Author: Ricki

I have been attending a shiur by Yafit Clymer on “Good and Bad in Judaism.”  It is a wonderful, deep shiur, which touches upon so many nuanced approaches to good and bad, starting with Tanach, and continuing through Chazal, Kabbala, Chasidut and through the modern day. 

Yesterday we learned a very interesting little tidbit, from the book Yosher Divrei Emet by Meshulam Feivush Heller.  He points out that the Hebrew language often includes words that have the same letters but opposite meanings.  For example, נגע and ענג which mean, respectively, affliction and pleasure; or כתר and כרת which mean, respectively, crown or cutting off (excommunication/early death).  There are many many more such examples, which points to the depth inherent in the Hebrew language.  Sometimes the good and the bad are opposites but have the same basic building blocks.  We can’t see one without seeing the other, and we have the ability to change one into the other. 

Today, according to the Hebrew calendar, I turned 50.  In just three days, we will be commemorating two years since Ely’s passing.  I have been thinking about the juxtaposition of these dates, and originally I just assumed that I would no longer be able to acknowledge or celebrate my Hebrew birthday because it is so linked to Ely’s yahrtzeit.

But actually, there are many conflicting emotions that I am feeling today.  It is a bit surprising, since I normally don’t even focus too much on my birthday, and I had assumed that I would ignore it until the secular date.  It turns out, though, that I find myself at the same time contemplating life and death, two sides of the same coin.  In this complex world of emotion, a few things have emerged.

1. Time relates to life, not death.  Reaching 50 has made me realize that I am “catching up” to Ely’s age.  He will forever remain 55, so now we are only 5 years apart instead of 7.  This was a shocking realization, and focuses for me the need to use my time well.
2. The two years since Ely passed away have crawled by at a snail’s pace.  Time has been stretched out, wherein the first month after he died felt like ten years, and the next year felt like another ten years.  Now the pace of life has begun to reach a slightly more “normal” feel, but when people have expressed shock at the fact that two years have already passed, I feel like I am in some sort of weird bubble, where time for me is different than for everyone else around me.  “Already passed?”  Seriously? But looking back, I am starting to see that the stretching out of time has given me the space to grieve, to think, to accept what has happened at various levels.  I think that on some level, I have actually managed to find some sort of inner peace.  It is a fragile peace, a sensitive peace, which can be shattered by a single strong memory, a song, a human interaction.  But it is there.
3. It is possible to feel completely conflicting emotions at the exact same time. There is sorrow and there is joy.  There is hope and despair. These and other emotions can all coexist in the same moment in time.  There is a particular TED talk I have watched several times since becoming a widow, by Nora McInerny, author of “The Young Hot Widows Club” which rattles around in my head sometimes. In talking about the complexity of finding love after loss, she says: “my love for Aaron and my grief for Aaron, and my love for Matthew, are not opposing forces. They are just strands to the same thread. They’re the same stuff.”

“They’re the same stuff.”  This truly captures for me the deeper meaning of the opposites having the same letters in the Hebrew language.  What we think of as good and bad emotions are inextricably linked.  In some ways, the strength of the emotions in general is more of a differentiating factor in a way than the label of “good” or “bad.”

Now that I am turning 50, I realize that this is a pivotal stage in life, a stage in which we can feel old or young.  We can choose to see the burdens that life has thrown our way, and watch our hair turn gray and our wrinkles deepen, while making excuses for not having enough energy to run around and play with children and grandchildren.  Or, we can recognize that this is a key time in life, with enough life experience to find that inner peace, while simultaneously dealing with all of the challenges that life continues to throw our way.  We can remain healthy and vibrant and active, and we can continue to grow and learn and contribute.

As these thoughts flood my brain, I am thankful that I have made it to this point in one piece.  I can look back from my new position of 50 years old, reevaluate, and look forward at the same time. I can honor Ely’s memory while also celebrating life. It is possible to hold these two seemingly conflicting truths in my mind at the same time.

שהחיינו וקיימנו והגענו לזמן הזה

Nisan: the month of renewal, the herald of spring, a time of miracles.

The name “Nisan” has its origins in an ancient word meaning bud, or beginning – parallel to “nitzan” in Hebrew.  Chazal also attribute the word “nes” or miracle to the name Nisan since during this month is when great miracles occurred for the Jewish people.

When I think about the word, what also comes to mind is “nisayon” or challenge. 

So how are all of these things connected? And how should we relate to this month?

We can think of it from the top down or from the bottom up.  What do I mean?  On top is the miraculous nature of the month.  On the bottom is the challenge.  If you start from the top, you take as a given that this is a month of miracles.  If so, the challenge is to recognize the things that happen in our lives as miracles.  If we can rise to this challenge, then new things will begin to emerge.  Or we can take it from the bottom: if we start with the challenges that we are facing in life, and we make a decision to take some small steps to renew ourselves and our lives, then we may begin to see some miracles.

