Bar Keeper's Friend

 I have discovered a new cleaning remedy, rather, finally bought it and started using it. It is called Bar Keeper's Friend. It's a white powder that comes in a cylindrical container that looks a whole lot like Comet (does anyone even use Comet any more?) I have joked with my husband that it is probably Comet, rebranded to look hipper. This white powder is magic. It removes stains, burnt-on grease, funky deposits. It made my stainless steel frying pan look like new. It removes scuff marks off the ceramic cooktop. It made my sink gleam and shine like a commercial.

Look at this! What's not to like? Why have I not bought this product sooner? Tell your friends!

Except that I happen to know myself. Housekeeping and keeping a clean pristine sparkly shiny house is nowhere on my list of priorities. I clean and get kids to clean once a week, for shabbos. Some of my kids complain that even that is too much. I have no problem going to sleep with a sink full of dirty dishes, mask-making scraps all over the floor, living room not straightened up. Nobody is visiting, nobody had come over in months, so there is no external need to clean that I can pin it on.

Where is this urge to clean coming from? 

I have learned that whenever I end up super-focusing on keeping external in order, even going to the extremes, the cause is the things that I cannot control. I cannot control Corona. I cannot control my kids from getting coughs, colds, fevers. I cannot control what other parents do about their kids, whether they are just as scrupulous about masks and exposure as I am. I cannot control this year's Rosh HaShana experience, neither for myself nor for the kids. Yesterday the power went out for a bit, and I could not get a head start on dinner on that gleaming electric stove. 

I am spinning further and further in the world where there are things I cannot control. But I can polish that stupid bit of sink, burn off those stains, vacuum up those cloth clippings. Do those things make me feel better? Are they a healthy sublimation of frustration? Better to focus on the things that I can fret over myself instead of suddenly coming down on my kids with high cleaning standards.

I have been thinking how Rosh HaShanah is almost here but I am involved in Pesach-like activity of cleaning and burning. For recognizing that Hashem is the One in charge (and I am not), I might be doing quite well. Then I wonder whether substituting external cleaning for internal reflection is not exactly where the spirit of the day lies. But this cleaning spree resulted in me thinking and pondering how I arrived here, jolted me awake from survival slumber.

So buy Bar Keeper's Friend and see where it lands you.

Thoughts on emunah and bitachon.

Relax.

Take a break.

Have a breather.

Stop and smell the flowers.

Take care of yourself. Put yourself first.

I have written many times about self-care and how that seems to be impossible to achieve. Today is one of those days that sounds almost like a comedy, were I not in the midst of if.

I have overscheduled, but I was counting on two adults being home and dividing up all the driving and all the prep and all the emotional labor between two people. But my husband got called up into the hospital for a VBAC that became a c-section. It is almost 3 pm and I have not seen him yet today, let alone him doing any of the things that were planned for today.

I know how these days play out: I will be emotionally going offline just as my younger kids will be coming back home and "unloading" from their day of interactions. Those once a week gymnastics that I signed all four kids for will seem like an unnecessary torture instead of a pleasant activity. I will end up being short-tempered because that's what happens when dinner is not served until 7 and then they still need a bath. And then my husband might want to unwind, too. And my mother will grumble how fine, she will martyr herself, we should go out, have fun, attend a lecture... and all want to do is crawl under my covers at 5 pm just as it will be getting dark with a good book or with a mindless magazine, but with a sense of completion of the day.

These realities crashing with my needs will be painful. I am really awed by those who manage to balance their needs with the needs of their families. I am also not so sure whether everyone is faking it, or those who claim to have it balanced really squelch somebody's needs down.

We are often told to have emunah, loosely translated as faith. Having any troubles in your life? work on your emunah. Things feel overwhelming? Your emunah is lacking. What I am really after is bitachon (security). Bitachon is a firm belief, backed by facts and realities on the ground. Bitachon is knowing that there are others who will catch you if you falter. Bitachon is knowing with certainty that you are not alone.Bitachon does not mean that there are no troubles, but bitachon is knowing, deeply and fully knowing, that things will turn out OK. Emunah causes anxiety, emunah is blind trust. Bitachon is lack of anxiety because there is no point in worrying (NOT an absence of worrying!)

I am a bit allergic to emunah, but I can squarely get behind bitachon.

