What if Things Do Happen For a Reason?

What if sometimes feelings a little bit of emptiness is good for the soul? What if it means that we did a good job of finding things we cared about enough to feel the pain of losing them. Isn't it better to have had then then lost it than to never have had it? I believe sometimes sorrow is good. Mourning too. It brings us back to reality. It reminds us of what is important. When someone loses a family member, in Jewish tradition family and friends from far and near come to support them and be there for them. The people who arrive at the funeral and stay the week to sit Shiva with the family show how much of an effect the individual who passed away had on the world and on all of these people who cared about him/her and his/her family. Those friends don't fill the emptiness of the hole the individual left completely but they remind us there are ways to ease the pain and shrink the hole, even if it's just by a little. Death is a very powerful thing. It brings us together.  It reminds us to hold on to what we have and to treasure it and not just take it for granted. If you believe the phrase "everything happens for a reason" holds true, then death is not the be-all and end-all. Neither is cancer, disease or destruction for that matter. These life events show us that we can be strong and rise up against any challenge or obstacle in our way. They show us how lucky we are to have such great support systems. I believe the world never throws us something it knows we can't handle. But if life were to happy and easy and have no heart break or loss, would it really be considered living? The real challenge in life is finding the good in situations and believing in that. It's easy to mope and feel bad for yourself and you can try all you want to get other people to feel sorry for you too but that's pitiful, I think. The best way to get help is to help yourself. Maintaining a positive outlook can make all the difference. Granted, sometimes it's good to cry and let the tears and feelings out. Sometimes the only way to move ahead is to let go of the past. But it's not about how long you cry; it's about what you do after you cry. Do you crawl into bed with a tub of ice cream and refuse to leave for the next few days, or do you sleep on it and wake up in the morning with a fresh mind, ready for a new day? The key is to keep moving forward.

The Camp Life

If you want a poor paying summer job that will send you home exhausted, sweaty, and smelling like chlorine, summer camp counselor is the job for you. For seven hours a day, five days a week, for eight weeks, your life will consist of chasing campers, doing bathroom runs, cleaning up messes, and trying to get them to change just a little bit faster in the hopes of getting to your next activity on time. However, tons of teenagers and young adults apply each year to camps across the east coast to try and be counselors. The reason is not the pay, or the great work experience, but the kids. Working with kids provides you a summer of memories, laughs, and a camp family.
When your campers want to hold your hand, sit next to you at lunch, and finally get to know your name it makes you feel like you're doing it right. When campers in other groups want to get to know you too, it makes it even better. Having kids run from their counselors to make sure they can give you a hug before they move on makes you feel special. Working as a camp counselor is sometimes an ego boost, because it reminds you that little children look up to you and think you are an all around awesome person, but it also teaches you important values.
Being a camp counselor makes you put your campers first and forces you to become more selfless. Whether it is giving piggy back rides on really hot days, or walking the extra distance to fill up water bottles, your biggest concern becomes keeping them healthy and happy. This includes, but is not limited to, making sure everyone has food before you can get yours, putting cream cheese on bagels while wishing you could take just one bite of your own food, making lots of lanyard, dropping everything at inconvenient times to take kids to the bathroom, trying to remember to always carry band-aids in your backpack, countless counting to make sure no campers got lost in the process and helping them put on and take off wet clothes before and after water activities.
I won't lie and say there aren't downsides to working at a camp because I know first hand that there are plenty, but the relationship that forms between campers and counselors makes it all worthwhile.

On Being an Influence

I feel as if I have been dealing with a lot of corrupt systems lately. It has taught me a) that the world is a corrupt place and b) that in a corrupt system, it is entirely up to you to make it so that you can get what you want. The world is not a fair place and bad things happen to good people. It has taught me a lot about myself and about what I am capable of. I learned I have the ability to make a difference in other peoples lives. This is huge. It may seem small but it can completely catch you off guard when someone tells you their life has changed for the better because of knowing you. Being an influence makes you realize that everything you did had a purpose. Your actions did not go unrecognized. You are appreciated and there is now one happier person in the world because of you. It is humbling but also an ego boost. When you think about people who have influenced you before, you question if you made a dent on anyone else's life. To know that you indeed have is something worth living for. In this corrupt world I spoke of before, I did not always get the award I wanted, the position I applied for, or win the election I ran in. I went without a title and felt as though all the hard work I have put into the activities I am involved in was for nothing. That all changes when someone tells you that you helped them better themselves. That is an honor only given to those who earn it and deserve it and is better than any title you could ever hold.

Get Excited. Get Inspired. Get Involved.

