I am a Star, a Super Star! (Parshas Lech Lecha)
This week, my three year old daughter made a beautiful craft involving a star, stickers, and lanyard; four of her favourite arts and crafts items. She made a necklace that is in the shape of a star and decorated it with bright glittery stickers that are in stars of varying shapes and colours. She then glued on a photo of her, yes you guessed it, gazing up at the stars. While the craft was cute and she really enjoyed meticulously decorating her necklace and placing the stickers in just the right spots, there was a deeper message in the project.
Ironically, while my daughter ended up covering up most of the words on the necklace with her star stickers, I had hoped that the message we discussed while making the project would be long lasting. The words on the necklace read "In Parshas Lech Lecha, we learn that Avraham would have as many children as the stars in the sky... I am one of those precious stars."
While we were learning the parsha this week, there were many themes that came up and provided me with the opportunity to discuss several lifelong lessons. We made a suitcase and took meticulous care in stocking it up with personalized items for Avaraham and Sara to bring on their journey to Caanan. We sang songs about travelling by camel. We read books and played games involving the many ways to travel; by foot, bus, bicycle, trolley, scooter, car, airplane, boat, helicopter, and of course tractor (that was my daughter's choice). Yet, the lesson that I kept coming back to was the message from the verse that Hashem told Avraham when showing him the land he would inherit. "Please look heavenward and count the stars, if you are able to count them... So will be your seed" (Beraishis 15:5).
As many know, I tremendously enjoy reading, and not just any reading, but reading with a purpose. Our bookshelves are filled with a variety of books on Torah perspectives on marriage, parenting, self-development, and growth. The insightful Rabbi Dr. Avraham Twerski, a leading expert in counselling, guidance, and psychology is one of my favourite authors. Although he has written a variety of books on a variety of topics, they all hold a central theme, the role, importance, and value of self-esteem. He expounds on the idea of self-esteem to say that many of our struggles and challenges are connected to our deeply ingrained self-concept and perceptions of who we are and what we are here for. I certainly appreciate the importance of this.
But it wasn't until reading a personal essay of his, titled "My Own Struggle with Low Self-Esteem," that the message really hit home. He writes, 'People often ask me, "Is it true that you've written over 50 books? How did you find time, with your busy schedule, to write so many books?" I tell them that I did not really write fifty books. I wrote one book, in fifty different ways. Almost everything I write relates in one way or another to the theme of self-esteem.' I pondered this concept further and reflected, if the Torah and psychology giant, Rabbi Twerski, could have doubts about himself, maybe I should stop running away from my own personal doubts.
I wrote an email this morning to a friend of mine who recently had a baby boy to plan some times when I could come over and watch her three older boys so she could get some rest. We were also chit chatting back and forth by email, so I mentioned that I had attended a bris last night across the border and had come home late. Despite going to sleep 3 hours later than usual, in his typical early bird fashion my one year old son got up at 6am, while it was already 8am and my daughter was sleeping in (I miss the days when waking at 7:30 or 8am wasn't considered sleeping in).
My friend, ever the thoughtful one, wrote back to me that it sounded like I had my hands full, so no need to come over today like I offered. However, I'm not one to back down so easily, so I wrote back, "It seems I always have my hands full, I don't know, maybe I'm a frazzled mom, not the type that has her makeup on just right or never appears to be hurried or harried, lol. I really don't mind. Between last night and this morning, I'm done almost all of my Shabbos prep. So if you'd like a break, just give me a call, and I would be happy to take your kids to the park." And then I went on to ramble about the pros and cons of children sleeping in and therefore not being tired to go to bed on time later in the evening versus waking a child at their regular time and them being sleepy and grumpy the whole day but going to bed a little early that evening. I'm still not sure which is better or if they are equally as bad.
As I pressed send, I noticed that there may have been confusion in my email. So ever the perfectionist, I had to clarify, 'Correction, the "I really don't mind" part applies to coming over, not being frazzled. That I wouldn't mind changing. Although those who don't know me well are always telling me "wow you are the most cool, calm, collected mom I've ever met" - ha what a load of baloney!' I closed my laptop screen and went back to the 17 hour a day task of cleaning up and tidying our home.
As I was putting away rogue objects and getting our home ready for Shabbos, I noticed Bayla's star project hanging on her door knob. She saw me admiring her work of art and promptly walked over and put in around her neck. She then proudly exclaimed "I am a star!" I smiled and nodded, "Yes you are sweetheart." But it was her words to come that brought tears to my eyes. "You are too, Mama, you are a star." Words cannot express the emotions that overtook me at that moment. Maybe I am the cool, calm, and collected mother I'd like to be. And maybe I can look put together without wearing lots of makeup. Maybe it's everyone who's correct and it's me who has foggy vision. After all, strength in numbers.
I am a perfectionist. There is no one who I hold to a higher level than myself. The expectations I set are sometimes so high that I become overwhelmed by my goals, ideas, ambitions, and aspirations. I am hard on myself, really hard. I once (okay, a few times) got hives because I was so stressed from all the projects I took on. I wear my heart on my sleeve; I love my family and close friends more than words can say. I live and learn. I take risks and learn from my mistakes.
I believe this is a common theme. It's not just me, it's many women (in fact, dare I say, all women). We were created by Hashem to be superwomen. Like Chava in the Garden of Eden, we are natural born leaders. As women, we are trail blazers. We can be holding a baby with one arm, a load of laundry in the other, mentally keeping track of when the soup comes to a boil, our reading glasses perched on our foreheads, while delegating tasks to others with the ease and command of a national football coach. We have so many roles and responsibilities, that were a Martian to look down at us from a flying saucer, he would think to himself "wow what an amazing species."
I began to contemplate my unique individual makeup, and the many roles in my life; wife, mother, daughter, daughter-in-law, sister, aunt, friend. I also have the aspects of my identity that are associated with my passion to help others; social worker, counselor, researcher, writer, editor, volunteer, financial strategist and planner, resume builder, job and interview consultant. I then have other parts of me for all the areas of life that I enjoy (albeit I wish I could spend more time on them) such as nature lover, photographer, life learner, volunteer, artist, handywoman and DIY project starter (unfortunately not always finisher), graphic designer, children's storybook writer (a girl can dream, right?).
I may not be perfect but parts of me are pretty awesome. I work hard and play hard. I have my quirks. I have short comings. I have areas that I know need work. But I am not afraid of a challenge. The challenge of reaching my potential. Living up to who Hashem knows I can become. Hashem promised Avraham that he would have as many children as the stars in the sky. And I am one of those stars.
I have my dear three year old daughter to thank for teaching me this very important lesson in her own humble sweet way. And I have Hashem to thank for giving me the know-how to recognize that I am a star and have the strength to continue shining as bright as I can.
Ironically, while my daughter ended up covering up most of the words on the necklace with her star stickers, I had hoped that the message we discussed while making the project would be long lasting. The words on the necklace read "In Parshas Lech Lecha, we learn that Avraham would have as many children as the stars in the sky... I am one of those precious stars."
While we were learning the parsha this week, there were many themes that came up and provided me with the opportunity to discuss several lifelong lessons. We made a suitcase and took meticulous care in stocking it up with personalized items for Avaraham and Sara to bring on their journey to Caanan. We sang songs about travelling by camel. We read books and played games involving the many ways to travel; by foot, bus, bicycle, trolley, scooter, car, airplane, boat, helicopter, and of course tractor (that was my daughter's choice). Yet, the lesson that I kept coming back to was the message from the verse that Hashem told Avraham when showing him the land he would inherit. "Please look heavenward and count the stars, if you are able to count them... So will be your seed" (Beraishis 15:5).
As many know, I tremendously enjoy reading, and not just any reading, but reading with a purpose. Our bookshelves are filled with a variety of books on Torah perspectives on marriage, parenting, self-development, and growth. The insightful Rabbi Dr. Avraham Twerski, a leading expert in counselling, guidance, and psychology is one of my favourite authors. Although he has written a variety of books on a variety of topics, they all hold a central theme, the role, importance, and value of self-esteem. He expounds on the idea of self-esteem to say that many of our struggles and challenges are connected to our deeply ingrained self-concept and perceptions of who we are and what we are here for. I certainly appreciate the importance of this.
But it wasn't until reading a personal essay of his, titled "My Own Struggle with Low Self-Esteem," that the message really hit home. He writes, 'People often ask me, "Is it true that you've written over 50 books? How did you find time, with your busy schedule, to write so many books?" I tell them that I did not really write fifty books. I wrote one book, in fifty different ways. Almost everything I write relates in one way or another to the theme of self-esteem.' I pondered this concept further and reflected, if the Torah and psychology giant, Rabbi Twerski, could have doubts about himself, maybe I should stop running away from my own personal doubts.
I wrote an email this morning to a friend of mine who recently had a baby boy to plan some times when I could come over and watch her three older boys so she could get some rest. We were also chit chatting back and forth by email, so I mentioned that I had attended a bris last night across the border and had come home late. Despite going to sleep 3 hours later than usual, in his typical early bird fashion my one year old son got up at 6am, while it was already 8am and my daughter was sleeping in (I miss the days when waking at 7:30 or 8am wasn't considered sleeping in).
My friend, ever the thoughtful one, wrote back to me that it sounded like I had my hands full, so no need to come over today like I offered. However, I'm not one to back down so easily, so I wrote back, "It seems I always have my hands full, I don't know, maybe I'm a frazzled mom, not the type that has her makeup on just right or never appears to be hurried or harried, lol. I really don't mind. Between last night and this morning, I'm done almost all of my Shabbos prep. So if you'd like a break, just give me a call, and I would be happy to take your kids to the park." And then I went on to ramble about the pros and cons of children sleeping in and therefore not being tired to go to bed on time later in the evening versus waking a child at their regular time and them being sleepy and grumpy the whole day but going to bed a little early that evening. I'm still not sure which is better or if they are equally as bad.
As I pressed send, I noticed that there may have been confusion in my email. So ever the perfectionist, I had to clarify, 'Correction, the "I really don't mind" part applies to coming over, not being frazzled. That I wouldn't mind changing. Although those who don't know me well are always telling me "wow you are the most cool, calm, collected mom I've ever met" - ha what a load of baloney!' I closed my laptop screen and went back to the 17 hour a day task of cleaning up and tidying our home.
As I was putting away rogue objects and getting our home ready for Shabbos, I noticed Bayla's star project hanging on her door knob. She saw me admiring her work of art and promptly walked over and put in around her neck. She then proudly exclaimed "I am a star!" I smiled and nodded, "Yes you are sweetheart." But it was her words to come that brought tears to my eyes. "You are too, Mama, you are a star." Words cannot express the emotions that overtook me at that moment. Maybe I am the cool, calm, and collected mother I'd like to be. And maybe I can look put together without wearing lots of makeup. Maybe it's everyone who's correct and it's me who has foggy vision. After all, strength in numbers.
I am a perfectionist. There is no one who I hold to a higher level than myself. The expectations I set are sometimes so high that I become overwhelmed by my goals, ideas, ambitions, and aspirations. I am hard on myself, really hard. I once (okay, a few times) got hives because I was so stressed from all the projects I took on. I wear my heart on my sleeve; I love my family and close friends more than words can say. I live and learn. I take risks and learn from my mistakes.
I believe this is a common theme. It's not just me, it's many women (in fact, dare I say, all women). We were created by Hashem to be superwomen. Like Chava in the Garden of Eden, we are natural born leaders. As women, we are trail blazers. We can be holding a baby with one arm, a load of laundry in the other, mentally keeping track of when the soup comes to a boil, our reading glasses perched on our foreheads, while delegating tasks to others with the ease and command of a national football coach. We have so many roles and responsibilities, that were a Martian to look down at us from a flying saucer, he would think to himself "wow what an amazing species."
I began to contemplate my unique individual makeup, and the many roles in my life; wife, mother, daughter, daughter-in-law, sister, aunt, friend. I also have the aspects of my identity that are associated with my passion to help others; social worker, counselor, researcher, writer, editor, volunteer, financial strategist and planner, resume builder, job and interview consultant. I then have other parts of me for all the areas of life that I enjoy (albeit I wish I could spend more time on them) such as nature lover, photographer, life learner, volunteer, artist, handywoman and DIY project starter (unfortunately not always finisher), graphic designer, children's storybook writer (a girl can dream, right?).
I may not be perfect but parts of me are pretty awesome. I work hard and play hard. I have my quirks. I have short comings. I have areas that I know need work. But I am not afraid of a challenge. The challenge of reaching my potential. Living up to who Hashem knows I can become. Hashem promised Avraham that he would have as many children as the stars in the sky. And I am one of those stars.
I have my dear three year old daughter to thank for teaching me this very important lesson in her own humble sweet way. And I have Hashem to thank for giving me the know-how to recognize that I am a star and have the strength to continue shining as bright as I can.
Will the Real Ettie Shurack Please Stand Up (Rosh Hashanah)
A couple days ago, I was making dinner with my three-year-old sous-chef by my side, as we do every late afternoon (although I’m beginning to wonder if it is really me who is the sous-chef, as my daughter is a brilliant cook). We were preparing the salad while chatting about the usual stuff we chat about: sand castles, rainbows, parsha colouring sheets, stickers, webcam with Bubby, dancing with Baba, and the dog we saw on our walk today with the unusual purple vest.
Bayla was separating the lettuce leaves and organizing them in nice neat rows in preparation to be washed and checked, while I was chopping the cucumber, peppers, and tomatoes. I giggled at Bayla’s comment about how she was certain that this lettuce head would be crunchy and I accidentally cut my finger. It took me a moment to process what just happened and then I promptly grabbed a towel to stop the bleeding and continued chopping. Bayla stopped me immediately, asked me to sit down and show her my boo boo . She then told me to cover it and with the towel, and proceeded to smother me with hugs and kisses. She said I should stay put and that she would get the Band-Aids, only to come back a moment later frustrated that she couldn’t reach them. She asked that I get them but that she would select the size, open the wrapper, and put the Band-Aid on. She advised me to be careful with the sharp knife as we finished preparing dinner.
About 30 minutes later, my father came over for a quick visit, and Bayla recounted the story to him. Beaming with pride at his caring and knowledgeable granddaughter, my father nonchalantly commented, “Oh, maybe you’ll be a doctor when you grow up,” to which Bayla shook her head back and forth firmly. Curiously, I asked her what it was she wanted to be, to which she replied very matter of factly, “I am going to be Bayla.”
That incident has been replaying in my mind for the past few days, several times a day. Not because my finger still stings every time I bend it at the knuckle (although it does), and not because I am I amazed at my youngling who is proficient in first aid (although I am), but rather because there is a strong and powerful lesson I have taken to heart by these 6 simple words uttered by my three year old. Regardless of the profession she decides on, where her travels bring her, and what life throws her way, she has resolved that her mission will be to live up to her potential and be true to herself and her calling (okay, maybe not exactly in those words).I find it so easy to get caught up in my roles (both official, and self-appointed): woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, social worker, volunteer, student, perfectionist, type A personality, life learner, nature enthusiast, and artist; and I strive to do each one as best as I can. Yet it is precisely when I box myself into one of those roles at the exclusion of the others that I find myself not living up to my potential.
For example, when I fuse my role as mother and artist, I am able to increase my capabilities as a life learner while doing a Rosh Hashanah craft with my daughter, which we will then give as a gift to my mother, while teaching her the parable of Hashem being in the field during Elul, followed by a nature walk, and then I can pass on the success of the craft to a friend, who will then try it with the Hebrew school class where she volunteers. It is precisely then when I am living up to my potential, when I am being the best Ettie that I can be. However, when I focus on the roles or aspects of my being that I am temporarily ‘unable’ to fulfill, such as committing a full day to a painting I have been envisioning, or a sewing project I have wanted to complete for the longest time, I am limiting myself in other areas where I am investing time.
When faced with numerous tedious, albeit necessary, daily tasks such as laundry, dishes, sweeping, dusting, organizing, vacuuming, and wiping the counters for the tenth time in the span of an hour, it isn’t tough to get lost in the shuffle and forget the bigger picture. But, when I remind myself that Rosh Hashanah is approaching, a time when we crown Hashem as King, a King who loves His people, with their many unique roles, personalities, positions, capabilities, and strengths, it is then that I can focus my inner lens for a panoramic shot (did I mention I am an aspiring photographer). Because life isn’t about being a doctor, or any other specific role; it is about being you, and loving every minute of it.
So thank you Bayla; for reminding me that I am not just your mother (although I feel blessed every minute of it), but that I am Ettie Shurack and whatever the year 5774 brings my way, I am ready.
Bayla was separating the lettuce leaves and organizing them in nice neat rows in preparation to be washed and checked, while I was chopping the cucumber, peppers, and tomatoes. I giggled at Bayla’s comment about how she was certain that this lettuce head would be crunchy and I accidentally cut my finger. It took me a moment to process what just happened and then I promptly grabbed a towel to stop the bleeding and continued chopping. Bayla stopped me immediately, asked me to sit down and show her my boo boo . She then told me to cover it and with the towel, and proceeded to smother me with hugs and kisses. She said I should stay put and that she would get the Band-Aids, only to come back a moment later frustrated that she couldn’t reach them. She asked that I get them but that she would select the size, open the wrapper, and put the Band-Aid on. She advised me to be careful with the sharp knife as we finished preparing dinner.
About 30 minutes later, my father came over for a quick visit, and Bayla recounted the story to him. Beaming with pride at his caring and knowledgeable granddaughter, my father nonchalantly commented, “Oh, maybe you’ll be a doctor when you grow up,” to which Bayla shook her head back and forth firmly. Curiously, I asked her what it was she wanted to be, to which she replied very matter of factly, “I am going to be Bayla.”
That incident has been replaying in my mind for the past few days, several times a day. Not because my finger still stings every time I bend it at the knuckle (although it does), and not because I am I amazed at my youngling who is proficient in first aid (although I am), but rather because there is a strong and powerful lesson I have taken to heart by these 6 simple words uttered by my three year old. Regardless of the profession she decides on, where her travels bring her, and what life throws her way, she has resolved that her mission will be to live up to her potential and be true to herself and her calling (okay, maybe not exactly in those words).I find it so easy to get caught up in my roles (both official, and self-appointed): woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, social worker, volunteer, student, perfectionist, type A personality, life learner, nature enthusiast, and artist; and I strive to do each one as best as I can. Yet it is precisely when I box myself into one of those roles at the exclusion of the others that I find myself not living up to my potential.
For example, when I fuse my role as mother and artist, I am able to increase my capabilities as a life learner while doing a Rosh Hashanah craft with my daughter, which we will then give as a gift to my mother, while teaching her the parable of Hashem being in the field during Elul, followed by a nature walk, and then I can pass on the success of the craft to a friend, who will then try it with the Hebrew school class where she volunteers. It is precisely then when I am living up to my potential, when I am being the best Ettie that I can be. However, when I focus on the roles or aspects of my being that I am temporarily ‘unable’ to fulfill, such as committing a full day to a painting I have been envisioning, or a sewing project I have wanted to complete for the longest time, I am limiting myself in other areas where I am investing time.
When faced with numerous tedious, albeit necessary, daily tasks such as laundry, dishes, sweeping, dusting, organizing, vacuuming, and wiping the counters for the tenth time in the span of an hour, it isn’t tough to get lost in the shuffle and forget the bigger picture. But, when I remind myself that Rosh Hashanah is approaching, a time when we crown Hashem as King, a King who loves His people, with their many unique roles, personalities, positions, capabilities, and strengths, it is then that I can focus my inner lens for a panoramic shot (did I mention I am an aspiring photographer). Because life isn’t about being a doctor, or any other specific role; it is about being you, and loving every minute of it.
So thank you Bayla; for reminding me that I am not just your mother (although I feel blessed every minute of it), but that I am Ettie Shurack and whatever the year 5774 brings my way, I am ready.
A Broken Foot. A Mended Lesson. (Parshas Nitzavim-Vayelech)
My husband broke his foot last week, and it's been a frenzy of appointments ever since. We spent the first two days after the fall debating whether Nuta Yisrael needed to go to the doctor. We reasoned that since he could wiggle his toes and wasn't crying from pain, that it must have merely been sprained or bruised. The fact that he could barely walk, and his foot was blue should have been a clear sign that a medical consultation was in order. Finally, we decided to go to the doctor, even though we figured the doctor would just sent Nuta Yisrael home telling him to rest and ice his leg, but better safe than sorry. Not only did the doctor not send him home, but he instructed him to go straight to the hospital and have his foot x-rayed. After a couple hours in the hospital, we were on our way home, but not before a pit stop at the pharmacy to purchase a shiny new set of crutches to match the air cast on his foot.
Since then, Nuta Yisrael has been attempting to rest his foot as much as possible; not an easy task for someone who loves crawling around with the kids, working hard at his fast paced job, and cooking up a storm in the kitchen. Thank G-d there are still many activities that he can do with the children, especially a favourite of theirs: cuddling on the couch while reading books. When it comes to his job, he is blessed with many caring and sensitive colleagues who have driven him to and from work. As for the cooking dilemma, we fixed this by setting up a work station where he can sit while doing all his chopping, kneading, and concoctioning.
