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.

Designated time

I'm writing this on chol hamoed Succot. In Hebrew, moed means a designated time, an appointed time, a time of meeting. Holiday, as in "holy day" is a very loose translation, as it is not the sanctity of the day that is celebrated. Rather we acknowledge that year after year, Hashem/ mishkan/ shechina calls to us, and we show up. We do not always bring our best selves when we show up, despite what numerous divrei torah and frum writing makes one to believe. We do not always show up in the neatest and most prepared state, despite what sharing on social media leads us to believe. In fact, some years, we do not want to show up at all.

But where would we be if we did not show up? Where would we be if we did not have this protected time to find ourselves yet again in our succah, in shul, at the seder table, during hakafot, thinking, remembering and contemplating where we were in years past and comparing to where we are now?

Shabbos can feel oppressive, especially where there are small kids napping in the morning and afternoon, and older kids get listless. Yet I appreciate Shabbos as the "only time I sit on the couch" in my daughter's words. I wanted to be doing more, working on Nach Yomi ( don't even ask where I stand in my personal learning), reading over parsha, davening, having deep and meaningful conversations about what matters with my spouse. But I am not. However, I am grateful that I find myself forced to sit on that couch once a week and take a break from the external world, take stock in where I am now, what am I feeling, and not being pressured to run around and do something or other. It is not a high level of observance, but it is a designated time, forced upon me for my own good.

I am very good about yom tov observance, but I am not good at designating time that is not thrust upon me. Whether it is my upbringing, my uptight personality, the circumstances, not knowing how to do it myself, or not being selfish, I do not end up designating this protected time for reflection. I am not talking about pampering, but it is part of essential self-care. There is so much to do, and so little time. So I scurry and wipe behinds, nap kids, feed them, do chumash,  grocery shop, sneak on Facebok and tackle laundry. But I do not say: this afternoon is for blogging because mommy needs a written record of how today went. This half an hour is for journalling because I need to pour my heart out. When the baby will nap I will call my friend and connect. Today  I will plan a night away because I just need to sleep in and not be responsible for anyone else's needs.

I wonder if rosh chodesh was supposed to be a women's holiday precisely to force women to take monthly stock of their lives and stop doing.

patience

Today is Mother's Day.

Today my husband is on two calls: one during the day and another overnight.

No, we did not celebrate with breakfast in bed. Yes, he got the baby changed and dressed so I could finish my breakfast at the kitchen table.

No, I did not get a bouquet of flowers. Yes, I got a bunch of weeds hand-picked by my daughter.

No, I did not get picture-perfect brunch. Yes, I got cupcakes made from scratch by 9 yo. I also complained on Friday how I'm falling on my face and chocolate would be a nice pick-me-up. My hubby pulled out a box of Godiva truffles. He anticipated what I would have liked, but he decided not to wait till Sunday to hand them over.

On Shabbos, he was also on call, and there was no childcare in our shul. My husband took three older kids to shul with him. 2 yo was in pieces about being left behind. I kept telling him how we will go to shul later, once the baby wakes up. We walked, while I pushed the stroller with the carseat. 2 yo stopped to examine every rock, every flower, every leaf, every bird. The walk that normally takes twenty minutes took us an hour. I was starting to get impatient, but I bit my tongue. This is his exploration opportunity. How often do we take walks at the pace of a 2 year old? How often do we literally smell every single rose bush? How often do we pause to acknowledge the ants? I was patient with him, especially since he walked and did not complain that his stroller is occupied by the baby.

(I was not so patient once we rounded the corner to the shul only to be greeted by my exiting family. We missed everything, and now we had to turn around and head back home. I left 2 yo in care of my husband and rushed back, trying to get home before the baby would wake up).

I was patient today when 9 yo was searching for an activity to do with me, special for Mother's day. He wanted to do a hike; just the two of us. I demurred, since I'm tied to the baby and my husband can be called up anytime. He settled on cupcake making. I sighed internally: I know how these baking things go; they are all nice and dandy until there is a spill and then the baby wakes up, and you are either rushing, or putting everything on hold. But I decided to be calm and patient about it. 9 yo really did everything himself (with some assistance from his sister). He got out the ingredients and the mixer, halved the recipe, measured and mixed. He ran out of patience when it was time to fill up small muffin cups. I was rewarded with cupcakes.

What motherhood taught me is patience. The baby will fall asleep eventually, the children will sleep through the night eventually, they will walk and talk eventually, they will say "please" and "thank you" eventually, and they will learn to read and write eventually. It just takes time. I used to worry and freak out a whole lot more about a whole lot of things. Having all these tiny human beings around allowed me to focus on what is important.

To all moms out there, no matter how young or how old: I wish you the gift of patience.

Second-best?

