To Have and To Hold

It's been three years, and the grieving continues. 

I wish Ma was here, I think at times. She would make me a magnificent paprikash. We would go clothing shopping together. She would be there for me when I'm wigging out because Ben has  a bad stomach. 

But then I was struck with guilt. Is that why you want Ma? I scolded myself. For what she could do for you? Shouldn't you want her here because you want to give to her?  

I then regret the gestures I had yet to make. For one example, her favorite food was sea bass, and thanks to my many dating years I knew the best place to have it was Colbeh. But Ma ate out rarely, and that was one experience I wanted to have given her. 

I was watching the pilot for Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (SPOILER AHEAD). Zoey's father has been diagnosed with a degenerative motor neuron disease, and he can no longer communicate. Zoey sits by his side and cries that she wishes he were able to speak to tell her what to do, as her work life isn't too good and the guy she has a crush on is unavailable. 

I was irritated at Zoey. That's why she wants her father to speak? To help her with her crises? He's dying! Leave him alone! At least the next scene shows her bullying her family to take him on an outing he'd enjoy. 

Rabbi Aaron Lopiansky wrote recently how we have the completely wrong perspective about Moshiach. When everything is ok, we don't exactly yearn for him. But when things go to hell in a handbasket, suddenly then we cry for him. 

But if Moshiach is supposed to come simply when things are bad, then he would have come a really long time ago. Check your history, kids, much, much, MUCH worse things have happened. You want Moshiach to come because life got difficult? 

We're supposed to want him when everything is honky-dory. 

We're always told as kids that if we want Moshiach to come, we have to be really really nice. We have to stop saying loshon hara. We have to include everyone. How does that fit into the narrative that he should come when we are in a crisis? 

If we truly cherish people, we don't ask them Do something for me. We say, Let me do this for you. 

For those of you who have their mothers and fathers and spouses and children, use your opportunities to show how much they mean to you. 

Learning Kindness

I'm wondering when I'll finally get over having been an "older single." I still identify as such, even though I officially left the moniker behind more than two years ago. 

I have recently been filled with feelings of . . . well, I'm not sure how to put it. 

I was single. I was dating for over a decade. Han showed up when he was supposed to show up. 

So, I could have spent those years feeling the way I wanted to feel, that Hashem has my man tucked away somewhere and when the time is right He'll produce him. In the meantime, therefore, I should simply be.  

But that wasn't allowed. Because whenever I tried to invoke Him, I was told, "No, you have to do your hishtadlus." Yet, what is hishtadlus? It means different things to different people. 

1. It means cold-calling "shadchanim." 

2. It means going out with every guy who's suggested. 

3. It means going to singles events. 

4. It means tackling every male within site and demanding marriage or else they will never draw breath again. 

When I executed as much "hishtadlus" that I felt comfortable with, and was still single, we moved on to other territory: What I must be doing wrong.  

I wish I could say I was confident enough to ignore the naysayers, but I wasn't. I would blog about it, listing proofs as to my normalcy, pleading with my audience to concur that I wasn't a freak, right?  

Either way, finding a spouse was on me: I wasn't doing enough hishtadlus and/or I was a nutter who cleaned her toes during a lobby date. 

I could have been more chillaxed in that time, instead of battling breathing-into-a-paper-bag anxiety. I could have seen my life as more than "pathetically single" and, perhaps, have utilized my time differently. Maybe I would have gotten into sourdough earlier. 

I'm doing that annoying 20/20 hindsight thing. Based on parental hopes alone, I would have still been a nervous wreck. But did others have to rub it in? To make me feel like you-know-what? 

Sigh. 

I suppose one thing I have certainly learned is that whenever that judgy inner voice starts piping that it's "their fault," I shut it down. Or try to, at least, which is more than I used to do before. I think I have become a kinder person after being subjected to wagging fingers for a decade. Everyone has their own burdens. Whether it's their fault or not is besides the point. 

So let's be kind.

For Cuteness!

A number of months ago, there was an article in the NY Times that niggled at me. And niggled at me. And niggled at me. 

I have found the only way to deal with the niggles is to write about it. 

The article, by Pagan Kennedy, was called "Why You Want to Eat This Baby Up: It’s Science." She begins by describing how since childhood, she never wanted to have children, to the horror of everyone. 

