Learning to Let Go...

...and to breathe.

Yesterday was my beloved and my seventh year wedding anniversary and today is the sixth yarzheit (day of remembrance) for my mom - i.e. the anniversary of the day she died in the Hebrew calendar. And, shockingly, this is the calmest I've been in a while.

The end of August was painful - not nearly so as the middle, but I had a blood clot scare and job drama (not yet resolved, but looking good), and each morning I would count down the days until we were scheduled to go to the circus with our littles (on Friday the 30th). Once we made it to the circus, that pretty much meant I survived. Literally and figuratively. I had great belief that once August was over, things would be brighter.

It was sometime toward the end of the last week when my husband joined me in our room and told me that he realized we had NO mezuzot (scrolls) up on almost any of our doorways in our new apartment, and that we had not had any up all month. We moved in the beginning of August.

For those of you who are unfamiliar, there is a distinct and direct connection (whether superstitious or actual) between your health and your mezuzot. They are thought to act as protection over your residence and those within; they are the anti-thesis to evil and a guard over your home.

"The very purpose of mezuzot is the protection of the house and its inhabitants."

My husband is not the superstitious type (I am) so for that to come out of his mouth meant more than anything. We had had a crap-tastic month with no mezuzot. I was quiet and shocked and he immediately said, with great resolve, "I am going to find the mezuzot tomorrow and put all of them up. We need a better month."

And so he did.

Friday was Circus Day and we had a grand time. The kids requested cotton candy (it was larger than their heads) and sat there, astounded, eyes glued to the performance. Every so often, one of them would turn to us and say in their little voices, "What in the WORLD was that!?" It was magical and still brings a smile to my face.

Immediately after it ended, I realized my phone and wallet had dropped. It's still August, I thought, devastated, knowing that Shabbat was about thirty minutes away. Security couldn't find it. I couldn't find it (even with fifteen minutes of intense searching with a baby on my hip). My husband then went to find it and came back with it in hand. RELIEF!

We walked home quickly, lit candles, ate our Shabbat meal, put the kids to bed, said our gratefuls, one of which was celebrating the end to one of the worst months of our lives.

* * *

The next afternoon, after missing for at least six months, I found my engagement ring. Randomly, on the floor, laying and twinkling at me just inside a cabinet door, like the planet hadn't just shifted beneath my bare feet.

I blinked and gently picked it up. I turned it over. It wasn't my imagination - it truly was sitting in my hand, sparkling and reflecting more than seven years of love.

Over a month prior to moving, I had shared my worst fears with hubby, that my ring was lost forever. I was even ready to says the blessing for recovering lost items (like I said, superstitious), but my husband had faith it would turn up - even dreamed that it would be found before our anniversary.

And so it did! And, yes, I've been wearing it every day since.

Immediately after finding my ring, I jumped up, ran into our room, leaped onto the bed, and woke my husband with a huge smile on my face. He shared in my joy and calmly said, "you know, it's also Elul (a new Jewish month)... and Monday is our anniversary."

I could have cried with the sheer relief of it all. The weight suddenly lifted off my shoulders.

So who cares that we now have to get up and take three kids to three separate Ganim? Who cares that we now have parental meetings and all sorts of extracurriculars to handle? Who cares that I'm remembering my mom's passing at the same time as celebrating my marriage? NOT ME.

My mom would be super happy for me. She met my husband and loved him as a match for me. She saw the ultrasound of my first baby and loved the perfect shape of his head. I have an amazing husband who takes me to the beach at night to celebrate seven years, with wine and cheese, fruit and dip, and crepes with chocolate and jam. I have three ridiculous children who smile and scream with delight every time I come home from work. I live in a lovely neighborhood with really kind friends nearby who honestly care about me. I get to keep up and share videos and photographs with my friends and family regularly because of technology. I may not be financially wealthy (yet), but I am rich because I have a full life.

It's not perfect and I'd like another baby (healthy!), but today, at the beginning of September, Elul, and the rest of our lives, I'll take it.

The Freedom of Commitment: Religion

To me, the best, most comforting and loving thing in the world is a hug. It envelops you, holds you close, provides emotional and physical support, and comfort. It makes you relax, feel cared for, loved, and, best of all, you know you are not alone.

This is my view on religion.

When I was younger, there was an eight month period of time when I wasn't religious. I didn't celebrate Shabbos and didn't keep kosher (though I still didn't eat meat and cheese together and didn't eat shellfish). I lived with a non-Jewish girl and did almost whatever I wanted simply because I wanted to see what it was like on the 'other side.' I wanted to see how a majority of Americans lived and what it'd be like to not be restricted by all the rules.

I was expecting to feel freedom and a lightness of responsibility.

What I felt instead was confusion and a loss of structure. One day blended into the next, one week into another, months went by with no sign of division; I didn't know what day it was. Never mind the guilt. I had actually taught myself to ignore it years before. No - the real problem, in addition to the chronological confusion, was my loss of identity.

I was just like everyone else (my personal hell)!!

How did people live like this, doing whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, to whomever they wanted? How did they STOP and give some time to themselves? How did they judge who and what should have the highest priority? How did they decide what, if anything, was more important and bigger than themselves? I had no reason for why I did things except that it felt good. Why not?

What I learned from that period of time was that, just as children need structure in order to blossom, adults need structure and rules as well. The Federal and State governments provide laws in order to protect its citizens; religions are no different (though their rules are based on morality).

Even as I returned to the comforts of observant Judaism, I still fought many of the rules. Despite loving to learn about it, I refused to study it since I then felt that I'd be obligated to follow what I learned (I have a tendency to need to follow logic). For years, it was quite an internal struggle that I suffered. I even recall having a breakdown while hanging out with a former (non-Jewish) boyfriend, in tears because I felt so incredibly torn.

It was physically painful.

My Jewish soul was tugging at me constantly. Only after I accepted that I was Jewish and LOVED being Jewish did the relief finally come. That's not to say that it's easy for me. I still struggle almost daily with some of the rules. But, in general, I have discovered that instead of fierce restrictions and limitations choking me, my religion permits me a certain freedom -- the freedom I had been originally searching for.

Freedom to stop worrying about my calendar.
Freedom to focus on my future rather than my present.
Freedom to permit myself a weekly vacation.
Freedom to recognize a special soul within myself (and, more importantly, others).
Freedom to accept a REASON for everything (even if I don't know what it is).
Freedom to enjoy structure.
Freedom to know that I am not the most important thing in my world.
Freedom to feel that I'm being protected.
Freedom to see the bigger picture of my neighborhood, world, and universe.

Too much freedom can easily be overwhelming and destructive. Routine and discipline have their benefits.

As Albert Einstein said wisely, "[a]ll religions, arts and sciences are branches of the same tree. All these aspirations are directed toward ennobling man's life, lifting it from the sphere of mere physical existence and leading the individual towards freedom."

The structure of my religion has provided me with freedom and a breath of freshness. While my intellectual fight continues and while my emotional struggle goes on, I realize that there's something out there that is smarter than me. I am still myself. I am sassy, argumentative, independent, and colorful. I ask 'why' to many of the rules and beliefs because I need to understand the logic behind laws. I'm not so arrogant to think that I have all the answers, but I feel comforted that Something does.

To me, that's better than a hug.