My alarm will ring momentarily and I will probably be a little late for prayer.

I have arrived safely at my home on Meadowpark Ave East in Stamford. It's home; it's not home; I am not sure. I know there is always some sense of misgiving when I leave Israel.

I got to speaking to a Mr. Kahana, of Monsey (he's in the interior door business (commercial)), and he made a comment that it's an interesting halachic question about how many days one sholud keep. My reply was that we all make our own deals with G-d. Holding myself to my own standard, I'm probably damned anyway (but that's not exactly how we jews view the afterlife, I think; I have no idea there either). I really feel ignorant so much of the time.

I met Mr. Kahana when he was scouting the plane for potentially empty seats. He wanted to make some space for his family and saw the two seats next to mine were free. I like to think the fact that I dress up made me an easier person to talk to. Anyway, I told him he could sit there if he learns something with me, but a few moments later the seat was occupied.

The plane was pretty full. I didn't overcaffienate myself. I got good sleep.

I meant to go to bed, but then I listened to Ben's yesterday show, and then I spent the rest of my night writing a letter regarding getting to the closing of our building in Yoqneam, which I sent for your mom's review, and she asked me to send it to the lawyer to look at. Half the time I spent writing the lettter was reviewing the contract, in Hebrew.

The Hebrew was actually not so hard for me, especially not with the Google assist. This just had me making myself more wrong more for not giving Israel more of a chance.

And there's the part that says “I'm just going to close out the PI and pawn off the Workers' Comp and if I haven't got enough estate work to thrive on, close down, sell off, and take my trip.”

Now I go pray.