Change Your Place, Change Your Luck

I Moved to Philadelphia

Listen instead of read. Walk instead of drive. Say hi instead of ignore.

Superstitions are full of it, you know? Black cats, walking under ladders, throwing salt over your shoulder, these are all woo-woo bad practices that are based on nothing. Well, walking under ladders probably has a legitimate reason for it.

I like to live a pretty woo-woo life. I like thinking that we are connected like a gelatinous cube floating in the ether; I like to think that one small act of kindness in my part of the world can have a tsunami effect on the other. I believe this to be true. That we are all part of the same stuff that makes up the stars and planets; the same floating space dust swirling in a vacuum is the same stuff in my chest. 

Organized religion will have you believe that there is no such thing as magic. Thankfully, I can’t stand organized religion. 

But, C.A., you’re a religious Jew! 

How can you say such blasphemy??

Great question.

I firmly believe that Judaism is not an organized religion. Judaism, the Torah, might have many rules, values, stringencies, and prayer services, but it is a living, breathing organism. Judaism is not a dry religion full of dead white men telling us to behave, or we’re going to hell. No shade to dead white men, by the way; I see them whenever I get paid. #senddeadwhitemen.

Because I identify with Judaism as a constant rather than a relic, the proverbs, practices, and principles are alive and swimming in the current climate. They are not frozen in amber to be stared at and rejuvenated; they are blinking and looking at me with wide, open eyes, waiting to be recognized as contemporaries.

My family and I just moved to Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love and the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. It’s amazing and hard and crazy and rewarding all at the same time. We are still living out of boxes in our three-story townhouse, and I’m meeting as many neighbors as I can because I’m your local neighborhood very friendly Chassidic guy.

One such principle has been told to me several times over the past two weeks. In Hebrew, it goes like this, “M’shana makom, m’shana mazel l’tova.”. It means, “Change your place, change your luck to good.” If there is a reason why you need to go somewhere, which Judaism says there is always a reason, then that reason must be good. The Ba’al Shem Tov, a 17th century Kabbalist who helped start modern-day chassdic sects, tells a story that when you make a blessing while sitting on a rock in a forest, overlooking a beautiful lake, the rock, the forest, the lake, have all been waiting since the creation of the world for you to sit there and make that blessing. 

Everywhere we go, we are supposed to be there.

And not only that.

Everywhere we go opens up a new channel of blessings. The best way I’ve heard the flow of blessings explained is by imagining a hose showering above you. Sometimes the hose gets a crink in it, and water stops up and by moving the hose, unfolding it, and sometimes furiously shaking it, the water will return to its flowing state. 

The hose is our connection to the infinite, the water is the blessings, and the crinks and cracks and bends are things we have to do to ensure the water continues flowing smoothly. This could mean that we have to move positions (like from sitting to standing), move jobs (you can tell when the energy is vampire-like), or even move states (hey, NJ to PA, we just did that!). 

When this movement happens, just like the stroke of the conductor's baton slicing through the air, for a moment, there is silence. The violins and cellos pause, the horns and drums take a beat… And slowly, one sound comes back. Softly, quietly, barely audible, and that one sound turns to two and swells and comes back with a beautiful vengeance until the orchestra is back to its limit, the players are sweating, the audience is jiving, the bandstand is kick kick kickin’ it and dance is the only language we speak.

We are this orchestra. We are all the players, the audience, and even the rowdy drunks in the nosebleed seats. If all the world’s a stage, it better be soundproof because a ruckus is bound to occur.

So far, one week into a new place, not so far physically, but seemingly light years away from everything else, this new place feels like a deep tissue massage for that blessing hose. It feels like the crinks are cracking and the crooked line is being straightened. It feels good to have a light mist in these dog days of summer. It feels good to wipe the moisture from my brow. 

I’ve changed my place. And my luck, or my mazel, or my inspiration, feels like it’s waking up from a sleepy haze. 

And there’s only one way it can go.

Up.