A couple days later, Shabbos arrived, and I felt more tired than usual. I went through a mental checklist. Am I getting enough sleep?–check, well, as much as a mother of two young children can. Have I been taking my multivitamin?–check, although, I did forget a couple times, oops. Am I eating balanced meals and healthy snacks?–check, I sure like to munch on fruits and veggies, with an occasional chocolate bar here and there (okay, maybe the professionals recommend having a square of chocolate, not the full bar, but that’s for another discussion).
After Kiddush, when I was serving the salads, I must have run back to the utensils drawer half a dozen times to get a fork and knife that I missed, a serving spoon I forgot, and some extra napkins. When it came time to washing our hands, Bayla decided it was also time to wash the dishes, counters, cabinets, and floor, so we had to temporarily pause the meal so I could do a mini clean up (read: hide the dish soap in the highest cabinet, throw half a dozen towels on the floor, and change Bayla’s outfit). Shmuel Abba got a little restless during the fish course, so I took him out of his highchair so he could play with some toys. Well, he made a b-line for the laundry room and realizing I forgot to close the laundry room door earlier that day, off I went to catch him. Ladling and bringing the soup to the table took twice as long as when I have Nuta Yisrael’s help, and by the time the last person got their soup, the first person’s soup had cooled down, despite my requests for everyone to start and not wait for me. I won’t begin to mention the oily mess that came from two young children enjoying the chicken, let alone putting children who disdain sleeping to sleep.
As I was saying shema before falling asleep (or rather mid-falling asleep), I came to a realization. It’s not just a coincidence that I was extra tired the same week that Nuta Yisrael broke his foot. Rather, I am tired because of the gap created by Nuta Yisrael's broken foot. I am blessed to have a husband who loves to get knee deep in household chores and the upbringing of our children. I am aware of how fortunate I am to have a husband who would rather read bedtime stories to the children than scour his blackberry for the latest app. I am appreciative for the regular tasks he does, such as taking out the garbage, washing dishes, dusting bookcases, and vacuuming; and, I make sure to thank him regularly.
But my scope of vision was limited because I didn't see the little things he does, the detailed specifics he attends to, and how those particulars contribute to a smooth running home. Picking up the sock I dropped on the way back from the dryer, locking the window that I opened after getting overheated from flipping pancakes for breakfast, turning down the volume of the CD that my daughter insists must be really loud because that’s the only way she can dance to it, and helping me track down my keys every time I feel frazzled and in a rush.
The timing of Nuta Yisrael breaking his foot certainly isn’t ideal (as if there is ever an ideal time to break one's foot). We were planning on moving into our new home by September 1st. My mother in law, niece, and nephew were visiting from New York when his fall occurred, so some of our outings needed to be revised. And we had hoped to go camping this long weekend. Sure, these are inconveniences, but to tell you the truth, nothing pains me as much as seeing my husband in pain. Not only is his foot tender, swollen, and bandaged awkwardly in a cast, but he has become dependent on others in so many areas where he normally loves to take the lead. I can see the frustration in his eyes when I’m feeling overwhelmed at running after both kids to get them in the bath, yet there is little he can do.
In this week's parsha, Nitzavim-Vayelech, Hashem tells the Jewish people that they have the most amazing power; the freedom of choice. In any given situation they can choose good or bad, life or death. So, despite the difficulties that have accompanied this challenge, we have decided to choose to embrace the positives within the situation. Nuta Yisrael is reading to the children more and making a conscious effort to sit and rest, something he rarely does. I have chosen to reflect on the important role we each play in our family life and have been given the opportunity to appreciate things I didn't even realize I needed to appreciate. And what a valuable lesson it is; to learn to thank someone for something I didn’t know I should thank them for. We can choose to be happy, we can choose to be positive, and yes, we can even choose to be grateful. And the greatest choice of all: to make oneself whole from that which was once broken.
Since then, Nuta Yisrael has been attempting to rest his foot as much as possible; not an easy task for someone who loves crawling around with the kids, working hard at his fast paced job, and cooking up a storm in the kitchen. Thank G-d there are still many activities that he can do with the children, especially a favourite of theirs: cuddling on the couch while reading books. When it comes to his job, he is blessed with many caring and sensitive colleagues who have driven him to and from work. As for the cooking dilemma, we fixed this by setting up a work station where he can sit while doing all his chopping, kneading, and concoctioning.
A couple days later, Shabbos arrived, and I felt more tired than usual. I went through a mental checklist. Am I getting enough sleep?–check, well, as much as a mother of two young children can. Have I been taking my multivitamin?–check, although, I did forget a couple times, oops. Am I eating balanced meals and healthy snacks?–check, I sure like to munch on fruits and veggies, with an occasional chocolate bar here and there (okay, maybe the professionals recommend having a square of chocolate, not the full bar, but that’s for another discussion).
After Kiddush, when I was serving the salads, I must have run back to the utensils drawer half a dozen times to get a fork and knife that I missed, a serving spoon I forgot, and some extra napkins. When it came time to washing our hands, Bayla decided it was also time to wash the dishes, counters, cabinets, and floor, so we had to temporarily pause the meal so I could do a mini clean up (read: hide the dish soap in the highest cabinet, throw half a dozen towels on the floor, and change Bayla’s outfit). Shmuel Abba got a little restless during the fish course, so I took him out of his highchair so he could play with some toys. Well, he made a b-line for the laundry room and realizing I forgot to close the laundry room door earlier that day, off I went to catch him. Ladling and bringing the soup to the table took twice as long as when I have Nuta Yisrael’s help, and by the time the last person got their soup, the first person’s soup had cooled down, despite my requests for everyone to start and not wait for me. I won’t begin to mention the oily mess that came from two young children enjoying the chicken, let alone putting children who disdain sleeping to sleep.
As I was saying shema before falling asleep (or rather mid-falling asleep), I came to a realization. It’s not just a coincidence that I was extra tired the same week that Nuta Yisrael broke his foot. Rather, I am tired because of the gap created by Nuta Yisrael's broken foot. I am blessed to have a husband who loves to get knee deep in household chores and the upbringing of our children. I am aware of how fortunate I am to have a husband who would rather read bedtime stories to the children than scour his blackberry for the latest app. I am appreciative for the regular tasks he does, such as taking out the garbage, washing dishes, dusting bookcases, and vacuuming; and, I make sure to thank him regularly.
But my scope of vision was limited because I didn't see the little things he does, the detailed specifics he attends to, and how those particulars contribute to a smooth running home. Picking up the sock I dropped on the way back from the dryer, locking the window that I opened after getting overheated from flipping pancakes for breakfast, turning down the volume of the CD that my daughter insists must be really loud because that’s the only way she can dance to it, and helping me track down my keys every time I feel frazzled and in a rush.
The timing of Nuta Yisrael breaking his foot certainly isn’t ideal (as if there is ever an ideal time to break one's foot). We were planning on moving into our new home by September 1st. My mother in law, niece, and nephew were visiting from New York when his fall occurred, so some of our outings needed to be revised. And we had hoped to go camping this long weekend. Sure, these are inconveniences, but to tell you the truth, nothing pains me as much as seeing my husband in pain. Not only is his foot tender, swollen, and bandaged awkwardly in a cast, but he has become dependent on others in so many areas where he normally loves to take the lead. I can see the frustration in his eyes when I’m feeling overwhelmed at running after both kids to get them in the bath, yet there is little he can do.
In this week's parsha, Nitzavim-Vayelech, Hashem tells the Jewish people that they have the most amazing power; the freedom of choice. In any given situation they can choose good or bad, life or death. So, despite the difficulties that have accompanied this challenge, we have decided to choose to embrace the positives within the situation. Nuta Yisrael is reading to the children more and making a conscious effort to sit and rest, something he rarely does. I have chosen to reflect on the important role we each play in our family life and have been given the opportunity to appreciate things I didn't even realize I needed to appreciate. And what a valuable lesson it is; to learn to thank someone for something I didn’t know I should thank them for. We can choose to be happy, we can choose to be positive, and yes, we can even choose to be grateful. And the greatest choice of all: to make oneself whole from that which was once broken.
Unmasking the Real You (Purim Edition)
Playing dress up is something we do regularly in our home. We have a box of costumes that my toddler, Bayla, excitedly puts on with the same zest each and every time she plays dress up. Actually, getting dressed up is only the beginning. The real fun comes when the acting, dancing, extra-high or -low pitched voices, singing, twirling, crawling, jumping, and ‘quacking,’ starts. And ever since her younger brother was born five months ago, when it comes to dress up, he’s joined the ranks of play-mate, as Bayla carefully selects costumes for Shmuel Abba to wear, and a role to play.
This can easily go on for an hour or two, which I can assure you is quite an accomplishment for a two and half year old. After all, there aren’t too many activities that a toddler can focus on for more than 30 minutes without moving onto something else. Recently, Bayla decided she was a bumble bee who couldn’t answer whether she wanted an apple or pear for snack, but could only communicate by “buzzing,” while she pleaded for my help in dressing her baby brother who she insists now knows how to ‘raaawwwr’ as he lay on the floor in a lion costume.
Imagine my surprise when yesterday, Bayla revealed to me that her name was actually Rivka and she was five years old. She proceeded to spend the morning completely in her role, while adorning herself with princess slippers, necklaces, bracelets, and a strikingly long wig (perhaps we have been reading the book “Kind Little Rivka” quite a bit).
I suppose this was less confusing than the time when she insisted that she be called Tatty, Tatty was Shmuel Abba, Shmuel Abba was actually Mommy, and I was really Bayla. That lasted the entire day and it became especially complicated during dinner when we traditionally go around the table asking each other how our day was, recapping the adventures and happenings of the past 8 hours. It was difficult to keep up with the conversation (and keep a straight face) when Bayla matter-of-factly said that, “Bayla wrote many mitzvah notes for Tatty, Shmuel Abba had several meetings, and that Mommy learned to roll over.”
Before my daughter was born, Purim hadn’t involved dressing up since I was ten or eleven. Occasionally, I donned a funny hat or a couple of flashy necklaces, but that was the extent of it. Once I became a mother, however, costumes re-entered my Purim vocabulary. My first Purim as a mother, my daughter was 10 months old; and Nuta Yisrael and I picked out a cute cuddly costume for her. The next Purim, she was one year and 10 months. Our shul was having a “U.S.A” theme, so Bayla donned a jean skirt and an “I heart NY” t-shirt. This year, she’s two years and 10 months and though the theme is “Purim in Italy,” this doesn’t seem to resonate with her, and she’s decided that she’ll be dressing up as a clown. She’s also told Shmuel Abba that he will be joining her as her lion side kick; since he has recently perfected his roar.
There are several explanations behind the custom of dressing up on Purim. One of the most well-known reasons is that Purim is a special time when we can focus on revealing that which is hidden. The wondrous miracles that occurred on Purim were concealed amongst a series of seemingly natural events. Only when we look at the whole story from start to finish do we appreciate the extraordinary that occurred within the ordinary. So intrinsic is the idea of being hidden, that Hashem’s name is not mentioned even once in the entire Megillah.
While children love to dress up in different costumes and outfits on a regular basis, adults reserve this type of activity for a once a year special event. Why the drastic difference? I always marvel at how easily Bayla is able to slip into different aspects of herself according to the costume she picks out; in other words, she is a complete nature regardless of her garb. Yet when I play dress up, I must focus on the role I have taken on, making sure not to get distracted and resume a duck quack when really I’m a moose, and concentrate on keeping my enthusiasm high. But once I get into it, I have to admit, it really is a lot of fun.
During the year, I’m so busy with preparing dinner, keeping track of finances, organizing weekend day trips, preventing the laundry from building up, keeping the toys neat and organized, and all the other ins and outs of day to day life. In fact, sometimes I’m so busy that I forget that there is more than one facet to being me. In life, multiple aspects of who we are get buried underneath the challenges of everyday responsibilities. Children, on the other hand, embrace each moment as it comes, never afraid to smoothly transition between their various attributes and qualities; freely exposing each of their strengths and areas where they would like help.
Purim is about revealing the good that was hidden, not only within the story of many years ago, but also within the Jewish people as a collective whole, and inside each and every one of us. When we dress up we give ourselves a chance to reveal an inner aspect of who we are that we normally keep hidden. Wearing a mask allows us to leave our inhibitions behind and touch upon qualities we are often too reserved to share with others.
But we don’t have to wait for Purim to reveal our inner being and shine through. We can take out our box of costumes and dress up anytime we feel the urge. Go ahead, grab your sheep costume and let out a baaaaah, you’ll be amazed at how liberating unmasking yourself can be.
This can easily go on for an hour or two, which I can assure you is quite an accomplishment for a two and half year old. After all, there aren’t too many activities that a toddler can focus on for more than 30 minutes without moving onto something else. Recently, Bayla decided she was a bumble bee who couldn’t answer whether she wanted an apple or pear for snack, but could only communicate by “buzzing,” while she pleaded for my help in dressing her baby brother who she insists now knows how to ‘raaawwwr’ as he lay on the floor in a lion costume.
Imagine my surprise when yesterday, Bayla revealed to me that her name was actually Rivka and she was five years old. She proceeded to spend the morning completely in her role, while adorning herself with princess slippers, necklaces, bracelets, and a strikingly long wig (perhaps we have been reading the book “Kind Little Rivka” quite a bit).
I suppose this was less confusing than the time when she insisted that she be called Tatty, Tatty was Shmuel Abba, Shmuel Abba was actually Mommy, and I was really Bayla. That lasted the entire day and it became especially complicated during dinner when we traditionally go around the table asking each other how our day was, recapping the adventures and happenings of the past 8 hours. It was difficult to keep up with the conversation (and keep a straight face) when Bayla matter-of-factly said that, “Bayla wrote many mitzvah notes for Tatty, Shmuel Abba had several meetings, and that Mommy learned to roll over.”
Before my daughter was born, Purim hadn’t involved dressing up since I was ten or eleven. Occasionally, I donned a funny hat or a couple of flashy necklaces, but that was the extent of it. Once I became a mother, however, costumes re-entered my Purim vocabulary. My first Purim as a mother, my daughter was 10 months old; and Nuta Yisrael and I picked out a cute cuddly costume for her. The next Purim, she was one year and 10 months. Our shul was having a “U.S.A” theme, so Bayla donned a jean skirt and an “I heart NY” t-shirt. This year, she’s two years and 10 months and though the theme is “Purim in Italy,” this doesn’t seem to resonate with her, and she’s decided that she’ll be dressing up as a clown. She’s also told Shmuel Abba that he will be joining her as her lion side kick; since he has recently perfected his roar.
There are several explanations behind the custom of dressing up on Purim. One of the most well-known reasons is that Purim is a special time when we can focus on revealing that which is hidden. The wondrous miracles that occurred on Purim were concealed amongst a series of seemingly natural events. Only when we look at the whole story from start to finish do we appreciate the extraordinary that occurred within the ordinary. So intrinsic is the idea of being hidden, that Hashem’s name is not mentioned even once in the entire Megillah.
While children love to dress up in different costumes and outfits on a regular basis, adults reserve this type of activity for a once a year special event. Why the drastic difference? I always marvel at how easily Bayla is able to slip into different aspects of herself according to the costume she picks out; in other words, she is a complete nature regardless of her garb. Yet when I play dress up, I must focus on the role I have taken on, making sure not to get distracted and resume a duck quack when really I’m a moose, and concentrate on keeping my enthusiasm high. But once I get into it, I have to admit, it really is a lot of fun.
During the year, I’m so busy with preparing dinner, keeping track of finances, organizing weekend day trips, preventing the laundry from building up, keeping the toys neat and organized, and all the other ins and outs of day to day life. In fact, sometimes I’m so busy that I forget that there is more than one facet to being me. In life, multiple aspects of who we are get buried underneath the challenges of everyday responsibilities. Children, on the other hand, embrace each moment as it comes, never afraid to smoothly transition between their various attributes and qualities; freely exposing each of their strengths and areas where they would like help.
Purim is about revealing the good that was hidden, not only within the story of many years ago, but also within the Jewish people as a collective whole, and inside each and every one of us. When we dress up we give ourselves a chance to reveal an inner aspect of who we are that we normally keep hidden. Wearing a mask allows us to leave our inhibitions behind and touch upon qualities we are often too reserved to share with others.
But we don’t have to wait for Purim to reveal our inner being and shine through. We can take out our box of costumes and dress up anytime we feel the urge. Go ahead, grab your sheep costume and let out a baaaaah, you’ll be amazed at how liberating unmasking yourself can be.
The Art of Writing our Own Scripts (Parshas Vayishlach)
I’m embarrassed to say, but it’s been half a year since I last put pen to paper. They say the first step to working on a problem is recognizing it, so there we have it, I’ve admitted it. Yes, I’ve composed a variety of essays, signed a few too many cheques, written numerous mitzvah notes for my daughter, and scribbled down new and original recipes; but it has been many months, (seven months to be exact), since I wrote purely for the sake of writing. The last time I sat down, allowed my creative juices to flow, and immersed myself in the art of opening my heart and letting my thoughts pour out was an article I had written in the Pesach issue of A Shtikel Vort Volume 3.
First, there was the end of the spring semester, and my excuse for not writing was my graduate student status. “Hey,” I said to myself, “I’m working on my master’s degree; my coursework and thesis take up all my time. Between projects, essays, research, and presentations, I don’t have much time to write.” Then came my internship with the government, the child and youth mental health department. It was my first time working fulltime since my daughter Bayla’s birth. Let’s just say it took a couple weeks to get in the swing of balancing everything, not to mention the emotional toll of being away from my cute cuddly toddler for nine hours a day. Then came the end of the summer, and trying to soak up every moment with Bayla before the rainy season arrived. For anyone who is not familiar with Vancouver, the rainy season lasts 10 months of the year, so we had a lot to cram into two short months. We spent many a day at the playground, duck pond, park, garden, and going for strolls in the beautiful summer sunshine. Plus, let’s just say that being pregnant certainly affected my energy level, so going to bed at a reasonable hour almost always won over doing a ‘leisure activity.’ I didn’t even need an explanation once my son was born. Come on, when could I fit writing in with a newborn at home? Throw in the everyday tasks involved in being a devoted wife and mother, and I had every excuse in the book.
Phewww, now to offset my especially long “excuse paragraph.” After all, it’s easier to list excuses than to shrug off defences and get down to business. And that’s exactly my point. While it may be easier and simpler to make an excuse, life is richer and more meaningful when we park our excuses in the parking lot. It may even be pleasurable to make excuses in the moment, but in the long run the pleasures that come of hard earned victories are that much sweeter (for example, laying on the couch eating potato chips sounds pretty good in comparison to building that corner cabinet I’ve been talking about for years). When was the last time you said to yourself “I shouldn’t have exercised this morning, it was a real waste of time”? Yet, how often do we say, “Boy do I wish I would have gone for that jog!”
It comes down to convenience. It’s an easier ride when we’re coasting down a hill than when we are peddling vigorously up a mountain. How simple is it to say, “No, it’s not possible,” or “That can’t be done,” or “Sorry, I don’t have the time – or know-how, or patience, or energy”? It takes a lot more to say, “You know, I’m pressed for time these days, but I will certainly fit it in” or “I’m not sure I’m the best man for the job, but if you’d like, I will give it my best shot,” or “Sure, I can help, I’ll be there at 8” (even though you had made a nightly date with the 8 o’clock news).
We can all agree that with a little prompting, we can fit in the time to help others. But what about when it comes to fitting in time for ourselves? We all have our own unique interests, hobbies, passions, and activities that make our blood pump a little faster. Some may get a high from biking at the crack of dawn, others melt when it comes to playing the violin, while others enjoy immersing oneself in a canvas with some water colours. Regardless of the specific interest, it takes effort to impart it into our daily lives. It competes with our mundane daily tasks, and often doesn’t make the cut when we scan our to-do lists. There are so many more pressing things – like laundry, dishes, cleaning, cooking, and chauffeuring – all very important tasks. How could fitting time in for a hobby that is purely an interest of mine compare with preparing wholesome delicious healthy meals for my family?
In this week’s Torah portion, Parshas Vayishlach, we read the pivotal story of Yaakov and his transformation into Yisrael. “Yaakov was left alone and a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn… No longer will it be said that your name is Yaacov, but Yisrael, for you have striven with the Divine and with man and have overcome” (Vayishlach, 32:25-29). Commentaries say that the man who Yaakov struggled with was not an enemy or stranger, but rather himself; what he was struggling with was living up to his own potential. Yet the work he exerted was well worth it. Yaakov wasn’t one to say, “Ohh, shucks I wasn’t able to learn Torah today, maybe next time” or “I’ll help my neighbour tomorrow, or next week, or next month; I’m going through a busy time.” He was someone who reaped every opportunity to learn, grow and develop.
Writing is something I immensely enjoy. It’s been something I’ve always said I wasn’t good at, yet something I gain a tremendous amount of pleasure from. My hobby dates back to my elementary school years when I entered my poems into contests and they were published in books and magazines, through high school when I was the editor of our school newspaper and also had my editorials included in the provincial paid newspaper (I thought it was so cool that people were in essence paying to read my work), and through university when writing a forty page paper was no problem at all. All these years though, I have said that I do it because I like it, not because I’m good at it. And it was precisely that excuse that allowed me to take breaks when “I didn’t have the time.” “Why invest the time and energy into an activity I’m no good at,” I would rationalize when I was exhausted, not inspired, or just plain lazy. “I have too many important things to do to spend an hour on something just because I like it.”
