Summer 2010

Torah Camp - Part 5

Thursday, July 15, 2010 - 10:31 AM

This post is a continuation from "Torah Camp" posted earlier on. To view earlier posts, scroll down.

July 11, 2010

We went to the Ohel last Thursday. For those of you who don’t know, that’s the name of the gravesite for the last great leader of the Chabad movement, the Rebbe. They consider him one of the greatest righteous men in Jewish history, and his gravesite is thus said to be a very special place of holiness.

On our program, there are only two people who consider themselves Chasidim. The rest of us are questioning Jews who are only in the past couple years, though university exposure, making our way to Jewish observance. As outsiders among the chasids here, we often challenge the surrounding rabbis on their beliefs, on those things we don’t understand. To their credit, they take no offense at questions and are more than capable at supplying answers. But even when they do have answers, many of us find their beliefs still at odds with our own.

I for one was skeptical about this visit to the Ohel. I knew that we were supposed to write out a personal prayer in a specific format and deliver it when we went. It felt like praying to a saint to me, borderline idolatrous. The rabbis explained that you’re not praying to the Rebbe, but praying that God answer your prayers on behalf of the merit of the Rebbe. Still, as I wrote the long prayer the night before, I was uncomfortable.

After driving down from upstate for a few hours, we visited a mikveh to get ourselves ritually pure. Now I don’t know how many of you have been to a mikveh, but I never went in one before this. Most are small and full of water that’s the same color as the water in mop buckets. This one was like a spa though- crystal clear, warm as a hot tub, and with showers better than the ones we have at camp. I dunked extra.

Immediately after we went to do morning services in a shul near the Ohel. I was surprised when I opened my prayer book and I immediately felt myself uplifted as I started to pray. My focus was dramatically sharper than normal. I felt like I couldn’t pray fast enough. I attributed this to the mikveh.

When services were over, most of the group went to go ahead to the Ohel. Only Venezuela and me stayed behind to finish up writing our prayers. The instructions are to be very specific, so I wanted to make sure to word mine correctly. I finished before Venezuela, but I didn’t want to go on my own, so I waited.

When we were done, they led us down a thin path through a graveyard to a small stone building. Inside was a room with prayer books and candles. We were instructed to pray as much as we wanted, knock on the door before we entered to the actual grave, then go in and read our notes.

So I prayed, but I couldn’t focus. I was too curious about what was inside. I skimmed the book a little, then knocked and entered.

It was much more modest than I expected. It wasn’t a pharoah’s or a president’s tomb. Just two little graves, the Rebbe and his father-in-law. Some people were standing around a big square pit full of ripped up notes praying. I felt no special sense of being uplifted. I read my prayer, tore it up, and left.

Other people had interesting experiences. My normally skeptical roommate D said it was one of the best prayer sessions of his life, while praying for me was much more significant beforehand. I suppose it really depends on the person.

Torah Camp - Part 4

Monday, July 12, 2010 - 3:15 PM

This post is a continuation from "Torah Camp" posted earlier on. To view earlier posts, scroll down.

July 5, 2010

I decided I wanted a beard when I was in first grade. I’m glad, in retrospect, it didn’t come in that early, but every day I’m reminded of the inadequacies of my own beard. Why? Because every day, I walk among beard major leaguers- chasids.

When I would zone out during lectures, I used to try to imagine what rabbis would look like without their beards. I thought, I can’t see your face- how am I supposed to see the individuality of your character. I’m realizing now that beards might represent more character than faces.

My roommate Farmboy is looking progressively more like an Amish man. D’s Jafar beard is getting more entangled every day. Herring’s facial hair makes him look like a hood criminal. And Robin, of course, is still Robin Williams.

Among the yeshiva guys next to us, you can find characters from all over American History. This guy looks like a pilgrim, this guy a cowboy, and this one an old prospector.

One of our rabbis is big and gentle with a massive black beard. He could play Hagrid in the Harry Potter movies. And while many beards have a wizard look, there’s one guy here who could be Albus Dumbledore’s twin. There’re men up here who like dwarves, gnomes, and giants too.

Rabbi Kaplan is one of the heads of our program and a brilliant teacher. He is a mammoth Jew with an equally huge beard. But it’s all tied together when he speaks- a low, booming, powerful voice. And when this trained chazzan davens, the walls shake and you can feel the Hebrew in your bones. A single image crystallized in my mind when I met him: he was a Viking god in tzitzit.

One of our counselors, a young rabbi, goes by Chonie. He looks like the son of Santa Clause.

I could name a dozen other characters these beards connote- blacksmiths, pirates, and ancient senseis, to name a few- but there were a few beards I just couldn’t place. I would look at the chasid in question and try to figure out why their beard looked so familiar, what character they looked like.

I realized one day during a lecture. It was our oldest rabbi speaking, which meant most people were either zoning out or praying that class would end (so we would have afternoon prayer services and they could zone out).

And suddenly, there was this one moment when he looked up to search through a text on the podium and his white beard crumpled against his suit, the book, and his face. The whole picture together hit me: it was like I was staring at the spirit of the Jew.

I realized all those beards I didn’t recognize were Jewish beards. There was no other word to describe them. All I knew was that the Jew wouldn’t be the same without that beard, nor the beard without that Jew.

Which makes my patchy, scruffy, awkward facial fur all the more frustrating.

Torah Camp - Part 3

Thursday, July 8, 2010 - 11:12 AM

This post is a continuation from "Torah Camp" posted earlier on. To view part one and two, scroll down.