(Yes, I know that G-d runs the show, that he is involved in my life, that everything is for the best, that it is easier to believe G-d won't give you more than you can handle, that it is all a test, that I should not sweat small stuff, be grateful for what I have. However, until these resonate as truths and not as platitudes, they are pointless)

reflections on a trip to Israel

I came back from Israel from Women's Reconnection trip. It was a trip designed for all of us (nebachs) who did not qualify or otherwise were not able to go on JWRP. In a nutshell, it was an amazing trip and I do recommend it to open-minded seekers. Here are some more of my jumbled jet-lagged thoughts before they escape and become not important.

I was the youngest of the group, by a decade at least. However, I had no problem connecting and participating and interacting with other women. I know that we were a self-selecting bunch of those open to new experiences and new connections. I also know that being in the presence of so much wisdom acquired through age and trial and error was humbling. Also, I noticed how many women were divorced or on their second marriages. I wondered how many of them needed this trip at a different, earlier point in their lives. I was grateful to take it now instead of waiting another twenty years to "focus on myself".

The trip and the participants made me feel normal, like I belong, that there is no problem with being myself, feeling what I am feeling, observing what I am observing, learning Torah and practicing the way that I do. There was no sense that there is a need to investigate anyone's kashrut or check anyone's tzitzit. I marveled at that because the trip included a few rebbitzins and I even noted it to them explicitly. We were all just Jewish women, enjoying the hospitality of other Jews.

I got a confirmation that my connection to Hashem is intact. I davened at the Kotel and kever Rachel and at Shiloh, and had no problem pouring my heart out in heartfelt prayer. G-d's presence (shechina) was there, and I could feel approaching it, focusing my thoughts, letting whatever burdened me to flow from my lips. I was not ashamed to cry. I was not limiting my thoughts, wondering if I am asking for too much, or whether it is my place to ask. I am not mad at G-d, or questioning his existence or ability to influence the events. I am mad at the people on the ground, who are committing evil in his name, denying me access to the Divine by their hypocrisy.

I was truly happy and content in Israel. Maybe it had to do with the lack of responsibilities. Maybe it had to do with a distance from my children and being able to be defined by something other than an overwhelmed mother of five. Maybe it's because the caregiving for my extra-needy child was not in my hands. Maybe it was because everything was simpler. Maybe it had to do with being able to move, walk a lot, not have to spend hours sitting in the car driving carpool, driving to activities. Perhaps it had to with having a loosely set schedule, where at any given time there was only one place I was supposed to be and only one thing I was supposed to focus on instead of the constant barrage of preparations and anticipations and things that I forgot to do that I experience in the States. Maybe it was being physically removed from the trauma that is my current shul and rabbi and alleged child molester and no ability to bring this all to light. Maybe it was being surrounded by so many women who simply bearing no ill will towards me.

I am a self-defining introvert, normally hanging back, reserved, not social, not seeking to reach out, needing my own space and craving peace and quiet. In Israel, due to the nature of the trip and the comfortable supportive atmosphere, I found myself seeking the company of others, reaching out, disclosing personal details, volunteering answers, and being "out there". Yet that felt like a very authentic part of me. There were a few times that I did feel overwhelmed and overstimulated, but nowhere near as much as I feel in the States on any given day. I wonder whether I am not just an introvert, but I simply try to minimize draining and cursory interactions so that I do not end up with extra pain.

Finally, as far as the learning aspect of the trip, I felt that the bigger messages of gratitude, recognizing and acknowledging the Divine, being G-d like in my actions, and being vulnerable with our pain and with the pain of others made me feel like I am on the right track. It took me many years and many uncomfortable twists and turns to arrive at the place where I stand but to find the classes that reinforced and deepened those themes was affirming.

