Life is a tapestry. We humans are only able to see the back of the tapestry, replete with knots and hanging strings interwoven amongst sections of intricate beauty. To the naked eye it might seem that it is nothing more than a jumble of threads strewn together in a haphazard disconnected mess. It is our job to remember though that we are only looking at the back of the tapestry. There is a Master Tapestry-maker who can see the other side and is busy creating the most exquisite picture for all of mankind.

Monday, July 15, 2013

Tisha B'Av - What's the big deal??

As the sun begins to set here in New Jersey, and the Jewish calendar flips to the 9th day of Av, I am, as always, hit with a question, that many Jews around the world are pondering right along with me; what's the big deal? (Perhaps in not so crass a fashion, but the message is one and the same.)  

The 9th of Av, otherwise known as Tishah B'Av, is the holy day when Jews across the planet mourn the many great historical tragedies that have befallen the Jewish people. Most of all though, it falls out on this particular date because on the ninth day of Av, we, the Jewish People, were twice ripped of our most valued national possession... our two Holy Temples.  It is admittedly very difficult sometimes to relate to a loss so far removed from anything any of us have ever seen or experienced, and still every year I take time to wonder to myself... how can I relate to this?  How can I properly mourn something that even my great-great-great-great grandparents had never seen, much less myself?! Every year these thoughts run through my mind and somehow each year I find a new significance to this day and a new way to relate... this is one of two that I came up with this year.

A number of years ago I was a madricha (counselor) on a collegiate birthright trip to Israel.  What made this trip so unique for me was that I was privileged to be taking part in a program which was introducing the land of Israel to Jewish young women from across the United States and Canada for the very first time.  My heart was filled with excitement as I knew how lucky I was to be taking part in others’ spiritual growth, because always, and inevitably it has an equal if not greater impact on my own spirituality.  It was a journey I was ecstatic to be taking part in!

Among the many sites and experiences that we had planned for the group, the one I looked forward to the most was presenting them, for the very first time, with the place where my soul is immediately at peace and my heart soars with excitement… my beautiful Yerushalayim!   We had already spent the day at different sites in the “New City” and it was all about to come to its glorious conclusion at the heart of it all… the Old City of Jerusalem!  Exiting the bus, I was filled with an excitement much akin to that which I felt the very first time that I myself had approached the Kotel! Standing in the plaza that day watching them touch those ancient stones, I could not read their minds or thoughts but I was certain that when we “debriefed” later that evening I would be reintroduced to the excitement and joy that only your first trip to Jerusalem can elicit!

As we all gathered that evening, in our beautiful “home base” of Kibbutz Kfar Etzion, I was filled with anticipation, waiting to hear their reactions to the day’s events.  As the room grew quiet I stood in my place and asked the girls “So, what did you all think about your first trip to Yerushalayim???”  I had hoped for an immediate response, but it seemed that since we were so early on in the program people were still somewhat hesitant to offer up their thoughts so quickly, and so I began by sharing my own thoughts.

I began with my thoughts on the Kotel and then moved on to the greater city of Jerusalem.  I pointed out how beautiful it is to see men with their eyes steadfastly trained on the pages of a Gemara while they stand waiting at the public bus stops.  I spoke of the beauty in hearing the guitarists play their Jewish music on the corners of Kikar Tzion and Ben Yehuda Street.  I discussed the fascinating and inspiring museums of Jerusalem and the poignantly and deeply religious communities of Meah Shearim and Geulah.  I related to the group the extreme beauty I find while walking through the Machaneh Yehuda Market, listening intently as the Jewish merchants peddle their wares in what, to me, becomes a gorgeous hum of modern-day Hebrew; bearing testimony to the thriving and ever growing State of Israel that we are blessed with today.  Truly, there was not one piece of the incredible puzzle that is Jerusalem today that went unacknowledged.  For me, there was beauty and inspiration in every doorway and on every corner.

As I finished speaking I saw one young lady raise her hand! I could not wait to hear her thoughts on the matter! Her response, however, left me shocked.  She looked at me with all of the seriousness in the world and said, “I’m sorry Beth, but I just don’t see how it is so different from where I live in New York!”  As you might imagine, it took all of my strength to calmly ask her to elaborate and explain what she meant; a request which she was all too eager to honor.