I’m sure you can relate to what I am about to say – there is a feeling we get when we are truly living, when we are thriving, when we aren’t simply going through the motions, but really embracing our own individual skills, talents, and capabilities. It would be impractical to say that we can spend all day immersed in our hobbies, as there are pressing tasks that need to get done, like a sink full of dishes (I write this as I am sitting with my back to not one but two sinks filled to the brim). But it would also be impractical to say that we lack even 15 minutes to immerse ourselves in an activity we enjoy.
Writing is not only an activity that I enjoy, but an activity that helps me learn, grow, and develop. It is a hobby that helps me become more self-reflective. It assists me in being more tuned into my thoughts and feelings. It is a medium where I can express what is on my mind and in my heart. I wouldn’t call myself a fabulous public speaker, as I have been known to cave under the pressure of coming up with something witty with a second’s notice. But with writing, I am able to think and ponder, jot down ideas, expand on my notes, type vigorously on the keyboard as thoughts rush to my mind, or make long smooth strokes in my note book as I contemplate an idea. Plus, the eraser and backspace key are marvellous inventions.
Just like comedians must find everyday situations that they build on for their acts or how professional speakers scour newspaper articles for current events to incorporate into their speeches, a writer must be on the lookout for topics that touch his or her heart. When I began the “Growing Up,” column I thought it would effortlessly involve writing about the cute little antics and hilarious stories involving my then-baby’s and now-toddler’s (with a newborn to boot) exploration and growth. But my articles have also included my own journey of growth, as a woman, wife, and mother. Additionally, I have also incorporated in my articles various parsha insights, Torah tidbits, and timeless lessons found in Judaism. And I can’t just come up with this in my sleep, I must learn the parsha, read sefarim, and delve deep into our traditions and heritage. By writing, I am learning. And my learning directly affects my writing.
In summary (since every good article must end with closing remarks) I hope you don’t mind seeing an increase in the frequency of the Growing Up column (although an increase from once every seven months doesn’t take much). Perhaps that is me speaking more to myself than to you. But as Zig Zigler, the selling expert and motivational speaker par excellence, says, it is important to make our goals known to the people who support and encourage us. Not only does it allow for our cheerleaders to root for us, but is also makes us more accountable to ourselves. Accountable to our hopes, dreams, and lifelong goals. Just like Yaakov struggled with himself and won, so too I was victorious in wrestling down my pen to the paper. No one said that living up to our potential was easy, but it certainly is worth it.
First, there was the end of the spring semester, and my excuse for not writing was my graduate student status. “Hey,” I said to myself, “I’m working on my master’s degree; my coursework and thesis take up all my time. Between projects, essays, research, and presentations, I don’t have much time to write.” Then came my internship with the government, the child and youth mental health department. It was my first time working fulltime since my daughter Bayla’s birth. Let’s just say it took a couple weeks to get in the swing of balancing everything, not to mention the emotional toll of being away from my cute cuddly toddler for nine hours a day. Then came the end of the summer, and trying to soak up every moment with Bayla before the rainy season arrived. For anyone who is not familiar with Vancouver, the rainy season lasts 10 months of the year, so we had a lot to cram into two short months. We spent many a day at the playground, duck pond, park, garden, and going for strolls in the beautiful summer sunshine. Plus, let’s just say that being pregnant certainly affected my energy level, so going to bed at a reasonable hour almost always won over doing a ‘leisure activity.’ I didn’t even need an explanation once my son was born. Come on, when could I fit writing in with a newborn at home? Throw in the everyday tasks involved in being a devoted wife and mother, and I had every excuse in the book.
Phewww, now to offset my especially long “excuse paragraph.” After all, it’s easier to list excuses than to shrug off defences and get down to business. And that’s exactly my point. While it may be easier and simpler to make an excuse, life is richer and more meaningful when we park our excuses in the parking lot. It may even be pleasurable to make excuses in the moment, but in the long run the pleasures that come of hard earned victories are that much sweeter (for example, laying on the couch eating potato chips sounds pretty good in comparison to building that corner cabinet I’ve been talking about for years). When was the last time you said to yourself “I shouldn’t have exercised this morning, it was a real waste of time”? Yet, how often do we say, “Boy do I wish I would have gone for that jog!”
It comes down to convenience. It’s an easier ride when we’re coasting down a hill than when we are peddling vigorously up a mountain. How simple is it to say, “No, it’s not possible,” or “That can’t be done,” or “Sorry, I don’t have the time – or know-how, or patience, or energy”? It takes a lot more to say, “You know, I’m pressed for time these days, but I will certainly fit it in” or “I’m not sure I’m the best man for the job, but if you’d like, I will give it my best shot,” or “Sure, I can help, I’ll be there at 8” (even though you had made a nightly date with the 8 o’clock news).
We can all agree that with a little prompting, we can fit in the time to help others. But what about when it comes to fitting in time for ourselves? We all have our own unique interests, hobbies, passions, and activities that make our blood pump a little faster. Some may get a high from biking at the crack of dawn, others melt when it comes to playing the violin, while others enjoy immersing oneself in a canvas with some water colours. Regardless of the specific interest, it takes effort to impart it into our daily lives. It competes with our mundane daily tasks, and often doesn’t make the cut when we scan our to-do lists. There are so many more pressing things – like laundry, dishes, cleaning, cooking, and chauffeuring – all very important tasks. How could fitting time in for a hobby that is purely an interest of mine compare with preparing wholesome delicious healthy meals for my family?
In this week’s Torah portion, Parshas Vayishlach, we read the pivotal story of Yaakov and his transformation into Yisrael. “Yaakov was left alone and a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn… No longer will it be said that your name is Yaacov, but Yisrael, for you have striven with the Divine and with man and have overcome” (Vayishlach, 32:25-29). Commentaries say that the man who Yaakov struggled with was not an enemy or stranger, but rather himself; what he was struggling with was living up to his own potential. Yet the work he exerted was well worth it. Yaakov wasn’t one to say, “Ohh, shucks I wasn’t able to learn Torah today, maybe next time” or “I’ll help my neighbour tomorrow, or next week, or next month; I’m going through a busy time.” He was someone who reaped every opportunity to learn, grow and develop.
Writing is something I immensely enjoy. It’s been something I’ve always said I wasn’t good at, yet something I gain a tremendous amount of pleasure from. My hobby dates back to my elementary school years when I entered my poems into contests and they were published in books and magazines, through high school when I was the editor of our school newspaper and also had my editorials included in the provincial paid newspaper (I thought it was so cool that people were in essence paying to read my work), and through university when writing a forty page paper was no problem at all. All these years though, I have said that I do it because I like it, not because I’m good at it. And it was precisely that excuse that allowed me to take breaks when “I didn’t have the time.” “Why invest the time and energy into an activity I’m no good at,” I would rationalize when I was exhausted, not inspired, or just plain lazy. “I have too many important things to do to spend an hour on something just because I like it.”
I’m sure you can relate to what I am about to say – there is a feeling we get when we are truly living, when we are thriving, when we aren’t simply going through the motions, but really embracing our own individual skills, talents, and capabilities. It would be impractical to say that we can spend all day immersed in our hobbies, as there are pressing tasks that need to get done, like a sink full of dishes (I write this as I am sitting with my back to not one but two sinks filled to the brim). But it would also be impractical to say that we lack even 15 minutes to immerse ourselves in an activity we enjoy.
Writing is not only an activity that I enjoy, but an activity that helps me learn, grow, and develop. It is a hobby that helps me become more self-reflective. It assists me in being more tuned into my thoughts and feelings. It is a medium where I can express what is on my mind and in my heart. I wouldn’t call myself a fabulous public speaker, as I have been known to cave under the pressure of coming up with something witty with a second’s notice. But with writing, I am able to think and ponder, jot down ideas, expand on my notes, type vigorously on the keyboard as thoughts rush to my mind, or make long smooth strokes in my note book as I contemplate an idea. Plus, the eraser and backspace key are marvellous inventions.
Just like comedians must find everyday situations that they build on for their acts or how professional speakers scour newspaper articles for current events to incorporate into their speeches, a writer must be on the lookout for topics that touch his or her heart. When I began the “Growing Up,” column I thought it would effortlessly involve writing about the cute little antics and hilarious stories involving my then-baby’s and now-toddler’s (with a newborn to boot) exploration and growth. But my articles have also included my own journey of growth, as a woman, wife, and mother. Additionally, I have also incorporated in my articles various parsha insights, Torah tidbits, and timeless lessons found in Judaism. And I can’t just come up with this in my sleep, I must learn the parsha, read sefarim, and delve deep into our traditions and heritage. By writing, I am learning. And my learning directly affects my writing.
In summary (since every good article must end with closing remarks) I hope you don’t mind seeing an increase in the frequency of the Growing Up column (although an increase from once every seven months doesn’t take much). Perhaps that is me speaking more to myself than to you. But as Zig Zigler, the selling expert and motivational speaker par excellence, says, it is important to make our goals known to the people who support and encourage us. Not only does it allow for our cheerleaders to root for us, but is also makes us more accountable to ourselves. Accountable to our hopes, dreams, and lifelong goals. Just like Yaakov struggled with himself and won, so too I was victorious in wrestling down my pen to the paper. No one said that living up to our potential was easy, but it certainly is worth it.
There are Big Ships and Small Ships...
… But the best ships are friendships.
Standing in line at the grocery checkout counter, a man purchased a dozen red roses and a card. The man behind him grinned, “You in trouble?” “Nope,” came his response, “preventative maintenance.”
After reading this joke earlier this week, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Usually I forget a joke a minute after hearing it, but this one has been reverberating in my mind for days. I think it’s because there is so much truth in it. Besides being “haha-funny” as my good friend Aidel says (as opposed to “funny-peculiar”), the joke offers a valuable lesson in life.
I recently attended a thought provoking lecture by Rebbetzin Esther Piekarski in which she spoke about the various relationships that make up our life; friendships, marriage, parenthood, family, colleagues, and more. One point she made really stood out at me, especially at this point in my life. It seemed as if she were talking directly to me! The concept she spoke about was making time for our close friends. She spoke of a situation where one friend called another week after week and each time there was an excuse why she couldn’t talk. All were legitimate excuses: taking care of children, paying bills, laundry, prepping dinner, exercising (yeah right). Nonetheless, they were excuses and the two close friends who once spoke a couple times a week came to the point where they spoke once a month. Eventually, the friend who called relentlessly stopped calling and the two women drifted apart.
Sounds a little too similar to my life. I am blessed to have several close women in my life whose friendship I tremendously value. We’re all at different points in our life and getting together can be tricky at times (especially considering that many of us are on different continents). But squeezing in a 15 minute phone call shouldn’t be as tricky as I make it out to be. Yes, I’m juggling being a mother, wife, daughter, social worker, student, editor, and various other roles I hold. Nonetheless, making time for my friends is just as important. After all, the role of friend is dear and near to my heart.
I am a bit of a quote-junky and there is no shortage of precious quotes surrounding friendship. “A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same.” “Good friends are like stars. You don’t always see them, but you know they are always there.” “A friend is one who believes in you when you have ceased to believe in yourself.” “Friendship is one mind in two bodies.” “I don't need a friend who changes when I change and who nods when I nod; my shadow does that much better.” “The friend is the one who knows all about you, and still likes you.”
We will be attending a reunion this Shabbos for the Yeshiva my husband attended nearly 10 years ago. How amazing will it be for him to reconnect with friends and teachers, many of whom he hasn’t seen in a decade. In our talks and anticipation of how wonderful the Shabbaton will be, I have made a personal resolution to be more ‘on top’ of my friendships -- to return calls faster (and be the first to call as well), to write back to emails sooner, and to make time for a visit. For all my friends reading this issue, please hold me to it.
Standing in line at the grocery checkout counter, a man purchased a dozen red roses and a card. The man behind him grinned, “You in trouble?” “Nope,” came his response, “preventative maintenance.”
After reading this joke earlier this week, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Usually I forget a joke a minute after hearing it, but this one has been reverberating in my mind for days. I think it’s because there is so much truth in it. Besides being “haha-funny” as my good friend Aidel says (as opposed to “funny-peculiar”), the joke offers a valuable lesson in life.
I recently attended a thought provoking lecture by Rebbetzin Esther Piekarski in which she spoke about the various relationships that make up our life; friendships, marriage, parenthood, family, colleagues, and more. One point she made really stood out at me, especially at this point in my life. It seemed as if she were talking directly to me! The concept she spoke about was making time for our close friends. She spoke of a situation where one friend called another week after week and each time there was an excuse why she couldn’t talk. All were legitimate excuses: taking care of children, paying bills, laundry, prepping dinner, exercising (yeah right). Nonetheless, they were excuses and the two close friends who once spoke a couple times a week came to the point where they spoke once a month. Eventually, the friend who called relentlessly stopped calling and the two women drifted apart.
Sounds a little too similar to my life. I am blessed to have several close women in my life whose friendship I tremendously value. We’re all at different points in our life and getting together can be tricky at times (especially considering that many of us are on different continents). But squeezing in a 15 minute phone call shouldn’t be as tricky as I make it out to be. Yes, I’m juggling being a mother, wife, daughter, social worker, student, editor, and various other roles I hold. Nonetheless, making time for my friends is just as important. After all, the role of friend is dear and near to my heart.
I am a bit of a quote-junky and there is no shortage of precious quotes surrounding friendship. “A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same.” “Good friends are like stars. You don’t always see them, but you know they are always there.” “A friend is one who believes in you when you have ceased to believe in yourself.” “Friendship is one mind in two bodies.” “I don't need a friend who changes when I change and who nods when I nod; my shadow does that much better.” “The friend is the one who knows all about you, and still likes you.”
We will be attending a reunion this Shabbos for the Yeshiva my husband attended nearly 10 years ago. How amazing will it be for him to reconnect with friends and teachers, many of whom he hasn’t seen in a decade. In our talks and anticipation of how wonderful the Shabbaton will be, I have made a personal resolution to be more ‘on top’ of my friendships -- to return calls faster (and be the first to call as well), to write back to emails sooner, and to make time for a visit. For all my friends reading this issue, please hold me to it.
Pretending or Living
_Yesterday Bayla peeled
8 mandarins for all of us to enjoy and the day before she peeled 6 onions for
soup that I was making. What an awesome
little helper I have! She even proceeded
to sweep up the mess.
This was my Facebook status update a couple of days ago. Being that I haven’t gone on Facebook in weeks, maybe even months (okay, who am I kidding, it hasn’t been months), I don’t know what inspired me to take the time to login, try logging in again (and again), click on the button to retrieve my password which I forgot, sign into my email and follow the prompts, login to Facebook successfully, type up the occurrence, and click post. What surprised me even more was that were 8 “likes” and 7 comments all applauding my little one’s hard work around the house.
Thank G-d that I have so many family and friends who love keeping up with Bayla’s new adventures and antics. But why did everyone find this so amazing? Why did I find it so amazing? I mean, I peel countless mandarins and onions, and yet no one applauds my valiant efforts. Okay, maybe it has something to do with the fact that my daughter is 20 months old and I’m 325 months (but who’s counting?). I think what surprised many folks about Bayla’s mandarin and onion extravaganza was that this isn’t typical for a toddler. Toddlers love to play pretend, with their dolls (or babies as Bayla calls them), trains and airplanes, mini kitchens, pretend cupcake sets, and bubble vacuums, just to name a few.
However, Bayla would much rather be holding a real baby (although her babies Aidel Maidel and Goldie are sometimes a good substitute). She gets so much more pleasure from seeing trains and planes swoosh by. She thrives in spending time with me in the kitchen, and she’s mastered the art of baking, decorating, and eating real cupcakes. In fact, I sometimes joke that I am the sous-chef, or Bayla’s (talented) assistant. Although Bayla doesn’t vacuum (the machine weighs double her weight, and frankly she cries when she’s in the same room as it), she does pull out the Swiffer broom from the pantry and sweeps almost on a daily basis (I would venture to say that she sweeps more than I do). In fact, I owe our clean home to Bayla, she’s even brushed the toilet a few times.
So even though Bayla has a chest full of toys and no shortage of appropriate children’s learning material, she would much rather spend her day by my side as my trusted sidekick. She lives and learns and laughs by doing. She loves her role as a mini-balabusta (home maker) and thrives in folding hand towels, piling the shoes neatly, sorting laundry, and organizing her books from tallest to smallest. She would much rather be doing than pretending.
Imagine if life was so simple and beautiful for each of us. If we spent our days living, rather than pretending. If we embraced our true unique selves, our individual missions, or G-d given talents. If we pushed that voice away who compares us to Sara or Moshe or the Cohens down the street. If we didn’t pretend to be someone who we’re not. We would save so much energy by not putting on a façade that we could invest it in improving and perfecting our true selves. I can just picture it, wouldn’t the world be a more pure and genuine place.
This was my Facebook status update a couple of days ago. Being that I haven’t gone on Facebook in weeks, maybe even months (okay, who am I kidding, it hasn’t been months), I don’t know what inspired me to take the time to login, try logging in again (and again), click on the button to retrieve my password which I forgot, sign into my email and follow the prompts, login to Facebook successfully, type up the occurrence, and click post. What surprised me even more was that were 8 “likes” and 7 comments all applauding my little one’s hard work around the house.
Thank G-d that I have so many family and friends who love keeping up with Bayla’s new adventures and antics. But why did everyone find this so amazing? Why did I find it so amazing? I mean, I peel countless mandarins and onions, and yet no one applauds my valiant efforts. Okay, maybe it has something to do with the fact that my daughter is 20 months old and I’m 325 months (but who’s counting?). I think what surprised many folks about Bayla’s mandarin and onion extravaganza was that this isn’t typical for a toddler. Toddlers love to play pretend, with their dolls (or babies as Bayla calls them), trains and airplanes, mini kitchens, pretend cupcake sets, and bubble vacuums, just to name a few.
However, Bayla would much rather be holding a real baby (although her babies Aidel Maidel and Goldie are sometimes a good substitute). She gets so much more pleasure from seeing trains and planes swoosh by. She thrives in spending time with me in the kitchen, and she’s mastered the art of baking, decorating, and eating real cupcakes. In fact, I sometimes joke that I am the sous-chef, or Bayla’s (talented) assistant. Although Bayla doesn’t vacuum (the machine weighs double her weight, and frankly she cries when she’s in the same room as it), she does pull out the Swiffer broom from the pantry and sweeps almost on a daily basis (I would venture to say that she sweeps more than I do). In fact, I owe our clean home to Bayla, she’s even brushed the toilet a few times.
So even though Bayla has a chest full of toys and no shortage of appropriate children’s learning material, she would much rather spend her day by my side as my trusted sidekick. She lives and learns and laughs by doing. She loves her role as a mini-balabusta (home maker) and thrives in folding hand towels, piling the shoes neatly, sorting laundry, and organizing her books from tallest to smallest. She would much rather be doing than pretending.
Imagine if life was so simple and beautiful for each of us. If we spent our days living, rather than pretending. If we embraced our true unique selves, our individual missions, or G-d given talents. If we pushed that voice away who compares us to Sara or Moshe or the Cohens down the street. If we didn’t pretend to be someone who we’re not. We would save so much energy by not putting on a façade that we could invest it in improving and perfecting our true selves. I can just picture it, wouldn’t the world be a more pure and genuine place.
The Gift of Giving
Nothing quite compares to
seeing the look on a loved one’s face while opening a well-thought-out gift. And I am lucky to see this look several times
over the span of Chanukah, because in addition to the traditional custom of
Chanukah gelt (money), I enjoy giving a handmade and/or hand-picked gift from
the heart.
I have the privilege of witnessing that giddy look that one has when opening crisp wrapping paper, untying colourful ribbons and bows, and pulling away light fluffy tissue paper more than just once over Chanukah. Each gift that I bestow to my husband, daughter, parents, brother, mother-in-law, sister-in-law, niece, nephew, and several close friends and their children gives me another opportunity to enjoy this wonderful experience.
Sometimes I can be there face-to-face to give the present, and other times it’s over webcam (the many benefits of technology these days!). Over the years, I’ve come to learn that there are numerous reactions to receiving a gift. “Why, thank you!” “How’d you know this is what I always wanted?” “A yellow purse, this is sooo, ummm, nice.” “You didn’t have to.” “How much did you spend?” “Why did you go to all the efforts just for me?” “Hmm it’s nice, but I think I could have gotten it cheaper.” “This is just above and beyond.” “Did you get it at Sears? Yeah, I’m sure you did, they were having a major sale on scarves, 90% off.” Each reaction is as unique as the recipient. Sometimes the physical response invokes a blush, other times it’s a hearty chuckle. Sometimes there’s a bear hug involved, and other times it’s a firm handshake. Whatever the response, the planning and anticipation that goes into getting a gift for a loved one is priceless.
