The Path to a Healing Heart

We recreate our original traumas with current day dramas.

Well, the End might be right around the corner. According to the *news* - there are a few mad scientists hiding in a lab somewhere who have their fingers on the *button* that will send this planet - world into the Next. Yes. They have managed to devise a way of splitting the atom, create dark matter and apparently destroy that - and in effect bringing us all into the *void and null* we all know so well from Bereishit. So - I'm figuring if it's a done deal and this Tishrei will actively be the 6th Day of Creation when this world was formed - i.e put into motion - hit with the ON switch - infused with Love and Light - then its destruction might be right on target and would require some time to deconstruct completely - and would naturally take its course over a few weeks - till we hit Tishrei. So - how am I spending the Last Days? Well, I'm painting this *dwelling* like I told my landlord I'd do. It's in the contract. Might as well keep my word. It all counts. And I...

It feels bloody lousy. That's how. You go outside into the mayhem - say it - MAYHEM of what is called the nearest town 8 km's away from where I live on a Monday - and it's like nails on chalk intermingled with plastic burning and car alarms blasting in your ears without let up while ALL eyes are upon you and the sun is beating down with 95 degrees of *I will burn you up in hell alive* heat and all the while the sheeple, the poor clueless, mantra-cized circa 1950 Aliyah from Morocco keep to the *program* of just how illiterate can we be because the Histradut (Keeping Us in Line Incorporated) told us to play it dumb, so we will - so we will. And anything we see that is flashy and reminds us of a TV program that programmed us last night - we will buy, and we will cackle because that is what we do and we will follow other sheeple because that is what we have been told to do and waiting in line wherever we go is our lot/mission/directive to take and in this nuts are flying, pain...

Beit - is the second letter of the Hebrew Alphabet. It is also the word for house. Bayit is a symbol of enclosure. A dwelling. A container. A home. It is constructed from left to right, up to down, right to left - with a solid foundation. It is the numerical value of 2 The Torah begins with the letter beit in the word - Bereishit - In the Beginning... In all beginnings there needs to be a house - something to contain. A vessel that houses all the other vessels. It is comprised of 2 elements - positive and negative which hold it together like magnets. It is the starting point from which all bounty can pour into and fill and share. Open door, open windows, sun filtering in at dawn and filtering out at evening - with both sun rise and sun set visible. A fig tree and grape vine to shade and feed. A place to find peace, solace and refuge.

Shabbat - afternoon. After pouring through some books, words and sleeping to awake in sweat I opted to breathe some fresh air and made my way to the back of the house to the chair that awaits in the midst of wild pomegranates and olives. And I sat and watched thinking I missed something times before. And watched and sat. And all of a sudden the realization that the limbs of the olive tree all faced east and they looked like they were praying in piousness. I don't know if it was to do with the wind, or the time of day or the season. But pray they did. Facing east. And some bowed low. And it's all they did was pray in all seriousness and devotion. Then it occurred to me that is why they are blessed with a long life - because of their devotional prayer and service. It is a reward for their humility and giving. There is nothing flashy or self-important about an olive tree. It exists to serve. And in that service there is a nullification of self to the point where if it were not for...

This is not a complaint. This is an observation and a report of what has now taken over our lives here. I love animals - I love nature - but there are certain things which I am not overly fond of - and they have made themselves a home on mine, in mine and around mine - animals, abode and atmosphere. And they are in no particular order - ants, fleas, flies, mosquitos, mites. I also have spiders but I really like spiders and they don't fall under this category at all. We keep each other company - and it's fine by me. But back to the plagues. I have ants everywhere. I have ants coming through the woodwork, through the floor (archaelogical diggings - sand EVERYWHERE - piles of diggings) on the counter, on the table, on the walls and on me. One night - it was motzei shabbat - and like a horror movie - thousands of them hatched. All of the colony - hatched together and these were the big, black carpenter ants - and they just swarmed all over the floor. I had just finished making havd...

