Internal Bleeding

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This post is a spin off of sorts from the post a few posts back entitled I am the Messiah.

I've been wondering why I feel such a disconnect from Jewish music, literature and any other means of expression at our disposal. Why there's an edge missing from our ability to express and transcend.

It's because everything we talk about and sing about is external.
You'll never hear a singer sing about his OWN feelings and struggles.
How many times do you hear the word "I" in a Jewish song.
Singers are busy preaching to God and to others instead of to the ONE person that has any power effect change...
God didnt create me to preach to him, he created me to live my life to my potential. To struggle MY struggles.

Borrowing 2500 year old words in a language that's not your speaking language automatically means that there's a disconnect. Even the songs with English words are all about the external. Lyrics that deal with topics such as Moshiach, Kiruv, people going off the derech etc. I have yet to hear a songwriter just get up and sing about what's really going on in his heart.
Why are we so fixated on Kiruv?
Are we afraid to explore ourselves?
Are we so afraid of ourselves that we find it easier to deflect our struggles and emotions to things not entirely in our control?
Don't frum people also feel love, disappointment, passion, confusion, desire to grow, the pursuit of perfection and the beauty of honest failings?
Why can't we turn inward and change the world by changing ourselves?
Why aren't there more singers, artists and poets that can shove flowery language into the trash and stop worrying about how polished they look in their cufflink shirts on the cover of albums?
We're losing ourselves by our neurotic posturing.

There's an element of intellectual and emotional self honesty that's sorely lacking, and it's so much easier to turn around and look at the guy behind you and make dumb movies about saving him
I'd love for the pendulum to swing toward turning inward, shining a light into the vast world of introspection.
One can only live after he's learnt to let live and cease being fixated on fixing the world.
I imagine a new Mussar movement for the 21st century, where we'll be proud to show emotion and talk about what's really going on in our hearts with self exploration that can only begin with self honesty.

Who's with me?


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clapper

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Do you know Mr Clapper?

..hmmm Clapper.......his name rings a bell


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role reversal

When God becomes (subordinate and) humanlike
..and humans become gods (in our expectations of them)
roles are reversed
...dangerously
And we enjoy watching others (those we don't love) fall
.......off their pedestals
We become disappointed in those we love (those we do love)
.....when we discover they're human
and when God does things that our human mind can't understand
we become god....
.........only to fall off that pedestal
as others laugh
..and prepare to take our place...



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driven

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most people hear "He's driven to succeed.."
........and think
wow..that's admirable

I find myself
......wondering

who's driving?








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The Unending Trial

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The wooden chair seemed to be getting harder by the minute. Each passing hour testing his patience and wearing on his fragile mental state. He was in the middle of the 10,976th day of his unending trial.
He was Shabsie Stein, our defendant.
For as long as he can remember, he had been a defendant. His life, shaped by the memories, forever fearful of the impending verdict of peers and perpetually vilified and on the defensive.
His tired eyes scanned the room, as more and more witnesses piled in to testify on behalf of the indefatigable prosecution.
The judge banged his gavel indicating the next witness approach the stand.
His neighbor Mr Steinberg stepped up while nodding to the judge. He began to testify in angry scowls about his neighbors inability to keep his yard clean and his kids well behaved. It was a disgrace to the neighborhood, he declared silently. Shabsie started to protest, "MY kids not behaved...?!", but his lawyer placed his hand on his pulling his anger back into it's seat.
Next up was his daughters teacher, Mrs. Weinglass. Oh she made his skin crawl. She just stood there silently moving her head up and down as if to say, "Why don't you do your homework with Devorah Leah more diligently, do you think school is a joke??"
She reminded him of an earlier witness, some 20 years ago, who testified the same things about him, when he was the student, with the same head motion.
Then as now he had nothing to say in his defense.
Just thinking about the thousands of witnesses who have testified throughout was enough to exhaust the most virile of men. Some of the more painful ones were his parents, who would pop in every once in awhile with fresh evidence of his inability to make them proud.
Then there were the absurd witnesses, like his co-worker who testified to the court that Shabsie's lunch break monologues were boring and not funny at all.
Or the time his Rabbi and another guy in the shul testified back to back, one stating that his smart phone was too modern and the other, that it was hopelessly not cool.

The sharp rap of the gavel brought him back to the present as the Gabbai of the shul in which he davens shuffled up to the front just as if he were shuffling to the Bimah for an Aliyah. He smiled at Shabsie but behind the smile there was a subdued list of complaints. It started with the fact that he shlepped a little when davening for the amud and continued with the fact that he was a bit of loser for sitting on the table with the old men and ended with the fact that he doesn't donate enough to the shul coffers.
The jury all seemed to shake their head in unison. He was doomed.
Shabsie turned to his lawyer who looked at him with pitiful eyes.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Don't you have anything to say in my defense?"
"Oh, I get it, you think I'm just as guilty.."
His lawyer leaned over to him and motioned for him to do the same.
"There is only one motion that I can file to save you from this hell."
"So, what are you waiting for?", Shabsie demanded.
His lawyer continued, "the thing is, you have to really want it."
"I want you to think about this overnight and come to the conclusion on your own that you want me to go ahead with it".
With that he slipped a manila envelope over the shiny table to Shabsie and bid him good night.

The next morning Shabsie met his lawyer outside the courthouse. His hands were shaking as he asked, "are you sure about this?
I mean, is this really possible?"
"Absolutely, but it's all up to you, I'm just your voice in there", he said while pointing to the fast filling courtroom with his head.
They both walked in.
The room was packed with hundreds of witnesses and spectators and he could feel his nerves tighten up. He was suddenly unsure of himself and needed his lawyers hand for support. His lawyer squeezed firmly and they strode to their bench confidently.
The judge looked over the black glasses that were perched on the tip of his nose and with his irritating voice started the proceedings for day number 10,977.
"The court of the State of Perceived Public Opinion vs Shabsie Stein for the crime of general incompetence in life which carries with it the punishment of life in perceived purgatory with no parole..."
His lawyer stood up and declared, "your honor, I ask that this case be dismissed under rule 1907. Client is not under the courts jurisdiction. Client is not a citizen of your State and not subject to it's rules and judgement"
A hush fell over the courtroom.
The judge's face turned white. His glasses slipped off his nose and fell onto his desk as he took the motion into his hands and read it.
"Case dismissed!" He barked after 5 minutes of reading in shocked silence.

Shabsie turned around expecting an angry and frustrated mob, but his chair swiveled to an empty room. There was no one there.
He slowly got up and walked down the corridor, his shoes echoing in the marble chamber.
He stepped outside and inhaled the fresh spring air.
He was a free man.



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