From the very first time I went to Israel to this trip (my third), I felt that in Israel there is a continuum of observances and beliefs rather than discrete groupings that are taking place in America. Some of them are way out there, and some of them appear to be most like familiar American divisions, but the unity of the Jewish people somehow trumps over everything. We had a kabbalat Shabbat at the Kotel (my first Shabbat in Jerusalem) and, as we were signing with our small group, we formed a circle. All of a sudden, other women joined in: frum, not frum, in skirts, in pants, with hair covered and not, and even quite a few tourists who I am pretty sure were not Jewish. Somebody was recording the whole spontaneous scene with a cellphone and nobody was waiving for her to stop. A few days before we explored the theme of feeling a touch of the Divine. Joint experiences in the multitude of others came up. At this moment, singing and dancing together, like one person with one voice and one heart, I felt G-d's fingerprint in the world. I am not a mystical person, I am very rational and logical by nature. However, the way that this trip spoke to me was mystical and mysterious. For some reason, this is what I needed to take away.

A Black Square

Use a black square as your profile.
Show the men what the world is like without women.
It's a project against domestic abuse.
Do it for one day.

I hate mass forwards.
I do not like to jump on the bandwagon.
I wonder what these things accomplish.

And then I wonder about who needs solidarity.
I wonder who feels alone.
I wonder who feels that nobody else has to deal what she has to deal with, the manipulation, control, loss of autonomy, breaking down of will, belittling and minimizing of needs and wants, isolation, entrapment, being stuck and feeling stuck, with the only window to the outside world being Facebook and mindless scrolls through everyone's perfect life.

I hate perfection because it is always covering up something messy and ugly.

But I also worry about the ultraorthodox world where women already do not exist, where their pictures are already erased, where their voices are not heard ( and no, I do not mean singing, I mean being able to open your mouth and speak your mind). I worry that men are already too comfortable in a world where women are covered up by black squares, erased, removed, silenced and deemed not able to participate because "they are too busy raising families and keeping a heilige home".

Don't go to shul, you are not chayav.
Don't take your daughters to shul, they are not chayav.
Don't go beyond inspirational ladies' classes. You are not able to focus/don't have the skills/do not need the skills/teaching girls is wasting time.
"Are you ready for Yom Tov?" means have you stressed about the menu and tablescapce enough and not whether you have spent mental energy on preparing spiritually.

In the end, the desire to show support to those struggling with abuse won.

I do not think one black square will do it.
I do not think one day will do it.
I do not think men will wonder, or miss us, or care in a way that will produce lasting change.

Men like action. That's why pink hats march gets them riled up more than silent protests.

Erev Yom Kippur thoughts

There is a sunrise every single day. And every single day it feels like a sin if I am not there when the sun is rising, when the sky starts to turn colors, when darkness changes to light, when a new day dawns. I need to see it, to feel it, to experience it, to acknowledge it. I want to spend at least a few sunrises of my life at the shore of a body of water, on a mountain, somewhere where the skyline is not obscured by roofs and trees and the debris of everyday life.

I have a hard time arranging my life in a way where I can voice my needs, have my needs heard, and have my needs met.

I have even harder time with finding like-minded individuals. I am blessed with quite a few friends who have held my hand through fairly major storms, but all of them, without exception, live a very real distance away, so all the hand-holding was done virtually, through phone calls and messages. It is a sin that somehow I cannot manage close and vulnerable relationships without putting a physical distance between us.

I do not know how to atone for these sins.

Questions

I am grappling with these questions:

• What is the rabbi's role? For clarification's sake,  I mean in an orthodox North American shul. Is he just there to give a sermon on Shabbos and to show up for bris, bar mitzvah and funeral? Is he responsible for the well-being of his congregation? For its safety? For its children's education?
• What is the shul's role? To be a convenient location to discharge one's obligation of group prayer? A social shmoozing ground? A place of spiritual growth? A place to further Jewish learning?
• What is the community's role? To nod heads to each other in Kroger? To supply baby and mourner's meals? To have a gathering of like-minded individuals? To have a colorful diversity? To be a beacon of morality? To be insular, and divide the world into "us" vs. "them"?

If I hear another lovely sentiment of כל ישראל ערבים זה לזה followed by "but not like this!" I might puke. So please, give me your real answers. Give me what you think it should be. Tell me what it is. And help me brainstorm how to make it better.

אֶשָּׂא עֵינַי, אֶל-הֶהָרִים-- I lift my eyes to the mountains

   מֵאַיִן, יָבֹא עֶזְרִי    Where will my help come from?
  עֶזְרִי, מֵעִם יְהוָה-- Help is from G-d

    עֹשֵׂה, שָׁמַיִם וָאָרֶץ The creator of the sky and the earth.