I think that these two approaches are not mutually exclusive.  Either way, the trick is to remember that a nisayon is closely related to a nes.

Just to share a personal anecdote: Over the years of working independently, I have found that somehow my workload changes as needed.  For example, every year right before Pesach – or two years ago when Ely was sick – my workload was light, allowing me to take care of the things in my life that needed my attention.  And somehow, when I had more time, I had more work.  I have noticed this pattern many many times, and I have been thankful for the Hashgacha Pratit that I believe is there.  Well, this year, it seemed that I would be forced to work on a very important case right before Pesach.  Not only would I have to spend time in preparation, but an oral hearing was scheduled in Europe on Thursday, March 25 – the day of bedikat chametz this year.  I would have to attend the oral hearing by video conference, and it could last anywhere between 1-8 hours.  I asked my associate in Europe if there was any way to reschedule and he said that the European Patent Office does not take rescheduling requests.  The only possibilities for me not to attend were: a. if the Patent Examiner accepted our written submission ahead of the oral proceedings, which he told me was extremely unlikely; or b. if I decided not to attend and relied completely on my associate.  Since this is my client and I am more familiar with the product under discussion than the associate, deciding not to attend could potentially harm the client.  So I took a deep breath and started to figure out how to plan around this event.

Before I relate what happened, I want to flash back to an anecdote from my book.  Here is an excerpt:

Just this morning, I had a moment of appreciation for the hashgachah that is always with me surrounding my work. I have been working as an independent patent agent, with my own clients, for fourteen years now. And it never fails. When I have more time, I have more work, and when I have less time, the workload somehow decreases. And somehow, even though my workflow is somewhat sporadic, it provides us with just enough income to keep us afloat. This does not just “happen.” I have been aware of this pattern for a very long time, but the knowledge of this phenomenon has been something intellectual. The emotion that should go along with the awareness of this incredible, phenomenal “phenomenon” has been lacking. Today, sitting in the hospital, I received an email that allowed me to relax about a particular case that I thought would be a headache. At that moment, I started to appreciate this hashgachah at a different level. And as I am sitting here writing these words, tears are coming to my eyes. Because this is one more sign that we are being enveloped by Hashem’s love. Through it all. Right in the heart of this difficult treatment, He is sending us signs that He is there with us.

Well, just as I thought that this year would be different, it seems that a Nisan miracle has happened.  I received an email from my associate in Europe informing me that with some minor tweaks, the Examiner is ready to accept our changes and allow the patent, which means that the oral proceedings will be canceled.

This, to me, is a reminder of the love that Hashem continues to shower upon me.  True, it’s been a very tough couple of years.  And true, it is hard for me to appreciate all of the good things in my life and to feel Hashem’s presence most of the time.  But somehow, this seemingly small chesed has managed to touch me in a way that all of the big miracles did not.  I am feeling emotional; I am feeling embraced; and I am feeling that I want to share these sentiments with others as a way of thanking G-d.

Thinking again of the words: ניסן ניסיון – both of these words have”נס”  in them, but with a long “nun” at the end, almost like a crutch.  Sometimes, when that crutch is removed, and the “נס” has to balance on its own without the extra leg, that is when instead of a physical “crutch” we get something much better; we are held up instead by Hashem’s embrace.

And so, during this month of Nisan, which is indeed a month of big miracles, sometimes it is the small challenges and the small miracles that really make a difference.  Here’s hoping and praying for a year of renewal, a year of successfully facing our challenges, and a year in which we continue to feel and recognize Hashem’s presence and love.

I am probably stepping into a minefield here, but standing up for the truth is not easy.

The visual image of an Orthodox Jew representing Trump in the impeachment trial is bad enough.  To make matters worse, he called quite a bit of attention to himself – first on the issue of the kippa and then on the on-again off-again request to delay the trial so that it not take place on Shabbat.

This is really cringe-worthy.

But actually, I have been cringing ever since Trump took over the reins of leadership in the US, with his Orthodox Jewish entourage in tow.  Not only that, but I have been cringing ever since Netanyahu started emulating and cozying up to him.

I know, I know. His policies have been unbelievable for us.  Moving the embassy, recognizing the Golan, brokering peace agreements with Arab countries, and moving away from the too-often repeated Palestinian narrative are all things which are clearly welcomed by most Israeli Jews and by a majority of non-Israeli Orthodox Jews.

But does all of that justify supporting a man who is divisive, dishonest, and just plain crude?  I think that the real question is: why are more of us Orthodox Jews not even having that conversation?