I have seen some talk lately putting down the lifestyle of baalei batim as a second-best choice to full-time Torah learners. Usually this talk comes from a more right-wing people, the ones who have someone else (or expect someone else) to cover their expenses while the husband sits down and learns full time. These people feel very uncomfortable when later on life they are forced to leave the cocoon of the kollel and face the realities of the world. Their wives feel that the sacrifices they make to assure full-time Torah learning makes them partners in Torah, and they are assured Olam Haba based on how many hours their husband spends in learning. They feel fake and lost once this learning ends.

During my high school years, I have discussed this issue, and firmly resolved not to get married to a full-time learner. I believed in being married to someone who has a work ethic, and who views himself as a family provider, while still making time for learning and maintaining a frum lifestyle. Good thing I met my wonderful husband before hitting the shidduch circuit.

This past weekend we drove to another city for my husband's medical conference. He needs continuous medical education credits, and being homeschoolers with a pretty open schedule, we can all come along. The only caveat is, usually doctors fly to these conferences in ritzy places, stay in quite decent hotels, and have a mini-vacation while rubbing shoulders with other doctors and watching some Powerpoints. In our case, the conference was over Friday-Saturday, so that posed some issues from the beginning. My husband found out that the hotel where the conference was taking place was within a walking distance from a local Jewish community. He came up with a plan: stay with a local family for Shabbos, and he would walk to his lectures on Saturday. (He made similar arrangements before). Learning from our last year's experience, I know that not everyone is able to put up a family of six, so I was a bit skeptical. He called up the shul, talked to the rabbi, and even made a deal that whichever money would go towards hotel, he would either give to the family or donate to the shul. There are a few kosher establishments in the area, and a few tourist attractions, so I was sold.

When we got to our destination, there was a layer of ice and snow on the ground, something that we did not experience this year. It was also bitterly cold. The kids were eager to go out and play, until they realized how cold it is, and how slippery the ice is. I got worried: how is my husband going to walk in all this? We did pack warm clothes, but they are not proper northern gear, as we usually have no need for such things.

On Friday, I dropped him off in the morning. We agreed to meet in the Jewish student life center for lunch, down the block from his conference, where there was a supervised vegetarian cafe. He came in between his lectures, and wrestled our baby so I could get some food in. Then, he went back. There was more winter advisory weather predicted, and the city was going into lock down. I was worried about him getting back before Shabbos, but he took a bus back, and basically turned right around, took our two older boys, and went to shul for Friday night. It was snowing, and he was already out walking in this nasty weather, but this was a chance to daven with a minyan (and I needed a bit of break after wrestling with all the kids in an unfamiliar place all day). At the table, he made an effort to engage kids in parsha-related discussions, even though he was the only adult doing so.

http://www.consoleandhollawell.com/law-blog/freezing-rain-and-multicar-pileups-kill-five/

The following morning we woke up to a freezing rain. I mournfully looked out the window: you will have to be walking for half an hour in this?! He just got up and davened, then he made kiddush so we would have at least a bit of a normal Shabbos family time, and then he offered to walk me over to shul (our hosts made it quite clear that the mom likes to have a quiet house on Shabbos morning while the kids are in shul, and that's where lunch was going to take place). I kept glancing at this freezing rain, at my poor kids who have to walk in it, and at my husband who will have a much longer walk than we do. I was glad that he walked us over, as the slushy ice made it hard to navigate with an umbrella stroller. Then my hubby turned around and marched to his conference, in the freezing rain.

The plan was for him to walk back over during lunch break, have lunch with us (if he got the timing right) and then go back to the conference. He had to submit his paperwork by the end of it to get credit for attendance, so he had to be there by 4 pm. He filled it all out beforehand and left it with a concierge (the hotel was outside the eruv, and the conference people are a bit picky about how they accept things). As this shul luncheon progressed quickly, I kept glancing out the door, hoping that my husband makes it back. I made a plate for him to take back, but without the hot options. As the hosts started to leave, I had no choice but to bundle up my kids and follow them. Just as we started trudging back, my husband returned, wet and cold. Without complaint, he helped navigate the same slush back to the house.

I offered him a meager shul lunch plate (bagels, cream cheese, tuna and egg salad). There was no lechem mishna, so he just washed on sliced bagel halves. He told me how the hotel people looked funny at him, coming in soaking wet, how passing buses splashed him with water, and how the conference secretary wondered aloud about provisions for such cases, like calling a taxi. Big0shot doctors are not supposed to be ding this! But he just shrugged his shoulders, finished his lunch, said mincha, and trudged back to the hotel. We agreed that I will try to pick him up when Shabbos is over. I joked ruefully how when we are home and he's on call, he has his cell on him, so I can call after Shabbos and reach him, but now that he was not on call, I cannot even get in touch. He smiled and said, don't worry.

