No rehearsal, no practice time. But someone, something, is rooting for us.
I had slammed a door on the purest part of my soul. And for what? Like a baby crying out for its mother, I had denied its outstretched arms, turned the key, and plugged my ears to the cries.
I felt something boil up inside me. I simply could not take it anymore. I interrupted him, “Stop telling me what not to do and tell me what TO do!!”
Seven years later I could tell you that I’ve found the same venue for joy within observant Judaism, but I haven’t.