An Adult's Anger - A Kid's Perspective

In life, you go through experiences alone. Honestly and brutally. 

Even if someone is by your side, they're not inside your brain, your feelings, your heart. They don't feel the pain you do. They don't feel your anxiety and fury and sadness from the inside out; they do, however, ride the rocky ocean the wave of emotions is creating.

And it's like dropping a rock into a lake (or exploding a nuclear bomb, depending on the event). The concentric circles of feelings spread and touch everything - both on the surface and beneath. Everything is affected, whether you notice it or not.

The Adult Mind & Anger

As an adult, you try to navigate your own thoughts, reactions, and feelings flaming through your amygdala. It's really fucking difficult and definitely not linear. You may know, intellectually, that it's the right thing or that it had to happen, but honestly? Who cares about the intellectual on the day or day after the event?! You have emotions that are raging, lighting everything on fire, triggering extreme anxiety and physical discomfort within your chest.

Even breathing and meditation doesn't always expel the toxicity and anger, even if it helps a bit. It doesn't help enough though, when you're home with four kids who just want to sit on you. Be near you. Breathe on you. Block any movement of your arms to do anything. Hug you, run away and scream, return and hug you again. Ask for a sandwich, refuse the sandwich, ask for a different sandwich. Eat yours.

A part of you just wants to bury your face in their hair and breathe. Another part of you just doesn't want to be touched. And all you end up doing is flinching, crying, and screaming from rage when some tiny thing goes wrong.

From Adult to Kid

How the hell do you understand all that as a kid? 

Mom is crazy, sad, angry, cranky, snapping at the least offense. To prepare my oldest one for me (I'm a cocktail of issues sometimes: depression, anxiety, ADD), we spoke to him (8yo) so he knows what happened to trigger this. First my husband let him know, and later that afternoon, I felt it was a vital, teachable moment. 

I squatted down to meet his gaze and explained my feelings to him, my frustrations, my anger. I told him that I was treated unfairly because of a person with bad communication skills (the communication thing is a key issue in our family). He was sad for me, asked why the other person hadn't tried to explain better the problem. He and I ended up having an entire conversation about the importance of talking, and the disappointment when some people simply don't have the same values as you.

Amongst a ton of other feelings, I was just sad. And he got that, kept giving me hugs. I told him the whole situation sucked and I was super upset, but I would try again tomorrow.

A New Day - Tomorrow... maybe the next....

I'm feeling a little better tonight, but I had to hide in my room, take some prescribed medicine to help with anxiety, and relax. I listened to my newest communication podcast, which has brought me to a really good place this past week (check out 20 Minutes with Bronwyn), drank some wine, took some Udemy courses.

Hubby had to put the kids to bed, and from the sound of it, they were being challenging. And I could do nothing to help since sometimes it's simply better to stay away when you're a fire-breathing dragon with a short fuse.

So tomorrow, hopefully, I'll feel better. And I'll apologize for losing my shit and explain that adults also have really big feelings, but we have to learn how to react to them and control them instead of the other way around. Many times we succeed, but sometimes we simply fail. And failure is acceptable in life as long we learn from it and don't beat ourselves up about it.

One day, I hope the explanation of my feelings and apologies for bad choices will prevent at least one session with a psychiatrist. And maybe, just maybe, my love and hugs will help, too. 

That's what my tomorrow will be filled with - talking, opening up, and lots and lots of hugs and snuggling, if they let me. I think they will. Kids are pretty resilient - but don't take advantage of that. They're also pretty bright and perceptive. They know you better than you think.

Take that with a grain of salt and a shot of tequila.

Life during Corona: Weeks 3 and 4 (Passover)

Are we actually getting accustomed to this?? 

I had read somewhere that this Italian lady said that it takes until day 15 to "get used to" being on lock-down. I have to say that she is sorta right. We kinda found a little bit of a rhythm - not a great one since it depends on the day, the moods of the kids, our moods, etc (hence, why I said "sorta" and "kinda"). That's life with corona, I guess (nothing is normal).

So this week (week 3), I put up hammocks for the kids (6yo, 4yo, and 2yo) under our dining room table, which they all absolutely loved. The little one had to keep getting a bit of help to climb in, but by the end of the second day, she could do it independently. I have also been seeing a greater relationship blossom between the kids, especially between my oldest and youngest, and an improvement in the positive interactions between the 4yo and 2yo. It's a real joy to see and I don't think we would have gotten there as quickly without corona.

That being said, we've definitely had our moments (read: days) when the kids were constantly at each other's throats, crying over every little thing, needing hugs all the time, and requiring alone time with a parent to keep them apart. So, ya know, that's fun.

Also this week, we treated ourselves to ordered food (we celebrated eight years of engagement on April 2nd). Hubby enjoyed it because he got to hear a stranger's voice and we both enjoyed it because we didn't have to prepare it! And I've realized that the kids are a lot easier to deal with when they're learning different and new things. This week and next week's agenda: COOKING. I found a great video series that we all love called Mind over Munch and we've already watched a bunch of them (which is great because they get intrigued by cooking, constantly want to help, and they learn about nutrition!).

