I never experienced Lag BOmer in my life. It was my first year in Yeshiva and I already messed up counting the Omer on day two. I had no idea what day thirty-three meant. I didn't even know people were still counting at that point. One of the students in Yeshiva made it to day twenty-eight without messing up. We now celebrate him as a Tzadik. So, I did what most people do on Lag BOmer. I went grocery shopping. I needed dinner.

On My Way Back Home
I was on my way back from the supermarket when I smelled a fire in the woods. I ran towards it and noticed that kids were burning stuff. I saw flames flying high and kids playing right by the huge flames. I thought it should be reported. It looked dangerous.
More people came to the spectacle. Yet, nobody said anything. Just the opposite. They joined and commended the kids. Tons of people were around. They saw it. They did nothing. They saw kids running and pushing each other near the fire. They said nothing. Adults even started their own fire. All while the kids' fire got bigger and bigger.
I asked the children if they knew how to make a fire, as I was a Boy Scout. They said, 'No. Only non-religious people learn stuff like how to make a fire. We have Emunah. Belief in Gd.' And their belief in Gd showed, as their fire got even bigger.

More Fires
I saw more fires starting up.
I thought it was weird to see children burning doors and carpets, but they were in the fire. Household appliances made their way to the flames. Anything that could burn or melt made its way into the fire. It must have been a miracle of Lag BOmer. One of the groups of kids playing freeze tag near the uncontained fire ran out of wood, yet they kept the fire burning with artifacts from their homes.
It looked dangerous, but the kids told me it was a religious thing. They said, 'On Lag BOmer, you're supposed to make huge fires with cleaning products.' So, I felt safe. When they told me it was spiritual, I felt even safer around all of the huge uncontained fires.
One of the children showed me his oven cleaning spray. It said flammable on it, as well as danger. He threw it right into the fire, as it was flammable and the fire started dwindling a bit. And it exploded. A gigantic flame flew, and happiness was had. The pride that kid had when he got the desired result of burning something illegal was the kind of joy one can only have when connecting to Gd.
They went on tell me that it was for Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai.  Why Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai likes fires so much, I don't know.

What Should I do?
At the moment, I thought I should save their lives and put out the fire. Smokey Bear always taught me to put out a forest fire. Smokey Bear also said to not burn plastic. However, Smokey Bear was not a good Jew. He didn't know Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai. And he didn't understand how important an uncontained fire is to help one connect with Gd.
I put down my groceries. I went to join in more fire parties. I was not a bystander anymore. Once I noticed the police joining in, I became an accomplice. An accomplice supported by the cops.
Is this legal? They were doing it for tradition. Hence, it is OK. Only in Israel do cops let you do things that could be illegal and unsafe if you are celebrating a holiday. On Sukkot, they let you run through the streets holding a sharp spear looking palm branch, facing out. Why? Because it is tradition. And the cops in Israel know that if it is tradition, it is safe.
What a beautiful country. In America, when you do something dangerous, the police make you stop. However, in Yerushalayim, they know what a Mitzvah is.

More Lessons
I learned the tradition of fires and kids running around them with bows and arrows. Some kids were running with knives facing out. That wasn't a tradition, but it was also dangerous. So, it represented the Emunah that Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai had. What a beautiful Mitzvah?!

I turned around and my groceries were gone. The kids burned them. Bag too.

Follow-up Notes
At one point I saw a kid burning wood. I believe he ran out of plastic.
The following year I stood by my door. A kid tried to take it. I told him it belongs to my house. To help with his fire, I gave him a microwave that had broke.
One of the people told me that the fire was for Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai's Yahrzeit. Though I had lit a Yahrzeit candle before, I have a ways to go in my Emunah. I still don't feel comfortable lighting a bonfire on my kitchen counter.

Next year, we'll talk about my trip up north and how I made it to Mairon following fires.

