I'm a blogger. I'm a Facebooker. I'm linked to Twitter, but haven't tweeted yet...although my brothers used to call me a "twit" when I was a kid.
I am now addicted to some Facebook games, namely Jewel Puzzle and Bejeweled Blitz. I spend a lot of time, often in the darkened hall, late at night (such as now!), searching out the similar shapes on the screen.
In playing these two games seriously and somewhat competitively these past couple of weeks, I've come to realize that the games somewhat mirror life:
-- life can be colorful and sparkly, but can sometimes mislead you
-- things move quickly, and if you want to stay in the game, you have to learn the rules
--sometimes you don't quite know what you're doing, but if you hit a few of the right buttons, you can make things work
--patience is necessary at all times
--viewing things from a different angle helps put things in perspective
--all the jewels in the world don't always make you happy
--a competitive streak can give you a headache and tire you out rather rapidly
I challenge you to become "bejeweled" like me...and help put your own life in perspective.
Monday, September 21, 2009
The New Year Takes Healing
As I stood in shul on Shabbos and Sunday, I thought about my dad.
As I heard the chazzan sing the Hebrew for "On Rosh Hashana it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed" I thought of my dad. I realized that last Rosh Hashana, Hashem had written down my father's name in his book and on Yom Kippur, my father's fate was sealed.
As I heard the calls of the Shofar awakening us to doing Teshuva in the final days before the book is sealed, I thought of my dad.
At one point, I had a random flashback. I recalled my family shul, when services were over and the women would walk down the stairs from the women's gallery to the main level to find their family members. My mother and I would walk down, caught up in the clusters of womenfolk, and I would scan the lower level for my brothers and father. And when I'd reach my father, we'd exchange kisses and I'd be wished "Gut yontif. A gut yohr."
I miss that. I guess I always will.
As I heard the chazzan sing the Hebrew for "On Rosh Hashana it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed" I thought of my dad. I realized that last Rosh Hashana, Hashem had written down my father's name in his book and on Yom Kippur, my father's fate was sealed.
As I heard the calls of the Shofar awakening us to doing Teshuva in the final days before the book is sealed, I thought of my dad.
At one point, I had a random flashback. I recalled my family shul, when services were over and the women would walk down the stairs from the women's gallery to the main level to find their family members. My mother and I would walk down, caught up in the clusters of womenfolk, and I would scan the lower level for my brothers and father. And when I'd reach my father, we'd exchange kisses and I'd be wished "Gut yontif. A gut yohr."
I miss that. I guess I always will.
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