Take this year’s gift for my husband (actually I have eight gifts this year, one for each night of Chanukah). For the first night, my daughter and I presented Nuta Yisrael with a hand-made menorah tray. My husband and I initially saw this craft in a book we bought several years ago, and have been meaning to make it for several Chanukahs now, each year on the eighth night sighing “remember that hand-made menorah tray we saw, we should make that next year.” Well, this was the year! Bayla and I gathered the supplies, selected a design to try, sketched a template, and got down to work. But the question was, if we were to use the tray starting the first candle lighting, how could we wrap and present the gift to Nuta Yisrael after we lit the menorah, as is our family custom?
After much thought and deliberation, we (and I say we because my 20 month old daughter was just as much a part of this as I was, especially given that her photo was integral to the tray’s design) decided to switch up the traditional way we exchange gifts. Instead, right before candling lighting, I subtly reflected “oh man, I wish we had a tray for our menorahs” (actually, I don’t think I said the “oh man part”). To which Nuta Yisrael replied, “Yeah, there’s even that craft project in the book. Why oh why do we forget each year?” To which I subtly (notice how professional I am in my subtle ways) walked over to the pantry and pulled out the tray which Bayla and I affixed a bow to. “Oh look what I found!” I exclaimed to Nuta Yisrael. With the back of the tray facing him, I handed Nuta Yisrael our homemade creation. “Wow, when, where, how --?” was the patriarch of our family’s response.
For the second night, I selected a gift opposite to the first. Something that wasn’t hand crafted. Something lavishly silky. Something made out of material rather than wood. Something that is worn, particularly on Shabbos, Yom Tov, and to simchas. Take a guess. No it’s not a cummerbund. That’s not quite the look of Nuta Yisrael. You get a second guess. Yes, a tie. We (again, Bayla was instrumental in picking out the tie) selected a silver diagonally striped tie that felt luxurious and looked elegantly sharp. We went through each and every one of the 100 designs they had (or maybe it was 30, but it sure felt like 100) until we came to this beautiful one that was suitable for any occasion.
I had forgotten to take the price tag off the bottom of the box. So when Nuta Yisrael unwrapped his gift, he opened the box, examined the tie, and exclaimed, “How’d you know I wanted to spruce up my tie collection?” Then he saw the price tag on the bottom of the box which I forgot to remove, to which he commented, “No way, you can’t spend this much on me,” followed by a pause and then “Did you really spend that much? How much did it really cost?” He was relieved to know that I got it for 75% off.
The root of the Hebrew word for love (ahava) is hav, which means to give. From this we learn that in order to love and to feel loved, we must give; give of our time, our resources, and ourselves. Chanukah is about spreading light and sharing our spark with others. For if there was no joy involved in giving, why would I feel so energized each time I presented a loved one with a gift? For me, the act of giving also has an added perk; it has allowed me to write an entire Chanukah article on it.
I have the privilege of witnessing that giddy look that one has when opening crisp wrapping paper, untying colourful ribbons and bows, and pulling away light fluffy tissue paper more than just once over Chanukah. Each gift that I bestow to my husband, daughter, parents, brother, mother-in-law, sister-in-law, niece, nephew, and several close friends and their children gives me another opportunity to enjoy this wonderful experience.
Sometimes I can be there face-to-face to give the present, and other times it’s over webcam (the many benefits of technology these days!). Over the years, I’ve come to learn that there are numerous reactions to receiving a gift. “Why, thank you!” “How’d you know this is what I always wanted?” “A yellow purse, this is sooo, ummm, nice.” “You didn’t have to.” “How much did you spend?” “Why did you go to all the efforts just for me?” “Hmm it’s nice, but I think I could have gotten it cheaper.” “This is just above and beyond.” “Did you get it at Sears? Yeah, I’m sure you did, they were having a major sale on scarves, 90% off.” Each reaction is as unique as the recipient. Sometimes the physical response invokes a blush, other times it’s a hearty chuckle. Sometimes there’s a bear hug involved, and other times it’s a firm handshake. Whatever the response, the planning and anticipation that goes into getting a gift for a loved one is priceless.
Take this year’s gift for my husband (actually I have eight gifts this year, one for each night of Chanukah). For the first night, my daughter and I presented Nuta Yisrael with a hand-made menorah tray. My husband and I initially saw this craft in a book we bought several years ago, and have been meaning to make it for several Chanukahs now, each year on the eighth night sighing “remember that hand-made menorah tray we saw, we should make that next year.” Well, this was the year! Bayla and I gathered the supplies, selected a design to try, sketched a template, and got down to work. But the question was, if we were to use the tray starting the first candle lighting, how could we wrap and present the gift to Nuta Yisrael after we lit the menorah, as is our family custom?
After much thought and deliberation, we (and I say we because my 20 month old daughter was just as much a part of this as I was, especially given that her photo was integral to the tray’s design) decided to switch up the traditional way we exchange gifts. Instead, right before candling lighting, I subtly reflected “oh man, I wish we had a tray for our menorahs” (actually, I don’t think I said the “oh man part”). To which Nuta Yisrael replied, “Yeah, there’s even that craft project in the book. Why oh why do we forget each year?” To which I subtly (notice how professional I am in my subtle ways) walked over to the pantry and pulled out the tray which Bayla and I affixed a bow to. “Oh look what I found!” I exclaimed to Nuta Yisrael. With the back of the tray facing him, I handed Nuta Yisrael our homemade creation. “Wow, when, where, how --?” was the patriarch of our family’s response.
For the second night, I selected a gift opposite to the first. Something that wasn’t hand crafted. Something lavishly silky. Something made out of material rather than wood. Something that is worn, particularly on Shabbos, Yom Tov, and to simchas. Take a guess. No it’s not a cummerbund. That’s not quite the look of Nuta Yisrael. You get a second guess. Yes, a tie. We (again, Bayla was instrumental in picking out the tie) selected a silver diagonally striped tie that felt luxurious and looked elegantly sharp. We went through each and every one of the 100 designs they had (or maybe it was 30, but it sure felt like 100) until we came to this beautiful one that was suitable for any occasion.
I had forgotten to take the price tag off the bottom of the box. So when Nuta Yisrael unwrapped his gift, he opened the box, examined the tie, and exclaimed, “How’d you know I wanted to spruce up my tie collection?” Then he saw the price tag on the bottom of the box which I forgot to remove, to which he commented, “No way, you can’t spend this much on me,” followed by a pause and then “Did you really spend that much? How much did it really cost?” He was relieved to know that I got it for 75% off.
The root of the Hebrew word for love (ahava) is hav, which means to give. From this we learn that in order to love and to feel loved, we must give; give of our time, our resources, and ourselves. Chanukah is about spreading light and sharing our spark with others. For if there was no joy involved in giving, why would I feel so energized each time I presented a loved one with a gift? For me, the act of giving also has an added perk; it has allowed me to write an entire Chanukah article on it.
Building Blocks
_
When we bought our 18 month old daughter, Bayla, a
gift this past Rosh Hashanah, I don’t know who was more excited, Bayla, my
husband Nuta Yisrael, or me. The gift
was a 100 piece set of giant sized Legos, perfect for her little hands. At first, there were only two of us playing
with the Lego, and Bayla wasn’t one of them.
She was more interested in her other toys, particularly a beloved doll
named Baby, a set of nesting blocks, and her stuffed Torah. So after a few tries of the ‘grown-ups’ building, and
Bayla sitting in her cute pink chair reading a book, we decided to just put
them aside for a bit, thinking maybe she’ll be interested in them down the road.
Then, about a month ago, practically out of the blue, Bayla made her way over to the bucket filled with colourful block-like pieces of varies shapes and sizes. She would feel each piece in her hand and put it back in the bucket. One by one, she started taking out the Legos, examining each one, and then placing them delicately in a pile on the floor. Slowly but surely, she made it through all 100 pieces.
I began showing Bayla the endless possibilities of Legos. Towers, bridges, chairs, houses, you name it, they could all be built. It started off with me building small structures and Bayla taking them apart piece by piece. I tried to show her that each piece could be stacked above the one below it. But Bayla was more interested in removing the top layer, then the one below that, until she got to the bottom layer, the foundation.
Just this week, we sat down to play what has become our Lego game; who can do it faster, Mommy building the tower or Bayla taking it apart. As I swiftly stacked piece upon piece, I noticed that my tower was growing especially rapidly. “Hmm,” I thought to myself, “either I must have mastered the Lego tower building exercise or Bayla is letting me win for a couple minutes before she steps in full force.” I sat back for a moment, shocked to see my tower so tall. And that’s when I noticed it. In my zest to keep the tower game going strong, I missed the pair of little hands that was adding to the tower, rather than taking it apart. I suppose Bayla picked up on my enthusiasm and eagerness, and she wanted to see what all the hype was about.
I sat silently observing my daughter’s delight in her new-found skill. No longer was she only holding the Legos, no longer was she examining them, no longer was she taking them apart, but now she was putting them together piece by piece. Bayla had become a builder. But it didn’t happen overnight. She needed to take the blocks apart several times before she was able to put them together
In life, much focus is placed on building; fostering new talents, strengthening new skills, and reaching new heights. We constantly strive to add to that which we are doing, in our efforts to become better people. In constructing a strong foundation, it is important to recognize not only the building that occurs, but an important step which precedes it; deconstructing.
We all have preconceived notions, ideas, and perspective on who we think we are and how we think things should be. However, if we truly want to build our capacity, we must first take apart and dismantle our fears and apprehensions that hold us back. In essence, it’s only through ‘taking the blocks apart’ that we learn to build ourselves up into a steady and unwavering pillar of fortitude.
Then, about a month ago, practically out of the blue, Bayla made her way over to the bucket filled with colourful block-like pieces of varies shapes and sizes. She would feel each piece in her hand and put it back in the bucket. One by one, she started taking out the Legos, examining each one, and then placing them delicately in a pile on the floor. Slowly but surely, she made it through all 100 pieces.
I began showing Bayla the endless possibilities of Legos. Towers, bridges, chairs, houses, you name it, they could all be built. It started off with me building small structures and Bayla taking them apart piece by piece. I tried to show her that each piece could be stacked above the one below it. But Bayla was more interested in removing the top layer, then the one below that, until she got to the bottom layer, the foundation.
Just this week, we sat down to play what has become our Lego game; who can do it faster, Mommy building the tower or Bayla taking it apart. As I swiftly stacked piece upon piece, I noticed that my tower was growing especially rapidly. “Hmm,” I thought to myself, “either I must have mastered the Lego tower building exercise or Bayla is letting me win for a couple minutes before she steps in full force.” I sat back for a moment, shocked to see my tower so tall. And that’s when I noticed it. In my zest to keep the tower game going strong, I missed the pair of little hands that was adding to the tower, rather than taking it apart. I suppose Bayla picked up on my enthusiasm and eagerness, and she wanted to see what all the hype was about.
I sat silently observing my daughter’s delight in her new-found skill. No longer was she only holding the Legos, no longer was she examining them, no longer was she taking them apart, but now she was putting them together piece by piece. Bayla had become a builder. But it didn’t happen overnight. She needed to take the blocks apart several times before she was able to put them together
In life, much focus is placed on building; fostering new talents, strengthening new skills, and reaching new heights. We constantly strive to add to that which we are doing, in our efforts to become better people. In constructing a strong foundation, it is important to recognize not only the building that occurs, but an important step which precedes it; deconstructing.
We all have preconceived notions, ideas, and perspective on who we think we are and how we think things should be. However, if we truly want to build our capacity, we must first take apart and dismantle our fears and apprehensions that hold us back. In essence, it’s only through ‘taking the blocks apart’ that we learn to build ourselves up into a steady and unwavering pillar of fortitude.
Painting the Whole Picture
_
It all started when a friend
of ours, an eight year old boy, came to join us for lunch on a beautiful Sunday
afternoon. As I was setting up, my
husband was spending some time with the boy in the living room, when our friend
looked up at our hallway wall and asked “who painted those pictures?” My husband immediately replied, “Why Ettie
did, aren’t they great?” To which the
boy exclaimed, “Wow, I didn’t know Ettie was an artist!”
I didn’t know I was an artist either! Besides having a lovely afternoon with hot dogs, playing board games, and riding bikes outside, our young friend taught me a lesson that has stayed with me ever since. In fact, I am sure it will stay with me for life.
Painting is something I tremendously enjoy. I’ll be the first to admit that I am ‘self taught’ and that my technique can use some boosting. In fact, I would love to take lessons one day. I’m not able to paint as often as I would like, but I try to squeeze it in when I can. Nonetheless, it is a hobby that I find inspiring, invigorating, and fun all in one. I love the anticipation of taking out my drawing book or canvas, opening my paints, spreading out my paint brushes, and daydreaming about where my brushes will lead me. However, I never considered calling myself an artist until our get together with our young friend.
When a teacher asks a class of second graders if any of the children are athletes, there are bound to be several hands that shoot up. The same goes for dancers, singers, writers, and cooks. Yet, when someone asks a room full of adults, very few adults will attest to their talents, skills, and hobbies. Is it humility that stops an adult from calling himself a poet? Or doubt in one’s ability? Or the fear that others will mock him for a self proclaimed title? What are the criteria that allow someone to call themselves a “poet” as opposed to “someone who likes to write poems?” Is it one’s skill? The time invested into the endeavor? The fame one’s achieved? Or the fortune?
I don’t know which is more difficult, recognizing our weaknesses or admitting our strengths.
Acknowledging our own individual areas that could use further improvement is a difficult process. It requires contemplation, introspection, and honesty with oneself. Sometimes, our faults are readily identifiable. If we’re constantly late to office meetings, birthday parties, and doctor’s appointments, the clock is a clear indication that punctuality may be an area that requires growth. Other times, we may use circumstances to justify our mistakes. “I didn’t say thank you to the cashier because I was in a rush… I hung up on the customer service representative because I didn’t have time to wait on hold… I raised my voice at the driver ahead of me because he was jeopardizing everyone’s safety.” Are these individual incidents or do they happen regularly? Nah, of course this isn’t a pattern. Recognizing it as a habitual occurrence would mean that it was something that would need to be addressed and worked on.
While acknowledging our weaknesses requires a change in behavior, embracing our strengths is just the opposite. Taking stock of what we are good at holds us accountable. We are thus liable for using our talents and skills to better ourselves and make a difference. G-d gave each and every one of us unique talents that are pertinent in achieving our individual mission and purpose.
The beauty of entering a new year is that we’re able to start afresh. Rather than focusing on where we went wrong last year, we can look ahead to what we can accomplish in the year to come. So, take out a brush, put some paint on your palette, and create a work of art. After all, you’re the artist behind your life.
I didn’t know I was an artist either! Besides having a lovely afternoon with hot dogs, playing board games, and riding bikes outside, our young friend taught me a lesson that has stayed with me ever since. In fact, I am sure it will stay with me for life.
Painting is something I tremendously enjoy. I’ll be the first to admit that I am ‘self taught’ and that my technique can use some boosting. In fact, I would love to take lessons one day. I’m not able to paint as often as I would like, but I try to squeeze it in when I can. Nonetheless, it is a hobby that I find inspiring, invigorating, and fun all in one. I love the anticipation of taking out my drawing book or canvas, opening my paints, spreading out my paint brushes, and daydreaming about where my brushes will lead me. However, I never considered calling myself an artist until our get together with our young friend.
When a teacher asks a class of second graders if any of the children are athletes, there are bound to be several hands that shoot up. The same goes for dancers, singers, writers, and cooks. Yet, when someone asks a room full of adults, very few adults will attest to their talents, skills, and hobbies. Is it humility that stops an adult from calling himself a poet? Or doubt in one’s ability? Or the fear that others will mock him for a self proclaimed title? What are the criteria that allow someone to call themselves a “poet” as opposed to “someone who likes to write poems?” Is it one’s skill? The time invested into the endeavor? The fame one’s achieved? Or the fortune?
I don’t know which is more difficult, recognizing our weaknesses or admitting our strengths.
Acknowledging our own individual areas that could use further improvement is a difficult process. It requires contemplation, introspection, and honesty with oneself. Sometimes, our faults are readily identifiable. If we’re constantly late to office meetings, birthday parties, and doctor’s appointments, the clock is a clear indication that punctuality may be an area that requires growth. Other times, we may use circumstances to justify our mistakes. “I didn’t say thank you to the cashier because I was in a rush… I hung up on the customer service representative because I didn’t have time to wait on hold… I raised my voice at the driver ahead of me because he was jeopardizing everyone’s safety.” Are these individual incidents or do they happen regularly? Nah, of course this isn’t a pattern. Recognizing it as a habitual occurrence would mean that it was something that would need to be addressed and worked on.
While acknowledging our weaknesses requires a change in behavior, embracing our strengths is just the opposite. Taking stock of what we are good at holds us accountable. We are thus liable for using our talents and skills to better ourselves and make a difference. G-d gave each and every one of us unique talents that are pertinent in achieving our individual mission and purpose.
The beauty of entering a new year is that we’re able to start afresh. Rather than focusing on where we went wrong last year, we can look ahead to what we can accomplish in the year to come. So, take out a brush, put some paint on your palette, and create a work of art. After all, you’re the artist behind your life.
Turning Don't into Do
For 830 years the two Holy Temples stood atop of Mount Moriah. So pivotal was the Beis Hamikdash to our relationship with Hashem that nearly two-thirds of the 613 mitzvahs cannot be completed without the Temple. Its destruction marks one of the greatest tragedies in Jewish history. Conversely, its final construction will also mark the fulfillment of our ultimate desire and goal, the coming of Moshiach.
And so last week, with a heavy heart, we entered the three weeks. It is during these three weeks, which begins with the fast of the 17th of Tammuz and culminates with Tisha B’Av (the fast of the 9th of Av), that we mourn life without a Temple.
In my heart, I can acknowledge and appreciate these three weeks where we, as a nation, come together to mourn and commemorate. I pray on a daily basis and yearn for the day that the Beis Hamikdash will be rebuilt. This desire for Moshiach is built into our hardware as Yidden. Yet, over the past few days, I have found myself looking at all the restrictions during this three week period.
We don’t play instruments or listen to live music. We don’t recite the shehechiyanu blessing, which means we cannot don new clothing or eat new fruit we haven’t yet eaten this season. We don’t hold weddings. We don’t have haircuts. Furthermore, there are additional restrictions as we enter the nine days. We don’t eat meat. We don’t drink wine. We don’t go swimming. We don’t do laundry or wear freshly laundered clothing. We don’t cut our nails. We don’t travel.
Instead of lamenting our tragic loss and mourning the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash, my mind has been wandering to other thoughts. Why must the three weeks occur right in the middle of the summer? Why can’t I enjoy the new fruit that are especially plentiful this time of year? Just as I am learning the guitar, why must I take a three week hiatus?
Furthermore, how about the back to school sales on clothing; now’s the perfect time to go shopping. Not to mention summer getaways. What’s camping without boating and swimming? Having a small child, my clothing tends to get splattered with food, how can I go for 9 days without laundry? What if I won a raffle for a manicure and pedicure?
So even though I haven’t had a manicure since my wedding day, and I never particularly find myself fantasizing “do I ever wish I could have a manicure,” I was still dreaming about the “manicure that could have been.” Why was I so intent on focusing on all the restrictions and prohibitions?
That’s when it occurred to me. Instead of focusing on the “don’t’s,” I would be much better off focusing on the “do’s.” Although there are many limitations during this period, they are all physical. If I had the choice, I would choose physical rather than spiritual constraints. In fact, once I put my mind to it, it took mere seconds for me to realize the many “do’s” that are incorporated into this three week period.
During the three weeks, we are instructed to spend time reflecting on the state of the world as it currently is and what we can do through acts of kindness to improve it. It is recommended that we increase in our Torah study, particularly learning about concepts related to the Temple. It is praiseworthy to give more charity. We must make a concentrated effort to improve our ahavas Yisrael. So although quantitatively there may be more “don’t’s,” qualitatively the “do’s” are ever so much more multifaceted.
It is written in Isaiah 66:10 “Rejoice with Jerusalem… all who mourn over her.” Our wise Talmudic sages tell us that those who mourn the destruction of Jerusalem will merit seeing it rebuilt with the coming of Moshiach (Talmud Taanit 30b). Furthermore, Isaiah 1:27 states, “Tzion shall be redeemed by law and her returnees by charity.” It is for this reason that the Lubavitcher Rebbe emphasized Torah study, particularly with the Torah portions involving the building of the Beis Hamikdash, as well as generosity and acts of kindness during this time.
Thus, mourning is a two step process, involving grieving and rebuilding. Until recognizing the second component in mourning, I felt somewhat detached from these three weeks. Yet, when I contemplate all the “do’s” that we are responsible for, I now view these three weeks as an intense period where each of us can make a difference. We’re not just crying; we’re salvaging, rescuing, reclaiming, and rebuilding.
It’s amazing what can happen when we shift our perspective. By getting rid of two letters, I gained an appreciation for a Torah concept that was hidden to me. May this year’s three weeks be the last we commemorate!
And so last week, with a heavy heart, we entered the three weeks. It is during these three weeks, which begins with the fast of the 17th of Tammuz and culminates with Tisha B’Av (the fast of the 9th of Av), that we mourn life without a Temple.
In my heart, I can acknowledge and appreciate these three weeks where we, as a nation, come together to mourn and commemorate. I pray on a daily basis and yearn for the day that the Beis Hamikdash will be rebuilt. This desire for Moshiach is built into our hardware as Yidden. Yet, over the past few days, I have found myself looking at all the restrictions during this three week period.