I did find that I was much more tired this week. I'm not sure if it's because of my pregnancy, because we're kinda lazing around the apartment all day (ehem, all week), or maybe a combination of the two, but those naps are getting mandatory and longer.

We ended the week with a huge cleaning fest for Passover. I sat on the couch and instructed each of them (I make a great supervisor). Each child had their own job and they were treated with some kinder bueno chocolates that had to be eaten prior to Passover anyway.

Week 4 was a little ... rougher, I think. Over the course of week 3, hubby had a horrendous headache on his right side, and on Saturday, his face became paralyzed on his right side. He was worried about a stroke (I had previously worried about an aneurysm), but once I saw the paralysis, I had such a sense of relief. My mom had experienced the same thing, called Bell's Palsy (apparently triggered by either a virus or stress - take a wild guess which one it was). He went to urgent care after sundown, was diagnosed with it and given antivirals and steroids. It should start improving in about three weeks (and max out at six months). How fun to have additional medical issues during Coronacation.

We also had plans to go to Efrat for the holiday, but, clearly, that was out of the question. So instead, we prepared our very first seder. Munchkin went to bed pretty early, but not the boys. They asked some great questions which brought us a lot of nachas (pride). It's too bad we couldn't share it with the grandparents, but, if nothing else, it'll be unforgettable!

 

I finished week 4 with a breakdown. A legit, losing my mind attitude that made my husband kick me onto the balcony where I bawled my eyes out for a solid fifteen minutes and barely held it together for the remainder of the day. I suppose it was bound to happen what with everything going on (my depression/anxiety, 29 weeks of pregnancy, corona), but hubby said that, from now on, I have to do something for myself on our balcony (ALONE) daily. We'll see what I can manage. I have been listening to meditation music at night, but I need more. Much more.

A healthy little Rainbow

**Note: This was written at the time of the appointment.

December 10, 2019

At twelve weeks and one day, this morning was the big morning - the scary, but necessary, NT test for our newest pregnancy we nicknamed Rainbow. In order to specifically avoid my oh-so favorite ultrasound physician, we scheduled our test in Hadera (when we could have simply walked to the Maccabi station two blocks from our house). Wishing I could take a valium or xanax before the trip, I practiced my breathing I learned from hypnobirthing (it comes in so handy so many times!) and we made the short drive north. I was very quiet.

It really is a lovely hospital and, that day, finally, the sky was filled with dark gray clouds threatening rain. In Israel, rain is considered a blessing and we pray for it during the winter months. I was so happy for the potential rain; November had been so dry and we were worried about the remainder of the season. I tried to think of it as a blessing for me, but I was still so nervous.

In our appointment, it was clear that this doctor had decent bedside manners. We chose not to tell him about our last time pregnant; it seemed easier. He asked all the necessary questions and I was very quiet, but I answered everything and hubby helped when I didn't catch something.

It's probably good he didn't have to take my blood pressure because I would have been immediately taken to the ER. Anyway, I lay down quietly and he began. I took a look at the images and they all looked pretty good to me. I saw a nose bone, not much fluid behind baby's neck, baby's tummy, etc. But who really knows? I'm no expert.

But he saw what I believed I saw - a healthy baby with an NT measurement of 1.7mm. A much smaller number than the last pregnancy, which was in the dangerous 9mm range.

He kept speaking quietly, calmly, telling my husband and I what was on the screen. Hands, legs, tummy, brain, lungs, heart, all looking good. A healthy little potential baby holding a balloon.

You know that feeling when you finally exhale and only then realize you were holding your breath? Yea, totally there.

We exited the ultrasound and I started crying from relief. Hubby put his arm around me and asked me gently if I wanted a coffee. Yes, please, I said. And we walked outside to discover that it was pouring rain and it was beautiful. Rivulets of water streamed down the sidewalks and cleansed the streets, everyone ran from place to place with their umbrellas or rushing with hoods or newspapers hastily thrown over their heads. The wind whipped and I pulled my jacket around me closer. We peered around, saw a random little coffee shop next door, and ran inside to what we discovered was Cafe Alice (which meant a lot personally since I have someone very close to me with that name).

By no means were we the only ones with the same idea, but Israelis are friendly. We ordered our two hot chocolates and shared a tiny table with another woman. Eventually, we moved to an open table at the back of the cafe where I could just breathe quietly, tear up, hold Ariel's hand, and wait for the rain to pass.

Did I know that I had been holding my breath? Praying for this result? Sure. But knowing it... feeling it... internalizing it are all different things.

As we walked up the hill to return to the car, we spotted it. A rainbow off in the distance.

We held hands the rest of the way to the car.

Intermarriage. The Self-Imposed Holocaust.

I'd like to think that most of my Jewish friends would prefer to marry Jewish and only marry non-Jewish because they feel that their choices are restricted, either by location, availability, or options. Every time I hear about one of my friends or acquaintances dating, getting engaged to, or marrying, a non-Jew, I feel an acute sense of loss for their kids, our Jewish people, and our communal future.