My first time I went out in Israel it was for a drink. Me and a bunch of guys from the Yeshiva went out for a Lchaim. It was a Thursday night and we went for a beer. In Israel, Thursday nights are like Saturday nights, and I like that. It's better to bring a hangover to shul than work.
That first night out might have been a spiritual experience. I don't remember what happened. Though, it was Israel, so it was a holy night out drinking at the bars. I was new to the Yeshiva experience and I was good at it.

Once the High Holidays came, the spiritual experience of partying in Israel changed. Thursday night after Rosh Hashana, my friend Yanky said, 'Let's go out tonight.' So, I went.
You don't argue with Yanky, unless if you want a heated debate. He was a second year guy in the Yeshiva and he already learned how to scream at people when learning Gemara. Yanky was masterful at yelling at his Chavrusa, learning partner, which meant he knew what he was talking about. The more you reproach your Chavrusa, the better learner you are.
Being a Chavrusa to Yanky was an honor that very few had. He was the perfect Chavrusa for learning Gemara Baba Kama. No other Chavrusa had the ability to make you feel like you were being scolded and abused while learning the laws of damages.

We went up north. I thought we were going out. I didn't realize that meant a two hour drive.
Going up north in Israel is a spiritual experience, as roads are windy and not lit, and you're dependent on Gd to not get hit by the falling rock. There was a sign that read 'Falling Rock,' which kind of scared me, as that meant rocks were falling right now. Adding to the spirituality of Israel, I said my first prayer at that moment.
Not fully understanding the excitement of going up north, we ended up at the Rambam's grave-site, and Yanky started to scare me. I thought we were going out to party, and we were now at the graves of Tzadikim (righteous people).
I had no idea what to think. I thought I might've joined a Yeshiva full of hedonists, who have some kind of grave-site rituals. Maybe it was part of the Yeshiva hazing process, where they tell you about righteous rabbis and then leave you in the graveyard to get eaten by ghosts. I was scared.
And then the good times started to role. After the Rambam's Kever, we hit the graves of a few more rabbi's and even a prophet are two. We prayed. We had rugalach. We drank schnapps. And since then, going out has never been the same.

The coolest thing of all. We prayed. We drank and prayed. And I got back to Yeshiva alive. And I was scared to talk to Yanky for a month and a half after that.

Since that night out with Yanky, my life has changed. Now I know what going out means in the Frum world.

Follow Up Notes
It's a new form of partying I've taken on. That's how us religious people do it. What am I doing later tonight? I'm going up north and hitting some Kevers. It's just good times. The rabbis who have passed, Z"L, are what makes for the Thursday night experience.
Last time we hit the Kever of the Rambam. Then we popped over to Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai. We even headed to Yonatan Ben Uziel. On the way back we stopped off at Rabbi Meir Bal HaNes. We got back to Jerusalem right when the bars were closing. Amazing. And we got free rugalach.
Rugalach is the backbone of all Jewish events in Israel. And when its free, it's a real Simcha.

Now I get excited to see dead people and take down a few. And I understand why Yahrzeit candles come in shot glasses.
Can't wait to hit the Ari's Kever this Thursday night. It's going to be dope. Hit the grave and then go for a dunk in the cold bath. The Frum people call it a Mikvah.

I used to do baseball tours. I now see there are Gedolim (important rabbis) that are buried all over the world. I'm going to definitely do a Kever tour of Europe. I think I'll enjoy seeing the graves more than the anti-Semites.

How do I know who the more important rebbes are? I judge by the size of the hole by their grave. The bigger the rebbe the bigger the pit at his Kever. This allows for more notes to be tossed in. Though, older rabbis and righteous ancestors don't have note pits. In the 1200s, people didn't walk around with pens and Post-its.
There are also more candles at holy Kevers of ancient rabbis. Tea lights also represent the holiness of our sages. The more tea lights the holier the sage. I'm still trying to figure out who the better rabbis are. It's very confusing. The Rambam's Kever doesn't have a tea light focus. Due to that, the Rambam's Kever is not a top party destination.

