My Open Letter to the Frum Blogosphere

You claim to be dispassionate, free of selfish motivation,
That your judgment is unbiased, of emotionless sensation.



You say that your goals are to disabuse the masses of silly notions,
That the freeing of mistaken beliefs is the desire of your motions.



You seem never to be enervated after hours before the screen,
Typing and thinking doesn't weaken those observations so obscene.



You present stories and vignettes that belie the accepted theory,
That contradicts the status qua so much that I've become weary.



You assume that we are credulous, that we will believe all your facts,
That we are gullible and naïve, that we trust your verbal attacks.



You respond to comments in decorous fashion, with eloquence and respect,
In hope that propriety and politeness will convince us your arguments are correct.



You wish to divest the Gedolim of their positions, yes; you really do,
Deprive them of their rank and position and fill it with someone more like you.



You post links to eclectic sources of mockery and disparagement,
This best and most diverse range (of links) merely show disgust and contemptment.



You present words of torah which are estimable; they impress the average reader,
They think that they are worthy of esteem, thus a real crowd pleaser.



I have read these posts with the desire to divine whether they are worthwhile,
To discover and have insight as to why they are so in style.



I, to my dismay, have found a crafty and cunning scheme,
That the authors are filled with deception, and this approach reign supreme.



I find that bloggers often eschew the noble and glamorous deeds,
They shun and avoid the virtues of the community so pristine.



I see many problems that are exacerbated to such an extent,
To inflame and make worse is what makes them truly content.



I must get used to this dissonance of diatribes and complaints,
To raise myself above the din and clamor truly needs a saint.



I remain dubious to their sources, and feel to a need to proclaim,
Their doubtful and questionable sources are not grounds for מוציא שם.



I wish that they were as exacting on themselves, to expect so much,
Their severe demands and meticulous investigations would cease to make a fuss.



I am bothered by caustic remarks, of criticism and complaints,
That they find joy and jubilation in all that their sarcasm creates.



I am no longer craven, to hide with my cave,
With courage and cowardliness I shall now strive to behave.



I am no longer uninterested, I now care so very so,
That my disinterested approach shall be unbiased and only grow.

Part Three

Following sports, prima facie, seems like an artless recreation, free of deceit, natural genuine, and innocent. However, the more one studies, one's insight is augmented, and as his insight becomes larger, his criticism follow in suit. This has befallen me, and thus, I am here to deliver this austere message (albeit from an individual not so austere), a message which is serious and sober, which is severe in attitude, but yet true. It may seem to disclose my intense antipathy for fans of sports, my deep dislike and aversion to them. But, in an effort to placate them, so not to alienate so many people (did you know one of the most watched events in TV history are the FIFA world cups!), I must tell you that I am really an affable guy, a warm and friendly fellow, who simply cannot resist shedding light on the realities of the world.


David Brooks once wrote in the NYT the following:


Since I am me, I've read a bunch of social science papers on the nature of sports fandom, trying to understand this attachment. They were arid and completely unhelpful. They tried to connect fandom to abstractions about identity formation, self-esteem affiliation and collective classifications.


It's probably more accurate to say that team loyalty of this sort begins with youthful enchantment. You got thrown together by circumstance with a magical team - maybe one that happened to be doing well when you were a kid or one that featured the sort of heroes children are wise to revere. You lunged upon the team with the unreserved love that children are capable of.


The team became crystallized in your mind, coated with shimmering emotional crystals that give it a sparkling beauty and vividness. And forever after you feel its attraction. Whether it's off the menu or in the sports world, you can choose what you'll purchase, but you don't get to choose what you like.


Beautiful words from a fascinating man who seems not to need to aggrandize himself, does not need to exaggerate or make greater his role in the world. No, I don’t expect you to respond with alacrity, with cheerful and speedy willingness, to revoke all your allegiances to sports team since you have realized that he is wrong. Yes, you will tell me, there are some values that lie in following sports, which, in the aggregate, with it all gathered together, it is all worth it. But I disagree. The adverse of affects of this practice, the harmful aspects far outweigh the good. Children begin to speak with the affected accents of their sport's heroes; they think this fake utilization of verbalization somehow makes them "cool". They think that becoming successful in life is as simple as playing a game of ball, when, in fact, it is a long and arduous climb to greatness, a difficult and strenuous journey. You, the reader, will attempt to assuage these attacks, to make milder and relieve this diatribe against sports, by claiming that I blow things way out of proportion. You tell me that my fury will abate; my rage will be reduced if I only took a deep breath and had a broader view of things. But I aver with great confidence that I am right. I thus abjure my commitments to the ball clubs I have followed; I renounce and repudiate those ties.


I don't mean it, of course, who can forgo the pleasure of Superball Sunday, the joys of taking one's son to a baseball game, and the delights of a buzzer beating three point shot or goal. In fact, the acme of my year, the summit and peak of enjoyment, is watching the Superball with friends and family. To spend a Sunday without watching football is for me an aberration more than the norm. The abrasive remarks of my nemesis's fans, the irritation and annoyance, and the schadenfreude of watching their downfall is incomparable. And guess what! This is only the abridged version of my ideas, imagine what the full things looks like!

Part Two

This is just to assist me in practicing for the GRE. I am open to any comments and if anyone has any stories with GRE words please Email them to me at grestudentblog@gmail and I'd be glad to post them.
These are words from the Manhatten GRE flash cards that I am not so familiar with. Please correct any mistakes in usage if possible, thanx.