She just doesn't find babies cute, she claims. According to her, that's the only reason a woman would want to have a child. 

Like, for reals?

The only reason why people have children is because they're cute?

What I never quite understood about those who profess no desire to besmirch their comfortable existences with demanding little humans is this: we were ALL children once. Our parents besmirched their comfortable existences to create and raise you. 

Additionally, how long are we cute? Not very long, in the grand scheme of things. Many babies enter the world colicky and crabby. Babies leak from every orifice. As Han's friend joked, "Babies begin smiling when we're about to chuck 'em out a window." Cuteness is for survival. 

But why do we have kids? As Jews, we know why. Heritage, mesorah, passing on the flame, etc. etc. The cuteness is just a perk. 

Forgiveness

One day, out of the blue, I got a call from an elementary school classmate. 

She was calling, of all reasons, to apologize. She was going through something at the moment, she said, and she decided to make amends. She remembered that she had tormented me in our young days, and she asked for my forgiveness. 

I was gobsmacked. I actually didn't bear her much of a grudge (she was the sidekick to the bully who really went for me) but I was truly blown away by the amount of courage it took for her to make this call. 

A few years previously, a woman called my mother under the same premise; her daughter was "older," unmarried. She had walked away from friendship with Ma to pursue "loftier" options. But she was asking forgiveness, all these years later.  

Luke was initially unimpressed by these women's gestures. "Oh, sure," he said, eyes rolling, "they call only when there's 'something going on.'"

"But," I countered, "doesn't it beat the alternative? Rather than making gestures that don't help anyone, like lighting extra candles on Friday night or saying Tehillim backwards, they did something really difficult." 

He had to agree. 

It is said it doesn't matter what our motivations are, as long as our actions are the right ones.  

Asking for forgiveness is a tricky thing. Are we asking to exorcise our own guilt? Are we asking because we are truly sorry to have hurt another? 

Then there is the question if the hurt party is even able to forgive. Sometimes wounds go to deep. In my case, any submerged grievances against my classmate vanished (against the major bully, not so much). Danielle Berrin, who was assaulted by a prominent author, cites the Jewish forgiveness process: 

Judaism offers a prescription for restorative rather than punitive justice that I think can provide a template for all of us — not just Jews — in determining what it should take to readmit transgressors into public life.

In Judaism, a religion that prizes deeds over faith, atonement is not an easy process. And why should it be? It is designed to effect nothing less than personal transformation. This is why the Hebrew word for “repentance” is “teshuva,” or return — as in a return to your higher self, a return to your essential goodness, a return to recognizing your own dignity and the dignity of others.

The repentance process begins with an “accounting of the soul” (heshbon ha’nefesh), an examination of how one has failed or fallen short. God can forgive sins against God, but notably, sins between people can be forgiven only by the aggrieved.

Judaism requires that transgressors seek out those they’ve hurt and ask forgiveness of each and every person. If rebuffed, the tradition demands the transgressor ask no fewer than three times before moral responsibility is lifted. . . 

While prayer, “tefillah,” is also a key component of atonement in Judaism, it is a private, personal affair between human beings and God, so I won’t suggest it for everyone. I do believe, however, that prayer is meaningless if not married to moral action.

The third element of true return is “tzedekah,” often translated as “charity,” but it comes from the Hebrew root of the word “righteousness.” Judaism is not alone in reminding us that those who have hurt others can redeem themselves through giving — perhaps the most quantifiable aspect of atonement. A complete rehabilitation should include a commitment of time and money to a cause that uplifts and empowers those in need. Engaging in a reasonable period of community service could help inculcate humility and selflessness in those who once thought only of themselves.

She does say, as well: 

I’m not ready to forgive him — at least not yet. Until restitution is made publicly as well as privately, his reckoning rings hollow. But as Judaism reminds me: It is never too late to repair what’s been broken.

There is also "How to Forgive" by Malia Wollan, which reminds us that holding on to grievances is simply not healthy. That's what I do when I find myself telling off the mirror, pretending it's the transgressor: You're going to give yourself an ulcer. (There's also some tips in there how to properly let go.)

We Can Do It!

I do not have a math mind, despite my math minded parentage. If you ask me to add two numbers together, I gaze vacantly into the distance and hope you go away. 

