Let There Be Light

There’s me, my shadow, and my fatigue. As the day wears on and the sun drops, I look around to find myself followed by a stretching shadow that eerily resembles my feeling of exhaustion .I’m tired. 

But let me start from the beginning. I wake up five hours after midnight, because that’s when my kids do. Yes, they have this conspiracy- thing where they each arise before dawn, regardless of whether they are  in the same room or not. They’re rooster-types.

“Mommy, it’s dark outside!” My two year old points outside excitedly.

“Yes, dear. So why don’t you consider sleeping for another while?” I wonder.

And then for the next hour I hear the refrain “it’s dark outside. Dark outside. “ just about a hundred times. He’s standing on his stool, still in his pj’s, with his nose pressed against the glass. Got it. It’s dark outside.

I never know what time to expect it. At some point, he tugs my skirt and jumps up and down. “Mommy, its light outside!! “ As if by magic, one second it’s night and the next it is morning. “No more dark outside. Light outside. “

He probably wonders who turns on the switch. I lift him up so he can see better. “Naftoli, do you see the yellow ball? It is called the sun. When the sun comes, there is light. (it wouldn’t hurt if you waited for the sun to come before you woke up!)

“Sun. Light. Outside. Light outside. “

He enters a new word into his toddler lexicon and a new expectation into his daily schedule. Now he knows that when he wakes up it is dark, but then it will get light. The sun will come out.

Thus begins my 18 -hour workday.

I have to admit that I am grateful. Of course, I wouldn’t mind a few more hours of shut-eye. But I have come to attach meaning to the interplay between dark and light, night and day.

For starters, it happens daily. But it is not on autopilot. And that is the amazing part.

In one of the blessings recited daily before the Shema, we say” hamechadesh betuvo bichol yom tamid maseh bireishis”, “who in His goodness renews each day, continuously, the work of creation”.

Granted, God is the one who turns on the switch each morning. But in reality, he is actually recreating the switch from scratch each day as well.

That is the meaning that God renews the “work of creation” every single day. The story of creation did not only occur 5773 years ago! It occurs daily, and actually every moment that the world is in existence it is being recreated Ex-Nehilo. We humans can’t fathom such a concept.

In the Torah portion of Bereishis, we read a story of God creating dark and light by uttering the words “Let there be Light.” In this prayer, we learn that this is a perpetual story with an everlasting script. Just as a ball only remains in the air as long as there is mechanical energy propelling it, we and the world around us only exist as long as there is Godly energy boosting us! This applies to every aspect of our daily lives but is symbolized by the natural cycle of the day being renewed each morning.

So as the sun sets, I am tired, because I’ve watched it rise. I’ve watched the day being recreated from anew, just as it was created thousands of years ago.

Didn’t I say I would start from the beginning?!

Double Take

I was a girl from Brooklyn, so I heard about crime, but what did I know about police line-ups? At fourteen years old, I entered the local precinct to find out. Not by choice, of course, but because I was the ideal witness to identify two suspected muggers. I was one of their victims.

An officer briefed me on the procedure, describing how I would see the suspect, along with several fillers that resembled the suspect in height, build, and complexion. Standing behind a one-way mirror, I was to study them all and identify the assaulter. I had a microphone for the option of calling one of them by number and requesting that they turn to profile for better view. I would then sign a document that would be admissible in court. How daunting.

Noting my apprehension, a nearby officer whispered some words of advice.

“Give yourself time to positively identify the suspect. If your attacker was wearing a cap and an oversized t-shirt at the time of the crime, you are likely to assume that the first person you see wearing a cap and an oversized t-shirt is him. You can say ‘number two looks familiar, but leave yourself an opening to say, ‘in reality, I am sure it is number four.’”

With that, I was led to a narrow hallway to look through the one -way -mirror and begin. I needed a stool to see properly and I couldn’t comprehend how they managed to find characters willing to participate in this law enforcement method.

 My eyes landed on the second subject, and I immediately thought he was the one. I even thought I could detect guilt and fear in his eyes. However, I refrained from giving a verdict and I said with a tremor in my voice, “number two looks familiar.”

I paused and looked again. Like a camera coming into focus, I started seeing features and details that I hadn’t noticed previously. I narrowed it down to two people, and I asked Number Four to turn his head to the right and then to the left. I became certain it was him.

I was confident that my initial response was wrong. This time there was confidence in my declaration, “Number four was the perpetrator of the crime.”

**

I wonder how my life would look if I applied this advice to all of my affairs. Imagine I paused for one second after an initial response, to double-check that my decision wasn’t based on associations or previous history. To give myself an opening to choose better.