I sometimes wonder what is wrong with me, why do I have to learn the same exact lesson time and again, and why do I not get it the first time around. I keep on relying on other human beings, on people in power, with clout, with position, with reputation, and I keep asking them, help me! Help me with homeschooling. Help me with my non-standard child. Help me run my life with five children. Help me grow spiritually. Help me with carpool. Help me with tutoring. Help me with Shabbos invites. Help me feel welcome. Help me with theological and philosophical dilemmas. Help me find a good educational and parenting approach. These humans are like mountains, towering over me, overlooking me, seeing me, yet looking right past.

Yet when push comes to shove, when it is down to the wire, when I scream, help me feel in control over this aspect of my life, I get a clear message from G-d: you were never in control. You relied on humans again, and again they came up short. Some are simply humans, some are malicious, some are evil, some are clueless, but they do not have the ability to give to you what you are seeking. What you are seeking is Divine assistance, which is beyond the most well-placed human.

I wanted answers. I got answers. Rely on G-d, and do not rely on the community. Do your own thing. Live your values. Be unashamedly who you are. Spend less time looking around and more time on introspection. With G-d's help, it will be alright. 

davening at the gate

I had a twenty-four-hour whirlwind out of town trip for a wedding. I went solo. No children, no schedules, no reminders. It was jam-packed with reunions and a whole lot of talking for an introvert.
Yet as I was waiting to board an early morning flight back home, I opened up a siddur app to daven. Oh, I did say brachot on the flight in, but it was more in my usual tone of mechanical mumbling in the desire to discharge my obligation of tefila before I eat. On this trip back, I found myself wanting to daven, wanting to find the meaning behind well-worn familiar words. No, I did not say more than birchot hashahar since I was waiting at the gate. However, even that five-minute tefila had a different flavor than what I usually end up doing.

I keep on thinking how few positive and uplifting davening experiences I have. There was unbelievable davening in Israel, that I attributed to being surrounded by people who understand the words and mean them. There was my intense desire to daven at the Kotel because in the presence of those ancient stones a different mood comes over me. I want to pour my heart out. There was Rosh haShana tefila that I cried over this year, asking and beseeching Hashem to please give me a good year and prolong life. I think that was influenced by my belief that I am surrounded by a caring congregation. That illusion has since fallen away. I cannot daven in a place of hypocrisy. I have been having hard time going to shul, simply physically entering the building. I have attended a few bar mitzvahs, but I cannot fake a tefila.

So what do I need to daven?

• removal from the ordinary
• brain space away from children
• a feeling of security and trust
• a heartache
• a space to organize my thoughts

I do not know the answer to the biggest personal theological question: why did I end up in this pickle? Why did we end up in a community where the rabbi and the shul are the major obstacles to prayer and halachik observance? Why did Hashem lead us on this path?

And what do I tell my children about G-d and prayer? How can I lead them by example when I do not feel comfortable in shul and cannot model "good davening behavior"? I know I am modeling integrity, but I do not know if my kids know or appreciate the full extent of my dilemma.

stress-free Pesach

I discovered the secret to a stress-free Pesach. I have been making Pesach for 15 years, so I had a lot of practice.

Listen, the secret is this:

• Don't be pregnant.
• Don't have a newborn.
• Don't be nursing.
• Don't have a crawling baby.
• Don't have children around who spread Cheerios all over multiple times a day.
• Put your children in school so you have plenty of time to hit multiple stores multiple times in search of out-of-town ingredients like yogurt and butter and parsnips.
• Don't make a bris on Pesach (or right after Pesach).
• Don't make a bar mitzvah on Pesach.
• Have year-round cleaning help.

But the biggest secret is that this year I cannot muster that care or anxiety or drive or whatever it is called that sends me into a frenetic cleaning and panic mode. If it will get done, it will get done. If it won't get done, then it won't. Contrasting to the previous years, I have cried from Pesach stress only once so far (but there is still four more days, so stay tuned, freak-out might be coming). This could care less attitude resulted in me yelling at my teary-eyed daughter who wanted to make meringues with me. Too bad it was way after her bedtime. She refused to go to bed. She stalled. And then she came to tell me how she waited THE WHOLE YEAR to make those meringues. Well, I needed them to be the last thing I made for the night because they need to sit in the oven overnight to dry out. So I callously yelled at her. (The meringues turned out sticky. Midda kneged midda? An opportunity for another batch?)

