm again.

Inching closer. No rush. A calm focus.

A young boy rests his head on Tatty's shoulder. Tatty is telling a story to an older man. It seems to be this man's first time. His eyes are glistening.

The Rebbe is on the video. He is talking. He is singing.

I want to pluck him from the video.

Rebbe, why are you on a screen?

A pain in my heart longs for closeness.

And suddenly I am being rushed in.

I hold the line to drop some coins.

And here I go.

Inside.

In the womb.

I look around.

Two headstones surrounded by life.

Absorbing.

Prayers. Tears. Gratefulness.

Hashem, look at your children.

Just look at us.

We always show up.

Even for two minutes.

And two minutes is enough.

We're on Rebbe time. Each second is packed.

Besides, when you're face to face like this, the truth comes out.

Time forces honesty. No words are extra.

The depths come rushing to my lips.

Hashem, I just want to be good.

I want to be good.

Throat tightening.

Eyes wetting.

Hashem, I want to be good.

Lips tighten.

A tear.

Hashem, I want to be good.

Cheeks flushed.

Eyes moist.

Hashem, be with me.

I want to be good.

And here's what I'm going to do.

A holy conversation. Tehillim.

I read my letter. I scatter the pieces.

Tehillim.

And I'm being rushed to my left.

Outside.

I feel humbled.

I feel light.

I feel strong.

I feel heard.

I feel close.

Going home.

Niggunim are playing.

The vintage tape is unclear, but the Rebbe's voice is strong. Relevant. Urgent.

Out my window, the Jewish faces zoom by.

We have begun the march.

We're on our way.


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General info/stories/etc:
The Rebbe

My piece from last year:
The Rebbe Unplugged

One groups visit to the Ohel:
Return of the Souls