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Taking the words from my mouth,
Twisting them, stretching them, turning them round and round,
Negating their true meaning, as it was meant to be heard,
You hear what you want without really listening.
Although I squeak and stutter when I have to speak,
And I get so nervous, confused, and completely terrified to say the wrong thing,
One wrong word can alienate others, and make them stay away,
One ill placed word can alter completely what I meant to say.
Sometimes when I come near them,
People turn around and walk the other way,
Never speaking, never caring just how much joy
Hello would bring me, how much light it would bring to my life.
Every time I’m around others,
The need to monitor words, expressions, the language of the body
A conscious effort, a constant analyzing of others,
Prevents me from feeling comfortable, stops me from ever relaxing.
I would give so much, just to know, just to feel
What it would be like, just once in a lifetime,
Once, and only once for an hour
To be able to see as others see, learn as others learn, hear as others hear
The in between the lines of any given conversation.
Being me is like a scientist who can’t experiment,
A mathematician who cannot count,
An author who cannot write,
A teacher unable to teach,
A competitive runner being unable to use his feet.
Everything I want with all my heart,
Falls into the space of those things I miss –
The mannerisms, nuances, facial expressions, body language,
When talking to others, teachers, bosses, friends, parents of students,
All these things others take for granted, I practice, I sweat over,
Til I no longer feel incapable, I rehearse my lines as if I have a role to play,
This is my life, this is why I feel so disconnected, as if an observer, an outsider.
This is a description of what it feels like to be me, a girl with Asperger’s Syndrome,
Every conversation, every word thought over,
Analyzed under the finest microscope,
Before they, words, are spoken, uttered aloud,
Sometimes, mostly never, see the light of day,
Because its too late,
The time has passed to say them,
Their usefulness expired, as if never needed at all,
Always, forever, missing the boat,
Only ready to sail further when the boat’s 10 miles ahead,
Docked at new pier, Ready to go to a new destination.
Forever on the outside looking in,
Never on the fast track, Always slow, never have an in,
Feels like a piece is missing,
As if I am a puzzle, missing a piece,
A boat with no sail,
A snail without shell,
A butterfly with no wings;
Forever longing for the missing part of me To take its place,
To be on the inside looking out with a smile,
To look out over the water and know that this time,
The boat and I will arrive together at a new point; in harmony at last.
Always wond’ring * if what I see and interpret is right, *(intentional misspelling)
The emotions, signaled through a look, a motion of the body,
For those missing all these little signs, considered an insignificant skill by most,
For those without the ability, to discern, to differentiate,
Between one look and the next,
One motion from the other,
A challenge, a war waged, a battle ensues
Constantly, consciously taking note of every reaction, translating;
Working so hard to follow, to give the illusion, of sameness, belonging.
Wanting to share for the first time a genuine reaction to a joke,
Ironic statement, contribute a comment, observation,
Without missing the point is the opposite than its literal meaning,
Because of seeing 1 dimensional instead of 3,
Thinking of it as flat not round,
Circle instead of sphere,
Imagining your emotions crumbling inside,
Wanting to cry, as you once again realize-
You have missed the true meaning,
Getting away, tears streaming, truly defeated:
The feelings, you know once again, how much was overlooked,
How little you truly know about it all, Life, that is, the way others are, the way others feel, conveyed By the nonverbal aspects, the things people like me can’t seem to observe,
People like me miss the obvious to others,
In plain sight to see, but to have no clue of the how, the why,
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Rewind sixty years to 1953.
Television was considered kosher by most and featured the likes of Desi Arnaz, Lucille Ball, Jack Benny, George Burns, Red Buttons, Perry Como, Arthur Godfrey, Clayton Moore as The Lone Ranger, Dinah Shore, Red Skelton, Danny Thomas, Jack Webb as Joe Friday on “Dragnet” and many others who provided great memories.

Yet all are part of one neshamah, planted in rich, verdant soil, determined to grow. May our garden continue to produce a glorious assortment of flowers and trees, each attached firmly to its roots. Our diverse southern vegetation flourishes and grows into different trees, flowers, and fruits, and a rainbow of glorious shades and hues appears. Yet each shoot is rooted in the same soil, stretching its branches and blossoms heavenward in an endless pursuit of growth and connection to the One above.