“You see, where I live, every bus stop has men learning Gemara and certainly there is no lack of a spiritual and religious community from which to glean inspiration! Our shops are nearly all Jewishly owned and inside you will find a combination of Hebrew and Yiddish joining together in what can only be described as a beautiful Jewish medley!  On the streets you can hear our music reverberating from inside the Jewish music stores and there are plenty of museums containing fascinating Jewish relics for all to experience.”  I was absolutely dumb founded when, just then, she hit me with “To be honest, I think that it is better in New York because in Yerushalayim there are some of the holiest sites on the planet and literally within walking distance you can find Jews of all different denominations frequenting bars, non-kosher restaurants and committing all sorts of misdeeds!  How terrible! I would far prefer to be in America where there are no holy sites being disgraced, rather than being in Yerushalayim where our holiest of sites are being flanked by such impurity.”

I sat in my seat listening intently when immediately her words pierced straight through to my soul, and finally I understood what she was saying; and even more importantly, why what she was saying was, in my opinion, so very wrong.  I looked at this very intelligent young woman and responded with the following:

“I understand what you are saying, and it is seemingly very sensitive of you.  You are absolutely correct that in America we don’t have our holy sites being disgraced by nearby un-holiness; however maybe, just maybe, that is the problem!

In the United States it is often easier for us to ignore the fact that we are in Galut.  The United States is not an intrinsically holy land.  There is much in the United States that is good and holy, but not because it is inherently meant to be so.  Therefore, when we observe this goodness and holiness we have no choice but to be impressed by it; while the un-holiness (if you will) that is commonly found across the country is mostly people behaving as the “land” would have expected of them.  They are not “misbehaving”; they are simply just living their lives in, what most Americans would label, “freedom.”

In Israel, and Yerushalayim most specifically, the land itself contains a holiness that is intrinsic to its very being.  In Jerusalem, when ones sees their fellow Jews breaking G-d’s commandments there is an inherent dichotomy that is difficult to come to terms with.  The land itself has set the expectations, and it is up to US to live up to those expectations.  The religious bar has been set much higher in a land imbued, by G-d Himself, with holiness; and therefore when we see that holiness defaced we cannot help but to notice it, be bothered by it and feel uncomfortable with it.

Perhaps the answer is that while yes, we are blessed to once again have this holy city in Jewish hands, it is not the TRUE Jerusalem that we all aspire to hold. Yes, we certainly celebrate her for what she is, but we must definitely mourn her for what she has not yet returned to.   She is a Jerusalem bereft and stripped of her most important element… the Beit Hamikdash (the Holy Temple).  When we walk the streets of modern day Jerusalem one cannot help but recognize this all-essential missing piece.  The diaspora is palpable.  The Yerushalayim that we all dream of returning to is one replete with all of the holy trimmings it was designed to house.  Our holiest of locations, the Temple Mount, stands shamed with an all too foreign edifice prominently displayed on her beautiful facade. 

The Jerusalem we dream of is one of unequivocal physical, spiritual and emotional connection to G-d.  The Yerushalayim we sing of is one wherein a pillar of fire rises up from her heart, announcing to the world that G-d has accepted yet another person’s gift and dedication to Him.  The city we dream of is one wherein the sounds heard above the city are the songs of praise being offered up by the Levites in the Holy Temple.

No, the Jerusalem of today is not perfect, but when here, you KNOW that you are in galut.  You can feel it because we are so close yet so unimaginably far at the very same time.  Life in Jerusalem today can be so spiritually fulfilling, but at the same time it leaves us thirsting for more. Perhaps the greatest gifts that modern day Yerushalayim has to offer are insight and awareness, two very important elements that you just simply cannot find in the same abundance or quality when you are in New York.”

It was at that very moment that I began to see hand after hand rise into the air above the girls heads; and I realized that even if they did not all agree with me, Yerushalayim had worked her magic once again, and brought Jews of many different backgrounds to the table in discussion of spirituality and holiness; and really what more can one ever expect from one little “Old City!!!”     

   

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Putting one foot in front of the other - not as easy as it sounds!