To sum it up, my name is now Mikakel Kaleekaku. That's how the good Jews know me. I don't say Gd's name in vain, and I will not allow my name to be the reason people are going to Gehenim. Thus, I added 'k's to the vowels.
My parents named me Brian. That was their mistake. I love them. To their defense, they didn't know that my name had a vowel. They didn't mean to be blasphemers, but they gave me the wrong name. It turns out they don't agree with that. And they also say I am still their child.
Here is the full account.

Visiting Mom and Dad
I came home and told my parents they gave me the wrong name. My mom wasn't happy. Why? I don't know. I thought they would be happy I was visiting. She also didn't like when I told her she bought me the wrong sweater for Chanukah. That was when I was in third grade. I still remember her telling me that I will wear the sweater.
They called our rabbi (at least it was their rabbi- I only grew up with him) and asked him and he said that Brian was my name. To quote, 'He always got called up to the Torah as Brian Ben Shlomo.' To note, my dad changed his name to Spencer. The rabbi refuses to call him up as Spencer. The rabbi was worried that the congregants wouldn't go for Brian Ben Spencer HaKohen being called up to the Torah.
My mom brought out the birthing records and the legal documents. She even showed me my social security card. She started yelling, 'All of these say Brian! Brian!!! We sent Brian to school! I gave birth to Brian!!! I think your dad even said, "If it's a boy, we're calling him Brian." I was in labor and he said Brian!!!!! Your name? Brian!!!!!!!!'

Follow Up Notes
My parents refused to call me Mikakel Kaleekaku. So we settled on Brykin.
After the whole debacle, Mom said we're eating dinner. I told my mom and dad that their dishes aren't good enough for me. They didn't like that idea either. I just don't think they understand what it takes to be a Jew.
They raised me a Jew, but they don't know what it takes to raise a Jew. I'll bring that conversation up at dinner tomorrow night. I hope they don't overreact to that too.

Kiddish Food Is Amazing
There was a great Kiddish at shul. I finished eating whatever I could at Kiddish and had a two mile walk for Shabbat lunch. I thought it was good planning. So, I filled up at Kiddish. Had the herring, kichel, schnapps, choolante, kugel, gefilte fish. I even had Danish, as that is Jewish cake.  I felt bad when some of the other congregants didn't get kichel and potato kugel, but I enjoyed it. It was a small plate, but I was right back at the table.
I didn't sit down at Kiddish, as that would interfere with the time I needed to refill my plate, possibly hindering my kugel access as well. I didn't move from the table. That was a technique I saw my friend Shloymi doing. He told me to that you pick a spot near the good stuff, blocking out other people from scooping it. The 'good stuff' means choolante to Shloymi; at least until the meat is gone.
It was an excellent Kiddish. The kind that makes it worthwhile to be Frum. It mamish makes you want to go to shul. A reason to pray. I ate. I started to walk. I should've waited. They had kishka in the choolante, and I still don't understand what that means. They told me it was stuffed innards. But it was pareve. I don't know how they created non-meat animal products. All I know is that I'm new to Frum living, so I haven't learned to time my kishka stomach abilities. 

The Walk To Shabbat Lunch
I started walking to lunch. Ten minutes in, my stomach was killing. Around twenty minutes in, I got the sweats. I couldn't hold it. As a Bal Teshuva (somebody new to being religious), my stomach was not yet coated for heimish food. I had to go to the bathroom.
What was I to do? Even my rabbi, who I asked later, had no idea. He said he hadn't had this Shayla (question) asked of him much before. I guess people don't share this issue publicly. They must go when they're stuck on a long Shabbis walk with no bathrooms. The rabbis must not consider that carrying.
I had no idea what to do. I can't knock on doors, going to strangers homes, 'My stomach is killing. I need your bathroom. It was a really good Kiddish.' They don't understand Shabbis or kishka.
Twenty-five minutes in, and I am walking slow, I had no choice. Each step, I'm taking a chance. I knocked on a door and scared the family. When they realized I wasn't there to proselytize, they threatened to call the police. If I tried converting them, they might've let me in. Converting them would've been the normal thing to do. They would've understood I had a reason to be there. 