This past Lag B’Omer, we were blessed to make our first upsherin, where we celebrate our son’s first hair cut. It’s a wonderful milestone that mimics the three years that we refrain from plucking a tree’s first fruits and symbolizes the entry of the child into the world of Torah learning. It’s a clear sign to everyone; this boy is no longer a baby.
Although there are more direct and faster routes to Beer Sheva and Eilat and all the sites and towns in-between, the Basor River is one of the beauties of the Negev that defiantly justifies a diversion.
The importance of death customs has been ingrained in me since birth. When I served as a shomeret for my grandmother, I was instructed not to eat, drink or perform a mitzvah in the same room. In the shock of death, it seemed rather inane to be told it would be considered mocking the dead. My grandmother was gone; she couldn’t do those things because she didn’t exist anymore, a fact that still makes me tear up.
I would have to say that one of the most annoying things about having a newspaper advice column, aside from all these people writing to me and asking for advice, is that they frequently don’t tell me WHY they’re asking.
Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv zt”l, who passed away on 28 Tammuz, (July18) this year at age 102, spent all of his days and most of his nights learning Torah. He was the paramount leader of our generation, and inspired tremendous awe and reverence in everyone who knew him. Now, every woman has the stunning opportunity to do something in his memory. A Sefer Torah is being written in his memory and women around the world have the chance to dedicate a letter.
Due to her family situation, it is understandable that she will have more responsibilities than other girls her age, but she would benefit from having some free time and receiving more appreciation for her hard work.
For children, summer means outdoor sports, picnics, and of course, no school! Teachers and students work hard all year long – and everyone deserves a break from education over the summer. However, this two-month break can often have some pretty devastating consequences.
It was only after we celebrated the great news that we were expecting twins that we saw the first sign of problems. First of all, my wife was losing, not gaining weight, even as the babies continued to grow normally. Soon after, routine blood work revealed that my wife was suffering from gestational diabetes.
Rabbi Pinchas Gruman is the new rav of the Minyan at Aish Tamid.
One of the most respected Torah figures in Los Angeles, Rabbi Gruman has been described as “The Los Angeles link in the mesorah of the yeshiva world” by Rabbi Nachum Sauer. As a talmid in Lakewood in the 1950s, Rabbi Gruman received semicha from Rav Aaron Kotler, zt”l, and Rav Moshe Feinstein, zt”l. Soon after, he moved to Los Angeles.
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Taking the words from my mouth,
Twisting them, stretching them, turning them round and round,
Negating their true meaning, as it was meant to be heard,
You hear what you want without really listening.

A poem about living with Asperger’s Syndrome.
Greetings to all, my name is Nachalah, I am a 24-year-old student. I am studying communications and graphic designing at Sapir College… Sapir College in Southern Israel is under fire, situated near Sderot and the surrounding Kibbutzim, where the bravest children in the world live.
It was the mid ‘60s and I was living with my mother and brother in public housing on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. We moved there from Brooklyn a decade earlier to be near my mother’s family when my father died suddenly of a stroke.
You’ve gotta settle, stop being so choosy, it’s a boy’s world after all
And you’re just one of the millions who think their worth something, have the gall.
You’ve got to start looking better, so that you’ll be noticed when you walk through town
And perhaps you can lose a few pounds too, so we can pull your resume dress size down.
Turbulence.
There is
Turbulence
Up here.
In the air.
Dear Cheryl,
Your thoughts in last week’s column were an absolutely perfect reflection of everything going through my mind and the minds of many of my friends for the last few years. Thank you so much. I always enjoy reading your articles, and when I read this one I felt I had to write to you because the topic touches such a nerve with me.
The following inspiring story was told to Rochelle Rothman by her close family member. It truly shows how Hashem runs the world, and helps us in all of our endeavors.
Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/magazine/teens-twenties/living-in-my-world/2013/01/11/
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