Taking lessons from school into life

It's almost a year since I wrote this post, which means it's almost a year since the tragic death of my Latin teacher. I don't know the exact Hebrew date of when she was killed, though I think the English date is July 7 (at least, that's what it says on the blog we, her students, created), but seeing as I'm going to be away for a little while anyway, I wanted to write about this now.

Well, there's not much I actually want to say. A whole lot has happened since then. We've sort of started a literary journal at Stern. The English department both fell apart and started to grow in major ways. And I know I've grown a lot as a person since then.

I think one of the main things I've learned over the course of this year, and some of that directly in connection with the events of last summer and with who Dr. Schwebel was as a person, is how not to be afraid to talk to people. It's still something I'm working really hard to get over, but I've become closer with more people this year than I have since my year in Israel. Life is short. You really never know what's going to happen, as morbid as that sounds, and, really, life is way too short to spend time being afraid. Believe me, I'm preaching this, but I'm still learning it, too. I'm learning it in a big way. Even with other things...like driving. Dr. Schwebel's accident only increased my fear of driving into pure terror, but yet this was also the year that I first drove on the highway by myself.

I think we should all just appreciate so much the friends and family we have because we're all super, super lucky to have people around us who care about us and love us. And we shouldn't take for granted any good teachers we have because, I'm also discovering, those are rarer than they may seem, especially if they are both teachers and role models. Basically, realize and appreciate the people in your life who matter because it's those people who are helping you become the best you can be in all aspects of yourself.

For all the bloggers whose blogs I've read/been reading: thanks for inspiring (and entertaining :P) me.

And for all the good friends I've made (or become closer with) this year, I love you guys. And thank you.

Vocabulary Lesson #1: Part Two

I just realized I never posted the context of the word "galumphing" from this post, so I shall do so now! I did not have a very happy day in school today, mostly because I was woken up at seven in the morning for a fire drill when my first class wasn't until noon (lucky to everyone who was good and went to slichot this morning!), and then my friend from Israel came but I had no time to see her properly since I only had two hours between classes and I needed those two hours desperately to write two stories for the class I had after the break - creative nonfiction. And that class turned out to be so awfully boring, it made me appreciate just how animated and smiley and not-gloomy the other English and writing professors are. I mean, if any teacher is Eeyore, it's this guy, only not in a good way. AND he was teaching WITH THE LIGHT OFF IN THE ROOM. I could just imagine Dr. Schwebel watching and shaking her head with disapproval - though even more, I can imagine her walking sprightly into the room, flipping on the light, and plopping herself down on top of the teacher's desk, leaning forward - all bright and eager - and asking us how our Rosh Hashana break was. But did this guy do ANY of that? No. No no no no no. He sat hunched over in a desk, the back of the room with the light on but the front of the room dark so that there was this gloomy dimness to the entire room, and his expression and demeanor was so...well...to overuse the word - gloomy. And not only did that not make him very cheerful, it made him boring.

The point of me venting about this is that this particular poem I'm about to post makes me very happy, indeed, so it's a bright ending to a disappointing day. Now, let's see if anyone's idea of "galumphing" has changed, now that it's in context!

JABBERWOCKY

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"