As Shabbos ended,  he did call me from the front desk to be picked up. I was feeling how this was such a weird Shabbos, and so uncomfortable, both physically and spiritually. Yet, after we got kids into bed, I caught my husband sitting down to finish his shnei mikra.

Maybe he did not learn the whole day, maybe this was not a traditional shabbos, but whichever Torah he learned this Shabbos, despite the crazy circumstances, I will gladly accept as my ticket to Olam haba. I am proud to be married to someone who will no sacrifice either part of his identity for convenience's sake. And I am proud that this is the role model for my children.

"Kids nowadays" and grown-ups at kiddush

The line one always hears, especially from people of a certain age: "Kids nowadays..."

They are rude.
They are loud.
They are pushy.
They get away with everything.

We belong to a small shul. Technically, it's a start-up, so everything is small and DIY type of thing, including kiddush. I like that my kids are involved in setting up for kiddush, and that the woman in charge takes time to think of a weekly theme related to a parsha, making it fun and educational. But more that that, they are vested in setting up and cleaning up.

One of the things that annoyed me to no end about a bigger shul down the road is the total mess of a kiddush. There was a kiddush committee who set up kiddush in advance. I tried volunteering for it years ago, but I was told that I cannot bring my kids, as it would violate sanitary standards. Then, as davening was over, the doors to the social hall were closed until some predetermined time, and the stampede of people and kids stormed the tables, grabbing food like they will never be fed. Five cookies at a time, ten crackers, mounds of vegetables, globs of humms... Moreover, as people and kids finished eating, the food waste was apparent in piles of uneaten food left on plates for the janitorial staff to clean up. I lost my cool when I caught a bar-mitzvah-aged boy pouring soda from his cup straight onto the drinks tablecloth. "What do you think you are doing?!! And who will be cleaning this up?"

http://jewishexponent.com/blog/taking-the-kid-out-of-kiddush

I had high hopes for our smaller chevra (group). The rule is, grown-ups take food first, and then the kids. The place is small, so we are talking about a dozen of people.I hoped that once kids will be responsible for set-up and clean-up, they will not be inclined to make a mess, or waste food. I also hoped that there will not be scarcity, and civilized, well-mannered approach will prevail.

Today I realized that before we complain about kids nowadays, we need to take a look at ourselves. The kids who set up kiddush did politely wait, but the grown-ups disappointed.

It is rude to grab a quarter of a cake for yourself, when not everyone had a slice. It is rude to talk right by the table, blocking everyone else's access. It is rude to ignore the child who does grab half the donuts or candy, and not to stop them and tell them to put some back (I have done that, to my children's chagrin).  And it is rude not to clean up after yourself.

Meanwhile, my kids are being plied with candy and sweets (it is Shabbos!) against my express wishes. No, they do not need more sugar or food coloring, no, they do not need more sweets. And please stop testing willpower of a child by repeatedly offering him a treat. You will not be the one dealing with his refusal to eat lunch, or his off-the-wall behavior later in the day.

You will be walking home, shaking your head, and saying: "Kids nowadays..."

books found on the couch

At some point during Shabbos, when I had to move yet another pile of books off the couch to find a place to sit, I thought: what an interesting assortment we have here!

First of all, there was Time magazine, draped over the back.

 10 yo was doing parsha question research

Both boys have read the series, but this one is from the library

My anxiety-evoking reading on how to deal with anxiety in kids.
1 yo's book, handed down from the boys.
Pajama Library book that 1 yo picked out, but 4 yo actually wanted me to read.

Boys' new obsession with Percy Jackson. I didn't think I will miss "Oh My Gods!", but I do.
1 yo's current favorite book. 4 yo picked it out in the library, 1 yo loves the pictures and the absolutely crazy vocabulary. We all learned a thing or two. Defenestration, anyone?

A friend just brought this over, and I submerged myself over Shabbos. I miss my Houston book club any time I read a great book.
This was also part of 10 yo's research, specifically, a proof of how cases are settled.

Our random book selection lead to interesting questions. 10 yo wanted to know how Greek understanding of gods  is different from malachim (angels). 8 yo asked a good question on the parsha: if a Levi is a judge, can you bring him a gift as a Levi?

My house might be messy, we have books strewn everywhere, and we do not nearly have enough book space to contain everything we own (not to mention everything I want to have accessible). I have a dedicated book shelf just for library books, in vain hope that they will not be mixed in with the rest. My kids know that I like to read, and I will make time to read to them. In fact, every time I plop on the couch, I usually have to nudge one of the boys to move his reading over so that there is space to sit. As soon as I sit down, either 4 yo or 1 yo will bring a book over. Both younger kids will spend quite a bit of time looking at the pictures, "reading" to themselves. I have so many cute moments of 1 yo clambering on the couch and sitting with the big boys, imitating reading, because that's what big boys do!

I do not know what my kids will be when they grow up, but they will be readers, and they will be people who love books.