Regrets, Screw-Ups, and Life in General

I've been kind of depressed lately. Business is slow (I haven't closed any deals selling medical imaging equipment since Succos), money is tight, we're going to owe the IRS quite a bit of money, we're still about $60,000 in debt, and it just all around sucks.

I have no idea what kind of flow or continuity this post will have, but I need to this, so if you're reading this, please bear with me or, if you wish, go ahead and skip it. And I apologize for any spelling/grammar errors, but I'm not going to proofread this... This will probably be long. I apologize for that, but on the other hand, this IS my blog and I do use it to vent. And some vents are longer than others...

I've done three things right over the last six and a half years. I married my amazing wife and have two amazing children, a boy and a girl. While those are major accomplishments (since I NEVER thought I'd get married, let alone have kids), pretty much EVERY decision before and after these life-altering events have been major disasters, except, perhaps, our move to the Midwest.

For some reason, my parents never took an interest in what kind of education my sister and I received. They moved around a lot, not because I was an army brat or a diplomat's child or for any good, legitimate reason. We moved around a lot simply because that's what my dad liked to do. I was NEVER, EVER in the same school for more than two and a half years. My education, frankly, was a disaster. My parents just threw me into whatever school happened to be available wherever we happened to live. Quality was unimportant. Interest in my schooling was unimportant. Schools were luck of the draw. Sometimes they were good, but mostly really bad.

For Kindergarten and First Grade, I was in the Chabad Cheder in LA. Disaster. Didn't even learn how to read English. Yiddish, apparently, was more important (not that I've retained even one iota of Yiddish at all). I was an outcast in that school because, since this was back in the 1970s, I was pretty much the only child whose father wasn't either rich, a shliach of the Rebbe, or a local Lubavitch rabbi. In fact, I very distinctly remember being quite hated by some of the other children simply because my parents were BT. Isn't that lovely? And this was from LUBAVITCHERS!!! Not surprising now, but certainly SHOULD be...

Then, we upped and moved to Long Beach, CA. There, the draw was good. I went to the Hebrew Academy there. It was (still is) a Lubavitch-run school, but much better than the one in LA and there was high emphasis on good secular education, mainly because it was trying to draw in non-religious kids and parents as well. I learned to read English there and will forever be in the debt of one Chris Langamo, the amazing woman and gentle soul, A"H, who taught me the value of reading and writing. I was in touch with her from 1979 until about 1990, when I lost track of her. A few years ago, I finally found out she'd passed away of cancer.

Less than a year later, my parents were talked into making Aliyah. We lived in Natzeret Ilit (Upper/Israeli Nazareth) for two months (where I learned Hebrew VERY quickly) and attended whatever Chabad school was there. Honestly, I have no real or lasting memories of the school, or the next one, in Tzfat, where we lived for another seven months. In fact, we moved to Tzfat toward the end of the school year, so the Chabad school there just told my parents there was really no point in putting me in school until the next year started. Lovely. So, I attended that for about two and a half months, at which point my parents made the decision to move back to the States.

We moved to Philadelphia, where I attended Beth Jacob. Not a Lubavitch school as there were none in Philly at the time. This was where, for the first time in my life, I became aware that Lubavitch was NOT the only form of Judaism out there. Well, I started off in third grade, but because I'd missed pretty much the entire second half of second grade because of living in Israel, after a few days, I was placed in back in second grade, where I stayed the rest of the year. I was miserable! While it turns out I was in the same school with my "adoptive" sister, Marianna (an EXTREMELY close friend, so close we decided, years ago, to adopt each other as siblings), I didn't meet her until I started working at the Shoah Foundation in 1996. However, while there, I had one friend, another child of Lubavitch BTs. It was not a lasting friendship.

Once again, at the end of the summer, my parents decided once again to make Aliyah. Actually, to be frank, my father made all these idiotic decision. My mom just went along with them.

We moved to Rechovot, about 20 minutes' drive south of Tel Aviv. A pretty nice, small town. I went to the Agudas Yisrael school there. I started out in fourth grade (even that young, I saw no reason to tell them I had been held back in the US). They placed me in a class taught by a Yeminite teacher who liked to hit. Especially me. I got nothing out of this class, and was placed in a remedial fourth grade class, taught by a teacher who cursed out any kid who farted in class and yelled at anyone who forgot to wear their tzitzis.