He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

In Memorium: spending my birthday with Dr. Schwebel

Today I spent my birthday with Dr. Schwebel. It was the most meaningful 21st birthday I could ask for. True, it wasn't all wild parties and fun, but the memorial we had for Dr. Schwebel tonight was so incredibly therapeutic for me. It was the best birthday present I could have received from her (if teachers gave birthday presents to their students, that is, although I'm pretty sure that, had Dr. Schwebel still been my teacher, she'd at least have brought in cookies and M&Ms). I have already written so much about Dr. Schwebel on my blog, I don't know what more I can say. She was really part of an era in my life - the Dr. Schwebel era, I can call it - and I am definitely a different person now than I was a little over a year ago when I didn't even know her. My time as her student is like a story, and if it really was one, I think it would end tonight. Or perhaps tomorrow, with the sun rising. Dr. Schwebel was all about adventure. She was about rising suns and eating chocolate. She was about exploring, discovering, and just plain having fun. Dr. Schwebel was an exciting person. You never knew what she had up her sleeve. I hate how I'm filling this entry with cliches, but the thing is, with Dr. Schwebel, it never felt like a cliche. It was all so real. I am still having trouble accepting that I will never see Dr. Schwebel again. Like I recently wrote on the Blue Blog, I still dream about her. In my dreams, I can never catch up with her and talk. She is constantly pushing me away or I wake up right before I get to say anything. I don't know why my dreams are like this, but I really, really, really wish that even in my dreams I could get the chance to speak with her. I have so much to tell her. I feel so cheated that just when my relationship with Dr. Schwebel was growing, I lost her. I don't know if she could hear what we all said about her tonight, but I want desperately to believe that she could and that she did. I know I was speaking about her, but inside, I was crying to her. I wanted her to hear everything I said. I wanted her to know just how much I appreciate everything she taught me, whether in the classroom or just from being herself.

Also, if anyone knows how I can get a Latin II book that I can somehow teach myself from, at least a little bit, please, please let me know. It hurts me to think that I might lose what I spent so much time with Dr. Schwebel learning and I don't want to forget my Latin. Then again, I feel weird about having another Latin teacher, aside from a book. It's too soon. I don't know. Latin has become something almost sacred, symbolic of my bond with Dr. Schwebel. It is something that still connects me to her. When I read that passage tonight - it was the first time I was reading Latin out loud since I was in her class. Latin has become so personal. I wish Dr. Schwebel was still with me, still teaching me how to properly pronounce the words and how to put the correct accent on the right syllables. I wish she was still teaching me her tricks for remembering things. No, I don't think I could learn Latin from anyone else right now. It wouldn't be right, somehow.

Oh God, I just miss Dr. Schwebel so much. Dr. Schwebel, I hope you were with us tonight. I hope you were with me on my birthday. I hope you heard what we had to say about you and I hope you understand just how much you still mean to all of us. To me. I cannot wish you a shana tova or a gmar chatima tova, but I can hope and pray that you are somewhere safe now, somewhere where you are happy and exuberant and somewhere good. I don't understand much of what happens after a person dies - you know more than I do (but then, you always knew more than I did and I so looked up to you because of it) but whatever sort of existence it is, I hope you are in the best state you could possibly be in and that no more harm can come to you. May you succeed in whatever adventure you are in now. Please, please, please don't forget about us who miss you so horribly.

Twenty-One

I am twenty-one. 52 minutes ago, I became completely legal (well, except for renting a car, which apparently you have to be 25 for). I'm not quite sure I feel any different, but I think I DO feel a bit older, even though that's probably all psychological, because why should right now be any different from an hour ago?

I will have a rather interesting birthday, as it falls out the day after Tzom Gedaliah, three days after Rosh Hashana, and the same day as the Stern memorial for Dr. Schwebel. So my birthday will not be all frivolity, but then again, perhaps that's for the best? In an odd way, I do appreciate having the Dr. Schwebel memorial on my birthday, because I cannot think of a more meaningful way to spend the day, honestly, and, in some way, it'll be like she's there on my birthday, too.

I am very nervous for the memorial tomorrow night. I don't know what to expect, even though I know what's going to be happening at it. I don't know how people will react to others talking about Dr. Schwebel. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know how I'll feel. I guess I'll find out then, won't I?

We fit right

I'm a performer. It's true. Whether or not I actually perform, you know, on stage is another story, but, let me tell you, my mirror gets quite a show sometimes. Especially when no one else is home and I can sing at the top of my lungs and dance and jump around my room. When no one is watching, when no one can hear - those are the times I put on my best, top-notch performances.