The parasha that we read this week, Parashat Mishpatim, declares in three short words how we should approach falseness:   – one should distance oneself from falsehood “מדבר שקר תרחק”.  This is not merely a prohibition against lying; it is more far-reaching than that.  This is a statement which recognizes that falsehood can creep in under many different guises.  Sometimes a falsehood is couched in a cushion of fact, which makes it difficult to recognize.  But make no mistake, something that is “mostly true” is actually false.  Sometimes a falsehood is perpetuated by a very skilled liar, who may plant a small kernel of a lie amongst certain select people, and then will sit back and let others do the work for them. When confronted with the lie that has been perpetuated and which is suspected to have started from then, they will “innocently” declare: “who? Me?”

Trump is a master at this. That is why, even in the face of overwhelming evidence that he riled up the crowd, he will likely not be convicted. 

When you really get down to it, the truly sacred concept that has been completely trampled on is the sanctity of speech.  The prohibition against falsehood is just one of many prohibitions which relate to how we use this gift that G-d has given us.  We can use this gift for tremendous good; or we can use it to spew falsehood, hate, put-downs, self-glorification, and confusion about right and wrong.

The conflict that we, Israel-supporting, Torah-observant Jews, have, is that while Trump displays repugnant behavior, we are basking in the policy decisions that he has made which are good for Israel.  Moreover, we like seeing Orthodox Jews in positions of power.  It gives us a good feeling that we are being looked after by “our own.”

So what are we to do in this situation? 

I don’t have the answer, but I do think that we have to have the conversation.  We have to start to look more deeply into our behavior and the behavior of our leaders and our friends.  We have to recognize falsehood, and call it out. 

Ultimately, we have to remember our role here.  We have been given a role in helping to choose our leaders, but we do not ultimately determine who wins.  On an individual level, we have to do soul searching and try to tap into the values that we hold dear.  On a grand level, there is a G-d Who ultimately determines who wins and who loses.   

I do believe that there is a plan – that a person like Trump would never have made it to the position of president without serious Divine intervention.  But I fear that we, the Jewish people, have not lived up to our standards – the ones set up by G-d and placed in our beloved Torah.

May we constantly strive to do better: to seek truth, decency, and kindness; to admit when we have strayed, to stand up for justice, to retain a modest perspective, and to pray for guidance.  In this way, we can perhaps start to fulfill our real role in this world: to be a Kiddush Hashem, representing Torah values.  It is not an easy task, but this is what we’re here for. Let’s get to work.

Somehow I find myself on my parents’ porch, smelling the salty beach air, marveling at how I got here.  It is still dark out, so I cannot see the water but I know that it is there – just a short walk from here.  I can sense it, the vast ocean that just a few days ago I crossed with Tamar.  I can somehow sense G-d’s presence as well.

Until now, the twists and turns that I have written about have been the difficult ones; when things don’t go as we would have liked or when terrible events happen, how do we cope?

But I cannot overlook the twists and turns that we must be thankful for. 

I’m not sure why we have a tendency to do this, but we notice the negative events and complain about them much more than we notice the positive events and are thankful for them.

But this particular turn of events is hard to ignore.  Just two weeks ago, I did not think it would be possible to travel to see my parents.  There were too many obstacles in the way: I thought the airport would be closed; we had to have no contact with anyone who had corona OR who had to isolate within the last 14 days; we had to have no symptoms within the last 14 days; I had some very important needs to attend to at home; and we had to have a reasonable plan for protecting my parents in case we came into contact with people with corona during our travels. 

 One by one, each of those obstacles was cleared, and last Monday night, we suddenly found ourselves in an almost empty airport, waiting to board a flight to the US.  Every once in a while Tamar turns to me and says, “Can you believe it? We’re in America!”  Indeed, it is hard to believe.

I believe that Hashem knew, much more than I did, that this trip was important on so many different levels.  Of course, the most critical part is that I am able to be here for parents.  But there really is so much more.  After our vast loss, and following the added difficulty of the corona era – which exacerbated our feelings of loss and which pulled the rug out from under some of the activities and interactions which had allowed us to cope until now – both Tamar and I really needed this trip.  It is like a balm for our wounds.  For Tamar, it is both an escape as well as an eye-opening experience to be in a different country.  For me, it is a return to my childhood surroundings and to the comforts of my parents’ love.  There are so many conflicting memories and emotions that are being stirred up.  On the one hand, it seems as if nothing here has changed.  On the other hand, I am a different person than I was when I lived here, and it is difficult to reconcile the sameness of the place with the changes that have occurred inside of me. 