Oddly, though, I aced my Regents. My high school teacher had called up my parents, worriedly reporting I was falling asleep during her classes (I didn't fall asleep in class in general, but her voice was so monotonous), warning them I would be unprepared for the exam. 

"I'll be fine," I attempted to reassure them. "I've been doing the practice tests. I've got this covered." 

They did not believe me. After all, they knew I didn't have a math mind. They took away my tv. MY TV! The trauma!

Yet they didn't realize that every spare moment I had, including recess, I was doing practice problems (I was voted "most likely to do homework during lunch"). The sheer repetition taught me better than my poor teacher could. To my parents' (and Luke's) shock, I got a 99. 

I suppose I knew I was slacking off in class, and that I could do better. But some kids need to be told that they can do better, and then they do, writes David Kirp.  

 

I think this same premise applies even to adults. We're here on this earth to improve, right? To overcome our negative innate qualities. To "strive for excellence." 

And yet I am surprised by how many fellow frum Jews shrug defeatedly and blame nature, rather than taking personal responsibility. 

It takes awareness. It means one day, choosing not to operate on automatic pilot, acting instead with deliberate thought.  Until it becomes automatic.

It can be done. I believe in you, and me. 

For the Health of It

Mo'Nique used to be the face of "Big is Beautiful." She once declared, "Skinny b****** must be destroyed!" She viewed her weight simply as being contrary the current cultural aspiration to thinness. 

But then her significant other made her realize another view.

“When my husband asked me my weight, I answered and he said ‘…That’s too much weight. I want you around for a lifetime and that’s not healthy.’ It was at that moment that I went through guilt, I went through shame, because of my size. Because I never felt love like that before.”

Reports differ as to her weight loss, but 80 pounds seem to be the average. 

 

She's eating right. She's exercising. She doesn't look like a starving waif, yet she's healthy. 

I constantly bully my audience with healthy recipes because I am trying to spread the gospel of the Rambam. We have the responsibility to care for our bodies, Shabbos brisket aside. Once, if—and that's a big if—a cow was shechted for a Shabbos, do you think everyone got a slab of their own to consume? Um, no. 

I know of a woman who beams with happiness when her husband wolfs down heaping, fattening seconds. I am quite sure she is trying to kill him. 

We can enjoy, in moderation, the sugary, the salty, the fattening. But not every day, all the time. Respect our selves by respecting our bodies. 

Yes yes, getting hit by a bus is still an option. Freakish, inexplicable diseases are a possibility. But why not avoid the avoidables, if possible?

The Coils of Humblebrag

When did humility get so cocky and vainglorious? I remember the first time, around 15 years ago, that I heard someone describe herself as “blessed.” An old friend of my boyfriend’s came to visit and spent the evening regaling us with stories of her many blessings. She wasn’t especially religious, which somehow made her choice of words worse. Every good thing in her life — friends, job, apartment, decent parking space — was a blessing: i.e., something deliberate, something thoughtfully picked out for her by a higher power. It took a while to put a finger on why it got on my nerves. The problem was that she couldn’t just let herself be lucky, because luck was random, meaningless, undeserved. Luck was a roll of the dice. She had to be chosen.—Carina Chocano

This connects to a previous post—about those who simper at their good fortune while claiming humility.  The above is from a series that analyzes current jargon ("First Words"). 

To be humbled is to be brought low or somehow diminished in standing or stature. Sometimes we’re humbled by humiliation or failure or some other calamity. And sometimes we’re humbled by encountering something so grand, meaningful or sublime that our own small selves are thrown into stark contrast — things like history, or the cosmos, or the divine. . . “Humility in a higher and ethical sense is that by which a man has a modest estimate of his own worth and submits himself to others.” “Others” being God, say, or a grand movement or mission, or just the majesty of your own corporate or celebrity overlords.

I never particularly liked those maselach about downtrodden janitors in freezing Eastern Europe who turn out to be the most brilliant mind and spiritual soul of his generation. "Oh, no, I'm just the lowly shammes" grates. Because that's not what anivus is—the same way "humility" isn't what it is now. It's like the above: Compared to the knee-knocking glory of God, yes, we're nothing. But amongst our own brethren, we must recognize our talents and share them.

