How to Stay Sane While Dating: IX

We like to think we are above petty jealousy and envy. But we are sooooo not. At least, I'm not. If you are, move along. You'll glean nothing from this post, and you are awesome. 

Once, in my single days, I was walking down a Manhattan street and I passed a frum couple. His arm was around her shoulders; they were smiling blissfully at each other.  

A shot of envy surged through me, so violently painful that my head, of its own accord, jerked away. Seeing such joy, so out of reach, was like a knife in the heart. 

It wasn't much different every time I heard of an engagement. If the couple was "older," then I had the graciousness to be happy for them; if younger, I was a tad despondent. 

Chevi Garfinkel, bless her, addresses such reactions to others' bracha by advocating "dancing in others' rain." Rain is bracha. Marriage, she reminds us, isn't an achievement. It's not from one's efforts. It's a bracha. Ergo, if someone is so blessed, rejoicing with them, while they are showered in bracha, means you will be showered too. 

We aren't all the same, Chevi reminds us. We each have our own paths, our own twists and turns, our own milestones. Someone getting married before me has nothing to do with me. That's their path. Mine is another. 

Luke asked me if marriage was worth the wait. I can say, looking back, that YES. I may be a decrepit 32, but yes, it was totally worth it. My time on my track, learning, changing, progressing—if we had met when I was 20, or 25, heck, maybe even 30—it would not be the same. 

I know of a woman with an older single daughter. But every time she hears of an engagement or wedding she smiles with true happiness.

Did I achieve that madreiga in my single years? Heck no. I knew, cognitively, that my envy was my enemy, but I couldn't quite let go. But I tried, and when I tried, I certainly stayed sane.

How to Stay Sane While Dating, I

I blame "hishtadlus" for this. 

Doing one's hishtadlus becomes an endless, unverified list of "musts," from makeovers to unfounded "segulos." If one hasn't gotten what one wants, that means more hishtadlus is required, from single events to throwing money at kabbalists. But I heard from Esti Rand, quoting Rav Dessler (I think), that hishtadlus is simply: I do my part, Hashem does His. If the desired outcome doesn't occur, that doesn't mean "do more hishtadlus." It means Hashem doesn't want you to have it . . . yet. 

Han entered my life when the last thing on my mind was dating. I repeat, he was sent—I cannot claim I "found" him, because I wasn't looking. It then became quite, quite clear to me that I was not the engineer of my (married) fate. My actions, beyond the acceptable minimum, were not necessary. 

When one realizes they are not in control, it is both terrifying and freeing. I am not in control! (Panic.) I'm not in control! (Yeeeeees!)

Emunah/bitachon: Emunah is the recognition of God; bitachon is actually trusting Him. I find the latter to be, at times, difficult, especially with my tendency to worry. 

Now, how to go about it? Well, shiurim help. When I'm wound up, a meaty shiur usually unspools me nicely. I recommend Rabbi Ephraim Stauber on this specific topic, especially since he cites Brené Brown. Rabbi Efrem Goldberg is also great.

When one begins tackling their relationship with Hashem, there are all sorts of pleasant side effects: happiness, calmness, relaxation. Because here's the thing: You want to get married? You make some basic effort at dating? You don't have to do anything else. But you have to have faith.

TGIF

This clock change is very inconsiderate. For weeks (probably until it springs forward) I'll be awakening (against my will) at 4:30. If I hop out of bed then my internal alarm will remain fused to that schedule, so I must remain under the covers until my brain catches up with the rest of the world. 

Yet what to do under there? Perfect opportunity to focus on a shiur. 

Earlier this week, I tuned into this fascinating one by Rabbi Daniel Glatstein (I had heard it last year, but my recall isn't as sharp as it used to be). It's a fun listen, but for those (singles) who are short on time, the last few minutes (at the 50 min mark) are a pleasant boost.   

How to Shut Up a Chatty Brain

Before I begin: Episode 3 is out! 

Praise the Lord, my bed is my sanctuary, as opposed to my torture chamber, as it would be for those struggling with insomnia. For them, "going to bed" is as onerous a task as, say, "going to the gym" would be for me: a dreadful fate to be avoided. 

There are some nights, however, that sleep is elusive. If there is a next-day to-do list, "the monkey mind" repeats the same information over and over. At times, while I am exhausted, I am still tense, unable to "let go," even when there is no conscious reason for my discomfort. 

After I read "The Insomnia Machine" by Pagan Kennedy, I recalled that if a shiur is playing in the car, I drift into a happy place and invariably doze off (obviously, when I'm a passenger). If on edge under my blankie, shouldn't the same premise apply? 