The truth is, I am suffering from caregiver fatigue. When you spend so much time, so much energy and control yourself so much in order to care for someone, you become callous and snappy to everyone else. Sadly, the nearest and dearest did not notice that I have snapped.

But there were all those years and all those babies. And all those people who expected to be hosted, and doted on. And I did all that, all the while slowly breaking inside.

I have invited company for Yom Tov because I feel like I am the fortunate one, without that baby on the hip this year. I am aware that there are others worse off than I am. But there is also a part of me that does not expect anything great from Pesach anymore. I used to plot and strategize how to engage the kids, what shtick to do, how to make Seder about an educational experience and not about the food or the mumbling of the Hagaddah. This year, it will be same old, same old. Someone will be crying. Someone will be complaining. Someone will be unhappy. The food and the effort will be lost in the less-than-pleasant atmosphere. The fun and the lightness: that will come with Chol Hamoed that my school kids await like the coming of Moshiach. But Pesach proper will grind on.

It would be so much easier if I did not think about all of this. It would be easier if I did not consider all the years of small babies and pregnancies as a cruel joke. I have one March baby and three April babies. Oh, you want more from your Yom Tov experience, do you? Well, what can you expect when the kids are little? But the kids do not stay little forever, and the older kids grow up in the shadow of parents being overwhelmed by the little ones. All they experience is stressed-out Pesach.

My oldest three have taken to skipping out on Shabbos lunch. First I rejoiced: they have peers who invite them out! Then I realized that it is not what they are running to that matters, it is what they are running from. By now, I don't know if I have it within me to stop the tide. I just hope that I have a few more years till the children will skip out on the family Seder.

As for me, I will go back to puttering in the kitchen, moving boxes of dishes, cooking in less-than-ideal conditions and focusing on not crying.

yoga

I attended a yoga class today.

I have not been to yoga since last spring. We are JCC members and that membership includes free group classes. I was very excited when we moved here to finally get to work out, take care of myself, get in shape, release the worries, feel healthy. But then summer came, with all the kids staying home. And then school year rolled around, with carpools and sick kids and multiple commitments and more appointments that I care to talk about. And somehow fitness slipped. My children have been enrolled in multiple JCC sports classes: swimming, gymnastics, tennis. Me? I have barely made it there to pick them up.

Then you see a psychiatrist for your child and she insists on removing him from the room and telling you that you need to manage your anxiety. You have to take care of yourself. Your husband should cook you a nice dinner and give you a break. You exit. When you are done crying about things in your life that you cannot control, people who will not change, lack of support, you think that going to a yoga class is sort of imperative. Another article floats your way and look, breathing and exercise and yoga help with anxiety. A therapist is teaching your child to take a deep breath. You so wanted to be that teacher, but despite all the directions you have pushed yourself, your air mask is not on as you are fumbling to put on your child's. This blog has been very quiet. I have not been breathing.

Today I ended up with a few hours' break in between activity drop-off and pick-up. I did not go grocery shopping or came up with a million other errands that could (should?) have been done, I headed to JCC yoga class.

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Yoga is like Chabad: come as you are, no judgment. You stayed away for awhile, but we sure are glad you are back. Practice what you feel comfortable, but here is an extension if you want to push yourself further. Take a breath in, feel the warmth. You do a certain breathing pattern and a warmth grows. There is even mysticism behind it, for those so inclined. Let go of your expectations, accept your limitations. Know that many limitations are just in your mind. Do you feel good when you are done? Do you feel rejuvenated and accepting of yourself and others? Come again when you can.