It's very hard for me - there is no doubt. But there is ALSO no doubt that Hashem knows this. Big time. And I can't help but remember what happened when the Children of Israel complained about their *plight* after leaving Egypt and when they complained to the point where Hashem just essentially gave them something to complain about and none of that generation ever made it to the Promised Land. So I just wanted to put it out there - that I am NOT complaining about Israel. Israel is a holy land and it has immense potential to help heal the world by virtue of its light. I'm just really weary. And I really need help. BIG TIME. I need a home. A Home. And I need it very very soon.

All my life I've been swimming upstream, going against the grain, against consensus and the norm. They used to call that being a non-conformist. Now it's probably a defiant disorder. I just don't mesh, or meld or flow with what's going on here. No way. No how. I'm the perpetual outsider looking in, observing from the sidelines or hiding from too much onslaught of just about everything in waves of heat and messiness. I could probably look away and forgive - and I'm working on that. Don't want this place to become a sounding board for my grievences against the people or the country. I'm so steering clear of that. There were things done - and things said - and my questions have all been left unanswered and my attachment to the land has been severed and there is no passion left. No desire to change *things*. I believe still in providence and hashgacha pratit - if I was meant to stay here I would know it. I would feel it. I don't. I am looking for the tre...

I have finally understood that I must leave Israel. All the signs were here - 5 years. I should have buckled before. It would have saved a lot of anger and energy. I simply couldn't make it. Another aliyah failure. More torment then I could imagine, the last straw was having stones thrown at me by Jews for no reason - aside from my resting in the smelly abode I have called my dwelling place since last Tishrei. I should have packed up 5 years ago when the hardships began. I didn't. I thought it could be overcome. I thought I'd make it. I really did give it my best shot. I gave my energy and my blood. Now I can leave and say shalom. Be well. You weren't for me and I wasn't for you - and hopefully no irreversible harm has been done. My back is filled with sores and welts from the rocks thrown and the words hurled and the actions perpetrated and now - enough. No more. I bid you shalom.

The way to stop anything negative is to do its polar opposite and let that effect cause a ripple and then a trend where the critical mass reverses the polarity. The will, intention and action need to be steady and consistent with open heart and actions must always follow the intent without fail, lest a gap and lapse transpire. So you start around you where there is abuse, you take it as your project. Must be close by, close to heart and in eye sight. You must claim this project as a personal one. This translates to doing all from your heart - without asking for anything in return. Altruism. You just do for the sake of love. A small act, a bigger one. You can give money, but it must be for something you care about. You can teach - but teach love. Anything you do about or connected to this - can't be for reward - only to love. And in that love there is profound healing of one individual. And when that one individual is healed then maybe another generation can be healed. Prayer works,...

Father of my Maternal Grandmother Rivka - Nachum - Cantor, Shochet, Father, Friend, Teacher, Rabbi, Grandfather, Great-Grandfather. From A Bundle of Memories By Avraham Yaffe, Tel Aviv, Israel Translated from Hebrew to Yiddish by M. Goelman Translated from Yiddish to English by Dr. Isaac Fine One house in the shtetl was the center for song throughout the entire year, particularly during religious festivals. This was the residence of Cantor Nochum Amdurer . His dwelling was located in Avram- Moishe's house, across from the post office on the corner of Dolistover Street. The Cantor Nochum Amdurer was a beardless man of average stature. He was always seen with a hat and a long coat. Nochum was a schochet, a ritual slaughterer. Day by day he and Yankel, the other schochet would go to the slaughterhouse. On the evening before Yom Kippur, everyone would bring the chickens for slinging to their home. In the fall, when geese and calves were in season at the market, the two men would go t...

My paternal grandfather was Abraham. He was a drinker and barber. He beat his wife and my father said he caused the MS she later suffered by delivering a fatal blow to her neck. My maternal grandfather was Max. He was a furrier and an abusive rageholic my mother being the brunt of his rage and mind games - as she was the eldest. Police were called in constantly as per the eye witness account of my great aunt. My grandparents divorced. My mother's siblings didn't fare very well. While their light shone in some directions - music wise - in New Orleans and later in LA - both brothers of my mother died of unnatural causes. I only met my paternal grandfather once. We went swimming. He demonstrated the art of using two hands clasped as a squirting mechanism, and later if I recall correctly, how to utilize the same out of water as a whistle. My great-grandfather on my mother's side was Nahum, who was a beloved shochet and chazzan in the shtetl of Goniadz .