We don’t play instruments or listen to live music. We don’t recite the shehechiyanu blessing, which means we cannot don new clothing or eat new fruit we haven’t yet eaten this season. We don’t hold weddings. We don’t have haircuts. Furthermore, there are additional restrictions as we enter the nine days. We don’t eat meat. We don’t drink wine. We don’t go swimming. We don’t do laundry or wear freshly laundered clothing. We don’t cut our nails. We don’t travel.
Instead of lamenting our tragic loss and mourning the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash, my mind has been wandering to other thoughts. Why must the three weeks occur right in the middle of the summer? Why can’t I enjoy the new fruit that are especially plentiful this time of year? Just as I am learning the guitar, why must I take a three week hiatus?
Furthermore, how about the back to school sales on clothing; now’s the perfect time to go shopping. Not to mention summer getaways. What’s camping without boating and swimming? Having a small child, my clothing tends to get splattered with food, how can I go for 9 days without laundry? What if I won a raffle for a manicure and pedicure?
So even though I haven’t had a manicure since my wedding day, and I never particularly find myself fantasizing “do I ever wish I could have a manicure,” I was still dreaming about the “manicure that could have been.” Why was I so intent on focusing on all the restrictions and prohibitions?
That’s when it occurred to me. Instead of focusing on the “don’t’s,” I would be much better off focusing on the “do’s.” Although there are many limitations during this period, they are all physical. If I had the choice, I would choose physical rather than spiritual constraints. In fact, once I put my mind to it, it took mere seconds for me to realize the many “do’s” that are incorporated into this three week period.
During the three weeks, we are instructed to spend time reflecting on the state of the world as it currently is and what we can do through acts of kindness to improve it. It is recommended that we increase in our Torah study, particularly learning about concepts related to the Temple. It is praiseworthy to give more charity. We must make a concentrated effort to improve our ahavas Yisrael. So although quantitatively there may be more “don’t’s,” qualitatively the “do’s” are ever so much more multifaceted.
It is written in Isaiah 66:10 “Rejoice with Jerusalem… all who mourn over her.” Our wise Talmudic sages tell us that those who mourn the destruction of Jerusalem will merit seeing it rebuilt with the coming of Moshiach (Talmud Taanit 30b). Furthermore, Isaiah 1:27 states, “Tzion shall be redeemed by law and her returnees by charity.” It is for this reason that the Lubavitcher Rebbe emphasized Torah study, particularly with the Torah portions involving the building of the Beis Hamikdash, as well as generosity and acts of kindness during this time.
Thus, mourning is a two step process, involving grieving and rebuilding. Until recognizing the second component in mourning, I felt somewhat detached from these three weeks. Yet, when I contemplate all the “do’s” that we are responsible for, I now view these three weeks as an intense period where each of us can make a difference. We’re not just crying; we’re salvaging, rescuing, reclaiming, and rebuilding.
It’s amazing what can happen when we shift our perspective. By getting rid of two letters, I gained an appreciation for a Torah concept that was hidden to me. May this year’s three weeks be the last we commemorate!
Shall I Do It Now, or Later?
Ever notice that doing a 2 minute job right away can save us from a 15 minute job down the line?
For example, changing my daughter’s diaper sooner rather than later can mean all the difference between diaper rash and smooth skin. Soaking the dishes in the sink immediately after dinner instead of leaving them on table, means less time scrubbing later on. Nipping a miscommunication in the bud instead of letting it fester means enjoying peace and serenity instead of anguish and hurt.
There are always two way of doing things; the short long way, or the long short way. Avoiding what has to be done may have short term benefits, but long term disappointment.
Doing what needs to be done right away can be cumbersome, but has lifelong advantages. We learn from this week’s parsha, Pinchas that acting with alacrity is of utmost importance. Pinchas didn’t wait to see if others would do what was right, rather he stood up for what he believed in without hesitation. Had Pinchas waited, who knows how many people would have learned from Zimri, with one sin rapidly multiplying.
Procrastination is easy because it allows us to neglect our true abilities for fear that we may not live up to our true potential. Pinchas teaches us that we have nothing to lose by doing what’s right, right away!
For example, changing my daughter’s diaper sooner rather than later can mean all the difference between diaper rash and smooth skin. Soaking the dishes in the sink immediately after dinner instead of leaving them on table, means less time scrubbing later on. Nipping a miscommunication in the bud instead of letting it fester means enjoying peace and serenity instead of anguish and hurt.
There are always two way of doing things; the short long way, or the long short way. Avoiding what has to be done may have short term benefits, but long term disappointment.
Doing what needs to be done right away can be cumbersome, but has lifelong advantages. We learn from this week’s parsha, Pinchas that acting with alacrity is of utmost importance. Pinchas didn’t wait to see if others would do what was right, rather he stood up for what he believed in without hesitation. Had Pinchas waited, who knows how many people would have learned from Zimri, with one sin rapidly multiplying.
Procrastination is easy because it allows us to neglect our true abilities for fear that we may not live up to our true potential. Pinchas teaches us that we have nothing to lose by doing what’s right, right away!
Are You Going Up, or Are You Going Down?
Yaakov Sherman was a jet fighter pilot for the Israeli Air Force. One evening, Koby, as he was known by his family and friends, was preparing to board one of the five jets stationed on the tarmac. He and his fellow pilots had been practicing for several weeks in tandem for complete accuracy and precision in their drills in the pitch black sky. Directly following takeoff, Koby selected a practice target and immediately radioed his team to prepare for formation.
As his jet climbed in altitude, his head began to whirl. Within seconds, he was experiencing vertigo, a condition marked by disorientation and confusion of direction. His vision became blurry, his mind was racing, and he couldn’t determine the direction he was flying in. Was he veering to the right or the left? Was his jet soaring up or plummeting down?
Little did Koby know, but his plane was actually flying upside down and hurtling towards land at frightening speeds. Koby, nonetheless, was sure he was flying upwards. Upon glancing at the dashboard, the altimeter told him otherwise. As a safety precaution for situations precisely like these, the jets are equipped with two altimeters, in case a pilot rationalizes that the first one may be defunct. When he saw the second altimeter also pointing down, he began to think that something may be wrong.
Koby immediately radioed the four other pilots, yelling in panic, “Tell me my position, am I going up or down?” “Ata yored, ata yored,” (you’re going down, you’re going down) one of the pilots frantically radioed back to Koby, “reverse your position.”
Only Koby could pull the stick to reverse his current direction. Koby’s body instinctively directed him to maintain his position, however his mind compelled him to change course. Although doubting the decision, as he was still convinced he was heading upwards, Koby mustered his last ounce of strength and pulled the lever. Promptly, the plane soared to the sky, and he was redirected to a safe landing.
I heard this story quite some time ago, yet it often comes to mind when I think of ideas surrounding perspective. Although Koby was absolutely positively certain that he was ‘going up’, it was only with the assistance of one of the pilots outside his jet that he was able to get a clearer perspective.
So many times, I find myself thinking one way about an event, idea, or concept, and then when I take a step back, my thoughts aren’t what they initially were. This is further magnified when I discuss the occurrence with a friend, and am able to see beyond my individual thoughts; I am able to see an angle that I hadn’t even considered at first.
I find this idea of being ‘too close to a situation’ also applies to my dual role as an editor and writer. When I look over an article prior to publication, I can catch minor mistakes that the author didn’t notice. However, when it comes to an article that I have written, I need someone else to look it over for grammar, spelling, punctuation, content, and flow. My mind reads what it wants to, so it may not catch a “your” that’s supposed to be “you’re,” or “weather” when I really meant “whether.”
Having a good editor is paramount to producing a well written article. So too, having a mentor is crucial to produce the results we want in life. A mentor, or in Hebrew mashpiah, is someone to whom we can turn to analyze, discuss, and evaluate the various options we’re considering.
In the story of our lives, it is Hashem who is the editor and is who we must look to for perspective. Yes, we have the ability to make daily choices and ‘write’ our own script, however the final draft is always placed on Hashem’s desk for review.
As we go through life we often feel that we are making the right choices, especially when we take the time to analyze the pros and cons before committing to a final decision. This then makes it extremely difficult to listen to someone else who ‘knows what’s best for us’ even though we can’t understand where they are coming from. It is specifically then that we have to evaluate our perspective.
Young children are enamoured by their parents and are completely and utterly convinced that their mother and father know everything. Then, as they grow older they begin to think that perhaps their parents don’t know as much as they thought they did. Before long, the children are teenagers and are certain that they themselves know it all. Finally, the teenagers become young married couples who once again turn to their parents for advice, as after all they already went through it all and surely have gained some wisdom.
Our relationship with Hashem is one of a parent to a child. If you ask a child who created the world he will tell you quite simply; Hashem. Similarly, if you ask a child why they can’t eat not kosher food, they will tell you; because Hashem says so. It is this perspective which we as adults must strive to sustain in our daily lives. Though we often feel as though we know what is best for ourselves and what direction we need to pursue to reach our destination, we must turn to Hashem. After all, it is Hashem who lets us know if we are going up, or if we are going down!
As his jet climbed in altitude, his head began to whirl. Within seconds, he was experiencing vertigo, a condition marked by disorientation and confusion of direction. His vision became blurry, his mind was racing, and he couldn’t determine the direction he was flying in. Was he veering to the right or the left? Was his jet soaring up or plummeting down?
Little did Koby know, but his plane was actually flying upside down and hurtling towards land at frightening speeds. Koby, nonetheless, was sure he was flying upwards. Upon glancing at the dashboard, the altimeter told him otherwise. As a safety precaution for situations precisely like these, the jets are equipped with two altimeters, in case a pilot rationalizes that the first one may be defunct. When he saw the second altimeter also pointing down, he began to think that something may be wrong.
Koby immediately radioed the four other pilots, yelling in panic, “Tell me my position, am I going up or down?” “Ata yored, ata yored,” (you’re going down, you’re going down) one of the pilots frantically radioed back to Koby, “reverse your position.”
Only Koby could pull the stick to reverse his current direction. Koby’s body instinctively directed him to maintain his position, however his mind compelled him to change course. Although doubting the decision, as he was still convinced he was heading upwards, Koby mustered his last ounce of strength and pulled the lever. Promptly, the plane soared to the sky, and he was redirected to a safe landing.
I heard this story quite some time ago, yet it often comes to mind when I think of ideas surrounding perspective. Although Koby was absolutely positively certain that he was ‘going up’, it was only with the assistance of one of the pilots outside his jet that he was able to get a clearer perspective.
So many times, I find myself thinking one way about an event, idea, or concept, and then when I take a step back, my thoughts aren’t what they initially were. This is further magnified when I discuss the occurrence with a friend, and am able to see beyond my individual thoughts; I am able to see an angle that I hadn’t even considered at first.
I find this idea of being ‘too close to a situation’ also applies to my dual role as an editor and writer. When I look over an article prior to publication, I can catch minor mistakes that the author didn’t notice. However, when it comes to an article that I have written, I need someone else to look it over for grammar, spelling, punctuation, content, and flow. My mind reads what it wants to, so it may not catch a “your” that’s supposed to be “you’re,” or “weather” when I really meant “whether.”
Having a good editor is paramount to producing a well written article. So too, having a mentor is crucial to produce the results we want in life. A mentor, or in Hebrew mashpiah, is someone to whom we can turn to analyze, discuss, and evaluate the various options we’re considering.
In the story of our lives, it is Hashem who is the editor and is who we must look to for perspective. Yes, we have the ability to make daily choices and ‘write’ our own script, however the final draft is always placed on Hashem’s desk for review.
As we go through life we often feel that we are making the right choices, especially when we take the time to analyze the pros and cons before committing to a final decision. This then makes it extremely difficult to listen to someone else who ‘knows what’s best for us’ even though we can’t understand where they are coming from. It is specifically then that we have to evaluate our perspective.
Young children are enamoured by their parents and are completely and utterly convinced that their mother and father know everything. Then, as they grow older they begin to think that perhaps their parents don’t know as much as they thought they did. Before long, the children are teenagers and are certain that they themselves know it all. Finally, the teenagers become young married couples who once again turn to their parents for advice, as after all they already went through it all and surely have gained some wisdom.
Our relationship with Hashem is one of a parent to a child. If you ask a child who created the world he will tell you quite simply; Hashem. Similarly, if you ask a child why they can’t eat not kosher food, they will tell you; because Hashem says so. It is this perspective which we as adults must strive to sustain in our daily lives. Though we often feel as though we know what is best for ourselves and what direction we need to pursue to reach our destination, we must turn to Hashem. After all, it is Hashem who lets us know if we are going up, or if we are going down!
Second Chances
Pesach Sheni. These two words instantly bring a smile to my face. I love each of them when they are used individually, but even more when they are used as a duo.
Let’s start off with Pesach. You may recall from the Purim edition of A Shtikel Vort, I had mentioned that Pesach always makes its way onto my Top 3 Holiday List. I truly value this joyous festival that is filled with tremendous meaning on an individual, communal, and global level.
I personally internalize Pesach as a holiday of freedom and liberation from all our personal limitations, self-imposed constraints, and restrictive inhibitions. Hashem can take us out of Egypt, but it is each of us that can eradicate Egypt from ourselves. It is no surprise that Mitzrayim, the Hebrew word for Egypt, comes from the root “mey-tzar” which means constriction.
Pesach is our opportunity to revamp our own self-defined identities. “I’m not smart enough. I lack a sense of humour. Moshe is a better public speaker. I could never dream of making desserts like Sara.” As the saying goes, ‘sometimes we are our own worst enemy.’ Pesach is that occasion to live up to our potential and G-d given talents. It doesn’t matter how much Yitzchak can bench-press or that Rivka’s a speedy ganzalo in typing.
What does matter is that each of us speaks in a style individually unique to us re desserts using ourll times does H us, that we experiment with the desserts we find tantalizing, that we stay healthy and fit through activities we enjoy, and let our fingers lead the way in typing. I found that opportunities opened up tenfold when I illuminated the word “can’t” from my vocabulary, Baruch Hashem. And for that, I thank Hashem for giving me the koach (strength) to continue pushing myself even when I’m ready to give up.
Then there is the word Sheni, which means second. We learn that each number plays a pivotal role in Judaism and has inherent properties. I’m not a mathematician, but I often find myself analyzing numbers (perhaps it runs in my genes, as my father is an account). When I think of the number two, my special grandmother who my daughter is named after immediately comes to mind.
True to her roots, my grandmother was no exception to the stereotype of the Eastern European Jewish Bubby who loved feeding everyone seconds, thirds, and fourths. Beautiful memories of dining together with Baba fill my thoughts. As I would finish one helping, Baba would fill my plate with a second, smiling as she said “Vzso dazhno biit vipari” in Russian, which roughly translates to “all should be in pairs.” I don’t know if it was solely a strategy to get me to eat more, or if my grandmother was alluding to the potency of the number two, but it certainly worked, I always took seconds.
It goes without saying that the world has many dichotomies. Light–dark, male–female, and heaven–earth, just to name a few. In fact, two of the most powerful forces that exist in the world are a duo: Hashem–mankind and husband–wife. Furthermore, it would have saved space to bring along one of each specifies, however Noach brought two. This alludes to the significance of the number two – that the perpetuation of the world rested on it.
Yet, it is when Pesach and Sheni are united that I feel their strongest impact. Our celebration of Pesach Sheni dates back several millennia. The year following the Exodus, Hashem instructed the Jewish people to bring a Pesach offering on Nissan 14th. They were told to roast the offering and eat it together with matzah and bitter herbs, as was done the previous year right before leaving Egypt.
However, there were those who were unable to bring the offering on that day and so they pleaded to Moshe and Aharon “why should we be deprived by not offering Hashem’s offering in its appointed time among the children of Israel?” (Bamidbar 9:7). Hashem heard their cries and established Iyar 14th as the “Second Pesach,” a special opportunity for those unable to bring the offering the previous month.
Although we do not bring offerings in this day and age, Pesach Sheni represents a lesson that, if internalized, I believe can change the way we live our lives. If one were to open up the dictionary and see Pesach Sheni in there, I can only imagine “second chances” being a synonym.
Each of us comes into the world with a unique mission, and our proverbial tool bag is filled with G-d given skills, talents, and attributes. We all have a multifaceted assignment: to make the world a better place and to make ourselves better people. It is our calling to live up to our potential.
When we feel all hope is gone, we must dig deep into our reserves and muster up that last ounce of strength to keep going. As Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, the Friedeker Rebbe, said, “The Second Passover means that it’s never a lost cause.” Hashem has instructed us to reach up and soar to new heights. We’re only able to leave our limitations and inhibitions by taking risks. And inevitably, risks can lead to success or failure. Or as I like to say, to success or success.
Failure becomes a powerful tool when we allow ourselves to learn from our mistakes. In fact, I am a firm believer that we learn more from our so-called failures, than from our successes. And thus the impact of teshuvah, the idea of repentance and return. Returning back to our optimistic selves where we are open to taking risks, dreaming of new heights, and working at it one step at a time.
Let’s start off with Pesach. You may recall from the Purim edition of A Shtikel Vort, I had mentioned that Pesach always makes its way onto my Top 3 Holiday List. I truly value this joyous festival that is filled with tremendous meaning on an individual, communal, and global level.
I personally internalize Pesach as a holiday of freedom and liberation from all our personal limitations, self-imposed constraints, and restrictive inhibitions. Hashem can take us out of Egypt, but it is each of us that can eradicate Egypt from ourselves. It is no surprise that Mitzrayim, the Hebrew word for Egypt, comes from the root “mey-tzar” which means constriction.
Pesach is our opportunity to revamp our own self-defined identities. “I’m not smart enough. I lack a sense of humour. Moshe is a better public speaker. I could never dream of making desserts like Sara.” As the saying goes, ‘sometimes we are our own worst enemy.’ Pesach is that occasion to live up to our potential and G-d given talents. It doesn’t matter how much Yitzchak can bench-press or that Rivka’s a speedy ganzalo in typing.
What does matter is that each of us speaks in a style individually unique to us re desserts using ourll times does H us, that we experiment with the desserts we find tantalizing, that we stay healthy and fit through activities we enjoy, and let our fingers lead the way in typing. I found that opportunities opened up tenfold when I illuminated the word “can’t” from my vocabulary, Baruch Hashem. And for that, I thank Hashem for giving me the koach (strength) to continue pushing myself even when I’m ready to give up.
Then there is the word Sheni, which means second. We learn that each number plays a pivotal role in Judaism and has inherent properties. I’m not a mathematician, but I often find myself analyzing numbers (perhaps it runs in my genes, as my father is an account). When I think of the number two, my special grandmother who my daughter is named after immediately comes to mind.
True to her roots, my grandmother was no exception to the stereotype of the Eastern European Jewish Bubby who loved feeding everyone seconds, thirds, and fourths. Beautiful memories of dining together with Baba fill my thoughts. As I would finish one helping, Baba would fill my plate with a second, smiling as she said “Vzso dazhno biit vipari” in Russian, which roughly translates to “all should be in pairs.” I don’t know if it was solely a strategy to get me to eat more, or if my grandmother was alluding to the potency of the number two, but it certainly worked, I always took seconds.
It goes without saying that the world has many dichotomies. Light–dark, male–female, and heaven–earth, just to name a few. In fact, two of the most powerful forces that exist in the world are a duo: Hashem–mankind and husband–wife. Furthermore, it would have saved space to bring along one of each specifies, however Noach brought two. This alludes to the significance of the number two – that the perpetuation of the world rested on it.
Yet, it is when Pesach and Sheni are united that I feel their strongest impact. Our celebration of Pesach Sheni dates back several millennia. The year following the Exodus, Hashem instructed the Jewish people to bring a Pesach offering on Nissan 14th. They were told to roast the offering and eat it together with matzah and bitter herbs, as was done the previous year right before leaving Egypt.
However, there were those who were unable to bring the offering on that day and so they pleaded to Moshe and Aharon “why should we be deprived by not offering Hashem’s offering in its appointed time among the children of Israel?” (Bamidbar 9:7). Hashem heard their cries and established Iyar 14th as the “Second Pesach,” a special opportunity for those unable to bring the offering the previous month.
Although we do not bring offerings in this day and age, Pesach Sheni represents a lesson that, if internalized, I believe can change the way we live our lives. If one were to open up the dictionary and see Pesach Sheni in there, I can only imagine “second chances” being a synonym.
Each of us comes into the world with a unique mission, and our proverbial tool bag is filled with G-d given skills, talents, and attributes. We all have a multifaceted assignment: to make the world a better place and to make ourselves better people. It is our calling to live up to our potential.
When we feel all hope is gone, we must dig deep into our reserves and muster up that last ounce of strength to keep going. As Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneersohn, the Friedeker Rebbe, said, “The Second Passover means that it’s never a lost cause.” Hashem has instructed us to reach up and soar to new heights. We’re only able to leave our limitations and inhibitions by taking risks. And inevitably, risks can lead to success or failure. Or as I like to say, to success or success.