I feel a little bit sad that I cannot find that kind of meaning, reach this state of mind in traditional Judaism. My prayer is shot by multiple curveballs, by too many people dying, by not understanding how I have to wait for the good in something that is so bad. (Incidentally, today is four year anniversary since a Chabad rebbitzen passed away Her legacy of Torah and Tea did not continue in my community, but I gained two friends who have moved more "intown" since her passing. It's a pathetically thin silver lining to a tragedy that her death must still be to her orphaned children.) When I was undergoing my treatment, ten years ago, something happened to my tefillah and the wide-eyed naive belief just left. It was not even cynisism, it was more like a brick wall. I get glimpses of meaningful prayer here and there, but it is rarely sustained. I felt visceral closeness to Hashem while in Israel, but there is no plan to make aliyah. I prayed sincerely and on fire this past Rosh HaShana, hoping that I finally found a shul, a rabbi and a community where I can be comfortable, pouring my heart out to Hashem over a new heartache. While the answer to the pain was a slow and hesitant "yes", the shul and the rabbi have since dropped off my list of places where I can push myself to get close to Hashem. How can I daven with kavanah when it is business as usual despite evidence and allegations that should shake most people to their moral core? How can I be told that shechinah resides over such a congregation where there is no transparency, no safety, no plan for moving forward, but just lies and sweeping everything under the rug? Unfortunately, I can enter the shul building, but I cannot connect to Hashem there.

I wanted to connect to Hashem intellectually, through learning. However, even that path remains closed. Maybe I lack commitment, maybe I need to keep on searching and prioritizing opportunities, but I know that in order to feel closeness and connection, one needs focus.

For better or for worse, yoga it is for now. I stretched, I flowed, I thought, I did.
I came out better than I went in.
I do not feel anxious now.
I can breathe.

Who are the people in your neighborhood?

When I was becoming frum, my not religious grandmother, a"h, would say every time she turned on the light on Shabbos or ate not kosher food: "G-d will forgive me". She was in her eighties, and there was no point in arguing with her. I remember stewing inside: how do you know that G-d will forgive you this? How do you know that he does not care about you eating not kosher or not keeping Shabbos?

But now I wonder whether my old grandmother understood something deeper. After all, her sins were not of the leaders of my city's community. She was not reluctant to speak out about a convicted con artist who was scamming multiple people for years. She was not covering up child molesters. She was not guilty of selectively warning some congregants but not the others when a dangerous individual moved onto a block. Those were not her sins.

Torah warns us to make a railing around our rooftop, lest a person falls off the roof. Torah does not tell us to wait till somebody falls off and gets hurt and then make a railing. We are told to be proactive, to avoid innocent people getting hurt so the blood is not on our hands. So why do rabbis think that we need people to get hurt, get hurt badly, and keep on getting hurt before somebody decides that it is time to do something? Why are they so careful about the laws of Lashon Hara but not so careful about guarding the physical well-being of those who rely upon them? Why is it up to the congregants to ask: is this person dangerous? Do I have to avoid him/her?

I am very upset. I cannot be the clearinghouse for the rumors circulating here because these rumors have substance. However, why do I have to call rabbis to substantiate the rumors? Why do I have to direct others to call the rabbis? Why cannot the rabbis get up and lead by saying: this person did such and such, stay away from that person. Why does it take a mother in the community, an oddball to be speaking the truth, get attacked, get questioned?

I do not know how those rabbis sleep at night. I do not know how they go about daily life while the congregants keep inviting these neighbors over because they are trying to be open and welcoming. Those out of the loop do business with them because why would you suspect someone who goes to your school, your shul? Why would you suspect a fellow Jew when you are encouraged to love him/her? And why do rabbis love their congregants less than the congregants love their neighbors?

I do not know how these rabbis stand on Yom Kippur and recite vidui, doing teshuva for leading others astray. And I do not know how am I supposed to worry about my kashrut and Shabbat observance and ask sheelot of the same rabbis. They will not eat in my house because "it is not kosher enough" based on totally arbitrary standard that has nothing to do with halacha, but they will not worry about how kosher their actions are?

My grandmother was onto something because the G-d that I believe in can forgive an 80-year-old lady not keeping Shabbos, but Hew cannot forgive community leaders for not publicly and forcibly warning members about dangerous individuals.

The Outer Limits

A few weeks ago, we participated in the Shabbos Project. Originally meant as a Shabbat to encourage your non-observant Jewish acquaintances to give Shabbos a try, it seems to have taken a life of its own and now turned into a communal Shabbos celebration of "We are here. We are keeping it. Yay us!" Ok, I will admit that there is good coming out from the sense of not doing it alone, but it leaves me wondering what is lacking.