Yesterday, I had the chance for about an hour or so to sing with no one around to hear and, suddenly, my voice came out strong. I don't get this opportunity all that often and, when people are around, I'm too self-conscious and nervous that I sound like a completely broken record, all screechy like or something, so I don't give it my all. Ever. But when I'm alone, boy do I. And, anyway, boy did I yesterday. This newfound strong voice excited me. "Oh, hooray!" I declared (in my mind), "I can sing! I can sing!" So, I decided to record myself as evidence of the fact. I recorded myself on my phone singing "Reflection" (from Mulan) and "The Wizard and I" (from Wicked). I still have them on my phone, too. I'll probably end up deleting them at some point but...I sound like I'm ten. I'm not even joking. I mean, when I was doing The Wizard and I, it was like ten year old Elphaba was twirling around her room singing, not college-age Elphaba! Why!? Why do I sound so young!? It made me sad :(

But it did not make me give up my love of singing! I will sing in front of my mirror until the end of time! And dance! And act! And lip-sync! And all three at once! Ah, my most faithful mirror, you are such a good audience. =D

And the song I would like next to memorize and perform for my mirror is the one whose lyrics are pasted below. It's called "We Fit Right" by Deirdre Flint and it was played for my English Lit. class last year by Dr. Schwebel when she was teaching us various forms and parodies of love poetry. It's a great song. Try to see if you can find somewhere to listen to it. If not, you can go here, but you'll have to register. It's free, takes literally two seconds, but I have no idea if you'll get any spam mail or not because of it. But if you do, I'm sorry! *hides* Oh, also, it's a female singing so if any male bloggers reading this do not want to listen to it because of that then, er, just read the lyrics! They're fun!

We Fit Right
Let's make this real clear, let's not get ideas
'bout seeing you and me as a permanent plan
We bicker, we fight we argue all night and
I don't think a future bodes well with that
You constantly complain I bring on your migraines
You in turn spawn mine
I annoy you so much that you froth at the mouth
And I don't think that's a good sign, oh no it's like a. . .
Psycho diner waitress on a blind date with a New York tipper
Narcoleptic hand model learning how to use a chipper
Jesse Helmes in Frisco, Mormons at a disco ladies night
Caught with an Amway salesman in a broken elevator
Baby back ribs on a cheese bun served up at a Seder
We're oil and water, though sometimes I'll concur
We fit right.
Your voice is annoying your manner is cloying,
Every thought process starts with I, me, mine.
You say that I'm anal, conversantly banal
I think the same of you but man, you sure look fine
As for common interests, there's nothing we've got
I'm well bred and you're well, not
My deepest conversation with you
Was when you were unconscious in the ICU, but it's usually like. . .
A dozen lonely belly dancers stranded at a monastery
Lactose intolerant Hindu working at a dairy
Chile without Bean-o, Carmelites in Reno Friday night
Acrophobic Hydrophobes trekkin to Niagara Falls
Ex-klepto self help groups with meetings held in shopping malls
We're oil and water, though sometimes I'll concur
Oh, we fit right
But oh lord, I'm lost when you open your arms and you beckon me in - its
Amazing how you make me forget all our differences for at least 12 minutes
But it's usually like
Woodshop workshops at a halfway house for hemophiliacs
Belevue kitchen worker with just a touch of anthrax
Pyromaniac firefighters heading up a defilade
Jim Jones trading card in every can of cherry Kool-Aid
We're oil and water, though sometimes, I'll concur . . .
Oh, we fit right.

And Now For Something Completely Different

A Monty-Python title for a serious post, but a fitting quote nonetheless.

Today was the first day of Stern. Tomorrow I'll write a post about my first two days as a whole, but I just want to take a moment and think about the fact that I had two English classes today (well, two and a writing class where the teacher didn't show up) and Dr. Schwebel wasn't there. And I don't mean to sound so depressing but it was just, well, weird. I couldn't stop thinking about how she should be there and how it all felt so wrong, somehow.