Public Bathrooms Are Not Shomer Shabbis Friendly
Being that I couldn't knock on more random people's doors, to use their bathroom, I started walking real fast. I thought that was my only choice. That didn't help. 

I got to the library, which was open, though people don't use it. Problem! They only had electric doors to get into the library. Anti-Semites. They know Jews will hang out there on Shabbis if the doors aren't electric. The air-conditioning.
Seeing no Frum Jews, as we can't use electric doors on Shabbat, I waited there for somebody to walk in. I don't know how inconspicuous I was. I tried standing there right outside the door, waiting for somebody to return a book, with my suit and tie in the summer heat. My plan was to walk in right as they did, so that they would be the ones using the electricity. I was going to piggyback off their sin; hence; not sinning myself.
Finally, somebody came and I chased them into the library. I did everything I could to avoid triggering the doors. Sneaking behind people to get into a building takes tact. I definitely think they saw me. I was the only one going into the library on a Saturday with a suit, and it was a small doorway. I believe I rubbed up against the guy. The guy jumped a bit and I heard the guy cry out, 'He's chasing me.'
He must've thought I took his wallet. So, I ran. I made it to the bathroom real fast, before they got to security.

The toilet was electric. I hope I'm not going to Gehenim for the flush. I had to go. I jumped off the seat. I hope it didn't sense me. I hope it only flushed because there was a fly that ran past the censor. 
I couldn't wait there for somebody else who needed the bathroom. If I could've, I would've waited for them to need to sit, and jumped up right away.

Follow Up Notes
Security should know Jewish law. How many Jews throughout history have been convicted due to keeping the laws of Shabbat? Guilty due to needing a bathroom on Shabbat.
All towns with Jews should have Shabbis bathrooms between shul and the homes of the Frum Jews.

I hope Jews don't get a bad rap because of electric doors and elevators. Later that day, I had to go fifteen stories. I jumped into an elevator after that woman. She asked what floor I am on. I said I live on your floor. She was freaked out. She'd never seen me. She didn't know I was Shomer Shabbat, and just trying to get closer to the fifteenth floor, where the hosts for Shabbis lunch live.
I ran down two flights after we got off the elevator, and made it to Shabbat lunch before she could report me to security.

Next time, I'm striking up a conversation about the book. That will be more inconspicuous. As they come to the door, I'll ask what book they're returning. Ask if it's good. They'll think I'm one of those Blockbuster pros who knows how to pick out the VHS tapes right when they're dropped off. Then, when we get inside, they return the book and I'm off to the bathroom. Like they never met me.

​The Kishka was worth it. To note, pareve is Frum for vegan. Anything pareve is vegan, even eggs.
Now I know why orthodox Jews like to live next to the shul. I'm going to buy a house near the shul. My post Kiddish walking abilities are no more than ten minutes.

I said goodbye to my parents. They thought they were losing a son. They weren't losing me. I just wasn't going to see them anymore. 
My mom said I wouldn't call, but I told her that I have to. Kibud Av vEim is a Mitzvah, as I explained to my Mom that I would call her because God said I have to. So, she accepted God. She now liked God, and I did my part in Kiruv (bringing a Jew closer to Yiddishkeit- Judaism- I will explain every word, as I want you to also become religious).
​
​The flight was to Israel for Yeshiva. My parents wanted to know why I gave up. They assumed that giving up a steady job as an industrial engineer is not normal. They thought that it made no sense to give up a six-figure contract that was set for the next eight years. They've never been to Jerusalem. I told them, 'Torah.' It was then that they knew Torah was an excuse to not work. And I love Torah.
I made the flight on time. It was the first of many miracles. I was late. Saying goodbye to my parents took way too long. They never learned about Bitul Zman (wasting time from Torah). 
The greatest miracle was that half of the passengers on the plane were late. I am assuming that the pilots know it takes a long time to explain to your family that you are giving up your job for connection with God.
 