Failure becomes a powerful tool when we allow ourselves to learn from our mistakes. In fact, I am a firm believer that we learn more from our so-called failures, than from our successes. And thus the impact of teshuvah, the idea of repentance and return. Returning back to our optimistic selves where we are open to taking risks, dreaming of new heights, and working at it one step at a time.
Continuing the Count
It’s hard to believe that it has been a year since last Pesach, when I was gleefully expecting the birth of our first child. Yes, its official, we just celebrated Bayla’s first birthday! I often find myself in a state of flux between time whizzing by quickly and standing still to enjoy the precious moments. So many sweet moments of cuddles, hugs, smiles, giggles, and hoorays fill my day as a “stay at home mother,” as well as squeezing in time for the necessary house related duties.
Since becoming a mother, I have found that many of my actions are influenced by my goal to be a role model to my daughter. After all, the odds are better for “do as I do” than “do as I say.” I was to lead by example, to teach Bayla to live up to her potential, to develop a love and excitement for Torah and Mitzvot, and to work to develop her characteristics and attributes.
On the second night of Pesach, we started counting the Omer, 49 days towards the festival of Shavuos. In past years, I admit, it wasn’t always something I started, and when I did, I don’t recall ever completing the cycle. However, this year, I made a personal commitment to count the Omer. And just before I went to sleep each night, I took out the Siddur and counted the Omer. Day 1… day 7… day 12.
I felt really proud, until two nights ago, when I double checked with my husband the correct number to count, only to learn that I had miscounted the previous night. “Oh no,” I thought to myself, “I set the goal to count the Omer this year, and it’s ruined. Great. Just great. Or rather, lousy.” I had two choices; give up my endeavour of counting the Omer this year, and possibly try again the following year; or to continue with my counting. It may not be perfect, or the way I envisioned it, as I can no longer say the bracha; but I can go on.
It is amazing that this occurred during this week’s parsha, which instructs us with the Omer count. It gives us clear directions on how to count the Omer, when to start, and when to end. There is no foot note of what to do when we mix up the days. Because it is simple; we go on counting. We each have a mission. It doesn’t always pan out the way we hope, but we trudge ahead and continue. Doing so makes us stronger; it makes us better people. And that is why I will continue counting the Omer.
By counting, I am living a life committed to perseverance and hard work, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Next year, when Bayla sees her Mommy counting, I will be proud to tell her that the previous year; I made a mistake, but nevertheless continued. We all make mistakes. The truth is that if we never make a mistake, it means we never pushed ourselves to reach our potential. Why coast along with the tide when we can steer our ship?
Since becoming a mother, I have found that many of my actions are influenced by my goal to be a role model to my daughter. After all, the odds are better for “do as I do” than “do as I say.” I was to lead by example, to teach Bayla to live up to her potential, to develop a love and excitement for Torah and Mitzvot, and to work to develop her characteristics and attributes.
On the second night of Pesach, we started counting the Omer, 49 days towards the festival of Shavuos. In past years, I admit, it wasn’t always something I started, and when I did, I don’t recall ever completing the cycle. However, this year, I made a personal commitment to count the Omer. And just before I went to sleep each night, I took out the Siddur and counted the Omer. Day 1… day 7… day 12.
I felt really proud, until two nights ago, when I double checked with my husband the correct number to count, only to learn that I had miscounted the previous night. “Oh no,” I thought to myself, “I set the goal to count the Omer this year, and it’s ruined. Great. Just great. Or rather, lousy.” I had two choices; give up my endeavour of counting the Omer this year, and possibly try again the following year; or to continue with my counting. It may not be perfect, or the way I envisioned it, as I can no longer say the bracha; but I can go on.
It is amazing that this occurred during this week’s parsha, which instructs us with the Omer count. It gives us clear directions on how to count the Omer, when to start, and when to end. There is no foot note of what to do when we mix up the days. Because it is simple; we go on counting. We each have a mission. It doesn’t always pan out the way we hope, but we trudge ahead and continue. Doing so makes us stronger; it makes us better people. And that is why I will continue counting the Omer.
By counting, I am living a life committed to perseverance and hard work, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Next year, when Bayla sees her Mommy counting, I will be proud to tell her that the previous year; I made a mistake, but nevertheless continued. We all make mistakes. The truth is that if we never make a mistake, it means we never pushed ourselves to reach our potential. Why coast along with the tide when we can steer our ship?
What We Say, and How We Say It
At times, it is easier to get a message across as straight forward and quickly as possible; but often this is neither the most efficient nor tactful way to achieve a desired outcome. Rather, we must carefully select our words, time the situation just right, and use a gentle and welcoming tone and body language.
I was recently speaking with a friend about the numerous complexities involved in running a household. My friend sadly expressed that it pains her greatly when she asks her husband to contribute to the domestic responsibilities, by washing the dishes, vacuuming the carpets, or changing the baby’s diaper, and he thinks of excuses why not to.
I gently asked her more about the situation, to which she revealed that she tells him, or rather commands him, what to do, how to do it, and when it should be done. And when he does follow through, if it is not done to perfection, she berates him and instructs him to ‘shape up’ next time. She then confessed, “I don’t have the time to speak in a soft whisper and gently encourage him in his capabilities. When I need the garbage taken out, I tell him to do it.”
It got me thinking, if my dear friend spent a little extra energy on her speech, took away some of the ‘sergeant-style’ commands, and added some loving sensitivity, she would be closer to achieving the results she so desperately wanted.
If we take the time to carefully select our words, it will be an investment whose outcomes will increase many-fold.
I was recently speaking with a friend about the numerous complexities involved in running a household. My friend sadly expressed that it pains her greatly when she asks her husband to contribute to the domestic responsibilities, by washing the dishes, vacuuming the carpets, or changing the baby’s diaper, and he thinks of excuses why not to.
I gently asked her more about the situation, to which she revealed that she tells him, or rather commands him, what to do, how to do it, and when it should be done. And when he does follow through, if it is not done to perfection, she berates him and instructs him to ‘shape up’ next time. She then confessed, “I don’t have the time to speak in a soft whisper and gently encourage him in his capabilities. When I need the garbage taken out, I tell him to do it.”
It got me thinking, if my dear friend spent a little extra energy on her speech, took away some of the ‘sergeant-style’ commands, and added some loving sensitivity, she would be closer to achieving the results she so desperately wanted.
If we take the time to carefully select our words, it will be an investment whose outcomes will increase many-fold.
What's the Hoopla with a Mask, Basket, and Noise Maker?
As a child who had a strong creative streak, I always enjoyed the holiday of Purim. I designed and created my own costumes, transformed ordinary wicker baskets into elegant mishloach manos parcels, decorated exquisite handmade cards with stamps, lace trim, and pop out decorations, came to shul with gragger in hand, participated in a grand and glorious holiday feast, and delicately distributed my hard earned savings from my newspaper route for charity.
Over the years, not much has changed. Except, substitute 'newspaper girl' for 'social working mother and wife.' As far back as I can remember, I was a sensitive and knowledge-thirsty child who was drawn to the 'deeper meaning' of Jewish practices. For me, it was the “if, when, where, who, and why” that mattered, not just the “what.” However, I was never really able to see beyond the lights and sounds of Purim to find its deeper meaning. I celebrated the holiday in full, but was often left wondering what was behind the blaring music, wild decorations, and mouth-watering savouries.
It is for this reason that I have always found Purim to be fun, but never ranked it in my Top 3 Holiday List. I loved Chanukah because of the pivotal message of light over dark, right over wrong, good over evil. Plus, it just so happened that I was born on the first night of Chanukah, shortly after the Menorah was lit. I tremendously enjoyed Pesach not only because of the late night Seders, but also the timeless legacy of our ancestors and our heroic leader pleading to "let my people go" really resonated with me. And nothing can compete with the unadulterated joy and happiness of Simchas Torah, where we would just let go (... and let G-d…) and dance all night with our beloved Torah.
But Purim? I was happy to go along with the energy and excitement of the holiday, but I never understood Purim in its essence. I saw the beauty of its associated mitzvot and customs, and I recognized the strategic emphasis of G-d's hidden Hand in the events and aftermath, but there was something lacking. And for this reason, Purim never made the cut for the much sought after Top 3 List.
It is only this year, my first Purim as a mother, that I have invested much time and energy to delve into the deeper meanings and significance that this rich festival offers. How could I expect my daughter to gravitate to the underlying messages of this beautiful holiday if her mother didn't fully understand them? Granted she is 11 months, but it is my responsibility to set a solid foundation.
Being that Purim and Yom Kippur are intrinsically connected, I decided to engage in some holiday comparison and analysis that goes beyond the fact that both holidays involve fasting. After all, Yom Kippur isn’t called “the day that is like Purim” (Yom HaKi Purim) for nothing!
Upon my research and clarification, I found that Purim is steeped with timeless practices and much of the “hoopla” does indeed have a rich significance. In fact, Purim, like Yom Kippur, requires introspection on an individual and communal level. As a contributing writer, I am only privy to two columns in this week’s issue, thus I am unable to delve into each and every mitzvah and custom, but I’d like to elaborate on a central theme that I found.
Three is a pivotal number in Judaism, and there are many trends that follow this. Shimon HaTzadik writes in the Ethics of our Fathers 1:2, “The world stands on three things: 1) Torah (study), 2) Avodah (service and prayer to G-d), and 3) Gemilus Chasadim (acts of kindness). Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel, in another well known saying in Ethics of our Fathers 1:18 states, "The world endures on three things: 1) justice, 2) truth, and 3) peace.”
I have also found that in my day to day living, I have three different types of relationships: a) between me and other people, b) between me and myself, and c) between me and G-d. Purim is an especially ‘well-rounded’ holiday, as it is filled with observances and customs from each of the above categories.
Between me and other people:
Between me and myself:
Between me and G-d:
I cannot ‘al regel achas’ (on one foot) delve into the significance of each of the above practices. However, through this process of research and investigation, I have learned a very important life lesson. At first I was fine with accepting Purim as a “fluff” holiday, but upon further research, I found the answers I was looking for.
We can only win a game of hide and seek if we put energy into searching high and low. We can’t expect results and answers to magically appear, but when we do our part, it’s magic – they do emerge. If we put our full effort into a project or task, we will be rewarded with success. Like the numerous sayings go, “the harder I work, the luckier I get” and “luck is when opportunity meets preparation.” It is only when we set up our chess board that we are able to make a move.
So go ahead, gather with your family and friends and ‘eat, drink, and be merry,’ but don’t forget to do some introspection, as it will make the festivities even more exciting. May the simcha and joy of Purim accompany you throughout the year!
Over the years, not much has changed. Except, substitute 'newspaper girl' for 'social working mother and wife.' As far back as I can remember, I was a sensitive and knowledge-thirsty child who was drawn to the 'deeper meaning' of Jewish practices. For me, it was the “if, when, where, who, and why” that mattered, not just the “what.” However, I was never really able to see beyond the lights and sounds of Purim to find its deeper meaning. I celebrated the holiday in full, but was often left wondering what was behind the blaring music, wild decorations, and mouth-watering savouries.
It is for this reason that I have always found Purim to be fun, but never ranked it in my Top 3 Holiday List. I loved Chanukah because of the pivotal message of light over dark, right over wrong, good over evil. Plus, it just so happened that I was born on the first night of Chanukah, shortly after the Menorah was lit. I tremendously enjoyed Pesach not only because of the late night Seders, but also the timeless legacy of our ancestors and our heroic leader pleading to "let my people go" really resonated with me. And nothing can compete with the unadulterated joy and happiness of Simchas Torah, where we would just let go (... and let G-d…) and dance all night with our beloved Torah.
But Purim? I was happy to go along with the energy and excitement of the holiday, but I never understood Purim in its essence. I saw the beauty of its associated mitzvot and customs, and I recognized the strategic emphasis of G-d's hidden Hand in the events and aftermath, but there was something lacking. And for this reason, Purim never made the cut for the much sought after Top 3 List.
It is only this year, my first Purim as a mother, that I have invested much time and energy to delve into the deeper meanings and significance that this rich festival offers. How could I expect my daughter to gravitate to the underlying messages of this beautiful holiday if her mother didn't fully understand them? Granted she is 11 months, but it is my responsibility to set a solid foundation.
Being that Purim and Yom Kippur are intrinsically connected, I decided to engage in some holiday comparison and analysis that goes beyond the fact that both holidays involve fasting. After all, Yom Kippur isn’t called “the day that is like Purim” (Yom HaKi Purim) for nothing!
Upon my research and clarification, I found that Purim is steeped with timeless practices and much of the “hoopla” does indeed have a rich significance. In fact, Purim, like Yom Kippur, requires introspection on an individual and communal level. As a contributing writer, I am only privy to two columns in this week’s issue, thus I am unable to delve into each and every mitzvah and custom, but I’d like to elaborate on a central theme that I found.
Three is a pivotal number in Judaism, and there are many trends that follow this. Shimon HaTzadik writes in the Ethics of our Fathers 1:2, “The world stands on three things: 1) Torah (study), 2) Avodah (service and prayer to G-d), and 3) Gemilus Chasadim (acts of kindness). Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel, in another well known saying in Ethics of our Fathers 1:18 states, "The world endures on three things: 1) justice, 2) truth, and 3) peace.”
I have also found that in my day to day living, I have three different types of relationships: a) between me and other people, b) between me and myself, and c) between me and G-d. Purim is an especially ‘well-rounded’ holiday, as it is filled with observances and customs from each of the above categories.
Between me and other people:
- Matanot La'evyonim (Charity to the needy)
- Mishloach Manot (Gifts of food to friends)
- Purim Seuda (Festive meal)
Between me and myself:
- Taanis Esther (Fast held prior to Purim)
- Make l'chaims and be joyous
- Custom for masquerades and hamantashen
Between me and G-d:
- Listening to the Megillah (Scroll of Esther)
- Al Ha'Nissim (Special blessing during the prayers and Grace after Meals)
- Machazit Ha'shekel (Half-coins commemorating the half-shekel)
I cannot ‘al regel achas’ (on one foot) delve into the significance of each of the above practices. However, through this process of research and investigation, I have learned a very important life lesson. At first I was fine with accepting Purim as a “fluff” holiday, but upon further research, I found the answers I was looking for.
We can only win a game of hide and seek if we put energy into searching high and low. We can’t expect results and answers to magically appear, but when we do our part, it’s magic – they do emerge. If we put our full effort into a project or task, we will be rewarded with success. Like the numerous sayings go, “the harder I work, the luckier I get” and “luck is when opportunity meets preparation.” It is only when we set up our chess board that we are able to make a move.
So go ahead, gather with your family and friends and ‘eat, drink, and be merry,’ but don’t forget to do some introspection, as it will make the festivities even more exciting. May the simcha and joy of Purim accompany you throughout the year!
What's the Big Deal about Birthdays?
What is synonymous with pointy hats, confetti, balloons, presents, and of course a party? The answer is simple, birthdays. I would venture to say that birthdays are amongst the most universally celebrated occasions. I’ve heard some people groan that birthdays are a self-centred, egotistical, narcissistic pursuit of materialism, gluttony, and excessive consumption. That sure is a downer, but I do see a glimmer of truth in it, particularly when I compare it to the first line of this article. But does it have to be this way? Is there not a deeper meaning to the anniversary of the day one was born?
Two weeks ago, my husband celebrated his birthday. I must admit, the special day was filled with all the above, except for the party hats. With the help of my daughter, we decorated the house with balloons and birthday signs; we replaced the usual burgundy table cloth with a bright green checkered one and sprinkled confetti strategically between the plates, cups, and serving dishes. We researched and strategized the perfect gift straight from the heart wrapped in a colourful disguise, and culminated the evening with a surprise dinner with our closest family and friends.
And then what? What did my husband have to show for this special day? A few deflated balloons, a party with lots of laughs, several great gifts, and piles of dirty dishes in the kitchen? The truth is what I’ve described above is only a portion of the way he celebrated this special occasion. As Chabad Chassidim, we have special customs and insights that we use to ‘spiritualize the material’ and thus a birthday goes beyond the presents and party. In Judaism, we have a how-to for everything, and thus over the years, I have compiled a list of minhagim (customs) on how one goes about celebrating a birthday. So yes, I may have done the invitations to the surprise party, the cooking, and the gift selections on my own, but my husband was charged with the important mission of completing all the tasks on what I’ve coined as “The Birthday Checklist.”
Each year on Rosh Hashanah we celebrate the birthday of mankind. We celebrate with lavish meals, prayer, and deep introspection. This provides the template for how we should celebrate our own birthdays. Each of our birthdays is filled with much meaning and significance, and can be likened to a personal Rosh Hashanah. Birthdays are a time for reflection, gratitude, and planning. We reflect on the past year, thank G-d for the multitude of blessings we received, and set new goals for the year to come. Thus, Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, is not observed on the day G-d created the world, but rather six days later, when G-d created Adam and Chava. For, what would the world be without man and woman to make a dira btachtonim (a dwelling place for G-d on earth)?
This Shabbos, we celebrate Rosh Chodesh Adar, the month in which Purim falls (although being that 5771 is a leap year, we celebrate two Adars and Purim falls in the second). We know that Haman made his decree to eliminate the Jews specifically in this month because he knew that Moshe passed away on the 7th of Adar, and he was hoping to tap into the energy of the Jews losing their dedicated leader and the greatest prophet of all time. What Haman didn’t know was that Moshe was also born on the 7th of Adar, and our sages teach us that the miracles of Purim are largely attributed to Moshe’s birthday occurring during the month.
Time can be viewed as a spiral staircase. We sometimes face situations that we may have experienced in the past, even in a distant or altered form. When we succeeded in the past, we use this as a source of strength and inspiration to overcome the current challenge. However, when the past experience was unfruitful, we have two options: to despair and wonder why this time would be any different, or to utilize our inner strength and courage and muster up new tools and skills to overcome the situation. Our parents are responsible for our birth, but we are responsible for our rebirth. No matter how things went yesterday, last month, or last decade, we have the power to start afresh.
The Talmud (Yerushalmi, 3:8) states that birthdays are a very propitious and auspicious time, as our mazel (good fortune) prevails on this day. That is why on the anniversary of momentous events and significant occasions, we are able to access the spiritual force that originally brought the event into fruition. This is one of the reasons we celebrate historic dates and holidays annually.
Being that my daughter was born on the 30th of Nissan, we enjoy celebrating her birthday each Rosh Chodesh. This Shabbos marks her 10 month birthday! A birthday is a celebration for Klal Yisrael, the parents, and the child. For Klal Yisrael, each Jewish individual is part of the greater whole and adds their personal talents to the universal mission. For parents, it is a continuation of family legacy, as well as an opportunity to thank G-d for blessing them with a child. For the ‘birthday boy or girl,’ it is the opportunity to celebrate the gift of life, and to be joyous and grateful for everything G-d sends their way.
What better way to enter the upcoming new month than with the motto “mishenichnas Adar marbim b’simcha” (when one enters Adar, one increases in joy)!
The Birthday Checklist:
Two weeks ago, my husband celebrated his birthday. I must admit, the special day was filled with all the above, except for the party hats. With the help of my daughter, we decorated the house with balloons and birthday signs; we replaced the usual burgundy table cloth with a bright green checkered one and sprinkled confetti strategically between the plates, cups, and serving dishes. We researched and strategized the perfect gift straight from the heart wrapped in a colourful disguise, and culminated the evening with a surprise dinner with our closest family and friends.
And then what? What did my husband have to show for this special day? A few deflated balloons, a party with lots of laughs, several great gifts, and piles of dirty dishes in the kitchen? The truth is what I’ve described above is only a portion of the way he celebrated this special occasion. As Chabad Chassidim, we have special customs and insights that we use to ‘spiritualize the material’ and thus a birthday goes beyond the presents and party. In Judaism, we have a how-to for everything, and thus over the years, I have compiled a list of minhagim (customs) on how one goes about celebrating a birthday. So yes, I may have done the invitations to the surprise party, the cooking, and the gift selections on my own, but my husband was charged with the important mission of completing all the tasks on what I’ve coined as “The Birthday Checklist.”
Each year on Rosh Hashanah we celebrate the birthday of mankind. We celebrate with lavish meals, prayer, and deep introspection. This provides the template for how we should celebrate our own birthdays. Each of our birthdays is filled with much meaning and significance, and can be likened to a personal Rosh Hashanah. Birthdays are a time for reflection, gratitude, and planning. We reflect on the past year, thank G-d for the multitude of blessings we received, and set new goals for the year to come. Thus, Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, is not observed on the day G-d created the world, but rather six days later, when G-d created Adam and Chava. For, what would the world be without man and woman to make a dira btachtonim (a dwelling place for G-d on earth)?
This Shabbos, we celebrate Rosh Chodesh Adar, the month in which Purim falls (although being that 5771 is a leap year, we celebrate two Adars and Purim falls in the second). We know that Haman made his decree to eliminate the Jews specifically in this month because he knew that Moshe passed away on the 7th of Adar, and he was hoping to tap into the energy of the Jews losing their dedicated leader and the greatest prophet of all time. What Haman didn’t know was that Moshe was also born on the 7th of Adar, and our sages teach us that the miracles of Purim are largely attributed to Moshe’s birthday occurring during the month.