I also feel, more than ever, that I belong in Eretz Yisrael.  As I sit facing the ocean, I cannot help but think about the land that is on the other side, the land that has my heart and that I now call home.  There is a curious disconnect between Jewish life here and in Israel, and I feel that tension, even without interacting with people.  Somehow, just seeing the kosher restaurants, shuls and schools, just seeing Jewish people walking down the streets, is jarring to me.  There seems to be no awareness here of the beautiful, alive, vibrant, emotional, constantly changing, and Torah-rich world that is happening in parallel across the ocean, in our very own land.  It is hard to imagine this world coming together with the world that I know in Eretz Yisrael – it seems almost impossible – but just as G-d is there for the unexpected twists and turns in my personal life, I know that even more so He is there for Am Yisrael.  Surprising positive events can happen in an instant or over time. 

And when they do, we have to remember to cry out what we said in Hallel for the last eight days:

 הודו לה’ כי טוב כי לעולם חסדו

Thank You Hashem for He is good, and His kindness is forever. 

They say that man plans and G-d laughs.  Sometimes we have to learn to laugh along with Him.  Even when we think we would rather cry.

The plan was to fly out on September 15, a few days before Rosh Hashana.  It was perfect.  My parents needed help, and I was the one who could provide it.  I was going to fly to Miami with my youngest child, Tamar, and stay through Sukkot.  After all, I’m the one without a husband, and with older children who have other places to go.  The rest of my siblings would not be able to fly at this time – certainly not for longer than a few days.

The first hitch in the plan was when it became clear that my daughter, Yafi, would need surgery, and it was planned for the very day I was supposed to fly.  I understood immediately that I needed to stay and help her.  She would need help with the baby, help with Rosh Hashana (whether still in the hospital or not – which we were told would only be decided last minute), and also some TLC of course.  I understood that I needed to be home for Rosh Hashana.  So now I was torn between the need to help my parents and the need to help my daughter, but it really wasn’t even a question that I would push off my trip.  I rescheduled for a week later, thinking that I would wait and see how she was feeling a week after surgery, and if she was OK, I would still fly.  I could still change or cancel the ticket if I had to, so that was enough of a decision for now.  Good plan. 

On Monday before the surgery (and before Rosh Hashana), I was feeling worried and distressed that both my daughter and my mother had medical issues that needed to be taken care of.  More distressing was that both had aspects that reminded me of what I went through with Ely.  Different, to be sure.  But small similarities or reminders put me into a very troubled state of mind.  I felt that I was being tested in some way, but I did not understand what G-d wanted from me. 

With the help of my Rav and a very targeted article that he sent me by Rav Haim Sabato, I realized that my job at the moment was to show up.  To be there.  Not necessarily to understand why or even exactly what, but to be prepared for whatever He was calling me to do.  To answer the call with: Hineni. I am here. 

Exactly at the time that I was grappling with this, I got the next call.

My son Eitan called from Yeshiva and I asked him how he was doing?  He said, “Not good.”  I said, “Why, what’s wrong?”  He said, “Ema, you don’t understand.”  Now I was starting to worry a bit, but I thought he was going to tell me that he was upset about something that happened or maybe that he didn’t like his chavruta.  Before I really had a chance to think about it, he blurted out, “I had a terrible headache and I have fever and they’re sending me home to quarantine and I have to get a corona test today.”  Whoa.  OK.  Deep breath.  What to do?  I have a daughter going into surgery tomorrow, and I certainly can’t risk getting corona myself and/or spreading it to her or the baby.  I assured him that we would figure something out, and told him to hang in there until we had a plan.

I won’t go into details about the decision making, but what eventually happened is that he was picked up from Yeshiva, brought to the testing center and then brought directly to my house.  During those few hours, I cleared out my bedroom, trying to anticipate what I would need for the next two weeks.  You see, my bedroom is the only room in the house with an en-suite bathroom, and the only safe place for him to isolate would be there.  I packed up clothing, toiletries, and as much of the paperwork on my desk as I thought I would need.  I made the bed, brought in a supply of toilet paper, tissues, gloves and masks, checked that there was adequate medicine in the medicine cabinet for him, and moved myself into his room.  When he arrived, only Tamar and I were home.  We went into a separate room, closed the door, and waited until he was in my room and closed the door before we came out.  I didn’t get to see him, and of course didn’t get to hug him, although that was what I wanted to do more than anything.  As I am writing this, it is hard to believe that he is still in that room, 11 days later.

At this point, I debated changing my travel plans again, but I knew that I could change them after the chag and maybe there would still be a small chance of going.  If both Yafi and Eitan were recovering nicely, it might still be possible.  In fact, it would probably be helpful for Eitan as long as he was feeling better because then he could have the whole apartment to himself instead of being stuck in one room – at least for a few days.  I decided to wait and see what developed.