Say I was facing a task I always avoided. My initial response to such a task would be escape. “Good night world! I’m going to sleep!” or “I can’t handle this!” I have the liberty to question my initial response. Pause. I am definitely capable of breaking down this chore and accomplishing it in part.

I could be a person that gets triggered by certain people. I can’t stand it when “x” interrupts me, “y” forgets about me, or “z” comes late again. My initial response may be to fall back on old patterns of yelling, resentment, or going off on a tirade against them. I may even voice my initial response. But that shouldn’t force me to stubbornly cling to it. Pause. I have the option of backing out.

I may have a habit of sending impulsive emails or shopping compulsively. How convenient that I have an opportunity to save a draft or hold a cart until I can think things through clearly. Pause. In a literal sense.

Can you see this assisting you in the sometimes challenging commandment of judging your fellow favorably? Or in agreeing to do a difficult favor?  Sure, your initial response may be one of anger or disgust. Or of absolute refusal. But allow yourself the window to get some clarity and change your mind.

Your initial response may be your gut instinct and a correct one at that. Or not. Think before you give the final verdict.

Homecoming

The elevator reached the fourth floor. The doors slid open, but I was tempted to hit "lobby" and push this off for a week. I was returning home from vacation.
It's a good thing suitcases have wheels, because the one right behind me leaned against me and prodded me out the door. I stepped out quickly onto the black and white tiles of my hallway and looked for a light-switch to brighten it up. Oh. The light was on; I guess fluorescent watts just don't compete with the sun's. I glanced out the window at the street down below and imagined that the graffiti inscription on the corner grocery read " welcome back from vacation."
Bracing myself to enter my urban dwelling, I turned the key in the lock. I slowly pushed the carriage into my living room,followed by my husband and a month's load of stuff. There was barely any floor to be seen, and I knew that even when I unpacked the suitcases my son would be able to run about six feet and then have to turn back the other direction. How different this was from vacation.

It wasn't that I wanted to radiate negative energy, I simply felt claustrophobic and and couldn't help noticing the dust balls dancing in all the corners.I knew that the closest I could get to seeing a clear blue sky with a serene landscape would be if i purchased wallpaper.  I felt the walls caving in on me, leaving only a narrow tunnel for me to crawl through, face down.
That's when I noticed it. A kind mailman had slipped a big envelope under my door, saving me the usual trip to the post office for larger sized packages. A bright red sticker read " do not bend, portraits inside." God Bless Sears!! I tore open the perforated line and the pictures landed gracefully on my glass table. Within 30 seconds I had them lying side by side, a collage of memories from my recent vacation.

With crisp white pants and sky-blue argyle shirts, my kids blended right into the scenery. The essence of vacation had been captured in an 8x10, two 5x7's, and a sheet of wallets. I played with the different sizes and poses, rearranging them on a bare wall in the kids' bedroom, and designed their frames in my mind. When the prints were at the right angle and the symmetry  was just so, I actually managed a smile. It was good to be home, in my comfort zone, with with real wooden cribs instead of playpens for the little ones.Home was where I spent the majority of my life, for both function and purpose. And soon to be hanging on my wall, in my own home, I had a glimpse of vacation as well. Enough to uplift me at a glance.

The $5.99 for overnight shipping was worth it.

Open Invitation

Hello Everyone! This is an open invitation to you all to share comments on the posts. Did you ever feel the same way? Do you agree/disagree? Do you have a burning desire to say something? Say it! :)

The Jelly Squirter

I’m still smiling to myself. My son just fell asleep, his blankie scrunched under his arm, with one toe sticking out between two slats in his crib. It wasn't a long conversation; he was so tired it lasted about 45 seconds.

 It went something like this: "Naftoli, do you remember we fed the geese this morning at 6:37 am?"
His ears perked up"yeah!"

 "Did you have a good time on the swings today?
His eyes lit up "yeah!"

"Naftoli, did you like going to Catskill playzone to play with all the ballies?"
His body shot up "yeah!!"

And then he fell asleep, sliding into his sheets as if it was home base.

I’m still smiling, but ask me what I did today. I’ll tell you what I told my fellow Mom at the pool today, when she asked me what I’m doing this summer. “Nothing.”

Interesting. When I review my day with Naftoli, it’s jam-packed. When I review my day with myself, it leaves me questioning my very identity as a person. What did I do today? I didn’t clock in any hours at work or orchestrate any major events. There was nothing substantial enough for me to count as having done something, or something tangible to show the world. My day kind of feels like a bland ball of dough, an assortment of ingredients mixed together yielding a tasteless mixture.