In the present-day vernacular, people are most humbled by the things that make them look good. They are humbled by the sublimity of their own achievements. The “humblebrag” — a boast couched in a self-deprecating comment — has migrated from subtext to text, leaving self-awareness passed out in the bathroom behind the potted plant. . . . none of these people sound very “humbled” at all. On the contrary: They all seem exceedingly proud of themselves, hashtagging their humility to advertise their own status, success, sprightliness, generosity, moral superiority and luck.

Humility takes another turns in this article, which is albeit heavily Christian in context: 

Humility is a sign of self-confidence; it means we’re secure enough to alter our views based on new information and new circumstances. This would be a far more common occurrence for many of us if our goal was to achieve a greater understanding of truth rather than to confirm what we already believe — if we went into debates wanting to learn rather than wanting to win. . . 

There are those, ahem, who are insecure in their faith yet put up a front of "knowing." But if one had some anivus, they would also be accepting. 

Certitude can easily become an enemy of tolerance but also of inquiry, since if you believe you have all the answers, there’s no point in searching out further information or making an effort to understand the values and assumptions of those with whom you disagree. 

If we had all the answers early on, what would be our purpose here? We're here to advance, and that can only be done if we are willing to hear and learn. 

Humility believes there is such a thing as collective wisdom and that we’re better off if we have within our orbit people who see the world somewhat differently than we do. “As iron sharpens iron,” the book of Proverbs says, “so one person sharpens another.” But this requires us to actually engage with, and carefully listen to, people who understand things in ways dissimilar to how we do. It means we have to venture out of our philosophical and theological cul-de-sacs from time to time. . . The wiser we become, the more we see how much we don’t know and how much we need others to help us know.

He quoted one of our sources, so it's legit. "Two heads are better than one," Ma always said. Not everything one hears is useful. But one must be willing to hear in the first place. We have to be a little humble.

Rosh Hashana Cometh

Self-flagellation and I are old friends. If I am calm and content, my subconscious says, "That's enough of that, now," and obligingly rustles up a memory from 2nd grade that proves what an unworthy human being I am. 

 

Gordon Marino ponders the purpose of remorse ("What's the Use of Regret?"), a topic which is rather apropos for Rosh Chodesh Elul, no? 

"Self-forgiveness" shouldn't be encouraged, he says, for that merely removes responsibility or an incentive to improve; self-torture should not be endless, however, since we "lose faith in ourselves," and ruminate helplessly on the past without progressing into the future. 

We can learn to let things go, but before we let them go, we have to let regret get hold of us. Perhaps the old biblical formula is best — repent, ask for forgiveness with a sincere resolve to change your ways.

Ah, the old biblical formula is best! What a surprise. 

Kierkegaard observed that you don’t change God when you pray, you change yourself. Perhaps it is the same with regret. I can’t rewind and expunge my past actions, but perhaps I change who I am in my act of remorse. 

Without reflection of past sins (Viduy?), one cannot change. Isn't that what we're here for? We're here to do, initially imperfectly, then acknowledge our mess-ups and act upon that to elevate higher. 

A Cautionary Tale

Jack, my boss, had the greatest of faith in medications. He would stand by my desk and wax poetic about his myriad prescriptions (between ten and fifteen) that "took care of everything," snorting at my "rabbit food" (that I greatly enjoy). 

"If a person is serious about quitting smoking," he would say, "he would take drugs, like I did." He somehow managed to make it sound that a truly selfless individual would nobly accept chemicals churning throughout his system as a means to overcome an addition.

I don't think I ever saw him eat "living food." His standard lunch was from Burger King or a deli. If he "dined" in, I would gag from the smell of the fake microwave "meals" wafting from his office. 

He was a man of intelligence. He was a man of, not quite wit, but humor. He was a man who had been looking forward to his retirement years in a sunny, tax-free locale. 

Note how I keep using the past tense? 

First came the heart operation, that required months of recovery; then the infection, caused by diabetes, seized hold of his limbs. He was in pain—constant pain. He was in and out of hospitals. He blamed it on "getting old." He wasn't old. He didn't take care of himself.

He used to grandly say to me that my lifestyle meant life was not worth living, yet his was not worth living, either. He never made it to his sunny, tax-free locale. He died in his mid-60s, young for today.

When I informed the doorman, his immediate response: "I'm not surprised." All the building staff knew that Jack didn't take care of himself.  