Time can be viewed as a spiral staircase. We sometimes face situations that we may have experienced in the past, even in a distant or altered form. When we succeeded in the past, we use this as a source of strength and inspiration to overcome the current challenge. However, when the past experience was unfruitful, we have two options: to despair and wonder why this time would be any different, or to utilize our inner strength and courage and muster up new tools and skills to overcome the situation. Our parents are responsible for our birth, but we are responsible for our rebirth. No matter how things went yesterday, last month, or last decade, we have the power to start afresh.
The Talmud (Yerushalmi, 3:8) states that birthdays are a very propitious and auspicious time, as our mazel (good fortune) prevails on this day. That is why on the anniversary of momentous events and significant occasions, we are able to access the spiritual force that originally brought the event into fruition. This is one of the reasons we celebrate historic dates and holidays annually.
Being that my daughter was born on the 30th of Nissan, we enjoy celebrating her birthday each Rosh Chodesh. This Shabbos marks her 10 month birthday! A birthday is a celebration for Klal Yisrael, the parents, and the child. For Klal Yisrael, each Jewish individual is part of the greater whole and adds their personal talents to the universal mission. For parents, it is a continuation of family legacy, as well as an opportunity to thank G-d for blessing them with a child. For the ‘birthday boy or girl,’ it is the opportunity to celebrate the gift of life, and to be joyous and grateful for everything G-d sends their way.
What better way to enter the upcoming new month than with the motto “mishenichnas Adar marbim b’simcha” (when one enters Adar, one increases in joy)!
The Birthday Checklist:
- Have intensified kavana (concentration) during one’s prayers
- Give extra tzedakah (charity) before Shacharis (the morning prayers)
- Give extra tzedakah before Mincha (the afternoon prayers)
- Receive an aliyah to the Torah during Shacharis on one’s birthday (or or the proceeding Torah reading)
- Recite extra Tehillim (psalms), preferably all five books, or if not possible complete one book in full
- Learn a Maamar (Chassidic discourse)
- Study one’s new chapter of Tehillim corresponding to one’s age plus one
- Study extra niglah (the revealed aspects of Torah)
- Study extra Chassidus
- Write a letter to a Tzaddik
- Time in seclusion for introspection – recollection, repentance, rectification
- Make a hachlota (a resolution) – with a specific goal and time frame
- Make a shehechiyanu blessing on a fruit not eaten that season
- Celebrate with family and friends, giving thanks to Hashem
- Give blessings to family & friends (one is endowed with special powers on one’s birthday)
- Extra ahavas yisrael & mivtzoim (loving one’s fellow and teaching about Judaism)
Advice; Whether You Want it or Not!
Throughout these first months as a mother, I have received an abundance of thought-provoking advice. Some people focused on sharing their opinions on the necessary supplies that all parents are required to have, while others discussed routines and more abstract concepts.
There were those that instructed me to stock up on all the new gadgets and equipment out there such as video baby-monitors, 4-in-1 contraptions that bounce-rock-swing-and glide, and specialty diaper-disposal systems that eliminate odours. Others insisted that I didn’t buy any gear besides for a crib, car seat, high chair, and stroller.
Strollers brought about even more controversy. I had friends who raved about their simple and basic umbrella stroller, while others told me I absolutely needed a stroller with all-wheel suspension, secondary break system, and tight turning capabilities. It almost felt like I was shopping for a car. The price of these strollers was more than half of what we had paid for our used Toyota!
Sleep was another popular topic. Was my baby sleeping in my room or in a separate room? In a bassinet, pack ‘n play, crib, or co-sleeper? I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when asked why my 2 week old wasn’t sleeping through the night. How about the pacifiers vs. thumb sucking uproar? Or the ear vs. forehead thermometer debate? What about bottles vs. sippy cups? Back, stomach, or side sleeping positions? Baby scissors, clippers, or nail files surprisingly brought on passionate dialogues.
Until becoming a mother, I never imagined that vaccinations and hooded towels could be the focal point of discussions. Who would have thought that swaddling, nightlights, and security blanket would be the source of lively conversations? My relatives, friends, colleagues, acquaintances, and strangers in the supermarket all shared their opinions with me. I felt grateful to have so many people who wanted to share their experiences and insights; however, it became overwhelming when the ideas conflicted.
Some gave a morning bath as an invigorating start to each day, while others used it as an opportunity for the baby to relax and calm down before bedtime. There were those who recommended the snap ‘n go style stroller for the ease of transporting a sleeping baby, while others insisted that the baby can only spend 30 minutes maximum in a car seat.
Sara feeds her daughter every 3 hours like clockwork and loves it because she can plan her day. Yet, many doctors recommend feeding on demand. The Gerber’s coupon advises mothers to start with rice cereal because it is fortified with iron, followed by fruit and vegetable purees to avoid choking. Chana started her son on solids at 8 months and he really enjoyed bite-sized bits of banana and avocado but hated blended food and baby cereals. One of my baby books states that goat milk is easier on a baby’s stomach than cow’s milk. Where does almond and soy milk fit in, as that’s what we use with our cereal and coffee in our home?
Immediately I turned to my husband in desperation. So many recommendations, do people think I am an incompetent mother? What do I do with so many divergent opinions? Or when my maternal instincts tell me otherwise? How do I get out of a situation when an acquaintance offers her advice and I choose not to follow it? It becomes even trickier when the advice-giver is a close friend, a relative, or better yet, a member of one’s immediate family.
In this week’s parsha, Moshe’s father-in-law drops in for a visit. After observing his son-in-law’s leadership style, Yisro tells Moshe “The thing that you do is not good” (Yisro 18:17). As the most humble man to live, Moshe did not reprimand his father-in-law for the way he spoke to him or for offering unsolicited advice. Rather, after hearing Yisro out, Moshe implemented his suggestions. He recognized that Yisro meant no harm; in fact he was looking out for Moshe’s health, plus B’nei Yisrael’s best interest. Furthermore, his ideas turned out to be valuable ones!
I recognize that my family and friends only have my best interests at heart. The way I see it is that I have two options; I can heed their advice if I feel it may be more effective than my current strategy or I can politely say thank you and continue doing what has been working. However, there is no reason for me to become upset, insulted, or overwhelmed. After all, I am lucky to have so many people in my life who care about my daughter, husband, and me.
There were those that instructed me to stock up on all the new gadgets and equipment out there such as video baby-monitors, 4-in-1 contraptions that bounce-rock-swing-and glide, and specialty diaper-disposal systems that eliminate odours. Others insisted that I didn’t buy any gear besides for a crib, car seat, high chair, and stroller.
Strollers brought about even more controversy. I had friends who raved about their simple and basic umbrella stroller, while others told me I absolutely needed a stroller with all-wheel suspension, secondary break system, and tight turning capabilities. It almost felt like I was shopping for a car. The price of these strollers was more than half of what we had paid for our used Toyota!
Sleep was another popular topic. Was my baby sleeping in my room or in a separate room? In a bassinet, pack ‘n play, crib, or co-sleeper? I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when asked why my 2 week old wasn’t sleeping through the night. How about the pacifiers vs. thumb sucking uproar? Or the ear vs. forehead thermometer debate? What about bottles vs. sippy cups? Back, stomach, or side sleeping positions? Baby scissors, clippers, or nail files surprisingly brought on passionate dialogues.
Until becoming a mother, I never imagined that vaccinations and hooded towels could be the focal point of discussions. Who would have thought that swaddling, nightlights, and security blanket would be the source of lively conversations? My relatives, friends, colleagues, acquaintances, and strangers in the supermarket all shared their opinions with me. I felt grateful to have so many people who wanted to share their experiences and insights; however, it became overwhelming when the ideas conflicted.
Some gave a morning bath as an invigorating start to each day, while others used it as an opportunity for the baby to relax and calm down before bedtime. There were those who recommended the snap ‘n go style stroller for the ease of transporting a sleeping baby, while others insisted that the baby can only spend 30 minutes maximum in a car seat.
Sara feeds her daughter every 3 hours like clockwork and loves it because she can plan her day. Yet, many doctors recommend feeding on demand. The Gerber’s coupon advises mothers to start with rice cereal because it is fortified with iron, followed by fruit and vegetable purees to avoid choking. Chana started her son on solids at 8 months and he really enjoyed bite-sized bits of banana and avocado but hated blended food and baby cereals. One of my baby books states that goat milk is easier on a baby’s stomach than cow’s milk. Where does almond and soy milk fit in, as that’s what we use with our cereal and coffee in our home?
Immediately I turned to my husband in desperation. So many recommendations, do people think I am an incompetent mother? What do I do with so many divergent opinions? Or when my maternal instincts tell me otherwise? How do I get out of a situation when an acquaintance offers her advice and I choose not to follow it? It becomes even trickier when the advice-giver is a close friend, a relative, or better yet, a member of one’s immediate family.
In this week’s parsha, Moshe’s father-in-law drops in for a visit. After observing his son-in-law’s leadership style, Yisro tells Moshe “The thing that you do is not good” (Yisro 18:17). As the most humble man to live, Moshe did not reprimand his father-in-law for the way he spoke to him or for offering unsolicited advice. Rather, after hearing Yisro out, Moshe implemented his suggestions. He recognized that Yisro meant no harm; in fact he was looking out for Moshe’s health, plus B’nei Yisrael’s best interest. Furthermore, his ideas turned out to be valuable ones!
I recognize that my family and friends only have my best interests at heart. The way I see it is that I have two options; I can heed their advice if I feel it may be more effective than my current strategy or I can politely say thank you and continue doing what has been working. However, there is no reason for me to become upset, insulted, or overwhelmed. After all, I am lucky to have so many people in my life who care about my daughter, husband, and me.
Snow Day
It snowed today here in beautiful British Columbia. For those on the East Coast, I must explain that snow in Greater Vancouver can either perpetuate feelings of happiness or fear. There are those who love everything about snow and look forward to its arrival each and every winter. Vancouver rarely gets snow, so these types of individuals anxiously await the coveted day when the weatherman will say “there is a 5% chance of snow tomorrow.” And when it reaches a 50% chance, there are no words to describe their euphoria. While for others, it’s a nuisance, a pain, a hassle. For these people, snow brings with it a slew of issues including runny noses, icy sidewalks, pot holes, bad driving conditions, waterproof footwear, and the everlasting worry of a sprained ankle (chas v’shalom).
Long before the days I was on maternity-leave, I used to take the bus to work. I could have driven, but I enjoyed the solitude of reading on the way to work while napping on the way home. Doing either of those activities while driving, although I can’t say from experience, I’m quite sure is a bad idea. So snow meant a delay in buses, extra traffic, and the need to wear my one pair of waterproof boots for days on end. Now that I am a stay at home mom, I look forward to the snow fairy each time she graces our beautiful planet. In the morning, I bring my daughter to the door and open it in excitement, as she squints at the white blanket covering the deck. I immediately put on our snowsuits and we run outside and play with the white fluff of goodness.
This time, we had my husband join in. Being that he is an architect at heart (and a social worker by profession) he immediately went to building a snow family. He carefully constructed snowballs of varying sizes proportional to fit the mother, father, and child. He gathered the necessary props, tools, and equipment. Mr. Tatty Snow sported a pair of tzitzis and a black hat, Mrs. Mommy Snow wore a shaitel and scarf, and Ms. Baby Snow had on a winter hat and toy link around her wrist (or rather, spatula). After a morning filled with laughter, playing, and several cute photos, we went inside for a long awaited lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup.
Each time there is a snowfall, whether it is 1 inch or 10 inches (rarely is it the later here in Surrey, B.C.), my husband becomes excited for the long awaited traditional “snow lunch.” Although we rarely cook or bake with margarine, we pull it out for the coveted grilled cheese sandwiches filled with two types of cheese and a slice of tomato. Watching my husband enjoy this “delicacy” is pure joy, because he radiates simple lasting happiness while chomping on his sandwich and sipping his soup. His happiness is not because the lunch is delicious (although it is), but rather it is attributed to the origins of such a meal. My mother-in-law was a stay-at-home mom while her children were young. Only once they started school did she go back to work. And even then, she always made sure to be home before them to greet them with a smile, a reassuring word, and of course a treat.
Being that my husband is from New York, he’s seen his fair share of snow days. And the snow we have here on the West Coast is a joke to him. Some of his fondest childhood memories involve playing in the snow with his sister or friends, and then coming home to a piping hot bowl of zesty tomato soup and a creamy cheesified grilled sandwich. And so we have continued this tradition in our home. It goes beyond the perfunctory ingredients. It is so much more than the tomatoes, onions, bread, and cheese. This traditional meal our family looks forward to each winter celebrates a fun-filled snow day overflowing with laughter, jokes, sledding, snowmen and women, and the occasional snowball.
If I were to learn only one thing from my mother-in-law, although there are many, it would be her commitment to her children and the importance of establishing traditions in a fun relaxed environment. I’m afraid, however, that this is not as easy as it looks. Between the many modern pressures inside and outside ones home, I feel that women have less and less time to spend with their children. There’s laundry, cooking, cleaning inside the home, work, volunteering, and hobbies outside the home. Where do children fit in?
I began to get nervous as I thought more and more about my personal and familial obligations. How do I balance being involved in community affairs, using the skills and talents that G-d has given me in my profession, and raising a family? Where does my precious daughter fit in this intricate web of responsibilities and commitments? I found the answer the moment I opened the Chumash this week. Life is a journey. Some journeys take days, others take years, and there are those that take decades. I am determined to become the best mother that I can. And establishing beautiful family traditions is one of those journeys that certainly take years. After all, my husband can recount dozens of tomato soup & grilled cheese lunches. It’s a process in the making. It’s a journey, not a destination.
I am doing my best to build memories one step at a time. I hope that when my children grow up and have families of their own that they think of the fun we had as a family during this ‘cold icy harsh season.’ After all, for how many people does a snowfall conjure up precious memories from their childhood?
Long before the days I was on maternity-leave, I used to take the bus to work. I could have driven, but I enjoyed the solitude of reading on the way to work while napping on the way home. Doing either of those activities while driving, although I can’t say from experience, I’m quite sure is a bad idea. So snow meant a delay in buses, extra traffic, and the need to wear my one pair of waterproof boots for days on end. Now that I am a stay at home mom, I look forward to the snow fairy each time she graces our beautiful planet. In the morning, I bring my daughter to the door and open it in excitement, as she squints at the white blanket covering the deck. I immediately put on our snowsuits and we run outside and play with the white fluff of goodness.
This time, we had my husband join in. Being that he is an architect at heart (and a social worker by profession) he immediately went to building a snow family. He carefully constructed snowballs of varying sizes proportional to fit the mother, father, and child. He gathered the necessary props, tools, and equipment. Mr. Tatty Snow sported a pair of tzitzis and a black hat, Mrs. Mommy Snow wore a shaitel and scarf, and Ms. Baby Snow had on a winter hat and toy link around her wrist (or rather, spatula). After a morning filled with laughter, playing, and several cute photos, we went inside for a long awaited lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup.
Each time there is a snowfall, whether it is 1 inch or 10 inches (rarely is it the later here in Surrey, B.C.), my husband becomes excited for the long awaited traditional “snow lunch.” Although we rarely cook or bake with margarine, we pull it out for the coveted grilled cheese sandwiches filled with two types of cheese and a slice of tomato. Watching my husband enjoy this “delicacy” is pure joy, because he radiates simple lasting happiness while chomping on his sandwich and sipping his soup. His happiness is not because the lunch is delicious (although it is), but rather it is attributed to the origins of such a meal. My mother-in-law was a stay-at-home mom while her children were young. Only once they started school did she go back to work. And even then, she always made sure to be home before them to greet them with a smile, a reassuring word, and of course a treat.
Being that my husband is from New York, he’s seen his fair share of snow days. And the snow we have here on the West Coast is a joke to him. Some of his fondest childhood memories involve playing in the snow with his sister or friends, and then coming home to a piping hot bowl of zesty tomato soup and a creamy cheesified grilled sandwich. And so we have continued this tradition in our home. It goes beyond the perfunctory ingredients. It is so much more than the tomatoes, onions, bread, and cheese. This traditional meal our family looks forward to each winter celebrates a fun-filled snow day overflowing with laughter, jokes, sledding, snowmen and women, and the occasional snowball.
If I were to learn only one thing from my mother-in-law, although there are many, it would be her commitment to her children and the importance of establishing traditions in a fun relaxed environment. I’m afraid, however, that this is not as easy as it looks. Between the many modern pressures inside and outside ones home, I feel that women have less and less time to spend with their children. There’s laundry, cooking, cleaning inside the home, work, volunteering, and hobbies outside the home. Where do children fit in?
I began to get nervous as I thought more and more about my personal and familial obligations. How do I balance being involved in community affairs, using the skills and talents that G-d has given me in my profession, and raising a family? Where does my precious daughter fit in this intricate web of responsibilities and commitments? I found the answer the moment I opened the Chumash this week. Life is a journey. Some journeys take days, others take years, and there are those that take decades. I am determined to become the best mother that I can. And establishing beautiful family traditions is one of those journeys that certainly take years. After all, my husband can recount dozens of tomato soup & grilled cheese lunches. It’s a process in the making. It’s a journey, not a destination.
I am doing my best to build memories one step at a time. I hope that when my children grow up and have families of their own that they think of the fun we had as a family during this ‘cold icy harsh season.’ After all, for how many people does a snowfall conjure up precious memories from their childhood?
Opening Sale/Closing Sale
A new arrival to America’s land of opportunity decides that he is going to succeed here in the “Goldene Medina.” He takes a walk down Broadway to get some tips from those who have made it big. Our friend, let’s call him Feivel, notices one store with throngs of people. He sees a catchy sign on the store window “OPENING SALE.” “That’s a good idea,” he says to himself and files the tip in his memory.
The next day our friend takes another walk down Broadway to pick up some more tips. He notices another store crowded with people. A sign hands from their window “CLOSING SALE.” “Ahh haa” he says and goes home. “Rivka‟le,” he calls out to his wife in excitement as he enters the door, “I know how to make it big here in America, our worries are over.” A month later, Feivel opens his store. Two large signs grace his window; one reads OPENING SALE, the other CLOSING SALE.
Many things come to mind when I think of my Bat Mitzvah, which I celebrated 14 years ago this past month. I often find myself reminiscing of the preparatory classes with the Rebbetzin, being caught on camera announcing to all the guests “I am a woman now”, chopping endless amounts of fruit, and practicing and performing a magic show for all the guests.
But my fondest memory is of the above mentioned story about “our friend” Feivel. In fact, it was the „opening‟ paragraph word-for-word to my Bat Mitzvah speech, which I was excited to find while cleaning our pantry a few weeks ago. At that pivotal time in my life, the closing sale referred to an end to childhood, and the opening sale was my taking my place amongst my righteous ancestors and holy women in Judaism. But I feel the story goes beyond that, and I have often thought about it over the years.
There seems to be a paradox between the name of this week’s parsha and the remainder of the parsha’s theme. True to its name “Shemos,” the parsha starts off listing all the names of Bnei Yisrael who came out of Egypt. It then quickly turns to Yosef‟s death, followed by the new Pharaoh’s plan to outsmart the Jews since he feared that they were “more numerous and stronger” than his people (Shemos 1:8-10).
Then, in quick succession, we learn of the many events that unfold regarding the most humble man to ever live, Moshe Rabbeinu. We discover Pharaoh’s plot of infanticide, the description of Moshe’s birth, his being placed in the river, Pharaoh’s daughter finding the basket, Moshe growing up in the palace, his protecting a Jew who was being beaten by an Egyptian, his escape to Midian and marriage to Tziporah, and Moshe taking his place as the greatest leader in Jewish history.
I then realized that the way the parsha is outlined teaches us an important lesson about beginnings and endings, starts and finishes, openings and closings. The parsha’s twists and turns teach us not to be complacent, but to take on challenges with alacrity and vigour. We experience numerous periods and stages in life marked by opening and closing sales, and it is our perspective that defines the out-come of the „sale.‟ Do we longingly look at the closing sale as an “end of an era” that we will never get back? Or is it an opportunity for growth and further possibilities? Is the opening sale defined by trepidation and fear of failure or is it marked with excitement for a new venture? As Alexander Graham Bell „insightfully‟ said, “When one door closes, an-other opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one that has opened for us.”
Have you ever had an innovative idea or thought which you had spent many hours brainstorming and daydreaming about, only to forget it a short while later? This certainly has happened to me a few too many times, particularly on Shabbos when I think of a ground-breaking idea, yet am I am unable to write it down. I concentrate for hours on memorizing the details of my idea, only to forget it the moment we make Havdallah. I find what happens next to be rather peculiar. When I start brain-storming again, I experience a weird phenomenon in which nothing is as clever, witty, remark-able, or noteworthy as the first idea. I spend hours trying to recapture that first take, and yet nothing quite lives up to it. Only upon closer examination have I determined a possibility for why this happens. It is because beginnings are so difficult. I put so much energy into that initial seminal point only to have lost it. By forgetting the idea, it’s as if I lost a piece of myself together with it.
And how about endings? Ever written a 40 page paper to be left scrambling to write the conclusion? The finale, especially the concluding paragraph, and furthermore, the very last sentence, always seems to be hardest to write. Why is that? Why is it that you could write 40 pages in 20 hours and that last paragraph seems to be taking the entire day? Again, it is because endings are just as difficult as beginnings. Finding that initial spark of inspiration to start a project is relatively easy compared with putting the finishing touches to perfection, wrapping it up and tying the bow.