 It’s time to squirt in some jelly.  I’m looking for a sweet filling at the center of my life, and I must be the one to inject it. The jelly ought to be rich and syrupy, enhancing the dough to the very last bit. I stand ready, with the nozzle of the squirt bottle aimed perfectly at the glob of dough.

I am injecting meaning into my day.

I am choosing to delight in my memories of each moment spent with my children, and I choose to relish the aftertaste of such a kid-filled day. I am actively conscious that every mundane act is saturated with love and significance, enabling my children to grow up to be healthy human beings. I bear in mind the sweet truth that tending to physical needs of another is a spiritual experience for me.

Come to think of it, I have been squirting jelly all day long. I woke up in the morning with a prayer of gratitude on my lips, there goes jelly. I utilized an opportunity to learn something holy, I’ve gotten another injection. I was considerate of someone other than myself, and the sticky sweetness starts to permeate everywhere.

My day is transformed. It tastes so very delightful, and I’m quite particular.

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A Response to Jewish-Mothers-Guilt

Today I was going to be a good mother. I was gonna follow all the rules in the grandmother book, where grandmothers instruct their daughters how to raise their child because they're 65 and look what a nice family they raised.

The first rule is : serve warm meals. Easy. For breakfast I made my kid scrambled eggs, accompanied by a warm-but-not-too-hot cup of hot cocoa.

Then came lunch. Here was the chance to make up for all the hastily packed lunches of ricecakes and american cheese(more plastic than cheese) that I sent with my son to Morah Miriam every day. Up and coming was the world's tastiest spaghetti and cheese.

My son was in on the game. He watched with anticipation as I boiled a pot of water,measuring a tablespoon of salt. He saw the spaghetti cascade gracefully from the box into the pot. He gleefully shouted "bubbles!bubbles!" at the spaghetti simmering on the stove.

With one eye on the clock so I could remove the pot in exactly 9 minutes for al dente pasta, I prepared a delightful mix of cheddar and mozarella cheese, with a dash of pepper and a spice which I promised my sister-in-law that I wouldn't tell anyone about. I endorsed myself with positive affirmations. " I am such a good mother. I am taking the time to invest my love in physical nourishment. "

Naftoli was getting impatient. His toddler-sized stomach hadn't been catered to for four hours already, but I dare not fill it with tomatoes or something that could ruin his appetite for the chef-style,and most imortantly warm serving of,spaghetti and cheese.

It was finally ready. I prided myself on getting the consistency right, on preparing the ultimate in kid-food to perfection. I placed a blue bowl of just the right amount of spaghetti in front of Naftoli, and waited for him to eat really quickly and ask for more. He just sat there.

Maybe he wants ketchup? That's alright. I could always squirt just enough to give it a shine but not so much that it would cover up the delicate taste. Maybe its too hot? My very motherhood was at stake here (see page 1 of said grandmother book), and for that I was willing to blow fiercely on the food to cool it down.

He looked up and said simply "Mommy,want ricecakes and (american!!!) Cheese..."

Love laughs Last

The red light on my phone flashed again. It was just a few hours after shabbos and I already got 13 emails and 22 text messages wishing me Mazel tov. Everyone was soooo happy for me and they would love to talk to me when I have a minute, no pressure.

My baby was 6 hours old. He was a blond that looked gingy in the light, weighed a lot less than expected, and was serious about his job as a newborn and life in general. That means he cried a lot.

And so did I. It was a difficult birth. I had a C-section averted last minute and an epdiural that wore off, not to mention  swelling and complications. Nursing got off to a bad start, with cuts and bruises to bear witness.

The unwanted thought kept repeating itself, at first timidly but gaining more confidence. "Everyone is so happy. I have a beautiful,healthy baby boy, thank God. I'm also happy. But I am in pain! Every part of my body is screaming for attention with an itch,ache,or deficit of some sort ( think sleep). "

Before I knew it, the mantra got shortened to "Everyone is happy, and I am in pain. Everyone is happy, and I am in pain."

And to my horror, it somehow got twisted to " What's there to be happy about? I AM IN PAIN!!!"

I knew I had to reach out. Through the fog I managed to send an email, propelled by my inner disequilibrium.

I received a short reply. "Don't worry. The pain goes away and the baby stays. "

I reread it like ten times. There's something about black on white, even on a little screen at 3 in the morning, that can penetrate a distorted perspective. That can give hope and soothe when times are rough. I went to sleep for the night.

I starred the email the next morning, but I didn't look at it for five months. I didn't need to. My brain waves were rewired, and I found myself able to self-soothe."This too shall pass. It's worth it"

My pain tolerance isn't high, but it sure has short-term memory. How else can I look at my birth and swell with gratitude at having a natural birth? How else can I recommend,and even encourage, a fellow mother to nurse her little one?How can I pray once again for another healthy child?

