A German-Trained American Rabbi in Yorkshire

Some people call them happy accidents. I like to say that the dice are rolling. Let me first say that I am in RA purgatory. For my international readers, in college I was employed in the dormitories as a “Resident Assistant,” which at my University meant that my cohorts and I were expected to be Counselor, Police Officer, Father Confessor, Parent, Court Jester, and Ah—yes—babysitter. So I must have been a rotten RA, or at least built some really nasty Karma, as the dorm experience here has gone from bad to intolerable, and I apparently don’t have a whole lot of choices in the matter. Well, last night I had my “encounter” with the, uh, gentlemen and their lady friends from my dorm: the first at midnight when a group of them decided to bring a hookah out into the common area and fill my room up with clouds of reek, the second at 4:14 am when they returned from wherever to continue the fun, including opening up all their doors and blasting their music at 5 pm levels.

Or should I say, “Vive La Jerusalem!”? As it turns out, although I am studying tons of Hebrew, the survival language I am being forced to use is French. It seems that in someone’s infinite wisdom, I have been placed in a dorm of 100% native French speakers, (er, um, with an average age of 19—use your imagination regarding chaos levels) and when I say that my spoken French is better than their spoken English, that is not actually saying anything good about my French. Let’s just say that if I was an RA responsible for this floor, I would have probably already quit. But enough of that—who really needs to study or sleep? Lots of Miscellaneous Thoughts . . . So we have a fragile cease fire, and for this I and many others are saying “Baruch HaShem.” The general feeling here seems to be one of collective “we’ll see,” and the Israeli saying of “Better a critical editorial than a praiseworthy obituary” contains much truth and perspective. How does anyone weigh defense