Came along fifth grade and, believe it or not, I was still in the SAME school, for the first time years, ever, really, I was in the same school for more than a few months. In fact, fourth grade was the first time I actually was in the same school for the ENTIRE school year! It was a first since first grade. The person who taught Torah subjects in fifth grade was actually pretty amazing. I wish to God I could remember his last name. I just remember his first name, for some reason (it was Avigdor). He decided I did not belong in a remedial class any longer (where they were going to place me, yet again), and took me under his wing. He taught, and for the first time in a long time, I finally had a teacher who made a huge impression on me (there would not be many more, but I'll get to them). Truthfully, as far are Torah subjects were concerned, I had a really good year. The rest was kind of crappy for a couple of reasons. First, I was still the newbie and had very few friends. Second, I was a Chabadnik. Whoo-hoo.

Sixth grade started out OK. The teacher was fair and I was learning. Then, my parents (after all, it had been two and a half years - a very long time for my parents to stay in one place!) had yet another hare-brained idea and we moved to Emmanuel, on the West Bank. This was before the Intifada, so things weren't as insane as they are now with our Arab neighbors. in fact, we got along quite well with them. We went to their villages, bought wonder olive oil from them, even went to a wedding in one of their villages. Couldn't eat anything (goat meat in yogurt - UGH!!), but we a had a great time! Once, I even got to milk a goat!

Emmanuel itself, however, was a nightmare. There was a small Chabad community there that we actually helped start. In fact, the Chabad minyan was the VERY first to have a room in one of the numerous brand new shul buildings. I have to say, not everything about Emmanuel was bad, at least not at first. It was really pioneering, living in a brand new town (most of the streets were still mud and a generator at the end of our block provided out intermittent electricity at first). We even got a phone pretty early on (which back then was VERY unusual for Israel). But then there was school. There I was, pretty much the only Lubavitcher there at the time, at least in my age group. And pretty much reviled by everyone else. There was especially one kid, Tuvia, who really hated me and simply did not consider me worthy of anything because I was Lubavitch. Isn't that lovely?

While in this Cheder, I received no secular education to speak of, at all. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Another two and a half years of my life down the tubes. More opportunities lost. The one bright spot was seventh grade. I had a wonder full rebbi who, like my fifth grade teacher, took me under his wing (with a bit of tough love, too) and really taught me some quality Torah. I was in touch with him as well until I finished my year of Yeshiva in Israel in 1991. He was really great. Hope he's still doing well.

Eight grade in this school was a complete and utter disaster. The class rebbi was a coffee and cigarette addict and smoked and drank coffee throughout is his awful classes. He was also an illegal Black Market money changer who did business in the middle of class. If someone came to the door and needed to change money, Rebbi Brandt was there with his fistful of dollars, right in front of us. Lovely role model, Rebbi Brandt was. Lovely. He and I didn't really get along. Nor did I get along with the then school principal, a self-proclaimed rebbele who like to beat children for no reason. Thankfully, he quit after I finished seventh grade. His replacement, my sixth grade rebbi (I started in the Cheder halfway through sixth grade), once smacked me because I was saying Aleinu by heart and when he asked me to recite it, I couldn't because I was on the spot. Great guy! Really!

Also, while in Emmanuel, I began to gain weight in a bad way. My mom, when I was a baby, had never insisted on me eating fruits and vegetables, since it was clear I hated them, and to this day, I still can't (I will actually gag on them and throw them up). In Emmanuel, she worked at a restaurant and I got a daily free lunch during lunchtime at school. So, I ate Schnitzel and fries every day and bloated up. I've NEVER been able to lose the weight and now weigh over three hundred pounds and I know I'm in for some major problems if I can't find a way to take of this soon. I did lose about ninety-four pounds a few years ago, but I've since gained it back and have never been able to lose it again, and God knows, I've tried hard. :(

Thankfully, eighth grade was finally over. I spent many days, especially Fridays, when our class rebbi didn't feel like coming in from Jerusalem on Erev Shabbos, playing hooky. After all, what the hell was the point of going?

So, yeah, educationally, Emmanuel was just one huge disaster.

My father then decided to place me in the Chabad Yeshiva in Jerusalem, Toras Emes. Guess what? They taught in Yiddish. I understood NOTHING. I was there for all of four days. On the fourth day, I lent someone my jacket for davening. It came back to me ripped up the middle (along the seam) all the way to the top. I'd had enough. I packed my crap, jumped on a bus, and went home. I was then on vacation for the next two months. There was no high school in Emmanuel. Then, yes, you guessed it, my dad had had enough of living in Israel (financially, it was a bust!) and we moved back to LA, a city I'd not seen in about seven years (yes, all of the above pretty much took place over a seven year period).