There came one night soon following when tossing and turning were present. Bleary-eyed, I reached for the tablet (which had kindly suggested a nightly automatic blue-light flick-off) and tapped open a shiur on torahanytime. In short order, my brain's hysteria was lulled, floating peacefully to the ebb and flow of my calculated yoga breath. I turned it off, rolled over, and slid into delicious sleep. 

Another night, I tried a TED talk, with the same results. 

On Dr. Oz, in a segment about the above, the "Sleep with Me" podcast was suggested—listen to this guy for five minutes and I was passing out, and this was midday. 

On motzei Shabbos Chol HaMoed I found myself sleepless, but there was a snoring nephew in the next bed. I don't use headphones in general, and I was gazing longingly at the tablet. I eventually risked it, moving the volume down and pressing the speaker to my ear. I embraced the machine-ka, soothed by Pico Iyer and whatever the heck he was reasonably talking about. 

   

The Decorators of the Soul

To get myself in the proper yuntiff state of mind, I've been hearkening to various shiurim; one, by Rabbi Stauber, was addressing the difficulties some have with the concept of "hiddur mitzvah."

I was puzzled. Why should anyone feel pompous by practicing hiddur mitzvah? Then I realized: I'm Hungarian. Our whole lives are hiddur.

As my social studies teacher in 6th grade (a frum woman of Polish heritage) taught my class, an example of a stereotype is, for instance, that Hungarians have chandeliers in their bathrooms.

Darn tootin'. We matter-of-factly beautify the mundane. How much more so the sacred? 

I was once listening to an Esther Wein shiur, and she brings an Arizal: Hashem created the whole world, and within every culture and nation there is an aspect that Jews can learn to better serve Hashem. 

As the granddaughter of Rabbi Schwab, she mentioned the German meticulousness, which can be applied in how mitzvos are kept—in careful detail. 

Well, Hungarians decorate. 

Setting the table for Shabbos, for instance. My father's cousin came for a visit, and he and Ma had a passionate discussion on the art of tablecloths. (His wife, while a fellow Magyar, was not concerned with such matters.) He eagerly soaked up Ma's prowess of ideal weight and measurements. 

While I do share a house with the best cook I have ever come across (I have had much exposure to other chefs, and she has yet to be outclassed), the success of a Shabbos meal, is, oddly, less in the food, more in the presentation.

As Ma decrees, three factors: 

1)   Beautiful dishes.

2)  Beautiful flowers. 

 

3)  Gracious hostess. 

Couldn't resist.

There's a reason why I'm currently sitting on a trousseaux of Lenox, snatched up piece by discounted piece in Homegoods. Dishes are a long-term investment, and if one buys a reliable brand that doesn't chip they will be around—looking pretty—for years to come. (Cutting back on a few food items from takeout or the deli section will cover the cost quite quickly.)

As for flowers, they don't have to be expensive to be lovely. Carnations, for instance, aren't pricey and can last as long as two weeks. But then, it is also imperative to own a lovely glass vase to put them into.

 

Ta's esrog this year? The fairest of them all.    

One Day

• "Tu B'Av: Kapara and Adult Responsibility"; 

• "Ideal to Reality: Practical Strategies to Reach Your Goals"; and 

Monkey See We Do

I don't usually enjoy watching the whole "Circle of Life" bit on Nature and the like. While I am an animal lover, eventually the critter that I have been rooting for gets eaten or shot.

But one day while idly channel surfing, I paused and risked the heartbreak. 

Apparently, the mark of intelligence in mammals is self-awareness. The test to determine if an animal is self-aware is to provide it with a mirror; if the monkey treats his reflection as though it is another monkey, he's flunked. If the chimp begins to preen over his own image, bravo, he's self-aware, and therefore possesses intelligence. Various animals have passed: dolphins, elephants, apes.

Pondering . . . Are we, as humans, automatically self-aware? Taking it beyond the mirror. 

Self-aware = Aware of oneself, including one's traits, feelings, and behaviors (thefreedictionary.com) 

I'm certainly not infallible, so I try to analyze my behavior and reactions. Why? From whither? For art? 

There was a book review in the NY Times; I couldn't locate the article, but here's what I recall: An atheist was claiming that there is no such thing as free will, because all of our actions are pre-decreed by our subconscious thoughts. 

Even atheists want to wiggle out of free will. 

It is a dim view of humanity his theory provides, as well as espousing our own limitations. "I can't help it, my subconscious went rogue!" 

But I have heard Esther Wein shiurim to the contrary, listing the various levels of our brains: reptilian/ruach (for our bodily functions), mammalian/nefesh (emotions), and human/neshama (logic). 