The good news was that although I had an active corona patient in my house, we were informed that as long as he stayed in his room and we were careful not to interact at all, the rest of the household did not require quarantine, and the medical people we consulted with did not think there was a risk of the other household members catching it.

The next few days were a blur.  I had already decided the previous week that I would not be sending my daughter Tamar to school, because there were many corona cases all over the country, including quite a few in her school. Although she was technically not in quarantine because nobody in her immediate capsule was diagnosed, I thought it was too risky to send her, especially given the fact that I was concerned about the surgery.  I will leave it to your imagination to picture what the week was like – preparing for chag, going to the hospital, taking care of the baby, having my daughter home from school, tending to the needs of my son locked in a room, and trying to juggle work at the same time.  Let me just say that once again I was overwhelmed by the kindness of my friends, who insisted on helping with some of the cooking.  It was a challenging week, but thank G-d, most importantly, the surgery went well, my mother was doing OK, and my son’s symptoms were improving.  By the time Rosh Hashana came, things were starting to look a little better.  Yafi and her husband Amiad would be with us after all, as she was released from the hospital just hours before chag.  Of course the baby, Yoav, was already at my house, as were my son Avishai and of course Tamar and Eitan.  It would be a strange Rosh Hashana, but at least everyone seemed to be doing better.

On the second day of chag, I remember thinking to myself, “OK, so maybe I can fly after all.”  Things seemed to be stable, both Yafi and Eitan were encouraging me to go and assuring me that they were really ok, and I had an overall good feeling about the plan.  I had stayed back when I was needed more at home, and now I could go and help my parents as well.  I must confess that I also was looking forward to getting away a bit, and a trip to Miami, where things were not locked down, sounded great.

Later that same day, late afternoon of the second day of Rosh Hashana, Tamar started to not feel well.  She had complained the night before of a stomachache, but she was OK during the day.  Now she had a headache and she was chilled.  Uh oh.  I took her temperature, and lo and behold, it was above 38 degrees Celsius.  I told everyone that I am going to go with her into a separate room until after chag and that I would wait until everyone else left before coming out.  So I spent the next two hours or so in a room with Tamar.  We played cards for a while, but she wasn’t feeling well, so eventually she fell asleep as it started getting dark.  At that point, I was left with just me and my thoughts in a dark room until the end of chag.  After chag, my kids made havdala, packed up and left.  I emerged from the room, made havdala for myself, made sure Eitan was taken care of, and promptly made doctors appointments (telephone appointments) for Tamar and myself for the next day so that we could get tested.  I also got online, and pushed off my trip for another two weeks. 

On Monday she was already feeling much better, but we got tested, and we stayed in isolation until we got our results.  The results came in on Tuesday evening:  Negative!

There was talk of a closure of the airports, and I thought to myself, “Maybe we should just leave now.  We don’t have corona, everyone seems to be pretty settled, and this could be our chance to get out before they shut down the airport.”  I called the airline, and it seemed that the only flight that would be available before Yom Kippur was that very night, just a few hours later.  I actually considered it. Seriously.  But while I was on hold waiting for the airline representative to get back to me, I simultaneously started to fill in an online declaration that needs to be filed with the Israeli government in order to get approval to leave the country.  There I was, checking off the boxes, and then I hit a brick wall.  “I have not had any symptoms of corona, such as fever, cough, etc., in the last 14 days.”  Well, Tamar did have symptoms just a few days earlier, but we had negative tests, so wasn’t that enough?  There was no option for that in the declaration though.  So I thought that maybe I could call misrad habriyut and ask them if that was good enough – get the ishur from them.  But I realized that this would not be resolved in time for a flight that was just a few hours from then.  Of course, I could have just checked the box anyway, right?  Wrong.  You can’t lie and certainly not on a declaration, and certainly not with a matter as serious as disease.  I came to the conclusion that we would not be able to fly before Yom Kippur.  As if I needed clarification, the airline representative came back on the line and apologetically informed me that she had been mistaken – that the flight for that evening would only be available at a much higher price.  I thanked her, canceled my trip for booking credit, and hung up.

You would think that by now my plans would be over.  But I still made one last effort.  On Wednesday, I rebooked on a flight for chol hamoed sukkot.  My parents would still need help then, and we could fly b’nachat after this was all behind us.  We would still have some time, and I would even stay for an extra two weeks after the chag because most likely school would not be back in session by then anyway.

It is now Thursday morning.  Here we are, the day after I rebooked my flight, and it seems almost certain that the airports will be closed to outbound flights until after Sukkot.  The door has slammed shut once again.

I really did want to go.  I wanted to be there for my parents, and I wanted to give Tamar and myself a break from the lockdown.  I wanted to get away from all of the misery that has taken over our country at the moment, and I wanted to be comforted by my Ema and Aba.  I wanted to escape.