I don't know where this tree is - I just did a search on Google for Pardess Katz and found it. Tried locating the owner - no success. This is their blog - http://israel-is.spaces.live.com/blog/

In 1970, my mother took me to Israel - as her resolve to save me from a fate of drugs and violence in the States. Where she took me was a township belonging to the municipality of Bnei Brak called Tel Giborim. Named after the men who were killed during the war of independence - The Hill of the Heroic. I was the token American girl with her limping dog Corky, in the midst of a neighborhood of combined backgrounds - Polish, Roumanian, Iraqi, Morrocan, Kurdish, Libyan, Yemenite. The full melting pot. At first I was sent to learn in a religious school called Yesodot, but after 6 months I wanted out. I simply couldn't understand. I couldn't cope either with what was going on at home. My mother was again mentally unwell. Her rages were getting more frequent, her outbursts and her depressions. continued HERE

And there is something to be learned in everything - what is to be learned from receiving my mail and packages torn open by rummaging stranger's hands? I have received letters - torn open, missing then somehow someone *finds* it and asks innocently - Is this yours? I have received packages literally torn open - every single time. Each time I ask the 2 old people who deliver the mail - why - they answer it comes in that way from Ashkelon's main post office. So - possibilities might be - Lesson 1 - move to a place where thieves aren't rampantly scavanging in other people's mail Lesson 2 - decide that nothing is worth getting mind-fd over for Lesson 3 - get a POB 10 miles away necessitating travel, bother and worry - not to mention time Lesson 4 - next time self-send a package to self containing cat turds - and just laugh at the absurdity of it all Lesson 5- Go over Thou Shall Not Covet a few times every day and maybe make a T-Shirt saying Thou Shall Not Covet - Ask Me! L...

Red gloves cold shiver On the penny copper doormat fallen like metallic balloons A pair as bizarre as the ladies that rattle tits with ice in grandeur with frozen smiles holding rancor and crassness in their vapid palms and naked arms.

Seems like animals are being sacrificed today in Israel more than ever before. READ ON:

While I'm waiting to be released from this place I'm in now, been observing - or attempting to observe the olive trees that sporadically grow around the place I'm renting. Here are some outlines: they seem to be otherworldly and aloof. Of this world, rooted here but they are - unlike the pines - answer directly to a higher order, bypassing the rules other species follow. They seem not to be part of the *families* I've observed in pines. They do not regenerate after cuts or tears as easily or if at all, like the other species I've observed Upstate - they will allow withering, dying to the extent of complete limbs lying dead on a tree. It is a tree of extremes. The flowers are small and white - 4 petals. They bloom for about 2 weeks then drop off. After this display, tiny nubs will appear in clusters. These will become the fruit. There is a slow pace, but constant and consistent. Not unlike the tortoise. Come what may, unflappably, tenaciously - fruit will yet appe...

Went to Beer Sheba today to get shmitta vegetables. Only the veggies that came from foreigners would do. And in going I viewed the landscape - rough, miles of sand intermingled with clumps of wild plants, and in between the acacia trees, a few palms and as things would be had did see camels. And it's 40 km's roughly from where I lay my head to where I needed to be going. And the crocs I have had for the last year give or take are worn till there's no tread and walking is hard anyway. But I needed a break from the break in my skull from 3 weeks ago that still hasn't healed, slow bleed maybe, and the ulcer my cat has, and the slowly being poisoned by the burning garbage across the road that is the city dump. A break. Some exercise that is needed. And so to shopping, eyes down. And to walking eyes down. And the noises I hardly hear outside maybe because I'm bombarded from all angles and completely numbing is the tactic. Went for shitakes after - walked a long time in...