Ma grew up in a bland household. Zeidy battled with ulcers, which meant no zesty spices—no black pepper, no hot paprika. Babi had high blood pressure, which meant no salt. (Ma still believed her childhood to be idyllic.)

Babi was on high blood pressure medication for fifty years. But she never considered it a magic pill. She watched what she ate—and she liked her salt—knowing that the drug can only do so much. 

Her children seemed to have inherited the blood pressure issue. My uncle now officially received his diagnosis, and power to my aunt for calling Ma constantly to ask how to cook for him. Because she knows that you can't eat whatever you want and expect a prescription to fix it.  

We can't predict the future; there are a myriad of ways one can go—like getting hit by a bus. But I would prefer to try, to the best of my ability, to preserve quality of life, and really, the daily donut is sooooo not worth it. 

Ask Jack. Oh, you can't. 

Mesorah

For many of us veterans of the frum school system, "funny" or "bizarre" stories of misinformed educators abound. Like when they misquoted sources or outright invented halacha to validate personal chumras. 

When I returned home at night, there was often casual deprogramming following these incidents. "Ma, Ma! My morah said that—" "Ta, Ta! My morah said that—" Between the two of them I managed to emerge 12th grade pitying, as opposed to resenting, my teachers. Bless them, but to grant themselves security for their wobbly nerves they drew lines where none were needed. 

Mesorah was the go-to at home. Mesorah is everything. Hey, if we got it, why not stick with it? There is a comforting security when you do what your grandfather did, knowing he did what his grandfather did. 

Jacob blessing the children of Joseph, Rembrandt

There is always room for improvements in halacha, of course. Yet showing the kinfauna how it's done by us is first and foremost. Then we can turn to the newly available old texts. (According to the Maharam M'Rutenburg, we "have to" bring in the newspaper on Shabbos. Really.) 

Wajahat Ali mentioned us folk in his article about raising Muslim kids today.  

One potential route in producing “superior Muslims” is to follow the model of Orthodox Jewish Americans and invest tremendous resources and time to create enclosed schools or home schooling co-ops for our communities.

The "superior Muslims" comment was from his friend: 

Hina Khan-Mukhtar, a mother of three in the Bay Area, said the only way is for us to transform into “Super-Muslims,” minus the cape. “In America, you can’t be a mediocre Muslim,” she said. “You have to be the best of the best, and you have to show your kids that you have a ‘superior product’ that you are offering them. There are so many ‘-isms’ calling for their attention and for their loyalty — individualism, atheism, materialism, extremism. Islam needs to trump them all.”

That means parents really have to bring their a-game. While we do send our kids to private schools, but I made it out sane and informed only because of my parents.

Unfortunately for my children, I excel in mediocrity. This Ramadan, I opened my fasts at home with a date and some takeout food. I usually prayed Maghrib, the evening prayer, by myself in the family room. My wife, a full-time doctor, supermom and pregnant with our second child at the time, did her best to join me, but her schedule left her exhausted.

Ali explains how the available options for Muslim community life don't quite fulfill him and his wife. Yet they want their children to be as attached to Islam as they are.

We’re trying to retain so much of the good we inherited from our parents, throw away the rotten parts and improvise along the way. .  . The sources we don’t trust: shady, unqualified imams and right-wing religious material published overseas.

Instead, we’re turning to our peers and our collective best judgment as well as centuries-old traditions.

At home, my wife and I now deliberately pray in front of the kids. I prostrate toward Mecca and recite the Arabic verses out loud.

Ali adores the Islam he was raised with (his mesorah), yet knows it won't survive with misinformation (morahs with an agenda). When kids find out that something isn't true about one thing, they start questioning the whole enterprise. Luckily my folks were always on call to clarify and explain.    

Elisheva Shira, elishira.com

The Sh'ma says so, flat out: "You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up." Parents gots to be constantly talking about it. 

Two weeks ago, during my night prayers, my son came up next to me, bowed and turned his head and smiled. There is no compulsion in religion, nor should there be. It’s up to him and Nusayba to embrace or reject the faith and our traditions. My job is only to plant the seeds with care.

