My Personal Yetzias Mitzrayim - Part 2

Thank you everyone for your comments and feedback!! I really appreciate each one! Here is a continuation of my story...

I hated everyone around me, because I thought that they, too, were looking to find fault with everything I did. My clothes were criticized, because I did not look like a Bais Yaakov girl. I felt rejected, unwanted and unloved. Yet, I built a protective wall around myself, not allowing anyone to communicate with me. I was unreachable, yet I wanted so badly for someone to reach out to me.

I was very unhappy, and extremely confused. Every morning I would ask myself, "Why am I alive? I'd be better off dead! Who needs a life filled with anger, hate and pain? I can't trust anyone, especially those spies who watch what I do and then report to my parents!"

I was known as the messed-up bum who was impossible to deal with. I hated myself because I caused myself so much pain, and I hurt my family so terribly. I turned away from my family, even when they were trying to understand me. I couldn't confide in the people I had once respected, and neither could I trust my parents. I would come home from school, escape into my room, and talk on the phone all night with my new group of friends.

I was angry at Hashem, and I stopped davening. I did whatever I wanted, and I thought that now I would be happy. Boy, was I wrong! I had chosen a place that looked like fun, but in reality it was the scariest place I could be. It was a place where the Yetzer Hara and the Satan resided, succeeding in imprisoning me in their entanglement. I felt more lost than ever, and very alone.

The school I attended was obviously not the right place for me. After being bounced around from school to school and feeling like I was a misfit among society, my parents finally tried high schools in other states. In eleventh grade, my parents met with the principal of an out-of-town school. The principal agreed to accept me out of pity for my parents, but I did not fit in with the girls at all. They were super-religious; I was running away from that. Again I felt like I didn't belong, even though the girls were exceptionally welcoming. They tried to make me feel included, but I had no interest in them at all. When they came to visit me, I had my boarding family tell them I had gone out. I refused to communicate with them.

At one point, my parents intercepted a letter I had sent to my best friend. Based on the contents of the letter, both parents banned us from contacting one another, whether via telephone or letter. However, of course I found ways to circumvent these restrictions. I lied whenever she called, and pretended her name was Malka. My boarding mother once listened into my telephone conversation, and heard me speaking to my best friend. She came upstairs and shouted at me, "You lied to me!" She had these piercing blue eyes that made me want to die from fright. She did not have to say one more word; I was mortified and embarrassed. My world was shattered! There was no one for me to confide in, and I felt that no one understood me. Even the therapist who I was talking to despaired of helping me, and said to my mother, "I can't work with your daughter. She is too angry. I never had such a difficult case. I can't seem to make any inroads with her, and it is pointless to continue."

I didn't want to hear anything about religion and Hash-m, because it seemed so absurd and illogical to me; I was repulsed by it. When my classmates would daven, I would whisper radio songs to myself. Instead of writing notes, I would write letters to my old friends. I refused to allow anything of Kedusha to penetrate the wall I had built around me.

I also spurned the attempts of my sister who was in Israel for a year of seminary, when she tried to reach out to me with sensitivity and concern. When she called and wanted to share a story of Hashgacha Pratis that had happened to her, I defiantly threw the phone away and refused to listen. She did not give up, but sent a huge Mishloach Monos canister from Eretz Yisroel, with a poster inside. The yellow flowers on the poster had two faces in the center, with a quote that read, "Sisters are nature's intended friends, and I'm glad you're mine." I was floored, and thought, "After all the nasty things I did, you still think I'm worth something?!" (This poster meant so much to me that I saved it, and still have it today among my sentimental possessions.)

A new year, my last year in high school, found me without anywhere to go. I felt I was an unwanted failure of a girl. My parents begged the principal of another out-of-town school, but to no avail. Finally, my parents asked a Gadol Hador, Rav Shmuel Kamenetsky, to intercede and speak on our behalf. Rav Shmuel was so caring, and he convinced the principal to admit me, even though the school year had already begun.

It was during this last year of high school that I started to feel hopeful. This school was more open-minded, and more tolerant. My boarding mother had grown up irreligious, and I was able to relate to her. She loved Hashem, and spoke to him openly. This taught me that there might be a way out of all my turmoil.

My sister had returned from Israel, and she took a special interest in trying to show me love and acceptance. She introduced me to one of her closest friends who tried to encourage me with stories of people who did teshuva and changed. After three hours of speaking to me, I turned to her and said, "Why are you talking to me, you're wasting your time? Everything you are saying is going in one ear and out the other. There's no point, I'm not changing."

She looked at me and replied, "Chaya Sara, one day you will be in my place, and you will be able to inspire and change others." I gaped and responded, "Are you nuts?! You don't make any sense. It will never happen to me!" I thought her comment was senseless and bizarre.

My sister and her friend kept in touch with me on a constant basis, and simply would not give up hope. They showered me with presents, sent cards, and had long conversations with me over the phone. Little did I realize that their intention was to purposely keep me busy all night, so that I could not contact my boyfriends. Their warmth and genuine, unconditional love began to permeate into my heart and made a slight impression. I never dreamed that they would succeed in convincing me to write a letter to my boyfriend and break up our relationship.

Just as I felt things were looking up for me in both my new home and my new school, it was time to apply for seminary. I was ready to move on, but again not one school accepted me. I was bad; I was a most unwanted reject. No amount of begging and cajoling could sway any director towards accepting me. There was no hope for me and no place for me to go. I felt worthless.

I secretly decided to try my sister's advice, and I opened my Siddur to daven to Hash-m with all my heart. That day, my mother scanned the newspaper and saw an ad for Project YES. We set up an appointment with Rabbi Mechanic, who promised me that he would not leave me stranded. He and Rabbi Goldwasser worked tirelessly to help me get into a seminary in Israel. And finally in November, I flew off to Israel with great excitement and anticipation.

To be continued...
Please let me know what you think of my story and how you can grow from it...