When we got to LA, my dad placed in, you bet, the Chabad Yeshiva - Ohr Elchonon, ironically named after the very Litvishe Rav Elchonon Wasserman, father of Rav Simcha Wasserman, who sold the Yeshiva to Chabad with the stipulation they retain the name, in perpetuity, of Ohr Elchonon.

Well, I started the year late (with the beginning of the second quarter). I was thrown into my classes with absolutely NO clue about anything at all. So, after my first quarter, I came home with three Ds. I also got punished for it, though I'm not quite sure why. After all, what the hell did I know about Algebra or Grammar or History?! I'd had no education for AT LEAST the previous three years!

Thankfully, sometimes I could be a pretty smart kid and I got my act together and actually came home with better grades at the end of the year (I think I had all Bs, but I don't really remember). And, luckily, my ninth grade Rebbi, Rabbi Back, was a pretty good guy (and actually NOT a Lubavitcher). He, like my fifth and seventh grade rabbeim, took me under his wing and helped re-acclimate to living in the US. Except for one or two kids, I had no friends, however, and faced some of the same kids I'd faced in first grade, as well as some of their cousins from out of town. They weren't any better in ninth.

Oy. Then came tenth grade. Another first degree disaster. Our tenth grade rebbe, rabbi Schanowitz, was, to be quite fair, a complete asshole. He was the personification of boring, hated the students who weren't either children of rich parents, of Shlichim, or of other rabbis. In other words, I was in the minority. And he hated me. And he caught me reading James Bond under my desk one day. And he told my father that, GASP!, I wanted to go to college (to which my father replied, "Baruch Hashem!," which was the first time, and pretty much last, my father ever took any interest in my education). And he completely ignored me when I tried to be involved in the shiur. Completely.

During that year, my father bought me a round-trip, non-refundable ticket, for a pre-Pesach trip to New York to see the Rebbe and sit and learn in 770 for a week. Unfortunately, the trip was to be a week before school let out of Pesach. The ticket was a surprise for me. My dad told me to let the principal, "rabbi" Thaler (another piece of crappy Lubavitch riffraff, that I was going and that the ticket was non-refundable and non-changeable. I let him know, and he demanded a note from my dad stating this fact. I got the note and handed it to him. Then, in front of about a hundred schoolmates, "rabbi" Thaler pronounced me a liar and that I'd told my father school let out a week earlier than it really did. Never mind that I had no idea my father had even bought the ticket until AFTER he'd bought it. I then proceeded to receive a punishment PLUS a three day detention. Isn't that lovely?

Oh, but there's more. You see that very same year about two months or so earlier, the Lubavitcher Rebbe had won a court case against a relative who had stolen several rare and valuable books out of 770. It seems someone somewhere decided this was to be a new Lubavitch holiday and everyone except twelve of the kids (myself included), including all the rabbeim, decided to ditch school and fly to New York. This phenomenon wasn't limited to just LA. It happened at nearly every Lubavitch Yeshiva in the US and Canada. And there they were, all waiting for the Rebbe to arrive at 770. And when he did, HE WAS PISSED!! He yelled at them all, giving them a reaming about the bitul Torah going on because they all decided to stop learning, leave Yeshiva, and come to New York for no good reason. They all came back with their tails between their legs.

When I went to New York, I did three things. I saw my great aunt Florence for the very last time (she was an AMAZING woman!), I helped my hosts clean for Pesach, and I sat and spent most of my time learning in 770.

Now, how do YOU think a fifteen year old kid felt about how "rabbi" Thaler treated him? I didn't feel too kindly toward him at all. But, about ten years later, I got my revenge. I saw "rabbi" Thaler at the engagement of my friend, Boruch (this is the same friend whose wife passed away from cancer on the fifth day of Chanukah). He came up to me and very snootily said to, "Barak, isn't it?" I replied very curtly in the affirmative. He put out his hand. Boruch was standing next to me, and while I hesitated in extending my hand, I saw the look in his eyes PLEADING with me not to make a scene. So, I finally put out my hand. The next day, I wrote "rabbi" Thaler a scathing, very nasty letter, telling him what I thought about him and the tenth grade rebbi, "rabbi" Schanowitz, and telling him to stay the hell away from me the next time he saw me and pretend like I don't exist. Now, you know how most people just DON'T send a letter like that? Well, I did. The anger had been pent up for so long, that I simply had to send it. The best part was Boruch called me a couple days later (and he knew about the letter) to tell me "rabbi" Schanowitz came into where Boruch was working at the time and asked Boruch if he knew anything about a letter I'd sent "rabbi" Thaler. Playing dumb, Boruch said he had no idea and asked why, to which the reply was simply, "because Barak sent one doozy of a nasty letter to "rabbi" Thaler!" That was just awesome! :)

But, I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.