June 25, 2010

At this point, I think I’ve gathered a pretty good picture of all the characters of our program. There’s ten of us boys, and it makes quite a mix.

My first roommate, Farmboy, comes from Washington state. He was the first person I met and I felt quickly confident he would be a safe roommate choice. I’m from Missouri and I’ve still never met anyone with such a simple-country-boy-feel about him. He’s quiet and inoffensive. When he calls his parents, he remarks on the weather and tells them how much he loves them. If you pay attention, you’ll catch him saying “Sure do” and “Boy howdy”.

My second roommate, D, came a few days late, and immediately looked to me like a young Jafar. With the only extra bed, we got D in our room by default, so it very well could’ve been a sour relationship. I found a kindred spirit in him though- he’s a writer who’s as serious about exploring Judaism as I am. He’s great for staying up late with and discussing philosophy.

Next door is our foreign student, Venezuela. Every guy loves their foreign friend for two reasons: first, there are certain things that any guy in his twenties likes talking about, so most relationships with the foreign friend revolve around those especially fun topics; and second, their unique perspective on the language means their jokes have an original flair. We have a lot of fun with our South American. He’s twenty-eight, but it makes no difference- he acts just like he’s in college.

He lives with our second oldest resident, Robin, (the guy who looks like a young Robin Williams…he’s still not very funny). I’ve never met anyone who speaks as slowly as Robin, or emotes less. Still, he’s clearly got a good heart. His position in the program is unusual, as he is one of the most committed to one denomination of Judaism, (he has decided to become a chabadnik), yet he is one with some of the most limited formal Jewish education. Seeing someone taking these steps in life at twenty-seven makes me think it’s never too late for anyone to change.

The third guy next door is Texas. What I love about him is that he’s a great complainer. Some people don’t realize how complaining can make any bad situation fun, if the complaints are well-crafted. Texas is a genius in this field. He knows how to throw together a complaint or an insult that’ll guarantee a laugh, and that fact that he knows what he doesn’t like helps. Texas actually just came back from his first trip to Israel and is doing his best to learn the Hebrew alphabet while working his way through Samuel.

Living farther down is Herring. He’s the only one here younger than me, the only student who’s nineteen. When I first saw Herring, I thought of the Thing from Fantastic Four, (“It’s clobberin’ time!”) because of his meaty hands. Despite being noticeably young a lot of the time, Herring is the most committed to Lubavitch of anyone here. He also claims he can identify any type of chasid by the variations in their dress, (Chasidic fashion was what brought him to religion in the first place).

At the end of the hall, we’ve got Persia, Harvard, and Boots.

Persia’s twenty-three legally, but twenty-two in reality. He’s one of those especially charming, outgoing Persians who manages to know everybody’s name and have an opinion on everything, (many of which are uninformed or wrong). We typically use him to speak for our group; when our counselor isn’t getting things done or we need someone to unashamedly bicker about a teacher, Persia’s the one to do it.

Harvard showed up last of everyone, and all we knew about him was that he’s the only one at the Ivy League Torah Study Experience who went to an Ivy League school. He was exactly what I imagined- intelligent, charming, and handsome, the kind of guy who always frustrated guys who spent years learning to interact competently with women (i.e. me). Ultimately though, he ended up being a great addition to the team.

And Boots- what is there to say? He wears Armani clothes because he works at an Armani store. And enjoy fighting each other whenever we get the chance.

July 1

We went white-water rafting today! It was amazing. The only thing missing was the white water. The river was about as active as a Jew on Shabbes (HEY-O!). It was an incredible time though, the most fun we’ve had yet. Among men, the only two possible activities, races and fights, broke out several times. We spent the rest of the time lounging down the river, speculating on what kind of kabalistic super powers our senior rabbis have. It took us three hours to finish five miles of the river, while most people do the full ten miles in four. I suppose we’re underachievers.

July 3

Tonight was a special night. Tonight- we went to the girls’ camp.

We were told a few days ago that right after Shabbat, they were going to take us to the girls’ camp where we could finally meet our program’s complement. The news was delivered by a seventeen year old Chabadnik who expected we’d be losing-our-minds-excited, but, unlike this poor boy, we’ve all been around women before, and the initial reaction was somewhat subdued.

However, as we got closer to the rendezvous, a certain palpable excitement actually started to spread. We had not seen a female over the age of four or under the age of forty in three weeks. And while there’s a certain comfort in the caveman style of living that develops, (eating with our hands, wearing pajamas all day, forgetting about hygiene), being a slob is only fun for a little while.

Worst for me was this horrid facial hair I’ve developed. Intending on irritating my mom, I planned on not shaving the entire duration of Torah Camp and returning home totally unkempt. When we heard we were seeing girls, I decided it had to go. Unfortunately for me, and several others among us, we couldn’t shave because it was already the three weeks preceding the ninth of Av. We were stuck with three week old beards.

Despite this, we did our best to look presentable. As Shabbat closed, some actually ran back to their rooms to take quick showers and make their hair look just accidentally tussled enough. The car ride there was wild. Herring admitted to us on the way there that he was looking for a wife out of this deal. Wagers were being thrown around about how many hot ones there would be. I was quiet the whole way, concerned three weeks without women had caused some atrophy in my social skills.

The night was a success though. The girls were nervous and crazy as we were. Our groups got along incredibly well, and we’re going to try to see them tomorrow night for fireworks. Both Herring and D seem to have found some romantic matches- looks like we’ve got reason to be presentable again.