Pick Your Hard

"Being healthy is hard. Being unhealthy is hard. Pick your hard." —Marilu Henner

Marilu is just jollying you along, folks. You wouldn't believe it, but being healthy isn't so hard. What is hard, I'll admit, is the initial step. That step . . . that's hard. But after? It snowballs into ease. 

Here's what you can look forward to:

A study of more than 12,000 Australians revealed that the benefits of a produce-rich diet extend beyond physical health. With every added daily portion of fruits or vegetables (up to eight), the subjects' happiness levels rose slightly. The researchers calculated that if someone were to switch from a diet free of fruits and vegetables to eight servings per day, he or she would theoretically gain as much life satisfaction as someone who transitioned from unemployment to a job. The exact reason is unclear, but it may be related to the effect of carotenoid levels in the blood.—Samantha Rideout, Reader's Digest 

I was going about it wrong. I thought I had become a happy(er) person because I was making a point to be cheerful. I'm sure that helped, but burrowing daily through the vegetable crisper could have pushed it over the top. 

Doctors, who were usually brought in to treat the aftermath, are now getting educated in healthy meals so they can, in turn, educate their patients.

Brooklyn borough president Eric Adams reversed his diabetes in no time. 

Eight months ago, Mr. Adams learned during a health checkup for abdominal pain that he had Type 2 diabetes. He said his average blood sugar level was so high that the doctor was surprised he had not already lapsed into a coma. His hemoglobin A1C level — a lab test that shows the average level of blood glucose over the previous three months — was 17 percent, about three times normal. He wasted no time in tackling his disease with fervor. Spurning the American tendency to treat every ailment with medication, he instead explored the body’s ability to heal itself.

Mr. Adams, a 56-year-old former police captain, now needs a new publicity photo. He no longer resembles the roly-poly image on official posters. By adopting a vegan diet, preparing his own meals and working exercise into his everyday routines, he’s shed 30 pounds and completely reversed his diabetes, a pancreatic disorder that can lead to heart attacks, stroke, nerve damage, kidney disease, visual loss and cognitive impairment. Within three months, his A1C level was down to a normal 5.7.

(Exercise is 20% of a healthy lifestyle. Become friends with your local fruit store first before investing in a walking desk. Going vegan isn't required, either.) 

“I loved salt and sugar and often used candy to revive me when I felt lethargic,” Mr. Adams confessed. “But I discovered the human palate is amazingly adaptable, and after two weeks without salt or sugar, I no longer craved them.” With his new lifestyle, he said he has so much energy he no longer needs an edible midday pick-me-up.

It's schnorring time on PBS, so I was blasted with Dr. Joel Fuhrman reruns this past weekend. But hey, you already know about this annoying side of me by now. 

And it really isn't hard for so long. Really. 

My Bad

• Hold yourself accountable—you'll be happier

People tend to externalize when they encounter problems—to look beyond themselves and find fault with other when things go wrong. Society's mantra is "There's plenty of blame to go around!" You can hear it echo in the reactions to the election. But when we choose to hold ourselves accountable, we're more likely to be happier and successful in work and in our relationships. 

 

Life is filled with traps that let people avoid personal accountability. It's easy to make excuses, play the victim, feel a sense of entitlement or procrastinate. Taking ownership for your actions and reactions lets you avoid anger, cynicism, envy and frustration and instead focus on positive emotions and healthy living. Our daily energy is finite, so why waste one iota on negative thinking that leads to unproductive behaviors? 

 

Research has shown that when employees feel accountable for their work, they are more likely to contribute to solving problems and achieving organizational goals. Believing that if others would change, everything would be better—and then trying to force them to do so—drives people apart. The fastest way to enhance relationships is to remove the blame that breaks them down. Whether it's selling more products, building stronger connections or making political change, owning up and taking responsibility can help us move forward. 

—John G. Miller in Time Magazine

 

I had learned that Yehuda got the melucha because he took responsibility twice: in the incident with Tamar, and by bearing the burden for the selling of Yosef. (Perhaps it was even three times, when he insisted on being used as a hostage instead of Binyomin.) 

I have also been learning that by fessing up after messing up, whether accidentally or intentionally, is oddly freeing. There is no protracted argument with the transgressed party; what is there to say after accepting fault? Getting defensive or offsetting blame extends the hurt and damage, with no upside. 

 

Today's role model is: Yehuda. Let's embrace "It's on me."