Beginnings and endings are an inevitable, albeit difficult, part of life. Years ago, I saw a bumper sticker that said “Change is here to stay.” That sure would have made a great motto for President Obama’s campaign. But in all seriousness, I believe it offers a great in-sight into life, being that change is the only thing in life that isn’t transient. Life is full of openings and closings, and everything in between.
Motherhood is no different. There are times when I stay up way past my bedtime, only to realize Bayla will be up in a few hours. I longingly reminisce what it was like to sleep in a few extra hours after pulling an all-nighter be-fore Bayla was born. Or when on a hot summer day I would get the urge to have an icy cold Slurpee, so I would just throw on my sneakers and run over to 7-Eleven. These days, I probably won’t be “running” anywhere, and even if I were to, it would take me 45 minutes to pack the diaper bag, change, dress, and feed Bayla, and lug the stroller out.
I am certainly not complaining. I love being a mother, and the entire package that goes along with it. But I must admit, it is quite the “opening sale!” One that is filled with trepidation, worry, foresight, and lots of planning. But I turn to this week’s parsha for guidance, and Hashem certainly doesn’t let me down. We learn about the change of circumstances from when Yosef was Pharaoh’s right hand man to Moshe pleading with Pharaoh to “let his people go,” and the plethora of quick successive events that occur between.
Life changes, circumstances evolve, styles differ, and it’s up to us to be ready. And even when we’re not, we must catch the wave and go with it, because the only alternative is to be swept under. I know I’m ready for everything Hashem puts before me, for as Louisa May Alcott once said, “I am not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my ship.” I know that Hashem tailor-makes everything that comes my way, both the successes and the challenges. I also know that Hashem gives me the strength and tools to overcome all obstacles, including the “opening and closing sales.” Being a mother is the biggest responsibility I have ever faced, and I am ready to learn, grow, and improve. I will certainly make mistakes, but my biggest ally is that I am prepared to learn from them. How’s that for a concluding paragraph?
The next day our friend takes another walk down Broadway to pick up some more tips. He notices another store crowded with people. A sign hands from their window “CLOSING SALE.” “Ahh haa” he says and goes home. “Rivka‟le,” he calls out to his wife in excitement as he enters the door, “I know how to make it big here in America, our worries are over.” A month later, Feivel opens his store. Two large signs grace his window; one reads OPENING SALE, the other CLOSING SALE.
Many things come to mind when I think of my Bat Mitzvah, which I celebrated 14 years ago this past month. I often find myself reminiscing of the preparatory classes with the Rebbetzin, being caught on camera announcing to all the guests “I am a woman now”, chopping endless amounts of fruit, and practicing and performing a magic show for all the guests.
But my fondest memory is of the above mentioned story about “our friend” Feivel. In fact, it was the „opening‟ paragraph word-for-word to my Bat Mitzvah speech, which I was excited to find while cleaning our pantry a few weeks ago. At that pivotal time in my life, the closing sale referred to an end to childhood, and the opening sale was my taking my place amongst my righteous ancestors and holy women in Judaism. But I feel the story goes beyond that, and I have often thought about it over the years.
There seems to be a paradox between the name of this week’s parsha and the remainder of the parsha’s theme. True to its name “Shemos,” the parsha starts off listing all the names of Bnei Yisrael who came out of Egypt. It then quickly turns to Yosef‟s death, followed by the new Pharaoh’s plan to outsmart the Jews since he feared that they were “more numerous and stronger” than his people (Shemos 1:8-10).
Then, in quick succession, we learn of the many events that unfold regarding the most humble man to ever live, Moshe Rabbeinu. We discover Pharaoh’s plot of infanticide, the description of Moshe’s birth, his being placed in the river, Pharaoh’s daughter finding the basket, Moshe growing up in the palace, his protecting a Jew who was being beaten by an Egyptian, his escape to Midian and marriage to Tziporah, and Moshe taking his place as the greatest leader in Jewish history.
I then realized that the way the parsha is outlined teaches us an important lesson about beginnings and endings, starts and finishes, openings and closings. The parsha’s twists and turns teach us not to be complacent, but to take on challenges with alacrity and vigour. We experience numerous periods and stages in life marked by opening and closing sales, and it is our perspective that defines the out-come of the „sale.‟ Do we longingly look at the closing sale as an “end of an era” that we will never get back? Or is it an opportunity for growth and further possibilities? Is the opening sale defined by trepidation and fear of failure or is it marked with excitement for a new venture? As Alexander Graham Bell „insightfully‟ said, “When one door closes, an-other opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one that has opened for us.”
Have you ever had an innovative idea or thought which you had spent many hours brainstorming and daydreaming about, only to forget it a short while later? This certainly has happened to me a few too many times, particularly on Shabbos when I think of a ground-breaking idea, yet am I am unable to write it down. I concentrate for hours on memorizing the details of my idea, only to forget it the moment we make Havdallah. I find what happens next to be rather peculiar. When I start brain-storming again, I experience a weird phenomenon in which nothing is as clever, witty, remark-able, or noteworthy as the first idea. I spend hours trying to recapture that first take, and yet nothing quite lives up to it. Only upon closer examination have I determined a possibility for why this happens. It is because beginnings are so difficult. I put so much energy into that initial seminal point only to have lost it. By forgetting the idea, it’s as if I lost a piece of myself together with it.
And how about endings? Ever written a 40 page paper to be left scrambling to write the conclusion? The finale, especially the concluding paragraph, and furthermore, the very last sentence, always seems to be hardest to write. Why is that? Why is it that you could write 40 pages in 20 hours and that last paragraph seems to be taking the entire day? Again, it is because endings are just as difficult as beginnings. Finding that initial spark of inspiration to start a project is relatively easy compared with putting the finishing touches to perfection, wrapping it up and tying the bow.
Beginnings and endings are an inevitable, albeit difficult, part of life. Years ago, I saw a bumper sticker that said “Change is here to stay.” That sure would have made a great motto for President Obama’s campaign. But in all seriousness, I believe it offers a great in-sight into life, being that change is the only thing in life that isn’t transient. Life is full of openings and closings, and everything in between.
Motherhood is no different. There are times when I stay up way past my bedtime, only to realize Bayla will be up in a few hours. I longingly reminisce what it was like to sleep in a few extra hours after pulling an all-nighter be-fore Bayla was born. Or when on a hot summer day I would get the urge to have an icy cold Slurpee, so I would just throw on my sneakers and run over to 7-Eleven. These days, I probably won’t be “running” anywhere, and even if I were to, it would take me 45 minutes to pack the diaper bag, change, dress, and feed Bayla, and lug the stroller out.
I am certainly not complaining. I love being a mother, and the entire package that goes along with it. But I must admit, it is quite the “opening sale!” One that is filled with trepidation, worry, foresight, and lots of planning. But I turn to this week’s parsha for guidance, and Hashem certainly doesn’t let me down. We learn about the change of circumstances from when Yosef was Pharaoh’s right hand man to Moshe pleading with Pharaoh to “let his people go,” and the plethora of quick successive events that occur between.
Life changes, circumstances evolve, styles differ, and it’s up to us to be ready. And even when we’re not, we must catch the wave and go with it, because the only alternative is to be swept under. I know I’m ready for everything Hashem puts before me, for as Louisa May Alcott once said, “I am not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my ship.” I know that Hashem tailor-makes everything that comes my way, both the successes and the challenges. I also know that Hashem gives me the strength and tools to overcome all obstacles, including the “opening and closing sales.” Being a mother is the biggest responsibility I have ever faced, and I am ready to learn, grow, and improve. I will certainly make mistakes, but my biggest ally is that I am prepared to learn from them. How’s that for a concluding paragraph?
First Fall
Bayla had her first fall this week. Baruch Hashem, Bayla has been becoming more active and mobile over the past few weeks, and I dreaded this moment for a while now. How do I balance Bayla’s learning and growth with my need to protect her?
I saw her fall happen in slow motion, and yet, I wasn’t fast enough to “save” her. It’s like when you close your car door only to see the keys still in the ignition, but you don’t have the speed to stop the door from slamming shut. The moment it happened, so many things ran through my mind. Is Bayla okay? Did she hit her head? Was that bump always there, or is that swelling? No it can’t be swelling, it just happened half a second ago. Should we go to the doctor right away? No, we can’t his office is closed (of course, all “firsts” happen on weekends or after office hours). Should we go to emergency? I called a dear friend who is a family doctor (who I’ve called a few times in incidents like this, well, actually many times), and he ran through the scenario with me and assured me that it sounded like Bayla was okay.
When a few minutes later, Baruch Hashem, Bayla was back to rolling, shimmying, and playing with other kids, I started thinking about other things. Will she now be afraid of falling? Will she stop exploring be-cause of this fear? Am I a bad mother? Should I have foreseen that this would hap-pen? How could I have protected Bayla? Have I convinced myself that the bump was always there, or was it indeed swelling? Non-stop, this was on my mind.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe teaches us that we must live with the times. No, this doesn’t mean we need to buy the newest I-phone and watch the latest blockbuster movies the moment they come out. Rather, we must live with the “Torah” times, meaning the Parsha. Being that the entire Torah is divided into weekly Torah portions, and time and place are intertwined, we can seek divine inspiration each week from the Parsha. I turned to this week’s Parsha, Vayishlach, to see if it could guide me in my struggle to balance Bayla’s freedom and learning and my role as her protector (if such a role even existed). A pivotal incident in the Parsha immediately caught my attention.
This week, we learn of the classic episode where Yaakov struggles with an angel. The pasuk states, “Yaakov was alone and a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn” (Vayishlach 32:25). After Yaakov’s hip socket was dislocated, the angel says to Yaakov, “Let me go, for dawn has bro-ken” (32:27). But Yaakov says, first bless me. The angel blessed Yaakov with a new name, “No longer will it be said that your name is Yaakov, but Yisrael, for you have struggled (sarisa) with the Divine and with man and have overcome (tuchal)” (32:29). Why not name him Yituchael, since Yaakov overcame and succeeded, rather than Yisrael, which emphasizes the struggle?
Rabbi Gestetner, of Mayanot Yeshiva, explains that the Torah is teaching us an important lesson here. Often, we think that what is most noteworthy and significant is the end result, the bottom line, the final product. But rather, the Torah is teaching us that it is the effort, the struggle, the energy, and the persistence that G-d values. It is our hard work and perseverance that Hashem gets nachas from. The gold medal symbolizes not a split second achievement, but all of the effort and training that went into it.
Beautiful, I thought, this definitely applies to my situation. Growth = struggle. Without struggle, patience, tears and sweat, one can-not learn and develop. As Bayla’s mother, it is my responsibility to keep her safe and protect her from danger, but I may have to redefine how I view danger. A boiling pot on the stove, that’s danger. An individual prone to verbal and physical outburst, also danger. An inappropriate film with adult scenes and vulgar language, again dangerous. Exploring one’s own physical capabilities and learning to roll and move and crawl, that’s learning. Hashem values the work we put in, not simply the outcome. And who says life is easy? Only from “falls,” no pun intended, can we rise and succeed.
Rabbi Y.Y. Jacobson further expounds on this scene. First, the Torah tells us that Yaakov was alone, and then it says that a man wrestled with him. How can that be? Rabbi Jacobson elucidates that it was with himself that Yaakov was wrestling. He had an inner struggle: was he ready to step up to the plate to fulfill his potential? Or would he stay stagnant in the character role of Yaakov, which translates as heel, since he was born holding onto Eisav’s heel? Only through struggle and hard work could Yaakov become the father of the 12 tribes and the Jewish people. Yaakov was ready for the challenge, and he thus struggled, worked, and over-came.
Was I ready for the challenge? You may be wondering which challenge I am referring to. Well, the biggest challenge in life, parenting. Yes, work, keeping a clean home, university, these are all challenges, but they pale in comparison to my biggest responsibility, and that is being a mother. Once I stop worrying about my imperfections, shortcomings, and character flaws, then I could maximize my effort of improving myself as a person and as a mother. It could only happen once I stop comparing myself to other “perfect” mothers who managed to spend endless hours playing with their kids, cook gourmet meals for their husbands in minutes, make time to exercise daily, and create exquisite scrapbooks to cherish their family moments. Once I stopped looking at myself as being at their “heels” could I grow and develop into the mother that I want to be.
How about the pasuk where the angel asks Yaakov to let him go? Is there some-thing I can learn from this? Of course! It was only in the morning that the angel asks Yaakov to let him go. Why not earlier, or why not continue to scuffle into the next day? Hashem is teaching us that there is a time and place for everything. There is a time for worry, struggle, improvement, and perseverance. There is also a time for recognizing that one has put in the effort, and the rest lies with Hashem. How productive would we be if we spent all our day worrying? We would be paralyzed with fear and have no time or energy for action. When Bayla fell, I was worried, but I couldn’t let that worry spill over into the following day. As “dawn” breaks and we say Modeh Ani, we are thanking Hashem for giving us a fresh start, a brand new beginning... a day filled with new worries. After all, I am a mother, I will always worry.
I saw her fall happen in slow motion, and yet, I wasn’t fast enough to “save” her. It’s like when you close your car door only to see the keys still in the ignition, but you don’t have the speed to stop the door from slamming shut. The moment it happened, so many things ran through my mind. Is Bayla okay? Did she hit her head? Was that bump always there, or is that swelling? No it can’t be swelling, it just happened half a second ago. Should we go to the doctor right away? No, we can’t his office is closed (of course, all “firsts” happen on weekends or after office hours). Should we go to emergency? I called a dear friend who is a family doctor (who I’ve called a few times in incidents like this, well, actually many times), and he ran through the scenario with me and assured me that it sounded like Bayla was okay.
When a few minutes later, Baruch Hashem, Bayla was back to rolling, shimmying, and playing with other kids, I started thinking about other things. Will she now be afraid of falling? Will she stop exploring be-cause of this fear? Am I a bad mother? Should I have foreseen that this would hap-pen? How could I have protected Bayla? Have I convinced myself that the bump was always there, or was it indeed swelling? Non-stop, this was on my mind.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe teaches us that we must live with the times. No, this doesn’t mean we need to buy the newest I-phone and watch the latest blockbuster movies the moment they come out. Rather, we must live with the “Torah” times, meaning the Parsha. Being that the entire Torah is divided into weekly Torah portions, and time and place are intertwined, we can seek divine inspiration each week from the Parsha. I turned to this week’s Parsha, Vayishlach, to see if it could guide me in my struggle to balance Bayla’s freedom and learning and my role as her protector (if such a role even existed). A pivotal incident in the Parsha immediately caught my attention.
This week, we learn of the classic episode where Yaakov struggles with an angel. The pasuk states, “Yaakov was alone and a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn” (Vayishlach 32:25). After Yaakov’s hip socket was dislocated, the angel says to Yaakov, “Let me go, for dawn has bro-ken” (32:27). But Yaakov says, first bless me. The angel blessed Yaakov with a new name, “No longer will it be said that your name is Yaakov, but Yisrael, for you have struggled (sarisa) with the Divine and with man and have overcome (tuchal)” (32:29). Why not name him Yituchael, since Yaakov overcame and succeeded, rather than Yisrael, which emphasizes the struggle?
Rabbi Gestetner, of Mayanot Yeshiva, explains that the Torah is teaching us an important lesson here. Often, we think that what is most noteworthy and significant is the end result, the bottom line, the final product. But rather, the Torah is teaching us that it is the effort, the struggle, the energy, and the persistence that G-d values. It is our hard work and perseverance that Hashem gets nachas from. The gold medal symbolizes not a split second achievement, but all of the effort and training that went into it.
Beautiful, I thought, this definitely applies to my situation. Growth = struggle. Without struggle, patience, tears and sweat, one can-not learn and develop. As Bayla’s mother, it is my responsibility to keep her safe and protect her from danger, but I may have to redefine how I view danger. A boiling pot on the stove, that’s danger. An individual prone to verbal and physical outburst, also danger. An inappropriate film with adult scenes and vulgar language, again dangerous. Exploring one’s own physical capabilities and learning to roll and move and crawl, that’s learning. Hashem values the work we put in, not simply the outcome. And who says life is easy? Only from “falls,” no pun intended, can we rise and succeed.
Rabbi Y.Y. Jacobson further expounds on this scene. First, the Torah tells us that Yaakov was alone, and then it says that a man wrestled with him. How can that be? Rabbi Jacobson elucidates that it was with himself that Yaakov was wrestling. He had an inner struggle: was he ready to step up to the plate to fulfill his potential? Or would he stay stagnant in the character role of Yaakov, which translates as heel, since he was born holding onto Eisav’s heel? Only through struggle and hard work could Yaakov become the father of the 12 tribes and the Jewish people. Yaakov was ready for the challenge, and he thus struggled, worked, and over-came.
Was I ready for the challenge? You may be wondering which challenge I am referring to. Well, the biggest challenge in life, parenting. Yes, work, keeping a clean home, university, these are all challenges, but they pale in comparison to my biggest responsibility, and that is being a mother. Once I stop worrying about my imperfections, shortcomings, and character flaws, then I could maximize my effort of improving myself as a person and as a mother. It could only happen once I stop comparing myself to other “perfect” mothers who managed to spend endless hours playing with their kids, cook gourmet meals for their husbands in minutes, make time to exercise daily, and create exquisite scrapbooks to cherish their family moments. Once I stopped looking at myself as being at their “heels” could I grow and develop into the mother that I want to be.
How about the pasuk where the angel asks Yaakov to let him go? Is there some-thing I can learn from this? Of course! It was only in the morning that the angel asks Yaakov to let him go. Why not earlier, or why not continue to scuffle into the next day? Hashem is teaching us that there is a time and place for everything. There is a time for worry, struggle, improvement, and perseverance. There is also a time for recognizing that one has put in the effort, and the rest lies with Hashem. How productive would we be if we spent all our day worrying? We would be paralyzed with fear and have no time or energy for action. When Bayla fell, I was worried, but I couldn’t let that worry spill over into the following day. As “dawn” breaks and we say Modeh Ani, we are thanking Hashem for giving us a fresh start, a brand new beginning... a day filled with new worries. After all, I am a mother, I will always worry.
Becoming a Mother
Ring ring ring…
-“Hello.”
“Hi, can I speak with the parent of Bayla Shurack?”
-“Yes, this is Bayla’s mother.”
In that one single line of acknowledging my being a parent to Bayla, I realized and felt the awesome responsibility invested in me. It was just the clinic calling to remind me of Bayla’s upcoming routine appointment, but it sure made me smile inside as I affirmed that indeed I was the parent to such a wonderful little girl. But then I began to wonder, am I ready for this? Will I be able to teach Bayla all the important things she needs to know? Am I a good role model? Question after question quickly popped into my mind.
People say that marriage is an eye-opener and that it forces each spouse to “grow up.” Yes, one learns many things through marriage and it takes tremendous work, energy, and patience, but is each partner really forced to grow up? I think it is more accurate to say that parenthood is what forces a man and a woman to grow up.
Let’s say a wife plans to get up early on Sunday to make a surprise breakfast for her husband. There can be many things that arise and spoil those plans; an urgent phone call, an accidentally unplugged freezer, a huge pile of laundry… or a mere tap on the snooze button. All these things can put a damper on one’s initial thoughts of an early wakeup. However, a baby’s cry definitely cannot stall getting out of bed. It’s 6:00 am, and one’s newborn is awake and hungry, certainly not the time for the snooze button.
As a parent, I find myself carefully analyzing each and every move of mine. I examine my personal attributes, character traits, actions, and speech, striving to improve and grow in each area. For leading by example is crucial.
Bayla, thanks to you, Mommy is growing up!
-“Hello.”
“Hi, can I speak with the parent of Bayla Shurack?”
-“Yes, this is Bayla’s mother.”
In that one single line of acknowledging my being a parent to Bayla, I realized and felt the awesome responsibility invested in me. It was just the clinic calling to remind me of Bayla’s upcoming routine appointment, but it sure made me smile inside as I affirmed that indeed I was the parent to such a wonderful little girl. But then I began to wonder, am I ready for this? Will I be able to teach Bayla all the important things she needs to know? Am I a good role model? Question after question quickly popped into my mind.
People say that marriage is an eye-opener and that it forces each spouse to “grow up.” Yes, one learns many things through marriage and it takes tremendous work, energy, and patience, but is each partner really forced to grow up? I think it is more accurate to say that parenthood is what forces a man and a woman to grow up.
Let’s say a wife plans to get up early on Sunday to make a surprise breakfast for her husband. There can be many things that arise and spoil those plans; an urgent phone call, an accidentally unplugged freezer, a huge pile of laundry… or a mere tap on the snooze button. All these things can put a damper on one’s initial thoughts of an early wakeup. However, a baby’s cry definitely cannot stall getting out of bed. It’s 6:00 am, and one’s newborn is awake and hungry, certainly not the time for the snooze button.
As a parent, I find myself carefully analyzing each and every move of mine. I examine my personal attributes, character traits, actions, and speech, striving to improve and grow in each area. For leading by example is crucial.
Bayla, thanks to you, Mommy is growing up!