Our shul held a communal lunch where members were encouraged to share their "Shabbos at the outer limits" stories. I had one come to mind and was prepared to share it. However, I have waited for a clarification that explained that stories are to be heard by the Rosh Kollel and he will give feedback on how appropriately one acted, given the circumstances.

The stories came pouring in: wine brought over on Shabbos, electronic appliances malfunctioning, fridge lights turning on, naughty babies unplugging essential components threatening to cause major damage, menorah fire... Each participant shared and Rosh Kollel nicely explained what was at stake and how it could have been solved halachically.

I found myself feeling glad that I did not go first, and then unable to share in this format because my story seemed a world away from the concerns being voiced. I also felt that my story was not a halachic shaila, but in some other category.

I am fifteen. I have been to the States for two years, attending a Jewish high school, learning about Judaism and observance. Now, finally, as originally promised, I am given a ticket to go back to Moldova and visit my parents whom I have not seen in those two years. I am excited because I have been very homesick. But I am also very nervous: in these two years I have decided to become observant. My parents can be simply described as atheists. Now, I am going back to post-Soviet Union country in the middle of the nineties. The globalization had not reached that far (yet), so there is no kosher packaged food, no paper goods. There is no Google, internet is in its infancy. And I am going back, determined to keep Shabbat and kashrut among my family that expects me to come back and be the same person that I was when I left two years ago. I am supposed to eat my grandma's cooking. I am supposed to milk those precious two months for every opportunity to be with my parents and do what they do, Shabbos and all its prohibitions getting in the way.

I fought a lot with my parents about shabbos, on kashrut, on beliefs, on observance, on being brainwashed, on tears that this is not what they signed up for. I kashered whatever silverware they had that was all metal. I cleaned all glass/pyrex containers and plates that they had. ( I felt terribly guilty for not toveling those dishes). I became a vegetarian because there was no kosher meat, short of going to the Chabad rabbi with your own live chicken and then plucking it yourself. Besides, it was easier, kashrut-wise, for everything to be dairy and parve. I brought four cans of tuna from the States and those cans were my way to honor Shabbat. The local rabbi told us that the baguette bread could be eaten, so I ate lots of bread, vegetables, pasta, milk and dairy.

I had a list of candle-lighting times, so I knew when to light the candles. I made havdalah based on when I saw three stars. Instead of the elevator, I used the back entrance to the apartment buidling with the stairs. It reeked of urine and worse and was pitch-black for the two flights of stairs.

And I stayed away from the always-booming TV that drew me in. I used the bathroom in the dark because someone always forgot to leave the light on, or turned it off not to waste electricity.

I made kiddush and hamotzi. I spent time with my long-suffering family that was far from the enjoyable shabbat seudah that comes to one's mind. We did not discuss Torah unless I was called upon to defend it, with my total of two years' of learning.

The truth is, nobody would have known whether I kept Shabbat and kashrut when I went back home or not. I sort of wonder whether the assumption was that I WILL NOT keep it and we will all be quiet about it, don't ask, don't tell sort of thing. But I knew that G-d will know, and I wanted to be pure before G-d.

Ironically, that same summer, I had a meeting with a senior rabbi who was in charge of the program that brought Russian Jews to study in America and Israel. I showed disobedience by refusing to be a pawn and to go to a new city that he picked for me to go. I wanted to stay in the same school and with the same community that gave me the fortitude to keep Shabbat by myself halfway across the world at the age of fifteen. He was not pleased, and he was going to punish me by withdrawing the funding to continue going to the same school. I wonder how he will be judged after 120 for abandoning a Shabbat-observant girl in Moldova to fend for herself... I wonder if he also thought that I was not keeping Shabbos.

Looking back, I don't know how I did it. I would not eat nowadays by the level of kashrut that I kept at that point. I don't think I knew enough to keep Shabbat 100%. But given the circumstances, I know that I gave it my best shot.

How could I bring this extreme situation to the judgment of Rosh Kollel? How could I share it publicly when the biggest emergency meant simply finding a non-Jew to turn something on or off, and aah, breathe in the spirit of Shabbat, make a good story about it?

I sometimes wonder why my outer limits always end up so far outside of everyone else's.

Two thoughts on Yom Kippur.

