Places
Written July 29th, 2013
The
7:12 train pulls out of the Northbrook station as I find my place on a worn
leather seat, next to a man in a navy suit, his addiction of choice steaming
from a mug in his hand. The train pulls into Union Station as I find a new
place, my place among the ceaseless swarm of people walking; half asleep souls
milling around in long skirts and pantsuits as horns honk their wishes for
today not to be their last. As I push through the revolving door on 30 South
Wells, I find yet a new place, a place among my colleagues as I flash the
security guard my ID badge, punch in a code and scan my finger before finding
yet another place in the elevator. Finally, my last place of the day is found
on the 5th floor of the JUF building, in an office never held by a
sixteen year old, in a world not intended for such “young” eyes to see.
As
a sixteen year old girl, I’m constantly trying to find my place, trying to find
the places that I can rest my head—the places I can feel safe. With a world
like the one we’ve created, where Snapchats and human contact only last but 10
seconds, it’s difficult to try and find something permanent amongst it all. I’m
a Jewish teenager, so I guess my place is at Jewish overnight camp, youth
groups and the synagogue I’m expected only to have seen on High Holidays,
right? There are expectations that have been set by previous generations as to
where my place is, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find some discomfort in
it all.
You’ll
find me at Shabbos dinner on Fridays, schul on Saturday’s and facing East twice
daily. You’ll find me at Shabbatonim and reading the new issue of JUF Magazine
as if it were the new People. You won’t find me on Facebook on Shabbos or
eating bacon. I’ve found my places among the Jewish crowd—in whatever sense
that may be. Yet I’m constantly trying to solidify my place among not only my
secular peers, but among my religiously observant ones as well.
In
all honesty, I think that’s part of the fun of life, trying to find where we
truly belong. I know to whom I belong, and I know to whom I owe nothing at all.
Regardless of where I may or may not will myself to go, I know one thing—my
place will always be with the Jewish people. Even the simple aspects like
playing Jewish geography with someone from across the country can solidify a
place with a person you never even knew existed.
While
I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I am a “typical” teenager in any sense of
the word, I do believe that my desire to belong is mutual—among all
generations. My place as I type this is at an internship created for me. My
place is with my family as we celebrate simchas, among my friends as we
commemorate our losses—with anyone and everyone.
It’s
5:25 in the evening when the train takes off from Union station, a new seat in
a new place, both with a familiar feel. A new place next to a stranger I boldly
decide to strike up a conversation with, a new place next to a person I now can
no longer call a stranger. It’s 6:00 when I step off and walk to the car in the
place I parked it hours ago. And it’s midnight as I stare at my ceiling, trying
to find my place among the rest of the sleeping world. Yet it’s as I wake and
say my prayers the next morning that I realize the true beauty of it all—my
place resides with me. My place resides with my solidified commitment to
Judaism and to the land of Yisrael. My place is with my Jewish community,
because it is every place and any place. It is my place.
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