Inspiration isn't always easy to find. It likes to play hide and seek and it is a professional at hiding. When you’re down on your luck, preoccupied with work, or unhappy it can be hard to be creative and passionate, but once it sparks, it ignited a flame. I got started thinking about the summer and applying to be a Maccabiah (Color War) co chair for my week of encampment at the end of the summer. I started looking up color war ideas and when I saw the words “fake break”, I found real inspiration. Memories of camp color war fake breaks and real color war breaks flooded my mind, from limos with fake celebrities to helicopter candy drops, I lost track of everything else I was doing and zoned in. An hour flew by without notice, but afterwards I had before me and entire page filled with ideas for ways to make an amazing Maccabiah. Once I was on the camp mindset I got thinking about my talk with my German host sister from the summer of 2011 about camp and started writing a possible college application essay about what camp means to me. It is a very good thing I finished my homework for the weekend yesterday because I would not have been able to do it now after drawing up so much creativity towards Maccabiah. A friend of mine had the slogan “Get Excited. Get Inspired. Get Involved.” This slogan is the epitome of how to draw inspiration. Find something worth getting excited about. Find your inspiration for it- bing it, google it, yahoo it, urban dictionary it, or even real dictionary it. Then go for it. Make it happen. Do something worthwhile and don’t let that creativity go to waste. 

Closing Time

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end"
Goodbyes have always made me cry. Since I was in elementary school I've never liked the idea of leaving people you love and not knowing when you would see them again. This being the case, I was prepared for waterworks when we said goodbye to the seniors at Hagalil Spring Convention this year, but was shocked when the tears didn't come. When it came time to say goodbye on Sunday afternoon, crying just did not seem appropriate. It felt like a new beginning rather than the end. I am familiar with the phrase "one door closes, another door opens" but never felt it be so true until now. I had always looked up to the seniors because I became friends with them before my own grade. They are all like family to me and from my first spring convention I knew I would  be sad to see them go. I couldn't imagine my grade would make up the Regional Executive Board and lead the region, but when Jen got up on the Dais to give her first speech as regional president and said it was our time, a sense of pride overwhelmed me. I would no longer be in the shadow of the seniors because we were finally going to be seniors.
"It's time to begin"
It is now our turn to lead the region, be good role models for the younger grades, and make the most of the time we have left. Since freshman year, we've had a huge influence and worked hard to make our impact on the region. That influence we've striven for these pas three years is finally going to reach it's apex. It is not the time to dwell on the past and the feelings of sadness, but embrace the change and memories that have gotten us to where we are today.

Here's to a great year to come and the upcoming senior class. 

A Mile in My Shoes

They say the best way to learn about a person is to walk a mile in their shoes.

If you walk in the shoes of Buddy the Elf, you could end up on a very cold journey, traversing the Candy Cane Forest on your way to New York City from the North Pole. 

If you walk in the shoes of Martin Luther King Jr., you could find yourself in Birmingham, Alabama, or marching along the east coast, protesting for equal rights for blacks and whites. 

If you walk a mile in my shoes, you could be squishing your toes in the sand walking along a beach in the Caribbean, hiking the snake path down Masada, standing among the ruins of Auschwitz, or climbing up the Eiffel Tower. 

I'm blessed to have been all the places I've traveled to at such a young age and it has turned into a passion for me. I love to travel. I want to get a giant map to put somewhere in my house and mark all the places I want to go and all the places I've been in the hopes that one day the entire map is covered in places I've been. I want to see the world and try authentic foreign foods. I want to visit historical landmarks and see beautiful natural sights I did not even know existed. In a little over a week I will go on my tenth plane ride in the past year. Until I traveled to Florida with my best friend, I did not realize everyone did not get to experience all the adventures I had. I loved seeing how enthusiastic she was about take off and being in the air while I was sitting and reading, waiting to get in the air so I could nap or listen to music. 

Trains, plains, automobiles, boats; give me a ticket and I'm ready to go. Where as some people don't have an easy time navigating airports and find travelling to be a burden, I love it: being in new places and getting to find my way around always seems to me like a new undertaking. Between packing, checking in, and leaving early enough to be sure there is time to spare can be a hassle, but that is not what I dwell on when I travel. To me, it is all just a part of the travel experience. 

I especially love the feeling of excitement when the pilot announces "please take a seat and buckle your seat belts as we prepare for descent into __________". The surrounding city or landscape comes into view out of the little plane window and the clouds no longer separate me from my destination. I become giddy and anxious like a young girl ready to jump off the plane and do something exciting. Not that the plane isn't an experience too, but they do not compare. Plane rides to me are times to rest, listen to music, think and gather my thoughts. As young adults in modern society, we never take time to really rest. It's always go, go, go. When we go to sleep there's always a little light shining from the laptop screen or phone as they charge at night. When we wake up, we're using technology and busy bodies, never able to take a break. Planes force that break. There is absolutely nothing you can do about it. Facebook? Nope. Twitter? Definitely not. Texting? Not a chance. Music is a possibility but other than that, all you can do is sit and rest. It's a wonderful feeling to be able to just stop everything for that small (or long-depending on your destination) amount of time on the plane. Not only that, but after sitting for such an extended period of time, I'm always even more invigorated and ready to begin activities as soon as we get off. 