I got on the plane and sat next to a tiny human, called a child. Another great miracle. I had space. Then, a religious woman wanted to change seats with me. Not a miracle. That was my first test. As Avraham had ten tests, God was testing me as well (I don't say Lord, as I am not catholic- I am Jewish and thus I refer to God). Giving up a good seat on the plane was my first.
She said she wanted to sit next to her husband. She said it was my duty as a religious Jew to let her sit next to her husband. I had not yet learned that Mitzvah. But I was looking forward to learning about it in Yeshiva.
As I changed seats, I realized she just didn't want to have to sit next to a huge guy who insisted on lifting up the armrest, so he could have enough room to fit. She wanted more space. Maybe it's a Mitzvah to give people space. I don't know. I believe they bought separate seats, because there was one aisle seat, and there was no seat next to that aisle seat. And her husband wasn't going to not take the aisle seat. The huge guy, I ended up next to, taught me about the word finagle, as he was whacking me with his elbow and sweating on me.

There was no food on the first leg of the flight. The rabbi at shul didn't teach me that you have to order Kosher food, and then call to make sure they have your Kosher food, and then to check again to make sure they know, and then to explain that you really need a separate meal that is Kosher. I thought you just tell them you want Kosher and check the Kosher box, and then you'll get it. I hope the Gemara has a lesson on how many times you have to call the airline to make sure you have a Kosher meal.
On the second leg, another miracle occurred. I got food. The airline didn't have my name on the food list. But they had the name of the woman I gave my seat to. The next thing I know, they had an extra meal for me, and my name was Malkie. Then, I got another meal. Somebody said they didn't trust the Hashgacha (kosher supervision). I began to respect people who are Machmir (stringent), and don't trust other rabbis, and I had food.
Another miracle. The dinner was only enough food for a snack, and it lasted the whole flight. I am on my way to Israel and I am experiencing all the great miracles of our people. I told myself at that time that I would eat every day, to commemorate the little food that lasted the whole flight. I also committed to eating more than the chicken sliver strip if I was ever going to be Fleishiks again (Fleishiks means I meat, and once I eat meat I have to wait six hours to eat dairy- which is why Jews don't eat meat for breakfast, and why I will never eat meat before 8pm).
The greatest miracle of all. I fell asleep on the huge guy's chest. The little space I had on the plane, was enough to sleep for one night. And to this day, I commemorate that with sleeping. Judaism is about commemorating. I commemorate the oil that lasted eight days, the freedom from Haman, and being able to sleep in discomfort.

When I disembarked, I made it through security. That was a miracle, as I was smuggling in a lot of deodorant. B"H they didn't ask me.
It was God's hand involved in my trip. The Mitzvah of giving up my seat so that somebody else could enjoy the flight. The food that lasted me the whole flight. The not feeling bad about my parents crying as I left.
And the most amazing miracle of all. As I entered Israel, they all welcomed me. I don't know what they said. It was Hebrew. But they welcomed me in the holy language of the Torah. Such a Kiddish H.' Only in Israel do they speak Hebrew. In Israel, Brooklyn, and hotels around the world on Pesach. But they speak Hebrew in Israel too. And they welcomed me, 'Bruchim HaBaim HaBayta.' As I learned later, 'Welcome home.' With all the sad goodbyes, I was home. My belongings weren't there and I had to share a bunk bed with a thirty year old man, but I was home. And I told my non-religious parents I was home, and they weren't happy. And my mom doesn't like God that much right now.

My luggage wasn't there. Yet, they said you can live without your luggage. Only in Israel, the Holy Land, does one not need such physical Gashmiyus, like your belongings. You only need your Neshama and Tzitzis (which I was wearing).

When we stepped out of the airport, I was told to kiss the holy ground. Only in Israel is the ground so clean that you can kiss it.
Ten days later, my luggage came. Another miracle.

Follow Up Notes
I don't believe the holy ground was swept. I did take in a dust ball as I kissed the holy land.
​I still haven't called my mom. Nonetheless. I'm learning. ​If I ever get reception in Yeshiva, that will be another huge miracle. My mom will appreciate that miracle. Right now, she doesn't like God or Golan Telecom very much.
In Yeshiva, we learn in Aramaic. I understand none of it. I still can't tell you if it's a Mitzvah to give up your seat on the plane for somebody who wants a better seat. I am now saving up for a first-class ticket. I don't believe they ask you to do Mitzvahs in first class.
I understand that this story is inspirational. It has inspired many in their journey towards being good Jews. 

