Many things have changed since I wrote my last letter, some two years ago (or two decades, it seems). In that time, I saw the rise and fall of a relationship, coped with the death of a close friend, and played victim to my own anxieties about which direction to take my life. I also took a year long hiatus from the Chabad House — the one that I felt so indebted towards and could never part with.

After the death of my childhood friend, I did not feel very motivated to do much. I don’t think I was depressed, though. I think I just had the rationale that "life is short, I should do what I want when I can." Every now and then, Rabbi Levertov would call and check in. He would never ask for anything — he would just make sure that I still had a pulse. I most definitely had a pulse, but I was too distant to return his calls. I call these the Dark Days — a golus of the lowest order. Here also my girlfriend and I found ourselves both trying to nurse a chronically ill relationship.

When our relationship bought the proverbial farm last summer, leaving yours truly in a deep, dark cavern of despair, the first number I dialed was the Rabbi’s. We met up at the Chabad House and I poured my heart out on the front steps, before we even walked in the door. He just listened.

I remember begging of him, "Is there some kind of Kabbalistic blessing or incantation that can bring her back to me?" He said "No, but come by for Shabbes and maybe you’ll feel a little less depressed." Not the words that I wanted to hear, but I came by, anyway.

Overcoming my initial shock that his children did not remember me, I cannot describe the feeling that I got from singing "Lecha Dodi" in the way that only Chasidim can. That night, the matzo ball soup tasted better than ever and the noodle kugle a little bit sweeter. My girlfriend did not come back to me that night, nor any day after that. What did return, however, was the sense of place that I never realized I missed in that year away from the Chabad House.

Months went by. New problems would arise, and new forms of depression would grip me, to which the Rabbi would rightly suggest, "Learn some Chasiddus." I did and continue to do so — on weekdays and every Shabbes. What can I say, it works! So what was that girl’s name again, and what was all the fuss about? I’m sure that the right girl will come along in time, G-d willing. Until that day, however - be it weeks, months, or years from now — I know that I have something deep and meaningful with many people, thank the L-rd.

Now, with my Bachelor’s degree on the very tips of my fingers, I still have no clue as to what I will do with myself during these next few years. I guess I don’t need to. I’m certain that anywhere I decide to go, I will find a Chabad House and someone to teach me something new. I will have homes to spend Shabbes, peers to learn with, and daughters to meet. The future cannot be any brighter.