For now, I'm just about all traveled out and need to spend some more time state side (next weekend doesn't count) but I can guarantee I'll be back out in the world soon enough. 

Opposite the Editorial Page

In eighth grade I wrote my first Op-Ed and learned it did not stand for opinion editorial, but opposite the editorial page. I immediately liked writing them because it was a chance for me to rant about my opinion on a topic of my choice, kind of similar to this blog. Last night I wrote my first of five op-eds I have to write for my AP Language and Composition class, so naturally, when people asked me what I was doing last night I responded "writing my op-ed". What I learned from this, was that a bunch of my friends did not even know what an op-ed was. The piece is called opposite the editorial page because they are often written by guest writers, or someone unaffiliated with the editorial board. The op-ed I wrote last night was about Palestine and Israel and Obama's visit to Israel. Normally I have short pieces for AP Lang, because I was never big on excessively long pieces. It got late at night so I made the executive decision to print in the morning and when I did this morning I realized it was three pages, where as the last one I wrote was maybe one and a half. The reason for this is simple; it's easier to write about things you know and how you feel about an issue. Taking a stance isn't always easy but when an issue hits home, like Israel does for me, there is a lot to be said about the issue. That's another reason I started this blog. I really do enjoy writing and expressing my opinions, but I never knew what to write about. Writing journals like we have in school never really floated my boat. With the blog though, I can chose when to write, what to write, how long to write, and I can go back and edit it or add to it. I was also inspired by blogs I had been finding online and the one my cousin had been writing and I'm finding it surprisingly easy to find things to write about, even though I end up off topic pretty often. I think this is attributed to radio and all the solo shows when I had to talk to myself while entertaining the listeners. Back on the topic of op-eds though, look them up, read a few, and maybe try writing one, it's surprisingly rewarding being able to respond to, qualify, or defend an argument about a topic you like. If you need somewhere to start, check out this one, it happens to be the one I responded to for my assignment and I really enjoyed it. http://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/charles-krauthammer-what-really-happened-in-jerusalem/2013/03/28/5b018070-97d2-11e2-b68f-dc5c4b47e519_story.html

A Personal Touch

As I sat at my lunch table today checking notifications on my phone, I was directed to an article entitled "The Last Cantor of Wlodawa". It would not surprise me if not one person in my entire school had heard of Wlodawa before, let alone be able to pronounce it properly. My source to the link had mentioned it was the synagogue my group had visited this summer, where we danced around and brought life back into the old building. But this was the story of when it lost the life and liveliness it had known. As I ate my sandwich, eyes glued to the screen, the names of more places I had been popped out at me. Wlodawa, the house of the Wansee Conference, Sobibor. It's bad enough reading a sad story, but even worse when you can remember what it was like to be where tragedy had occurred. Wlodawa is a small town in Eastern Poland. Many people have never heard of it and many never will, but I was on the verge of tears reading about the evacuation of the Jews who lived there. I could picture the services that used to be held there and the lawn beside it where we had eaten lunch that day. I wish I could say this was the first sad memory of the week, but if I did I would be lying. I had found a book about the Holocaust and was met by more and more names of places that brought back memories of run down, shoddy areas where atrocities occurred in Europe in the 1930's-1940's. This Sunday night we commemorate the Holocaust with Yom Hashoah, the day of remembrance. I was always interested in the first hand experiences and stories people had to offer but it was not until this summer that I realized how difficult it must be for the survivors to talk about it. While at Majdanek, the first big camp I visited this summer, my group sang the Hebrew song Acheinu and we continued to sing it when we visited other camps and throughout the summer. When I got home I left again for a week at a summer camp and after sunset came on Saturday night, we sat down to sing slow songs as Shabbat ended. We got to Acheinu and as I sang the familiar words I could not help but feel as if I was still in Poland, standing in the circle looking around at eyes swelling with tears and heads down. It made me feel weak and helpless, knowing the history of where I was standing and how little could be done about it now. Every time I sang the song and it brought back the overwhelming terrible feelings I thought I had left in Poland. After five months of this routine I was back with my group singing our songs from the summer. We transitioned from happy upbeat lyrics into Acheinu and I prepared myself for the sadness, but it didn't come. I couldn't help but smile being surrounded by the only people who could understand how I felt about it and our voices grew louder and more upbeat instead of solemn and quiet like they had been for two weeks in Europe. "May the holy one be merciful to our fellow Jews who wander over sea and land, who suffer oppression and imprisonment. May God soon bring them relief from distress and deliver them from darkness to light, from subjugation to redemption." We are no longer imprisoned and suffering but we can never forget our ancestors who were. As we light the yellow memorial candle to honor the six million Jews who were killed, and listen to survivors of the Holocaust, we continue to share the stories we hear and remember the atrocities we faced with the hopes that we will never have to live through an era like that again.