So now I must go back to that article that the Rav sent me.  Hashem is calling me.  I don’t know what He wants from me, and I don’t necessarily even want to know.  I don’t know why my parents have to be left alone at a time when they could really benefit from us being around.  I don’t have any answers.

Man cries and G-d laughs.  Actually, I don’t think that’s right.  I think He is crying along with me, along with all of us. 

But I also think there may just be, along with the Divine tears, a loving smile bearing down on us as well.

G-d is calling us, and we must respond, without having all the answers.

Hineni.

I am quite sure that prior to losing Ely, I never experienced loneliness before.

Sure, I have been alone.  And in fact, I generally cherish my “alone time.”  I remember once when Ely was about to fly to the US on a business trip, and he was stressed about the flight, I said to him: “I can only dream of 12 hours to myself.  It sounds amazing.”

So being alone is definitely not the issue – at least not for me.  I enjoy having time to myself, to reflect, to read, to learn.

But this is something else entirely. 

I think the best analogy I can find comes from the world of research that I was involved in when I was in graduate school.  My research at the time was focused on enhancement of prosthetic devices for amputated limbs.  It had been well-documented that amputees often still felt as if their amputated limbs were present.  We actually tried to harness this feeling by creating a prosthetic hand with fingers which could be activated when the person thought about moving them.  This wasn’t “hocus pocus.” The thought of moving the hand actually caused physical movement of the remaining muscles and/or tendons in the arm which were associated with that movement.  In case you’re wondering, the design was not successful, because it was too hard to isolate the movements that we wanted, and it was too variable among people. 

The point, though, is that the brain still “remembered” the missing limb.  In fact, many amputees not only could feel the presence of the missing limb, but also unfortunately had pain associated with it – a phenomenon called “phantom pain.” Phantom pain was in the past thought to be psychological, but in fact, has been shown to be physiological and truly present in the brain.  In any case, it is a very real experience for many amputees.

So back to the loneliness. 

Shortly after Ely passed away, a good friend of mine who had also been widowed – at a very young age – sent me a recommendation for a book called “When will I stop hurting?” by June Cerza Kolf.  It was a nice book – short and practical – and included exercises for helping a person deal with grief.  One of the exercises was to write down what type of wound most closely resembles what you are experiencing.  Immediately, and without hesitation, I thought of amputation.  At the time, I wasn’t thinking of phantom pain, but it just felt like a part of me had been amputated.

Over a year has gone by.  A very long, difficult year, I must say.  Being alone isn’t the problem – thank G-d I have my children, extended family and friends.  The problem is the phantom pain.  There is something deeply missing, and my brain still thinks it should be there, still feels the pain that it is not. 

So how do I deal with this?

One way I deal with it is by distraction.  That is certainly not the best way, but sometimes it is necessary.  Another way I deal with it is through certain friends – people who understand me a bit more deeply – and who I can connect to at a personal level.  Of course, each of them has their own lives, and I cannot expect them to “fill” this missing piece inside of me.  That would be wrong, not to mention unrealistic.  But these connections are infinitely invaluable to me.

But most of the time, without distractions and without my soulful friends, I am forced to deal with it in a very different way.  I try to do this by looking inward and upward.  Inward – to connect to myself more, and find the company that I crave within my own self.  And upward – with prayer directed to Hashem that He helps me heal this wound.

How is that possible?  If there’s been an amputation, doesn’t that mean the part you lost can’t be replaced?  Yes.  And on a certain level, my loss will never be repaired.  The analogy holds true.

But at the same time, this is different than the loss of a limb.  A limb is physical.  A physical object is finite.  But the part of me that has been amputated is spiritual in nature, and that is most certainly infinite. I have had glimpses of this infinite nature of the human heart and soul, and the ability to heal through deep, human connection.  This thought gives me true comfort, and even during my non-distracted, phantom pain moments, I continue to have an appreciation and understanding of the complexities and the beauty of human emotion.  I believe that in the future, this will become more and more clear for me personally, and I pray that in the meantime, I can be zoche to use this experience to bring additional light and love into the world. 

We are all human.  We are all connected. And in this time of heightened isolation due to the disease that the entire world is combating, we must always remember: at the deepest of levels, we are not alone.

Something about the last discussion was still unsettled.  I couldn’t really put my finger on it at first.  But this morning I realized what it was.  It has to do with “tuning in” – which is what I called the last post but without fully developing the thought.

In my personal experience, the more I pay attention to the wonders of the world, the more I am able to see and feel the presence of Hashem.  This applies both to nature and to events.  Let’s start with nature.  If I stop and pay attention to the beauty of the trees and flowers, the ever-changing sky with its cloud formations and colors, the beauty of individual human beings, our ability to see and think and feel, and many other aspects of this world, I am struck with the awesomeness of Hashem.  This is something that at times is more prominent and at times is less so, but the more thought and attention that I devote to it, the greater is my recognition of G-d in this world.

