Oh, boy...

I don't like to complain, and I hate coming off as bitchy, but right now, the past few days have been pretty intense.
First of all, it's monday night here, and my suitcases still haven't arrived. By now, the bag of meat has definitely spoiled, so there's nothing to do about that. However, I still don't have clothing. The few pairs of surplus underwear that I had in my apartment are finished and I need to give them to the cleaners. Until I get them back, though, it seems I'll be going commando.
On top of all that, we're rapidly approaching spring/summer time. Usually, I love this time of year, when the sun is shining and the weather is beautiful. As a matter of fact, I tend to be more relaxed, and as an effect of that, my music changes. I listen to even more reggae, ska, and other chilling music. Yet, I came back to my apartment to find out that my building, which is individually owned, is being sold to my yeshiva, that giant institution known as the Mir.
Apparently, the yeshiva, which has until now had an open door policy, virtually taking in everbody who comes to their doors, is going through a state of transition. Due to their open door policy, they've realized that the caliber of the general population has gone down, which is natural when they have said policy. In an effort to change that, they are becoming tougher regarding acceptance, and are trying to have more control on those already in the yeshiva. As a result, they are slowly but surely buying out the independent apartments and buildings, and when the buildings have come under their authority, they will be able to have access to each apartment. By doing this they can control what goes on in each place, and ensure that people aren't sleeping all day, or bringing things that don't belong in the apartment in.
Now, I do understand that there is a need for a certain amount of supervision, and surely a need for more discretion as to who can be accepted into the yeshiva. However, for guys like my roomates and I, and many other relatively responsible people in yeshiva, it's a raw deal. We aren't gaining anything; all that has changed is that now some israeli dude that has been appointed by the yeshiva can let himself into our places at any time that he wishes. That grates on me for a number of reasons. I'm 21 years old, and as of yet, I haven't fucked up. I come to seder, and I adhere to the schedule. I admit that I read non jewish books, but A) I don't flaunt it for people to see, and B) it's something that my parents do not object to. I don't want nor need some guy dictating what I can or can't do in the privacy of my own apartment. Secondly, and this might sound harsh, but sadly it's realistic: I don't really trust any guy to just let himself into my place. Honestly, if they can't keep thefts from happening in their own buildings, how can they prevent someone from stealing stuff from a private apartment?
But in reality, the thing that bothers me the most is this whole supervision thing. I chafe under authority. That's exactly why I hated my high school, and why I loved the yeshiva I went to post graduation. In the place I went to after high school, the Rosh Yeshiva understood the value of trust; he gave us leeway, and because of that, I made sure to respect the few set rules that there were. I had my space, and I was able to retain my sense of self in a good enviroment. The Mir, being on a much larger scale, also allowed me to retain my indivuduality, and because of that, I haven't felt a need to rebel. I'm 21, and I realize that there's a heavy amount of responsibilty and maturity one needs to survive here. I have enough people "keeping an eye on me"; I don't need some guy from the faculty breathing down my neck.
This worries me greatly, because I've already had it out with the guy who'll be in charge. He's a little bit of a prick, and we clashed a bit. And I don't want that at all. If I feel pressure, I'm afraid I'll lash back, despite what's in my best interest. Slowly, my summer soundtrack is turning from Phish, Marley, and O.A.R. to Rage against the Machine. I've had enough of fighting against authoritarian institutions; I just want to do what I came to the Holy Land to do: learn torah without being bothered.
Anyway, I went to the Kotel last night; it was my first time back since I returned. I was dead tired, and worn out from worrying about my luggage and the problems with my apartment. I felt like evreything was going wrong, and I was bummed out. When someone hasn't seen the Har Habayis for over a month's time, it is customary to rip one's garment as a sign of mourning for the destroyed temples, and our current exile. So, I removed my jacket upon arriving at the wall, and proceeded to try and rip my shirt. I had made a little cut to start it along, and as I was saying the few verses that are said, I noticed a tour guide bring over a group of what were either non religious jews or non jews. He explained what and why I was doing and then told them to watch. I took a deep breath and tugged.
Nothing happened.
I was wearing one of those thick oxford shirts, and they're really hard to tear. The group starts to giggle a bit. I allow a little grin, and try again. Nothing. I tug, and pull, and grunt, but the fabric won't tear. Hulk Hogan never had a problem like this. Finally, with a very audible grunt, a put all my strength in it, and pulled as hard as I could.
RRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPP!!!!
THe sound of rending fabric seemed to echo across the plaze as my shirt literally tore all the way across the left part of my chest, to the armpit, and under and around the seam of my sleeve up to my shoulder in the back. The group burst into laughter as a cool wind flapped the torn ends like a flag.
I gaves a sheepish grin, and balled up my shirt and tossed it into the garbage. Then I put my jacket back on and went up to the wall. Stepping up to the stones, and kissed them, then pressed my cheek against the smooth surface. It was warm to the touch.
Suddenly, I felt everything drain away. All the anger, frustration, and fatigue. I kept my face pressed against the wall for a long time, reminding myself why I love this place, and why, even with all the crap I may have to deal with, I know that all will turn out okay. Because this is the holiest spot in the world, and all hardships are worth it, if I can be here.
It's good to be home.
Originally posted Tuesday, 2 May 2006