This whole thing is weird. I feel almost as though I'm inventing part of my relationship with her. I'm a pretty cautious person when it comes to developing relationships with people and it sometimes sounds, from my writing, that we were a lot closer than we actually were. I think. But, like a wise friend reminded me today, it isn't like I should have done something I didn't. There was no way I could have been closer to Dr. Schwebel last year. Though I didn't visit her office outside of class time, though we didn't have lengthy conversations in the hallway, though, that one time I met her in Barnes and Noble by accident, I didn't know what to do or say and she ended up talking to me more than I spoke to her, I was slowly opening up. I needed more time. This year, I know I would have gone to visit her in her office. But now, of course, I can't. And I hear there's a new Latin professor. Someone asked me if I was taking Latin and I said I wasn't. I don't even know if there's a Latin II. It wasn't in the course catalog when we were all registering for classes last spring. But I can't imagine taking Latin with another teacher. There was just this bond Dr. Schwebel and I had, I guess being a one-on-one sort of class will do that to you, and it was almost like having a chavruta, honestly, only we were reading Latin, not Hebrew or Aramaic. But the way she would tell people who saw us together that I was her Latin student, and in this proud sort of tone, just...wow. I miss being her Latin student more than anything else.

And the reason the title of this post is so fitting is because Dr. Schwebel and I shared a Monty Python appreciation moment during class one day, not long after I posted this.

And now I really need to go to bed because I'm rambling and making myself cry from my ramblings and it's two friggin thirty in the morning.

A day of bitterness

Tisha B'av has just begun. I came back from hearing Aicha a short while ago and I thought, it's so easy to lose focus on fast days - any fast day. People concentrate so much on not eating, on counting down when it will be over, on trying to distract themselves. Tomorrow, I have to go to my internship in the city and I know it's going to be weird, it's going to take away from that Tisha B'av atmosphere I've felt nearly all my childhood in summer camp. So how can I make Tisha B'av meaningful, even if I have to treat it like a normal, regular day?

I want to take some time to mention certain tragedies I associate with Tisha B'av. These are tragedies that I've experienced, that I remember, that help me feel the power of the day so that I can truly begin to understand, in an infinitesimal way, what it is like to lose a Temple, a Beit Hamikdash.

1. When I was nine years old, my grandmother passed away. Her yartzeit is quite close to Tisha B'av. Although I was very young at the time, I do remember her well.

2. A few years ago, I was at summer camp and a counselor for a different division died without warning the day before Tisha B'av. That night, when we read Aicha, it was with a kavana that I think probably most of us had never felt before. Though I never knew this counselor, and though many in the camp never knew him, we were all affected by the tragedy.

3. My teacher, Dr. Schwebel, who just passed away about two weeks ago. Even then I thought, wow, during the three weeks, too. There is something about tragedies during the three weeks and nine days. It is almost like God is recognizing that these people are extremely important, that they mean so much, and yet He takes them away, just as we, as a people, have lost so much throughout the centuries at this time of year.

These three people, these three tragedies, I will always think about on Tisha B'av. They make my Tisha B'av more meaningful and more personal. I wish, I truly do wish, I knew how to properly mourn the Beit Hamikdash. But, unfortunately, though I have an excellent imagination for stories, I cannot bring myself to feel the proper emotions for a Beit Hamikdash I never personally knew. It makes me sad that I am so removed from it and also guilty, in a way, because I am a Jew and I should be devastated that we lost the Beit Hamikdash, that we no longer have it today, that it has not yet been built. And perhaps I am devastated, in my own way, because I have never known it. Because there was a golden period of Jewish history that I missed, that I never experienced. But all that is too far removed for me. I really do try.

So I feel Tisha B'av in my own way, through tragedies that I really do feel, through sadness that I really did experience. I hope this is not wrong of me, but I don't think it is. I think, in a way, that is what we are supposed to do. Tisha B'av is a day of general sadness - a day where we mourn anything and everything we have lost. And if that means connecting more to events in this lifetime as opposed to events 2000 years ago, than I think that's okay. I think it's alright.

Everyone deals with days of sadness in their own way. This is how I deal with it. I think of people I have personally lost, or who people near to me have lost. The most recent tragedy, Dr. Schwebel, is, of course, on the forefront of my mind. I still cannot believe she is being mourned, instead of joining us in mourning on this day. It is truly a day of bitterness.