During the entire tenth grade year, I BEGGED my father to allow me to leave Ohr Elchonon and go to Valley Torah High School. My friend Boruch had gone and was having a much better time there. The answer was always "NO." Know why? Because my father refused to allow me to go to a "Misnagdeshe" school.

Well, came summer 1988 and guess what happened? I received a letter from Ohr Elchanan asking me not to come back as I had difficulty getting along with fellow students and Rabbeim and was prone to "social outbursts." At first, of course, I was very angry. Then I realized my dad had no choice BUT to send me to Valley Torah because I REFUSED to go out of town!

So, Valley Torah it was! I had a pretty good couple of years there, but by then my education had been so completely screwed up by Israel and Ohr Elchanan (where the secular studies were very secondary and not all that good), that I had no chance of ever REALLY catching up. I was never allowed in AP courses, except English, and was even kicked out of that one. I knew nearly no one there. Almost ALL the kids had known each other, at the very least, from the beginning of high school, most since the beginning of elementary school. I had no idea what to do about college, the counselor was useless to me because he had no idea what to make of me, and no clue what to do after high school. Finally, I went to stand in line at the local community college, Los Angeles Valley College, and enroll for classes (this was in the day BEFORE internet enrollment, or really pretty much before internet ANYTHING!). The line was so long I got discouraged, went home, called the dean of Valley Torah, and asked him to arrange a yeshiva for me in Israel. My late (mostly unlamented) grandfather grudgingly paid for my ticket and off I went. I had a pretty good year (barring the fact that the Israeli army wanted to draft me and took LOTS of work to get out of THAT mess!), but couldn't go back for a second as I'd used up my one freebie year in Israel (another year would have meant remaining in yeshiva permanently or getting drafted, and neither option was really for me).

So, I came back to LA and enrolled in Los Angeles Valley College (Valley College, for short). And I had absolutely NO clue what I was doing. At all. My first semester was a bust. My second a bit better as I learned to write properly, thanks to one of the last three teachers who ever made a lasting impression on me, Mrs. Shirley Lowry, with whom I still speak periodically (did today, in fact!).

I spent four years at a two-year college. Not because I needed to (three was good, since the first year didn't really count for much), but because I wanted to stay there for a while. It was a wonderful feeling, being in the same school for that long (longer than I'd EVER been in any school). I made many friends. I worked at the Writing Center tutoring other students in English writing. It was WONDERFUL! I left after four years with great reluctance and went to UCLA, which, like pretty much everywhere else other that Valley College, was not great. I got my BA, had a great GPA, but not a great experience. In fact, when people ask me about my education, I say I got my BA from UCLA, but my EDUCATION at Valley College.

Through all this, my entire educational career, kindergarten through college, my parents had little to no involvement. I don't think they knew how. They had no interest in my academics, my achievements, or any other aspect of my schooling. They just didn't care. The ONLY times there was any involvement was when I got in trouble, and even then, it was minimal, then none in high school. And they never, EVER worried about the kind of school I attended or its quality, which was, by and large, very poor.

I finished up at UCLA and stayed in LA for another eighteen months. I'd been working at the Shoah Foundation since 1996 and was enjoying my new-found freedom of only working full time, not going to school full time AND working full time (I had so much time on my hands, I had no idea what to do with it - it was GREAT!!).

Finally, in 1999, I made the fateful (and REALLY STUPID) decision to go back to yeshiva instead of continuing my education. So, I went from my parents making disastrous decisions for me, to me wasting my time majoring in English (which was fun, intellectual, great, and helped me become a very good writer - everything I write here is only first draft...), to me making bad decisions for myself.