"Elokai neshama shenasata bi," "My God, the soul that you placed within me." It sounds like, Mrs. Wein says, that the neshama and the self are separate. The "me," she explains, is the chooser.

We are given the tools to hash out whatever is percolating within us. We can choose how to see things, rather than merely see. We can choose how to do things, rather than doing.

But first, we have to look at the mirror. Not straight on; that would be too hard. From the side, using peripheral vision, as Ma says. To be real about who we are, where we need to improve, and what to do about it.     

Quiet Resolve

In preparation for the upcoming yontif, I've been listening to a set of CDs by Rabbi Yisroel Reisman on Megillas Rus. We've had them for years, and have played them repeatedly, but he never gets old. 

On the first CD, Rabbi Reisman discusses the debate about the permissibility of a Moabite convert. In the times of Rus, there still wasn't the later clarification that a woman from Moab was permitted to enter into Bnei Yisroel; "Lo yavo Amoni u'Moabi" (D'varim 23:4) was considered, by some, to also apply to the women. 

The megillah, it is said, was written by the prophet Shmuel, who was the contemporary of Rus' descendant, Dovid. Dovid's validity as king was questioned based on Rus being a Moabite; Shmuel established halacha, and sealed Dovid's claim, with this sefer. 

Consider, Rabbi Reisman said: Rus is a Moabite woman, and not only a convert, but a convert without established halacha backing her up. To add insult to injury, according to the commentaries, Boaz died the morning after their wedding. 

 

How often does it happen that when something happens—a natural disaster, an untimely passing, a drop in the economy—people profess to know the reason why? The "reasons" I've heard for the horrific earthquakes in Nepal defy belief and Judaism: We are forbidden from claiming to know what Hashem's motivations are. But we do so anyway. 

Let us play a little game of imagination, shall we? 

There is a new lady in town, lovely, really, but she comes from a background which may be forbidden to enter into the Covenant. Then she has the gall to wed the wealthiest and most prominent man in town. Two strikes. 

He dies the next day. 

What would we be saying?

Not only that, how would she be treated for the rest of her days?

Rus abandoned all she knew and devoted herself to Na'ami, following her instructions without question. But that also meant abandoning acceptance and respect for a life sentence of loneliness and recrimination. She was not vindicated until many, many years later. 

None of us are permitted to cloak ourselves in the robe of judge—for only the Eibishter is the Judge. He granted Boaz extra years just so he could fulfill the mitzvah of yibum with Rus, the most noble of women. 

According to Rabbi David Fohrman, "Eshes Chayil" is a song of praise to her. For she remained firm in her resolve to continue her husband's name, to be a servant of God, to be a comfort to her mother-in-law, while being ostracized and blamed.

Lessons: 

1) None can claim to know God's mind. 

2) No one can mistreat any one.  

3) If you are doing what you know, in your heart of hearts and brain of brains, to be right and true, let none gainsay you.      

Tell Me Something I Don't Know

"When you're dating, what should you look for? Middos! Watch how he talks to the waiter, for instance . . ." 

I've heard more than one shiur about what to look for when dating, and what I find rather adorable is the assumption that, apparently, all the ill-mannered men are single. Or that all the ill-mannered women are single. Or that what is really important to every single single is proper comportment. 

One of my frustrations, as a single, is that all singles are considered the same. To the rest of the world, we are all the same sort of person, and we are all looking for the same sort of person. 

I like to think of myself as a specific individual who, yes, is looking for a nice guy, amongst other things. But I was always looking for a nice guy; I don't need a speaker to tell me what to look for. Chances are if "middos" wasn't the first on a person's list, being told by a random lecturer that that should be a factor won't change the listener's dating strategy all that much. 

Do these speakers think nice people are so ubiquitous? I have panic attacks because when I am finally introduced to an actual nice guy (a phenomenon that occurs perhaps once every 18 months) I feel as though I am supposed to marry him, even though there isn't a shred of any other shared similarity. 

So speakers tell me the obvious, repeatedly: Look for a nice guy, refusing to acknowledge that not all single people are identical. Again, if we were, would we be single? We would have paired off with a fellow drone from the mothership eons ago.

Some people are looking for looks. Some people are looking for money. Some people want someone to take care of, some people want someone to take care of them. Some people want cool, some people want nerdy. Some people are looking for a fellow jerk. Hey, it's a big world out there, and I've dated just a fraction of it. If everything is bashert, than there is someone out there for all the Star Wars villains too.   

