RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT
I am not the best of the best. I am the worst of the worst and that is where my story started.
You can't hide from light. My story starts even before that.Probably with the light of my grandparents or their parents, parents.
There is a light that doesn't have a time or place. Its a light that you can glimpse before the sunsets or rises. Before a baby is born or a person dies.
I would like to say that all there is, is light.
What would happen if we forgave our parents? If we forgave our fathers? Those who have hurt us. Those who have hurt our grandparents parents?
THat is where I stand. At the edge of the river watching history flow over me headed towards something good.
I am running along the banks of the river where the minnesota fordges with the missipi like my wedding ring where two roads fordge together to make a road to jerusalem. My heart would be split in two directions. I don't think its true. We make it true because the truth lies within us and we look for it.
I grew up not in my own light . I grew up in raging strobe lights which between the lighted smiles and hello's I could feel something more authentic. I hated how everyone wore the same shirts. Its not that they did anything wrong. Its just that the whole predictability of it seemed deceitful. I hate the predictable because there is nothing true about it.
My mother told me I should have gotten into Harvard because of the generational link. She is wrong. I should have gotten in out of my own merit not hers. Can you brand an H upon your head? can you brand a soul on a hat?
I tried to show my mother how not to brand herself, to show her that she was beautiful from within. She didn' t need anything more than that. I thought that if I could fix her between the strobe light she would love me. She would see my true light but it became a competition so I left.
But that was not the reason that I went to Israel. Most people were too busy running around working to pay back the loans they had paid to brand themselves with. I was running around looking for my soul. I was apart of a people that would always define me no matter how creative I could become in identity intervention.
He grew up in the Jewish slums of Boston. No matter how much my family, my relatives had been persecuted, no murdered because they were Jewish they never could run away from that fact, no hat could protect them, they still were Jewish. I was practically sold for my own protection.The only reason my grandfather went to Harvard because he passed a test that would give him the scholarship money to sleep in the dorm room given to the servants. His story made me feel real, alive and with purpose.
There wasn't anything ever like the genocide of the holocaust or the hate called anti-semitism which is perhaps the oldest hate in existence. It was never about land it was about being Jewish. Even the converts were killed. I don't know how we survived. It has been nothing short of a miracle that I write to you here today.
The hate is as real as the people. Israel is a people and is as much apart of this world as the sun, the moon, the stars. It breath and its people like all life shed light.
I remember writing about a white pikket fence and how all the homes were so beautiful on the outside but rancid from within. In Israel the homes were always more beautiful on the inside than the out. That meant something to me.
Its a waste of time to wade against a river. You might as well help it flow because there is really no stopping it. The soul of the Jewish people has always faced Jerusalem. Its a story that is as complex as the bible itself but if I flow with the river and I help it flow it is much more efficient. I have to help the march of history. There is not point in being idealistic and floating upriver. Its a wasted cause.
Its as if you can find the dead still alive online. I went into education because i wanted to help my students see their light upon the river. I want to give them the tools to realize their own voice and give them the resources to be creative and to discover their own truth.
You can't hide from light. My story starts even before that.Probably with the light of my grandparents or their parents, parents.
There is a light that doesn't have a time or place. Its a light that you can glimpse before the sunsets or rises. Before a baby is born or a person dies.
I would like to say that all there is, is light.
What would happen if we forgave our parents? If we forgave our fathers? Those who have hurt us. Those who have hurt our grandparents parents?
THat is where I stand. At the edge of the river watching history flow over me headed towards something good.
I am running along the banks of the river where the minnesota fordges with the missipi like my wedding ring where two roads fordge together to make a road to jerusalem. My heart would be split in two directions. I don't think its true. We make it true because the truth lies within us and we look for it.
I grew up not in my own light . I grew up in raging strobe lights which between the lighted smiles and hello's I could feel something more authentic. I hated how everyone wore the same shirts. Its not that they did anything wrong. Its just that the whole predictability of it seemed deceitful. I hate the predictable because there is nothing true about it.
My mother told me I should have gotten into Harvard because of the generational link. She is wrong. I should have gotten in out of my own merit not hers. Can you brand an H upon your head? can you brand a soul on a hat?
I tried to show my mother how not to brand herself, to show her that she was beautiful from within. She didn' t need anything more than that. I thought that if I could fix her between the strobe light she would love me. She would see my true light but it became a competition so I left.
But that was not the reason that I went to Israel. Most people were too busy running around working to pay back the loans they had paid to brand themselves with. I was running around looking for my soul. I was apart of a people that would always define me no matter how creative I could become in identity intervention.
He grew up in the Jewish slums of Boston. No matter how much my family, my relatives had been persecuted, no murdered because they were Jewish they never could run away from that fact, no hat could protect them, they still were Jewish. I was practically sold for my own protection.The only reason my grandfather went to Harvard because he passed a test that would give him the scholarship money to sleep in the dorm room given to the servants. His story made me feel real, alive and with purpose.
There wasn't anything ever like the genocide of the holocaust or the hate called anti-semitism which is perhaps the oldest hate in existence. It was never about land it was about being Jewish. Even the converts were killed. I don't know how we survived. It has been nothing short of a miracle that I write to you here today.
The hate is as real as the people. Israel is a people and is as much apart of this world as the sun, the moon, the stars. It breath and its people like all life shed light.
I remember writing about a white pikket fence and how all the homes were so beautiful on the outside but rancid from within. In Israel the homes were always more beautiful on the inside than the out. That meant something to me.
Its a waste of time to wade against a river. You might as well help it flow because there is really no stopping it. The soul of the Jewish people has always faced Jerusalem. Its a story that is as complex as the bible itself but if I flow with the river and I help it flow it is much more efficient. I have to help the march of history. There is not point in being idealistic and floating upriver. Its a wasted cause.
Its as if you can find the dead still alive online. I went into education because i wanted to help my students see their light upon the river. I want to give them the tools to realize their own voice and give them the resources to be creative and to discover their own truth.
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