Although I know the apparent facts of my life I am not really sure I truly exist. Through the modern wonder of social media, I recently began reconnecting with friends I haven’t spoken to for years. I realized that our memories of shared experiences are subtly (and sometimes drastically) different. I can’t attribute all the differences to my own faulty synapses. I believe we are all sincere in our accounts. What I think is happening is that we are each describing alternate realities, closely parallel but distinct and different. We are all travellers through an eternal soup of divine consciousness, all one, but with infinite lines of possibility, each true, and all contradictory. And we are tourists in creation, able to jump from one line to another.
When presenting a bio, I can only bear witness to the thread which this particular ‘I’ currently believes is me. It is all I really have, and it doesn’t even exist outside of my own consciousness, but this is what I am offering to you in these pages.
I am pretty sure I was born into the wrong era. Mismatched with much of my reality, I grew up in the suburbs of New Jersey. School is a concept I struggle with to this day. After three years, I dropped out of Rutgers University and began cooking in exclusive restaurants. That led me to Manhattan, where I struggled for ten years, living several double-lives simultaneously.
At the age of thirty, I moved to Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu, where I learned to raise baby cows. Caught between the Gilboa and Gilad mountains, I shouted out my anger to my Creator while the cows looked on perplexed as they chewed their cud. Walking barefoot through the cowsheds, I discovered the lost shards of my soul, hidden in the muck and mud of the Bet Shean Valley.
Israel taught me to be a Jew, which required me to pick up a gun and wear a uniform. They declared me a combat medic which is not only an oxymoron, but it is a dual-function I pray I never have to fulfill.
After five years, I fled kibbutz with my patchwork soul in tow. Tossed by internal storms I could not see, I found myself living in a ramshackle caravan in the hills of Gush Etzion, and learning in a yeshiva with a most special group of men. I learned to pray, discovering that my heart’s desire was greater than I had ever allowed myself to know. I studied Torah, learning that my mind had a hidden stairway to my heart. I discovered my body was the ship that would sail me through the wonder of God’s creation, and not a toy for a child’s pleasures.
My soul’s deepest desire was to marry, but when I did, even more so when I became a father, I discovered that my ability to love fell far short of my desire to love, and even that fell short of what my wife and four children deserve.
I now live in the Golan and have merited to work as a journalist reporting on the growing phenomenon called geula, what many define as redemption.
If this page serves poorly as a bio, I apologize. It is as accurate as I believe words can be and certainly as honest as I can be with myself.