Valentine's Day just passed, so we can finally talk about love as Jews. There is time to Tu BAv, so let's start preparing now.
As I have recently turned religious, I have much experience dating, and I want to help us, as Jews, bring Kedusha (holiness) to the idea of love notes. Here are some Jewish love notes, that you can use.

I love you so much. I want to see you in a shaytel.
Make sure you really love them, before telling them you want to see them with a head-covering. You can't play with people's emotions. Especially telling them you want to see them in a shaytel, another person's hair; that is the next level love and commitment. Tichels or bandannas are not as intimate as another person's hair. 

You want to go to Kiddish with me?
Sharing Kiddish is an intimate experience. If you've been together for many years, you can let them know that you will make space for them to get to the choolante. Fighting off other people for them shows that you are their night and shining armor.

Your scholarliness makes me want to learn Torah with you.
That may be forward, as it shows a lot of passionate intention.

I want a beautiful Shabbat table.
That is the line. Nothing will win the love of a Jewish woman more than saying 'Shabbat table.' Just say 'Shabbat table' and you are good to go.

I want to share a Shabbat table with you, at my parents' house.
If you are young, that is a safer bet. You don't want to be stuck writing a note that requires you to make a Shabbat meal. It's easier to depend on your mother.

I want to introduce you to my parents.
They are going to be involved in the relationship. You have no choice. Might as well introduce them right away. Start off the relationship with proper expectations.

I love you so much, I will treat you to a Kosher restaurant.
That takes a lot of savings. Anything more than a Kosher pizza shop is going to force you to lose a lot of money.

I want to treat you to a candle lit dinner at a five star restaurant.
This is great, as there are no Kosher restaurants in your area. The thought means everything, and you save money. This is why you don't mention having a dinner at your place. You would have to pay for that.

Will you go to the separate beaches of Israel with me?
You have to go to different beaches. But to go at the same time, that is romance.

I want to see you on the other side of the Mechitzah.
Telling them you want to see them in shul, on the other side of the partition, is love. Only share this with somebody you want to marry. Remember, we don't play with emotions, especially when it comes to separating in public. With this note of love, you will also be suggesting that you will be driving to Frum weddings in the future, where you will not be seeing each other. 

Will you be my Shidduch?
You can even ask if they will be your spouse. Saying 'Shidduch' chases away less girls, and it can push off the marriage for many years. What's great about saying 'Shidduch' is that it allows you to feel like a whole community is part of your relationship. It also helps you feel like you are always on a first date, and that you have to report what happened to other people.

I am going to ask the Shadchan about you.
Wow. Hold on there young lad. That is as forward as you can get. Saying that you are going to get the matchmaker involved in asking her out, that is a bit crazy.
Getting a Shadchan involved is saying marriage. Once the matchmaker is involved, you are not going on dates to enjoy yourself. That's what I've learned over my time as a Frum Jew. You get the matchmaker involved and you're now accountable for your relationship, and birthing the next generation of Jews. That Shadchan is going to be following up on your relationship, daily.

You Want to be my plus one.
In the days of polygamy this was the number one sold Hallmark card. I believe our forefathers used this. 

I want five kids.
State the fact that you want five kids. Nothing else. No need to tell them with whom. Just stating it, they will know you are serious about a relationship. With whom is not important.

I had my tonsils taken out.
Nothing more intimate than sharing your medical history. Truth be told, any form of complaint is the greatest show of love to your Jewish romance.

Clean the fridge. And don't leave your stuff out.
Insinuating a fight should only be used if you are already engaged and committed to marriage.

Whatever your note, don't pull the strings of one's heart, unless if you are ready to commit to their parents as in-laws. You should all find love and share a home of many notes that don't only express anger.