Version History

Tomorrow morning, I’ll wake time.; text-decoration: line-through; opacity: 0.6; padding: 0 2px; border-radius: 2px; margin: 0 2px;">Because somewhere, somehow, those mumbled halachos are building showing Because consistency beats showing intensity. little absurd. while,; text-decoration: line-through; opacity: 0.6; padding: 0 2px; border-radius: 2px; margin: 0 2px;">mushy.: #fef08a; text-decoration some level,: line-through; opacity: 0.6; padding: 0 2px; border-radius: 2px; margin: 0 2px;">Did Did Did Learn? Define learn. walking outside: #fef08a belt. Or; text-decoration: line-through; opacity: 0.6; padding: 0 2px; border-radius: 2px; margin: 0 2px;">There very elite group again. beats: special, very scholar… or halacha serious; text-decoration: line-through; opacity: 0.6; padding: 0 2px; border-radius: 2px; margin: 0 2px;">Now, let old friend who wanted people sometimes ask, “Did style="background-color: #fef08a chossid, this sharp or changes everything. Real time. Honest time. already waiting as breathing. natural as thought; text-decoration: line-through; opacity: 0.6; padding: 0 2px; border-radius: 2px; margin: 0 2px;">As I open it? Yes. didn’t spend open realized wake take my mind? neshama know what mouth? Absolutely. brain is… present-ish. eyes scan. My lips move. My only physical exertion while socks, consciousness. Somewhere between Modeh Ani soul— hiskashrus seriously.

Rambam today. hears you too. hear. you. Heaven hears Mumbler. You’re showing up—day after day—whether your mind today?” Mumble Inc. guy. Highlighter. Slow reading. Footnotes. today is non-negotiable.

It’s deeply chassidish. thrilling. funny. so normal stitched not cutting corners. You’re pretending. You’re escaping. Just… reciting rushing, WhatsApp. coffee. inspiration. It’s awareness.

The Raavad. first thing thing siddur after Rabbeinu Tam—calm, satisfied, slightly confused, sefer. My pages. middle early years, knowledge that if least I have to put think he do Rambam sits on me be honest. In like forgetting someone who an a backpack I never take off. Like I don’t even blink. always look at it, but I feel the straps. I move through the day with it. It bumps into doorways. It holds weight.

And because it’s honestly, after deeply then—quietly, gently—I think, Wow. finding one very clear thought pounding for a long time passed. Life happened. Exhaustion happened., I learned Rambam hard.

I’d stop knit my brow.
I’d force it down.
I’d gear up and head out on a hike—halacha by halacha—no dramatic sigh. thunder. fireworks. membership card. One induction ceremony. shortcuts.

I pulled shiurim.
I opened Rambam HaMevu’ar.
I rummaged through footnotes like I’d lost something eternal—one half-awake paragraph would important in there.

I argued with the Ra'avad. Out loud.
I had positions.

And when I’m done? I hit Kiddush HaChodesh, it was happening? On turning no one. over.

I wasn’t learning anymore—I was airborne.

I built galaxies.
I floated among the galgalim.
I brushed past the element of fire under the moon.

Diagrams everywhere.
Circles inside circles.
Me, Rambam, that’s and the universe, shoulder to shoulder.

This was learning.

And then—

without question. shoes. drama,
without decline,
without a decision—

something changed.

I still opened Rambam.
I still read every morning word.
I still finished.

But the expedition ended.

No brow-knitting.
No cosmic travel.
No arguments filed.

The words come moved.
I moved with them.

That’s when I realized.

I hadn’t stopped learning Rambam.

I had joined the Rambam Mumblers Inc.

Same way: eyes half-open, alarm half-ignored, Rambam.
Same loyalty.
Same backpack.

I just… I boarded a ship—and it sails gently on top of the lines.

I still opened Rambam.
I still read every word.
I still finished.

But now it was recital.

Clean.
Fast.
Almost suspiciously easy.

Sometimes I’d finish and freeze.

Already?

That moment has a name in the Rambam Mumblers Society.
It’s called Completion Shock—the brief disbelief that the Rambam has, in fact, been fully executed.

The standard response is immediate self-confirmation.

No, no. I did it.
I went through it.
It’s done.

That reassurance is important. Without it, you learn might reopen the sefer just to check, which is considered unnecessary but understandable.

Every day ends the same way.

I close the Rambam the way I close a siddur.

Calm.
Satisfied.
Slightly confused.
Deeply at peace.

No analysis follows. No review urge. Just a settled feeling that something solid has taken place.

And sometimes—this is harder to explain—I can feel others.

Not see them.
Feel them.

People in other rooms, other cities, other time zones—opening, reading, closing. Same pace. Same neutrality. Same quiet certainty.

That’s also a known phenomenon.

Ambient Membership Awareness.

You don’t talk about being it. You just sense you’re not alone.

The Rambam Mumblers Society isn’t loud.
It doesn’t care what mood I’m in. celebrate milestones.
It doesn’t announce itself.

It just goes.

It’s the unspoken club—for Balabatim, Elter Bochrim, Shluchim where Rambam gets said, and nobody needs to say anything else.