Some people seem to be under the impression that great writing is evidenced by the sentences being disjointed. The incoherent and disconnected phrases are deemed to be a mark of elegance. Since my disposition is to be kind and helpful, I find that the ideal method to relay information is to present it clearly and lucidly. However, one of my many faults is that I have a lack of expediency and dispatch regarding things relate to writing. I lack the speed and promptness needed to be able to write on the fly. When I attempt to do so, the writing seems to be dispassionate, as I tend to be able to convey my feelings and emotions better when I labor over the structure and wording.

As a result of this analysis, I balked at first at the offer to pursue a career as a journalist. My refusal stemmed from this inability, plus a myriad other reason. I know, I know, the writing here belies this story. The pathetic prose presented here evidence that I am misrepresenting the facts; I simply do not have capability or capacity to write a sensible article for any self respecting publication. Perhaps this may seem true. But if anyone is aware of the burgeoning market for elementary blogs and commentaries then they would understand that due to this growth of a market there is room for addition. I just wish for the day in which I can write eloquently about the bygone days of my youth! How nostalgic I become as a remind myself of my benign neighbor, so kind that he would gently put me to bed when my parents where away partying. He would protect me from my parents' capricious ways; their erratic behavior at times prone to placing me and my siblings in danger. They would come home at times and hurl caustic remarks at us, criticizing and being very critical of our mere existence. Morning would come and, in a conciliatory manner, they would attempt to reconcile the past nights events by appeasing us with treats. They failed to understand that in no way is the pain suffered commensurate to the joy goodies. The wounds of abuse are still left gaping while the momentary pleasures of life are just passing by. My father's actions where revealed by my neighbor to the city council (of which my father partook) and he was simply censured with no further action taken (aside from this trivial official reprimand). How they could condone these evils, how they could tolerate and overlook the terror that was in their midst is something that still boggles the mind. Moreover, the lack of action can be construed as a tolerance for these antics, as there seems to be no other way to interpret the events. One can argue that I must contextualize more, that I must place in context and give more background to the culture and society I lived in. I, however, argue conversely, the opposite way, to the contrary. There are objective moral standards that every parent must be held accountable to. I know this may be a contentious postulation for some, but there is no need to cause controversy, not need to involve in petty arguments. It is simply true, bad things are bad, evil parents are evil; there are no two ways about it. You don't have to be conversant it metaphysical philosophy to understand this point. This is basic to any one that had any sensibility and mind.

Dear me, it appears as though I have written with a copious vocabulary, the plenty of words are getting to my head. Studying is hard.     

Part One

This is just to assist me in practicing for the GRE. I am open to any comments and if anyone has any stories with GRE words please Email them to me at grestudentblog@gmail and I'd be glad to post them.
These are words from the Manhatten GRE flash cards that I am not so familiar with. Please correct any mistakes in usage if possible, thanx.



This is a story which cannot be corroborated, verified, or substantiated in a form. That is not the goal, nor is it the point. It does not concern a cosmopolitan existence in New York or London; the urbane personalities that checker our literary cannon. Perhaps one can view this as a counterpoint, a foil, to the idealistic tendencies that frequent the pages of our past. It is the story of the crafty and the cunning. For those who are timid, those who fear they may turn craven encountering the realities of our time, here is the moment to turn back. We are at the point of no return.

It started with a leader who was anything but credulous, anything but naïve. He was headstrong and brave; a warrior par excellence.                        

The Zionist movement had reached a crescendo; the culmination of tears and sweat, of blood and dreams, had achieved the unachievable. Undaunted after years of efforts in vain, not discouraged by generations of persecution, they had risen from the hell of Auschwitz to the lofty heights of the Judean Hills. The efforts were not without fault, with many valiant Jewish militants having debased themselves by murdering civilians, their base instincts leading them to completely degrading and morally depraved behavior, the King David Hotel bombing case in point. Yet these were outliers, people far from representative of the natural Zionistic culture. Most participants were genteel and decorous; they obeyed the basic decorum expected from nationalistic movements. In fact, they chose not to deface the temple mount after their victory in 1967, a decision that may have come to haunt them in the present. Well, after the British left in mid May, 1948, there were only the Israelis and the Arab nations left to fight over the territory. The Israelis did not default on their responsibilities; they did not fail to act nor neglect their role. They fought long and hard, often suffering deleterious and unhealthy effects. Though their victory was not solely due to their courage, but more likely, a derivative of the Arab disorganization and foreign support, the Israelis emerged victorious. (To be honest, I don't think the fighters had much nourishment, due to lack of funds, but I am sure there was some tubes of desiccated potato or meat; really dried up food, whateverJ).

The first Prime Minister, Ben Gurion, was a bit of a didactic, loving to teach others the biblical history and geography of the land.  Following the din of war and battle, the loud confusing noises of war, the clamor of the debates in various governments, and the cacophony of Arab rhetoric, a calm serenity finally rested upon the land of Israel. For years following, many Zionist would have to attempt to disabuse the public about their misconceptions concerning Deir Yassin, to free them from the mistaken belief that massacres had occurred. However, even the discerning student of history stills struggles with what actually occurred there. The attempts to descry the events, to reveal what happened, are still ambiguous. In all, I feel it is a bit disingenuous to say that nothing at all was done wrong by the Irgun; that would not be sincere and genuine.