There's something more powerful than pain. Its love. Only love doesn't diminish with time, but grows layer after layer, adding many rings to a solid,proud tree. The pain has evaporated, and my baby's here beside me, as real as love itself.

Can you accept when there's no more lollies?

Someone introduced my son to lollies. My toddler has now entered sweet-tooth territory, never to return to the land of grapes-are-a-treat.What does this mean for me? More tantrums, for starters. Only now they've upgraded from code orange to code red.

At 6 am I enter his room, sweeping him up into my arms, expecting my usual good morning kiss. Instead he leans against me endearingly, and whispers ever so quietly " want lolly"

"Naftoli its morning. Time for breakfast. Mommy has no lollies."

He doesn't skip a beat. " safta ah lolly" he waddles over to the cordless phone and hands it to me, essentially demanding that I call safta for ah-lolly.

I try a different tactic. " naftoli, mommys gonna make you yummy yummy eggies !"Phew, I've bargained for five more minutes. He sits in his highchair and enthusiastically consumes yummy-yummy eggies. That was easy.

And then he starts again. " mommy want looooooooooolly! Lolly! Lolllllly!" His pitch is increasing in crescendo ( whatever that means) and his desparation is pitiful.

He slams down onto the floor, maybe the floor can grow some lollies? He refuses to be pragmatic, and stubbornly repeats the chorus " la-lee. La-leeeee"

Is he worried he will never get a lolly? Does he feel he literally can't breathe without one? How does it happen that if he doesn't get what he wants all the alarms go ringing simultaneously, causing chaos and stress levels to climb with his decibel level?!

I never act like naftoli. I act like an adult. I see how silly it is to tantrum over something trivial, and how silly it is not to accept the reality of no lollies. I always take it in stride when things don't go my way, and when my carefully laid plans go astray. In fact, I am so level headed that when I am disappointed, I say " god, you know what is best for me and you see the big picture. You know that for whatever reason, I don't need x,y,or z right now" I never cast blame, or expect those around me to produce what they cannot.

Or do I ??????

That's what they mean when they talk about parenting the child within....

Op-ed

I was sitting at the pool with my two little ones, excited to finally dress them in their almost-matching Old-Navy bathing suits( why don't the infant and toddler collections ever match?). My toddler was going to go down the two steps into the baby pool, and splash around with shrieks and giggles. My baby was going to smile picture-perfect and get a beautiful suntan. And i was going to put a check on my checklist that i was finally on vacation. 

I turned around to give one smile at the world before the first big splash, when another mother caught my eye. She seemed to be returning my smile, but wait, why was she standing up and coming over to me.. leaning against the gate in a most condescending manner?

"Sarah, it is VERY hot outside. I still cant forget how i burned my baby's head last summer, and shes not as fair-skinned as your kiddos. It would be appropriate to put a hat on them in this weather. " And just in case i skipped kindergarten, she picked up a hat to demonstrate. 


I know my customers. " Thank you so much !" I gushed in my most " what would i have done without you ?" voice. " Kids stay put and dont move one inch, i am running to get you my five-years-old-and covered-in-dust black bathing caps!!!" well, not exactly. But i did return to my bungalow and get two head coverings because, hey, that is what isappropriate.And my whole body felt the laser beams of all the other mothers approving looks at my receding back...

This got me thinking. Its so interesting what is considered socially acceptable. Try to change the details of the scene. Or reverse it. Imagine i was going over to her and saying , very sweetly, " I know it is hot, still, it is appropriate to wear socks or cover your hair at the pool"  I would be ostracized! I mean," it is absolutely none of your business what someone else is wearing and it because of people like you that the system is failing !!!" And of course "dont judge!!!" 

No one would accuse me of sincerity.No one would accuse me of caring. And whether i have a valid point or not isnt even the issue, its that "how dare i meddle into someone else's life?"

The question is why? Why do our oversensitive antennae shoot up at the mention of something spiritual?

To use an analogy. If someone had ten loaves of bread and he happened to chance by a group of starving children, would he hesitate before offering it? Would YOU hesitate? Not at all. Because the piece of bread is REAL to us ! Physical nourishment is touchable. 

That's how i understand the people that offer travelers to put on Tefilin in an airport. They're not doing something strange. They're not even breaking themselves to do it. The secret is that to such individuals, spiritual nourishment is as REAL as physical. Therefor how can you NOT offer it ??

I think its time we realize that physical protection from the suns rays is essential, as a reflection and partnership with our spiritual health.