My day today was in a sense both terrible and absolutely incredible simultaneously.  As with much of my life, I had a hard time of discerning one from the other most of the time.  Today, I received my first full eight-hour medical infusion.  It was not my first infusion, by a long shot, but it was definitely the longest so far.  My day began at 5:45 am when I was woken to the reminder that I had a long day ahead of me.  As I wiped the sleep from my eyes I reminded myself of what I had prepared the night before to wear and as I dressed I thought to myself, “don’t bother with makeup… it’s chemo after all! Who cares how you look?!”  Immediately I reminded myself… I DO!  So I sat down at my makeup chair and put on an appropriately light application of makeup; not enough to look like I’m going to the Oscars but enough to make myself feel human and even a little pretty.

On most days I walk, limp, crutch or roll into the Hospital for Special Surgery with great confidence; but on this day, I was filled with trepidation.  We had tried this particular drug and its associated cocktail of pre-meds just three weeks ago and the near immediate result was a significant allergic reaction… not fun, and quite upsetting.  Since that time I had some blood work done that showed that although I had only received 15% of my medication that day it had had a significantly positive affect on my immune system (ironically, “positive” in this case means that part of my immune system is waaaay shut down.)  This is not terrific for me in terms of germs and possible infections, but it IS good news in terms of keeping my illness at bay and lessening the damage that is being done to my joints and a number of other organ systems.  Therefore, due to the positive results we had received already, my doctor felt that we should “re-challenge” my body to another slower dose with more “pre-meds” to keep my eyes from swelling up like ping pong balls.  As I am sure you can imagine the idea of a “re-challenge” was both exhilarating and utterly terrifying all at the same time; and so as I entered the infusion unit I held my head high, took a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other; because as I have learned, many times in life that’s just the way it is.  One foot in front of the other, one second at a time and one deep breath to even it all out.

I walked in and smiled at all of my familiar faces, both patients and nurses alike, and sat down in one of the infusion recliners.  I made sure (OF COURSE!) to sit in a completely different area than last time… hey, I’m no idiot… that other chair had some baaaaad karma! J So there I sat; I was in position with my father solidly by my side… things were good to go!  THAT is precisely when things started to go down hill.

One of the nurses approached me with her IV kit in hand all ready to go.  As she looked me over (complimenting my makeup -I might add J ) I looked her straight in the eye and asked “did you draw the short straw today?” Not ever having tried to get an IV started on me she wasn’t quite sure what I meant, but when it finally hit her she asked “well, did you bring your veins today?”  Apparently dear friends, the answer to that question is an undeniable NO!  After more than 20 sticks done by over 4 nurses things were becoming quite tense.  I felt bad for the nurses and the nurses felt bad for me.  It was like we were one big Jewish family – tons of guilt to go around (but I was conspicuously the only Jew in the bunch!) 

Anyway, as the hands on the clocked continued to tick away, nearly two hours of poking, pinching, warming, pumping, tightening and sticking had passed and still we had not gained any IV access.  Words like “jugular”, “admission” and “resident” began to float around the room and I was none too pleased with THAT plan.  I begged them to continue to try to find a vein and try they did!  Finally, after over two hours and 20 sticks we all began to cheer (and I do mean ALL… the patients, the doctors, the nurses and my father with me) as saline began to sweetly drip from its plastic bag into my most cooperative vein!  
  
During this two-hour ordeal the patients in my area all became invested in the drama surrounding me; and in order to “lessen” my focus on my pin cushion-like arms they started to discuss our common ailments.  Phrases such as “poor baby” and “it’s not fair, you are too young for all of this” became the day’s catch phrases.  I assure you – this is NOT what I wanted to hear.  Women and men, double my age and more, telling me how lucky they felt for not being diagnosed with this crappy illness until they had already lived out the greater part of their lives.  And there I sat, listening to them, their words hurting far more than any needle ever could, but with intentions so pure I just had to smile and take it.

As this barrage of sympathy continued to swirl around my head I couldn’t help but feel sad for myself.  A deep penetrating sadness stung straight through my heart; and I let myself feel it… but only for a moment.  For that one second in time my heart ached with the sadness of all that I have lost and will continue to loose; for all of the matches that have said “she’s broken” and for the children that I might never have, for the knee that will soon be replaced with metal, cement and plastic and for the joints in the future that I will continue to have replaced.   For the freedoms I have lost and for the pain that I live with day in and day out.  For the struggles I have with G-d and for the pain my illness causes so many others… I was sad.  Deeply sad… and I began realizing that THAT is just fine; but only because I didn’t let it linger.