The Company You Keep

In trying to comprehend my daily davening, I have become fond of the English translation available in my Artscroll. Following brachos, there are is a "Yihee Ratzon," originally recited by Rabbi Yehudah HaNassi, as "prayer for protection in day-to-day dealings with one's fellow men." One of the requests are for distance from an "evil friend."

I once attended a sheva brachos where Rabbi Yaakov Reisman spole. In the first mishna in Rosh Hashana, it lists the four "New Years"; the "New Year" for the trees is listed. 

Now, he asks, what is it about trees that they merit their own celebration? C'mon, it's a tree. 

Via chabad.org

Because the tree New Year is mentioned at the same time as the other New Years, it gets a party on that merit alone. Therefore, he concluded, it is the company you keep.

I thought of this when reading "Friends Can Be Dangerous" by Laurence Steinberg. According to new studies, just the presence of other peers can make teenagers behave recklessly. Not, as was previously believed, the presence of the "bad friend"; just having other fellow teenagers around bring out the worst in teenagers. 

This sort of behavior continues even unto college age students; when alone, they make the responsible choice with long-term benefits. When other college students are there, they have an adolescent's knee-jerk, all-about-now reaction.

Humans outgrow this proclivity with adulthood, thank goodness. But if simply having other people around can bring out the stupid in a teenager, what damage does an actively bad friend do to an adult?

I don't think we always honest about the state of our friendships. In teenage-hood, I made a friendship or two that, well, did not make me feel too good. I somehow managed to casually fade them out; it was almost as if I sensed the . . . corruption, if you will, on a physical level. 

I think we are also often fooled by outside appearances. The "bad friend" is, obviously, someone who looks different, sounds different, dresses different. But the "bad friend" is usually who looks the same, sounds the same, dresses the same. But in the end, his off-handedness about religion and feinkeit leave a mark. 

Be aware. If you come home from hanging out with a pal and feel a burning need to take a shower . . .  

It's Not About Me

"You should go to shiurim more," Ma was telling a friend of hers, who was midway in her weekly diatribe of all her frustrations in life. "Sometimes, you just have to get out of your own head." 

I adore torahanytime.com for just this purpose. There are times when I wallow in self-pity, in the same futile, ruminative loop, immobile in petty contemplations. 

Then I click on a shiur, and whether it be something I agree with or something I don't, it provides that necessary reminder that there is a big world out there, there are many people in it, and they don't all share the same thought process. 

Via ktmmtl.org

Instead of delving on the individual, one is nudged towards the communal whole. Instead of obsessing about how the world should be serving me, I am prompted to focus on how I should be serving the world around me. 

That is what I thought of when I read Akhil Sharma's "The Trick of Life," about how, as an author, he was able to lift himself from the despair of the unfinished novel by looking outside of his mental confines. 

I sat on a bench by the river and rested. I stared across it to the tall apartment buildings in New Jersey. Thinking of how people were living out their lives in those buildings comforted me somehow. I looked at the gray rushing water and its movement, the fact that it was coming from someplace and going someplace else also consoled me. It was then that I realized that I needed somehow to always be outside myself. My mind had become uninhabitable . . .

So, sitting on the bench by the river that day, I remembered having read in Reader’s Digest — a periodical my family has undue reverence for — that when you are feeling bad, one way to make yourself feel better is to pray for others.

I began to pray for the people who were passing by. I prayed for the nanny pushing a stroller. I prayed for the young woman jogging by in spandex. I prayed for the little boy pedaling his bicycle. I prayed that each of them got the same things that I wanted for myself: that they have good health, peace of mind, financial security. By focusing on others and their needs, my own problems seemed less unique and, somehow, less pressing.

The world population is currently over seven billion, which I can't wrap my head around.  If we all remained glued to our own lives, where would we be then? 

The three kidnapped boys, nebach, has drawn us all closer; they are now part of our own families, now our own sons and brothers. But why must we wait until children are abducted for us to feel commonality in our nation? For every joy, for every sadness, we are, always, one.   

Rabbi Ben Ezra

This past motzei Shabbos Rabbi Yisroel Reisman's navi shiur focused on the Ibn Ezra, the biblical commentator who is well-known for his rationalist, p'shat-based perspective. 

Rabbi Avrohom ben Meir Ibn Ezra (1089-1164) did not have an easy life. His wife died young, as did his three daughters. His son converted to Islam, but he eventually returned to Judaism. Because of his controversial viewpoints, the Ibn Ezra was not well liked by many of the rabbinate. 

He was poor to such an extent that he said in a poem, "if I were to sell candles, the sun would never set; if I should deal in shrouds, no one would ever die." He would not accept monetary assistance from his students, stating it was by divine decree that he be in poverty. His students would try elaborate ruses to maneuver some money into his possession, but they would not succeed; circumstances, not even the Ibn Ezra, dictated otherwise.

