IMHO, Busses Should Be Non-Smoking

First of all, I just thought I ought to inform anyone still loyal enough to be checking this poor, seemingly abandoned blog that it is, in fact, not dead…the only hitch is that I have been doing so much living myself that I have necessarily sucked some of the life out of my blog. In other words, I’ve been super duper crazy busy. And you know what? I will continue to be this busy until March 20th. So if this blog is sporadic between now and then, I apologize. Also, I’ve stopped reading most of the blogs I like. I’m sorry. I still love you guys—I just simply don’t have time! Heck, I don’t even have time for my roommates! And, I know, I know, Chana will say “Well, make time!” And I will answer her, as I did this evening, saying “There are only 24 hours in the day. If I knew how to make more, I would!” Honestly, I don’t have the opportunity to procrastinate anymore—every moment is eaten up by some activity, and even my homework often gets utterly left by the wayside. (Case in point: I wrote an essay at 4:30 am on a red-eye flight into NY—having read only 15 of the 70 pages of required reading. Yeeeeah.)

But, despite all this, I couldn’t resist a brief reunion with my blog. I shall now recount an interesting experience from my very exciting and eventful weekend. My high school flew me home to be an advisor on their shabbaton, and placed me as the only authority figure in a bunk with nine 8th graders. Many fascinating, illuminating, and amusing events occurred over those two days, but I shall only tell you about one right now.

Once upon a time…
I was the only advisor on my bus to the campsite where the shabbaton was to take place. Picture this: I am sitting in the front of the bus. Smack in the middle of the 1.5 hour bus ride, I hear shrieks from behind me. I turn around, and see chaos erupting in the back of the bus. A Junior girl runs up the aisle to me and exclaims, panicked: “The back of the bus is filling up with smoke!” I look, and observe this to be true. And the smoke smells like burning rubber. Uh-oh. Not good.

Everyone in the back of the bus has gotten up, and most of them are panicking. The remainder are slightly amused. Two girls decide to alert the bus driver to the situation. They tell him rapidly and in high pitched voices about the disconcerting situation. His very apt and intelligent response is:
“Huh?”
An elderly gentleman, it appears he is somewhat deaf. Eventually, he is so besieged by panicking students that he declares, exasperated,
“I’m pulling over!”
He does so, and gets up to see what the matter is. Observing the copious smoke, he gets out of the bus and examines it from the outside. He returns, and informs us,
“We’re overheating like crazy! We’re going to have to switch to a new bus.”
At which point he returns to his seat and resumes driving.

The students, meanwhile, involve themselves in wondering why we are now careening merrily down the freeway as the smoke continues to billow forth, call their parents and inform them that our bus is on fire, and speculate as to whether the bus will explode. I decide that someone should tell a real authority figure about the situation. So I call one of the Rabbis in charge. I tell him:
“The back of our bus is filling up with smoke, and we will probably have to switch busses.”
The sympathetic and useful response from this esteemed educator? “Hahahahahahahahahahaha!”
Right. Eventually, we pull over once again. On an on-ramp. To the freeway. (No, don’t ask me why we stopped there. I have no idea.) Soon we see another bus on the horizon, wending its jolly way toward our still smoking vehicle. It pulls in front of our bus and stops. The kids eagerly get up and fill the aisle, awaiting their exit from our bus (whose air is now as clouded as that of an unsavory bowling alley). Our driver bellows at everyone to sit down, as we must wait patiently as the two drivers transfer all our luggage from the old bus to the new one. We sit.

Eventually, we are told that the kids may leave the bus, slowly, and in single file, since we are, after all, sitting on an on-ramp as cars whiz past. I, however, am asked to remain behind, to assure that everyone gets off safely, and that all the luggage is transferred. The bus empties, and I stand in front of the open bus door, staying as close as possible to the bus in order to avoid being hit by a speeding semi-truck. Another five minutes pass as the driver moves duffels and sleeping bags to the new bus. I stand outside alone, waiting, and every few seconds peeking anxiously into the bottom of the bus to see how much luggage remains to be moved. Finally, he is done. I verify that everything has been transferred, thank the kindly driver of the rescue bus, and board the new bus, where, thank G-d, my kids are handling everything just fine. (Luckily, most of the kids on my bus were older, and not as rambunctious—if I had had freshman boys, I do not know what I would have done.) The driver starts the bus, and the rest of our ride is blissfully uneventful. The same, however, could not be said of the rest of the shabbaton (cue ominous music)…

NCSY: Why it's Awesome

This weekend I attended a Regional NCSY Convention. It was the third shabbaton I’ve attended with this region, and like the two shabbatonim before it, it was an amazing experience.

As an advisor, I was there to hang out with the kids, and that’s what I did. I reconnected with kids I had met on the previous shabbatonim, and met new kids as well. I find NCSY incredibly inspiring because it brings together Jewish teens from all different backgrounds with advisors who are excited and committed to Yahadus (not to mention a little nuts, for the most part) as well as staff and administration who are so dedicated that it’s almost hard to fathom.

I personally believe that being involved in organizations like NCSY is one of the most important things that a young Jewish adult can do. Reaching out to high-schoolers to show them that being Jewish can be fun, cool, and inspirational is absolutely crucial to the survival of the Jewish people. The intermarriage rate today is devastating, and far too many kids have no idea what Judaism means.

Over the weekend, I became close with two girls from a public school located in a community with no religious Jewish life at all. These girls had attended the “Hebrew Culture Club” run by NCSY in their school, and had been persuaded by the head (the Director of Outreach for the region) to come to regional. They knew absolutely nothing about Judaism, and definitely didn’t know what they were getting into when they signed up to come for the weekend. (The head of outreach later told me that during a discussion of intermarriage in the club one week, both of the girls had said that they’d marry non-Jews without hesitation.) I hung out with these girls practically the entire time, and it was really fun. They were supernice girls, and unlike many of the day school kids, actually listened when I asked them to do something or go somewhere. Yet, these really sweet girls didn’t know what shabbos was, couldn’t figure out why we were constantly praying out of backward books, and were fazed by the idea of wearing a skirt for all of Saturday. I didn’t push any information on them, but instead tried to make sure that they had a good time. I really think that the most important part of being an advisor is just making a connection with the kids, really being a friend and showing them that you care—and the rest will follow naturally.

On the shabbaton I also had the opportunity to meet/re-meet many many kids whose lives have been changed by NCSY—kids who have started keeping kosher, who are dying to keep shabbos in a non-shomer-shabbos home, who want nothing more than for their parents to allow them to go to day school, or to Israel after high school. Seeing people (high school kids, no less!) who sacrifice and struggle so much to be better Jews never fails to inspire me. Too often I take my life for granted—the fact that it is so easy for me to keep shabbos and kosher, the fact that I have opportunities to learn Torah everywhere I turn, the fact that I am surrounded by so many wonderful examples of Torah Judaism. Seeing kids who have to fight for every inch, for every mitzvah, reminds me that I am incredibly lucky. As much as one may think that the advisors are on the shabbaton to give to the kids, I find that the kids are often the ones who end up giving to the advisors (as cliché as it may sound, it’s true!).

Overall, it was a wonderful (and completely exhausting) experience, and I can’t wait for Winter Regional!