And let me tell you, going back to yeshiva was just the first of MANY very bad decisions. First, I wasn't working and saving money. That was just dumb. Second, I didn't really belong in yeshiva. Never did. Never will. I do VERY well in academic setting, terribly in yeshiva ones. Third, I spurned continuing my education for yeshiva. Very dumb. REALLY dumb. But I did it. And I regret it. Heavily, with all my heart. It was a complete waste of three years I should have known better than to waste.

At the beginning of my third year, I got married, one of the very few things in my life I did right. Finally. But even in getting married, I made an even larger mistake than going back to yeshiva. I listened to my idiot rabbi, whose ego is bigger than the great outdoors, and who wanted, to placate his ego, to see me stay in yeshiva. So, instead of advising what would be BEST for a couple with limited resources about to get married and telling me to quit yeshiva and get a job, he did the exact opposite. He advised what he felt was best for HIM, his ego, and his "reputation." And for that, I'll NEVER forgive him. Yes, in the end, I made the actual decision, despite my fiance's protestations and reservations. I simply didn't listen to her because, after all, how could my rebbi be wrong, right? Wrong. He was wrong beyond all wrong, and even when it became clear to me that returning to yeshiva had made a HUGE mistake, he still refused to advise me to leave yeshiva. I finally had to ask the Rosh Kollel, who proceeded to ask me what the hell I was thinking remaining in New York and in yeshiva.

That was the beginning of my falling out with "rabbi" S. He was wrong, 100% wrong, and he could/would never admit it.

We returned to LA, another big mistake. I insisted there was no other place we could live. My shul was there, my idiot rabbi was there. Both sets of parents were there. How could we live anywhere else? Oops. Instead of researching then for an appropriate place to live that would be affordable, have good quality of life, community, and schools, we just helter-skelter came back to LA.

We were there for three turbulent years, living in a shitty, two bedroom, 850 square foot apartment on the corner of an extremely busy street and right across from a Jack in the Box (kind of like Burger King) that was open all night and attracted many rather LOUD customers. At first, things were "OK." I worked with my dad. We had a bit of debt, but nothing terrible. Then I screwed up with taxes. Oops. Took a long time to pay that off. Then my dad started a new company selling food (he was by then living in Las Vegas). He refused to do any market research (except to say, "people eat, therefore there's a market for our products") or come up with a business plan. He had no financing. Well, I quit, but he kept going, despite pleas for him to stop. He fell flat on his face. Again (oh, this wasn't the first time with him - he tried selling commodities in the mid-1990s - dumb mistake).

So, here I was, not working (wife was!), taking care of a kid (whom I adore), at that point being successful (the only time, so far, in my life) at losing weight and not much else, trying to figure out what to do. I toyed with the idea of law school, but that didn't go anywhere. And we kept sinking even deeper into debt.

We moved to Cleveland (another of the few good decisions out of many bad ones). I worked for MBNA for about nine months. That sucked, I got tired of being a punching bag for screwed-over customers, and I quit not long after MBNA became a part of Bank of America (ick!). What an awful place to work. While I was there, we had our second child, a girl (first was a boy), pretty the only other thing I've done right in all this time.

I went back to working with my dad, who had, since his stupid venture, gone back brokering imaging equipment. Business has been lukewarm, at best. For a long time nothing happened. Then, I finally sold an MRI (and made some money, which is now running out with taxes looming and us scrambling to find a way to pay them and still stay afloat) and a couple of other pieces of equipment, but nothing has closed since Succos, despite numerous attempts and many deals and phone calls and faxes and emails. Absolutely nothing in nearly six months.

Once again, I'm screwing up, now, currently, with no idea how to get out of it.

I've been working my tail off. Nothing's happening. I'd reevaluate, but with what?! I'm not hirable. I look like shit. I'm fat. At 35, I'm already considered old in the job market. I have no real skills to offer except being a really good baker and cook (especially baker) and nowhere to take those skills. I'd love to open some kind of kosher bake shop/cafe, but no way to do so. Even if I did, I certainly couldn't depend on kosher-keeping clientele to keep me open. So it would be an incidentally kosher establishment (hechshered, but not advertised as "kosher").

I've toyed yet again with the idea of going back to school. There is a local college, and with my daughter in school starting next year (hopefully), I could start taking classes and perhaps work toward a Master's in Community Counseling, which would license me to be a family/community counselor. Problem is, with what money? I can't take out yet another loan. $60,000 of debt is quite enough, thank you. I'm not willing to put us deeper in the hole.

I just don't know what to do anymore. Thank God my wife is sticking with me. God knows I have no idea why, but she is, which just makes me love her even more...