He spent a restless existence, wandering from Spain to Italy to Israel to France to Britain.

Googling him on Sunday from idle curiosity, Wikipedia informed me that Robert Browning wrote a poem about him, "Rabbi Ben Ezra." It is not really about him, but rather his philosophy. I was struck by the somewhat mussar-dik passages (I didn't insert the entirety of the work since it is quite long):
 
Rejoice we are allied
To That which doth provide
And not partake, effect and not receive!
A spark disturbs our clod;
Nearer we hold of God
Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe.

Then, welcome each rebuff 

That turns earth's smoothness rough,
Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go!
Be our joys three-parts pain!
Strive, and hold cheap the strain;
Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!

For thence,—a paradox
Which comforts while it mocks,—
Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail:
What I aspired to be,
And was not, comforts me:
A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale . . .

Not once beat "Praise be Thine!
I see the whole design,
I, who saw power, see now love perfect too:
Perfect I call Thy plan:
Thanks that I was a man!
Maker, remake, complete,—I trust what Thou shalt do! . . .

Now, who shall arbitrate?
Ten men love what I hate,
Shun what I follow, slight what I receive;
Ten, who in ears and eyes
Match me: we all surmise,
They this thing, and I that: whom shall my soul believe? . . .

But I need, now as then,
Thee, God, who mouldest men;
And since, not even while the whirl was worst,
Did I,—to the wheel of life
With shapes and colours rife,
Bound dizzily,—mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst:

So, take and use Thy work:
Amend what flaws may lurk,
What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim!
My times be in Thy hand!
Perfect the cup as planned!
Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same!

Browning manages to capture the very essence of belief. Ibn Ezra certainly had more detractors in his lifetime than supporters, and while he was no stranger to heartbreak, to hardship, to hostility, he calmly accepted the Will of Above, and remained steadfast in his own conclusions.   

Rabbi Lau. Need I Say More?

Messing around with the On Demand on my cable, I was flipping through the options on the Jewish Network, Shalom TV. I was aiming for Rabbi Mordechai Becher's "Dimension of the Daf" but was waylaid by an interview with Rabbi Lau. 

I spent a breathless hour and twenty minutes quite simply enraptured.

I was quite delighted to find it available on the OU website.

There are some stories told that coulda knocked me down with a feather. Enjoy.  

You Make Me Better

When she first began her shiur, I winced at her initial point. It wasn't terrible, just I didn't agree with it. 

But an hour later, I was floating. 

Has one ever been in the presence of sheer goodness? Someone who radiates an aura of genuineness? Simply hearing her speak made me defy gravity. 

She wasn't a well-known name, nor a rebbetzin, nor a personality; she was a mother in her 30s, who is truly spiritual and seeking a close relationship with Hashem. She wan't posing, or purring, or stroking her own ego; she had nothing to prove. She simply is. 

She cried when telling over Aharon HaKohen's death, that he lived to see his own son take over from him, while Moshe did not. She spoke of yearning for her children to grow up to be spiritually successful. She gave suggestions how when one is having a busy day, one should pray, in one's own words, on the format of Shmoneh Esrei, praise, request, and thanks, a practical suggestion for a busy mother. 

I left that shiur infused with light; swollen with a desire to be better.

Not because someone told over a miforash that blew my mind, or shamed me into scorning my mediocre self. Because she herself strove with the noblest, purest, and selfless of motivations.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Rabbi Reisman's in the house! 

Not my house, no. The house of prayer nearby. 

I believe in the NY-area the shiur will be starting at 9 p.m. on the Motzei Shabbos of October 13th, 2012.  Do not quote me, since I am not sure; kindly double check.

Check out this list here for locations.

Happy Rosh Chodesh

Check out this video by Charlie Harary about recalibrating our viewpoint of Elul.

The One, The Only . . .

He's baaaaaaaaack.

I have been eagerly awaiting the resumption of Rabbi Yisroel Reisman's Navi shiur, and according to a schedule I uncovered, it will begin October 22 at 9 pm (eastern standard time). 

Here is a list of locations that link up to TCN, or Torah Conferencing Network.

I cannot recommend him highly enough if one wants to be inspired. He also gives mussar better than anyone else I know (he has an adept hand at Jewish guilt, and he says the "fire and brimstone" method was no longer viable after churban bayis rishon). 

For those who are unable to attend, his book Pathways of the Prophets, which is composed of his Navi shiurim over the years, is a great read. I've probably bought five of them in all, as I kept giving them as gifts.