She Wears a Giant Tiara

She wears a giant tiara
Though it is not made of gold.
It is not made of silver, or copper, or glass.
No.
Her tiara shimmers, shines, basks
In an unearthly glow, an aura, a nimbus
Which surrounds not just her tiara, but her very being.
For you see, her giant tiara
It is not quite a tiara at all
But a light - a golden light
Like sunlight, only sunnier
Like a laugh, only happier
And it envelopes her like a flame
Hugging her close, its diamond tendrils reaching out
And everyone they touch grows warm.
Everyone they touch becomes part of her,
The one with the tiara.

She wears a giant tiara
Because she is a giant-hearted queen.
She does not crown herself in her tiara
But rather her subjects, her students, her princesses do
For they love her - she is their teacher.
And they, the princesses, are her students.
And now the queen, she goes to rest, but she wants--
She wants to see her princesses grow
She wants to see her princesses transform
And have their own giant tiaras.
For when that day comes, her princesses will be queens, too
And they will have to touch others
Like her tiara touched them.
And she left them with a single spark -
One spark, one baby flame, that can flicker
That can become its own tiara.
One diamond, one emerald, one ruby, one gem.
They will all grow into their crowns.
And one day, one day, they will know what is it like
To be a queen. Maybe. Perhaps. She hopes.

And I hope - one day--
I hope to have my very own giant tiara.

[*"She wears a giant tiara" was a sentence Dr. Schwebel taught me in order to remember a certain aspect of Latin grammar. I thought of it suddenly today and crafted it into this poem. I'm not quite sure if the poem makes any sense, but I just needed to write it. One day, I will write a short story called "She wears a giant tiara" and it will probably (er, hopefully) make a lot more sense than this poem does. I apologize for the corniness of this poem, in any case.]

Death be not proud: an acknowledgment

I would just like to acknowledge all those out there who found this blog through googling Lana Schwebel. My reader count jumped from about twelve a day to something like forty-five. I can't believe how many people are googling my Latin and English professor. To know that there are so many out there touched and effected by what happened makes me feel like I'm not alone in this. I know there are so many people who are mourning. So I would just like to acknowledge all of you right now and say hello, and I hope you are all doing alright.

I would also like to draw your attention to a link on the side of this page, if you scroll down a bit. It is entitled "Dr. Lana Schwebel's Blue Blog." This is a blog created by a good friend of mine and another student of Dr. Schwebel's. It was created for you - for all of you upset, confused, or just touched in some way by Dr. Lana Schwebel, A"H. She was an incredible person and someone I cannot capture in words. You just had to know her. Those of you who did, you know what I mean. So if you'd like to, I encourage you to make your way over to that blog and either request to join and express yourself or just read what other people have to say. This is one way where we can keep Lana Schwebel's memory alive.

I would also like to share this poem, written by John Donne and taught to me by Dr. Schwebel earlier this year:

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

Arma Virumque Cano

"Arma virumque cano" - "I sing of arms and the man," the first line of Virgil's The Aeneid.

This post is dedicated to my Latin teacher, Dr. Lana Schwebel, A"H.

Dear Dr. Schwebel,

How's tricks?

Two days ago, I met one of my friends in Penn Station - we had been on the same train but hadn't actually seen each other until we got to the city. You know how it is. Well, I of course said hello and we walked part way to where we had to go (we had to split up at sixth ave., so a short walk, but hey, a walk is a walk). Sometime during that walk, my friend said to me, "Oh, you're an English major, aren't you?"

"Yes," I replied, thinking she had perhaps heard about some literary contest or something - or maybe even that a literary journal was finally being started at Stern! Wouldn't that be just great?

"I got an email yesterday that a professor died...Sch...Schwebel?"

"...Who?"

"Schwebel?"

"Dr. Schwebel?"

"Yes. Did...did you have her?"

I was in a daze by that point.