Events are a bit more complicated, as I wrote about in my previous post.  But I realized that here too, the more I look for it, the more I see it.  While it is true that there are many complexities, and that we don’t really understand HOW G-d intervenes in the world, we can appreciate that indeed He does if we only stop and pay attention. 

Have you ever been able to look back upon events that happened in your life, where things that may have seemed senseless took on meaning in the greater context of time?  To me, this type of awareness also leads to a sense of awe in how Hashem is here with us in this world.  I don’t think we have to solve the dilemmas inherent in this issue, as discussed in the previous post, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to pay attention and appreciate the details.

Here too, the more thought and attention that we put into it, the more awareness we have.  This, for me, is uplifting. 

There is one more angle to this that I have been thinking about.  Just as we tend to think linearly and logically in nature, but that reality does not always fit our logic, the same may be true for events.  Let me explain.  As an example, from our perspective, we experience time as absolute.  But in reality, it has been proven that time is relative when it taken outside of our normal parameters.  (This involves physical parameters such as gravity and velocity and is beyond the scope of this post, and also beyond my comprehension, but it is a scientific reality).  Time is just one example.  Modern physics is full of illogical and even seemingly impossible, scientifically proven facts.

So I am comfortable with the fact that we can’t really wrap our minds around this dilemma, just as I am comfortable with the fact that we can’t “know” G-d.  But I do believe that we can sense Him in different ways in this world.  If we can sense G-d through the events that happen to us, even without understanding how it can be so, it can be awe-inspiring. It’s almost like getting a glimpse or a tiny taste of something much greater than us, something that is all G00d, and wholly loving.

And maybe, just maybe, the more we pay attention and tune in, the more we can merit Hashem’s presence in our lives. I hope that it works this way. But I am happy enough knowing that our sense of the Divine is something that we can develop and work on infinitely in countless ways, and this in itself is a great reward.

How do you look at the world? How do you experience events in your life?  Do you think things just “happen”?  Do you think every detail of your life is directed?  Are we meant to see messages in the events that happen to us?  Does it make a difference if it’s a major event or a minor event?  How do our decisions come into the equation?  What about other people’s decisions?

Jewish sources have a lot to say about the matter, but like everything else in Judaism, there are many schools of thought, some of which are contradictory to one another.  There are also many internal contradictions.

At one end of this spectrum is the Chasidic view, that even a leaf that falls from a tree at a particular time is significant and is controlled by G-d.  At the other end of the spectrum (seemingly espoused by the Rambam but there too, he has conflicting statements) is the view that there is a natural order to the world and that G-d generally does not intervene.  There is also the view that an individual person’s spiritual level may determine the level of Divine guidance and intervention that he or she receives.

So how are we supposed to sort through all of this? 

I have experienced many events that to me were clearly the hand of G-d.  Sometimes they are major events and sometimes not.  I find that when I view the world through this lens, it helps me focus and cope, because I feel like G-d is here with me in this world.  This is true even when the events are seemingly bad.  I believe deep down in my soul that G-d is here in this world, directing events large and small. 

But I was challenged the other day by a Rav who I greatly respect, when in response to a comment that I made on the subject he stated: “Sometimes things just happen because people make certain decisions.”  This bothered me at first, because I couldn’t reconcile it with my world view.  So I asked for clarification, and this is what I took from that conversation.

1. It is worthwhile separating two issues: a. the question of what can I learn or take from the event that happened; and b. the question of whether G-d is sending me a personal message.  This is a helpful separation to make, because while the first question is worthwhile and can help a person grow, the second question is generally not only impossible to answer with certainty, it also can sometimes be misjudged or used improperly.

2. There are complexities here that are truly mind-bending, especially when it comes to understanding the role of free choice.  If G-d is directing every detail, where is our free choice?  Of course, this is an age-old question, the answer to which is not readily available to any of us.  We haven’t solved that dilemma in thousands of years, and it will likely remain that way at least for the foreseeable future.  These complexities remind us not to be single-minded in our thinking.  I am sure there is Truth here, but for us here on Earth, it is elusive.  The good news about that is that it forces us to be flexible and open minded in our thinking.

3. When we are too analytical about the events that happen to us, it can lead to a lack of spontaneity.  I will take this to the extreme to illustrate the point: if every single minute of the day you are looking for meaning in the events that happen, or looking for hidden messages, you will not be able to function via your own feelings and intuition.  Of course, this probably does not happen to people at that level, but it is something to be aware of in general.  We need to go with the flow, and not get caught up in over-analysis.