I used to be a Sunday School teacher teaching Judaica and Jewish history at local synagogues and congregations. Currently, I tutor Jewish kids at a local Jewish day school. My mother was a Judaica teacher for decades and my sister taught as well. I have seen how kids are raised and respond within Jewish as well as mixed families. I have even spoken with friends and acquaintances about this issue and gotten their take on it.

[I have been holding off on this blog for a while since this is a very difficult topic for me. Aside from the fact that I was almost guilty of this myself, I have so many friends and family who will be directly affected by this blog. I was asked why I have delayed writing this... I'm not sure that I have a good answer except that it will hurt people I care about. I'd like to think that they already know me well enough to be aware of how I feel about this and other topics and that I'm not afraid of being politically incorrect. This may be true. Regardless, to them I say that people can differ in their convictions and still love each other. I may not understand and/or approve of your life choices, but that doesn't mean I don't care for you. I apologize if this hurts or offends you, but I cannot apologize for my opinion and feelings.]

Despite this intense conflict of feeling, yesterday I reached my breaking point. Perhaps it was a joke, but I didn't find it to be funny. An old male classmate of mine had a Facebook status, "This is the best time of year to be married to a gentile!"

Fantastic. Let's show some PRIDE that we've not just intermarried, but that we are also happy about it, that we have now relegated our next generation to being non-Jewish (with a gentile mother) AND being apathetic about which religion is important in our lives.

I will admit that I am not completely innocent of this travesty. When I was merely dating, I dated non-Jewish guys (two, to be exact). I was not happy about them being non-Jewish, but felt that my choices in the Detroit Jewish community were extremely limited (not an excuse). Even when I dated Jewish guys, I was bothered because, while they insisted that they were interested in being more Jewish, they were never proactive about doing more or even learning about their religion. I dated these guys because I was fighting my Jewish soul and being more Jewish/observant (as I spoke about in a previous blog).

Perhaps hindsight is 20/20. Perhaps I'm only now accepting what I have always felt, believed, and loudly promoted. Being Jewish is fantastic. Being Jewish is a culture, a people, a way of life, a religion. Being Jewish is to be different. It's all of the above. It's everything. While it's not always easy, it is something to be proud of and to fight for. It is not something to minimize or ignore.

Sadly, most American Jews today are "cultural" and nothing more (I have theories as to why the Cultural Jew is the most common, but that's a subject for another blog). They are ignorant of their own religion and history, and, based on that ignorance, assume that Judaism is restrictive and, thus, off-putting. It doesn't help that they don't have exposure to religious Jews who demonstrate that it can be fun and enjoyable. They only hear about the bigoted, obnoxious, ultra-religious Jews who, quite detrimentally, make Judaism seem outdated and anti-women.

Because of that, I have some sympathy for most Jews... to a point. Ignorance is no excuse.

There is no excuse to not know the basics about your own religion; to do your own homework. I start with one argument:

Why discard your own religion before knowing anything about it? 

Why not ask questions about your own religion? About your identity? Your history? Who you are? Why deny yourself and your children knowledge?

When someone asks you what it means to be Jewish, you should have an answer.

When you date someone, you should be thinking of your children, grandchildren, and their futures.

Then there are the Jews who are somewhat educated, involve themselves in Jewish activities, Jewish youth groups, participate in educating our next generation, and yet have no problem dating and marrying non-Jewish spouses. Before accepting my full love of Judaism and marrying a religious Israeli, I would have fallen into this category. It's just as detrimental to the Jewish People's future, though perhaps sadder, and I would have had absolutely no explanation for my kids had they asked me, "If Judaism is so important, why did you marry Dad?"

Adolf Hitler felt that Jews were lesser people and had scientists manipulate science to prove his theory. In his endeavors, he ended up murdering at least six million Jews and we have learned NOTHING from this. We have only continued his action with the voluntary dilution of intermarriage.

Even Jewish philanthropist Edgar Bronfman, who fought for Jewish rights and to strengthen Jewish identity among young people, who fought Swiss banks to release huge amounts of monies as restitution to murdered Jews, continued the dilution. He even went so far as to encourage it.

“Intermarriage today can even be an opportunity for a stronger embrace of Jewish identity,” Bronfman wrote in the Jewish Daily Forward in 2010. “Intermarriage is not a calamity but an opportunity for both a Jewish and non-Jewish partner to learn.”

I beg to differ. If education, exposure, and tolerance of different religions and identities were the goal, there are simpler and better ways to accomplish it: joint religious events, seminars, and interfaith gatherings, just to name a few. But again, you should learn about your own religion and identity first before studying others.

Nowhere in science does dilution strengthen anything. Rather, it is the process of making something weaker or less concentrated. Religion is no different.

Yes, there are some overlapping morals and beliefs, but there is a stark difference between Judaism and Christianity (or Judaism and any other religion); a chasm that cannot be bridged. When the parents disagree on the basic tenets of religion, what is the child supposed to believe? If it's not important enough to the father/mother to marry Jewish, why should Judaism be important to the child? Why should the existence of Israel matter? Why would it become anything other than something interesting, yet disconnected and academic... How could it not be merely...

Something "cultural."