I was shocked to see how many people post lists of segulot, customs and "good things to do at the auspicious time" for Yom Kippur. It is not magic. Torah warns us strenuously and multiple times again idolatry and there are ten negative commandments (according to Rambam) that warn against omens, superstitions, astrology, divination and magical thinking shortcuts. I always thought that Yom Kippur was about teshuva, feeling bad for what you did, resolving to do better, being contrite and trying to rectify your mistakes. It is a painful process of intense internal self-search and finding yourself wanting. So I could not understand how a shortcut like "give tzedakah to our charity and erase your sins!" has any appeal beyond feeling like putting a band-aid on a gaping wound. However, this year I realized that another theme of Yom Kippur is magic unlike anything else that we see in the Torah. Hashem will erase our sins. They will not be remembered anymore, moreover, they will no longer affect us. Imagine that someone punches a hole in the wall. Now the wall has a hole. If one wants to fix it, he has to carefully patch it up, wait for the plaster to dry, smooth it, sand it down, paint it in perfectly matching color. Even then, no matter how skillful is the craftsman, with time, due to the difference of the material, one will be able to detect the exact location of the hole. It is not there, and there at the same time. What Hashem promises to us on Yom Kippur is that the wall will revert to its unpunched state. No human can do that, only Hashem. What about the scarlet thread that changes from crimson to white as the sins are erased (only in the Beis Hamikdash)? What about the essence of the Day of Atonement that itself atones? Isn't it amazing how much love Hashem has for us that He will act against the natural order just so we can all have a fresh start?

So why do people sully this with segulahs and weird additions? Is it because we have so much fear that we are willing to invoke something, ANYTHING just to remove the feeling of pending doom? Isn't is because the impulse for Avodah Zara is so strong that we are willing to stray after ridiculous proclamations hoping to get a better year and avert the inevitable death that awaits us all? And then I realized that there is another theme of Yom Kippur. The essence of Jewish people getting atonement comes from Moshe praying to G-d (on Yom Kippur!) after the idolatrous sin of the Golden Calf. We are given the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy that are recited numerous times during Selichot. Jewish people sinned because they did not understand the true nature of G-d. Jewish people sinned because they turned to an intermediary, hoping it to do "magic" for them. That's why Moshe asked Hashem to teach him his divine ways because he was hoping to bring down to people clarity so they would not stumble again.

A second idea that came to me is how I normally deal with this time of year. I have spent years missing davening.mostly due to kids being small, lack of childcare, lack of support to get to shul or to have a mental space to daven, being exhausted due to pregnancy or nursing. So usually I arrived at Yom Kippur feeling that I have not done enough, prepared enough, read up enough, did enough teshuva, did teshuva correctly, etc. I was feeling guilty (and tired and exhausted). The whole experience did not produce that fabled serene mother of many who can calmly say that taking care of her kids is her Avodah, thank you very much, why is it not cutting it for you, you must be doing it wrong... Last year I had a full mental breakdown that I kind of did not even care what kind of year I will get because whatever I tried to do during these days of repentance would not cut it.

But this year something shifted. I might still be doing it "wrong" but it seems to be working for me. I offered to give a class on Rosh HaShana machzor for women. Only one lady came, but it did not matter because I got to spend time thinking about what are the themes that have to do with these days of Awe. I also listened to Aleph Beta videos during my many hours of driving. The picture that emerged from Rosh Hashana was of Hashem as a benevolent King, a kind Ruler who only wishes good upon his subjects and eagerly awaits for them all to rectify their ways and enter into the glorious messianic era full of knowledge. There was a clear absence of guilt and dread. It seemed that the first step was crowning Hashem as King on Rosh HaShana and then receiving a royal pardon on Yom Kippur. The focus was on learning the essence of the day, understanding the ways of Hashem, realizing that he desires our teshuva and that the day will erase any wrongdoing. The Awe has to do with realizing the majesty of our Divine Ruler, not in fear. Once I have been honing this mental picture of who G-d is, I found myself desiring to be closer to him, to know more of him, and working on purifying myself spiritually to achieve even more closeness. Then, if my sins stand in the way, I will remove them as a barrier.

For the first time ever, I might be doing teshuvah meahava (from love).

In an interesting twist, once I achieved this understanding, I am no longer sad or annoyed that I am likely to miss on large parts of shul attendance due to my children. I also realized that I would not have been able to have these insights if my youngest kids were younger.