4. Whichever position you hold to be most true will also have drawbacks.  The way the Rav stated it: Where there is light there is also a shadow.  So if you take the more Chasidic view, it may be comforting and feel true at a certain level, but you are left with the problems of lack of spontaneity, potential misinterpretation, and the issue of free choice, to name a few.  If you take the more “Rambamistic” view, it may allow for a broad range of free choice, and for more human decision making and spontaneity and drive, but you are left with the problems of, among others, where do reward and punishment fit in, what is the role of tefilla, and perhaps feelings of being left alone in the world.

5. Lastly, the idea that being on a different spiritual level can change the amount of Divine providence that a person receives is very powerful.  On the one hand, it forces you to have anava – humility – and to not assume that you are receiving a high level of personal guidance; on the other hand, it is something to always strive for because of course, there is nothing better than knowing that you are being watched, guided and taken care of.

At the end of the day, our job is not to figure out how it all works. Our job is to improve ourselves, to reach out to others, and to try to build a relationship with Hashem. The more we can do that, the more we will see and experience beauty and love, and the better we will be able to cope with an uncertain and sometimes scary world.

This week I have been dealing with three (!) separate, unrelated matters – all of which point to injustice.  Coincidence?  Never.  It is forcing me to think about justice in this world.

In all of the cases, there is one party who is honest and trying to do the right thing, and another party who is dishonest and fully motivated by self-interest.  In all of the cases, a compromise will be reached, despite the fact that the compromise rewards the party with self-interest, and seemingly removes the label of “justice” from the outcome.

At first, this really bothered me.  Why should one party, who is causing trouble just to extract some benefit which is self-serving and which is harmful to the other party, come out with anything?  Why can’t the true nature of these people be revealed?  Why are the instigator and the victim put into the same box when analyzing potential outcomes?

This reminds me very strongly of the cases of agunot, and many stories of domestic abuse.  I know too many people who have suffered or are suffering at the hands of abusive spouses, and the system rewards the abusive spouse for this behavior by promoting “shalom bayit” or compromise.  Is that just? Is it fair? 

The whole discussion revolves around the issue of truth.  When truth is hidden, injustice occurs. 

I once saw a movie on an airplane called “The Invention of Lying.” The premise of the movie was that the world was one of uncompromising truth.  Everyone always told the truth, and people were not aware that there was any alternative to that. That was life, until one guy discovered by accident that if he lied, he could fully take advantage of the truth-based society that he lived in, and could become rich, powerful and loved.  It was a disturbing movie for me, because it made me hyper aware of the fact that our society is unfortunately very far from a truth-based one. It also was a stark reminder that there are people in the world who actually do this regularly on a personal level.  They take advantage of innately truthful people, who have a hard time understanding that not everything should be taken at face value.

So where is the justice? 

I have come to realize that although we must fight for justice, there is a limit.  Sometimes compromises are made in order to be able to live in this world, and not be consumed with the matter at hand.  Sometimes truth is compromised for the sake of peace.  And sometimes, mistakes are made and the instigator is rewarded because of poor judgement.

If we have done our part, to the best of our abilities, we cannot be upset by these outcomes.  Why?  Because ultimately we do not know how the system of justice works.  We don’t have the perspective of time or of G-d’s plans to know why a certain outcome has come about. 

We are not supposed to seek revenge, and we are not supposed to hate.  So when put into these challenging situations, the focus needs to be inward.  How can I improve?  What positive steps can I take in my life?  We must rely fully and completely on Hashem – that He will reveal the truth when the time is right.  Maybe not in our lifetimes, and that’s OK.  Maybe not in this world, and that’s OK too.  But ultimately, we need to turn our thoughts away from “the other person harmed me or is trying to harm me and therefore he or she should get just punishment” to “the other person does not concern me at all.  It is not in my hands and it is irrelevant to my life.  I just need to live the way I need to live, with constant חשבון נפש and forward movement.”

Perhaps it is to get us to this higher level of thinking that these injustices come into our lives at all.

I think that one of the key elements in dealing with the obstacles that get thrown in our way is maintaining a sense of purpose. Or discovering one. Over the last year, since my husband passed away, I have been putting together a book from journal entries that he and I wrote while he was sick. The book just came out (!) – in time for the one-year anniversary of his passing. But now I have found myself in a new rut. The book gave me something to focus on, something with meaning. Now that I have published it, and a whole year has gone by, I am feeling a new emptiness. For about two weeks since the yahrtzeit, I have been only marginally functional. But yesterday, I decided that I need to keep going. I need to give some more thought to my role in the world. Why am I here? Why have I been put into this particular life situation? Maybe in this journey of finding my purpose, I will be able to help other people find theirs. I certainly hope so.