That very next moment I decided that my sadness was not in control.  It would not determine my self-worth nor my destiny.  I am in charge of how I feel about myself and only G-d knows what I am destined for.  As the nurses continued to poke and prod and the patients surrounding me doused me in pity I decided it was time to change my attitude.  I had allowed the sadness in, which was fine… but only for that moment.  The next moment had arrived, the other foot was in front of the other and the clocked had ticked by another second.  I was now in that past second’s future and only I would determine how I would feel about it.

You see, there is so much in life that I cannot control.  I cannot control my health to a great degree nor can I determine how it will progress.  I cannot decide which joint will fall apart next or which vein will become occluded… what I COULD however control was my response to it.  With that in mind I looked straight at the woman speaking to me about how “young I was for all of this” and asked her what makeup she uses; and in that moment I took control.  It was no longer about my disease, or my surgeries or even the fact that I “must have it real bad because [my] doctor is the head honcho.”  No, in that moment it was about MAC, Urban Decay and Christian Dior! Why? Because I made it so.  I took control of that moment and the feelings inside of me.  I would not feel bad for myself, nor would I allow them to feel badly for me.  After all, I was the one being poked, and I was the one wearing the makeup.  Which of those two topics we were going to discuss was MY decision to make; and so I did!

After that, the tone in the room quickly changed.  Once I had my IV going and the Benadryl was aflowin’ they could have been speaking Chinese and I would have agreed with everything they were saying, because quite frankly, I didn’t hear a word of it!

However, it was in that quiet dazed state that I thought again about my sadness and decided that I had truly copped out.  If I was truly OK with my sadness, I wouldn’t have needed to change the subject.  I would have allowed myself to sit with it.  Feel it… for more than a second… maybe even a minute or two!  I would have allowed myself to feel the pain and be OK with it. 

Talking about makeup doesn’t make being “broken” and single any less painful.  The thought of never having children of my own, specifically BECAUSE I can’t find my match hurts just that much more.  Having parts of my body, created by G-d Himself, only to be replaced with man made parts pains me greatly.  As for the freedoms I have lost and the physical pains with which I live… well who wouldn’t be sad??? And as for my struggles with G-d and the pain He has punished my family with through me, well, there truly is no greater pain.  So there I sat, in my drug induced haze, pretending to watch a TV show about (you guessed it…) makeup, when all of a sudden it hit me… it truly is OK to be sad… and for as long as I choose, as long as I am actively choosing to do so.  I could be sad for more than just one moment and more than just one minute.  I can be sad for an hour, a day or even a week… as long as I remember that it is MY CHOICE to be sad or happy.

So, I continued to sit there… and sit there… and sit there, with my sadness, my anger and my pain.  I chose for those 8 hours to be sad.  It was my choice and that is what I chose.  My father and I gathered my things, and as I exited the hospital I put one foot in front of the other and decided, I am done being sad.  Even if it is just for now… I choose to be happy once again! 

I thought to myself about all of my grievances and issues, and tried with all my might to find just one spark of joy among them.  To my great surprise, I found more than just one… I found many.

Yes, my G-d given parts might be changing, but only by the grace of G-d is there the technology to do so and ease my pain!  The freedoms which I have lost do hurt, but I have found new and wonderful ways of living, many of which I would never have found without my lost “freedoms.”  My pain, no it does not make me happy, but I am blessed with some of the country’s best physicians (if not the world’s), imagine how much worse off I could and would be without them.  Yes, my case sparked the interest of the “head honcho” but where would I be without him??? And of my struggles with G-d… well, you show me someone who doesn’t struggle with G-d and I will show you someone who doesn’t believe that there is one with Whom to struggle.  How blessed am I to still know that G-d IS, and that I am here only because He wills it to be so each and every second.  I do not know what He expects of me, and yes, I sometimes feel that my lot has been unevenly distributed to me… but I know deep inside that He has chosen this path for me… and while I don’t stand among the great and righteous men and women who have walked before me on this earth, I can’t think of even one who did not struggle at some point. 

Indeed, you will find that some of the points on my “sad list” do not have an accompanying “happy list” thought.  But that is what the test of being human is all about.  Living with the sad, recognizing the good and always remembering, most importantly, that it is absolutely fine to feel both; all the while though you and I must always remember, put one foot in front of the other, take it one second at a time and always take a deep breath to even it all out!