"Yes," I said, feeling very distant from the conversation. Almost like I had a head cold. My brain was all fuzzy. "Yes, she...she's my Latin teacher. But I...you're sure? I never got anything."

"Yes, I got it in an SSTUD. It said it was a tragic death. How old was she?"

Faintly, "she was really young."

"Oh, yeah, tragic death, she must have had some kind of accident."

"Yeah..."

I think we joked about SSTUDs after that to lighten the mood. But I was shaking all over. I literally ran to my internship and, once there, hurriedly checked my email. Nothing. No SSTUD. I quickly emailed Chana and she said she never got an email either. I checked the YU website. Nothing.

That whole day, I checked my email about every five minutes. And I'm hardly exaggerating. I think, somewhere, in the way back recesses of my mind, I knew it was true. My friend wouldn't make it up. But yet there was no email. No proof. No one had told me for real. I even looked you up on google and found nothing to suggest anything horrible had happened. So I convinced myself it was a mistake. Some kind of horrible, terrible, sick mistake. But a mistake nonetheless.

The next day, I checked my email pretty frequently but not as frequently as the day before. I tried to imagine what I'd be feeling had I not met my friend in Penn Station. I'd never had heard about any of this. I'd have gone on thinking you were still...still there. We were going to continue reading Latin together in the fall. And I wanted to tell you all about working at a newspaper and about the giant printing press they have. I wanted to thank you again for your letter of recommendation - actually, an email is waiting for you saying just that. Only you'll never read it now. Or will you? Can you know what your emails say from in Shamayim? I wonder how much you can be aware of what's going on down here. Do you know what happens at the end of Harry Potter already? It's weird, out of all the things I could be thinking, my mind keeps going back to--"and she'll never know what happens at the end of Harry Potter. She was so close. So close."

Back to yesterday, I had pretty much convinced myself everything was one, big, huge mistake and that was the end of it.

But I knew it wasn't. I did. Like I said, somewhere in me, I knew it was true what my friend had said. How do I know I knew that? Because I kept checking my email, waiting to hear something. I knew I would.

This morning, I got an email with the subject, "Dr. Schwebel." I just stared at it in my inbox for a few moments, knowing what it would say and dreading it greatly. I felt a terrible, sinking feeling in my stomach. I was going dizzy. I moved the mouse, clicked, and opened the email.

And there it was.

You were gone.

Another one of your students was collecting anything any of us wanted to write about you to put together in a book and present to your parents.

I was in shock. In terrible, terrible shock. I just stared at the email before leaving my room, standing on the stairs, and crying. I burst into tears - just like that. I didn't think I would. I hate crying. I hold myself back from it all the time. I think I'm embarrassed by it. I don't like to come off as overly emotional. But no one was home. I was free to be upset, to cry, to repeat, "No, no, no" over and over.

It just didn't make any sense to me. And suddenly, I was overcome with this intense desire to know exactly what happened. I had to know. I emailed the girl who sent me her email and she forwarded to me the SSTUD that basically no one got. She also told me it had been a car crash. An article in The Yeshiva World filled in the rest.

Touring in Russia? In Siberia? All I could think about, reading that article, was how scared you must have been. I know I'd have been terrified. Not only is being in a terrible car crash frightening, but in Siberia? God. It gives me the shivers. I don't like to think about it. Let's move on to pleasanter things.

I want to continue studying Latin, even if we can't read together anymore. I don't know how, but I'm going to try to review everything we did and then maybe I'll buy a book that can teach me more. And a better book, because I know you really didn't like the one we used. And then, one day, I'll be able to get my own copy of Harry Potter in Latin. And read it, too. :D Of course, of course, along with Cicero, Ovid, Virgil, and all them other "dead dudes."

It will be very weird going back to school and having someone else in your office - that office you waited so long for. I remember that. =D

I'm still in a bit of denial, still in a huge daze about the whole thing. I don't really know how to handle it.

Thank you again for writing a letter of recommendation for me.

I'll try my best to keep up the dead language.

Your one and only Latin student,

Erachet