Beloved of my Soul...

So here's the deal. This is it. G-d and I are in a relationship. We have been for quite some time, but it's complicated. So complicated, in fact, that Facebook can't begin to categorize it let alone describe it. Sure, it came with a proverbial owner's manual: you may have heard of it, it's called the Torah...
Texts upon texts have been written, studied and reviewed to try and better understand it. Men of great stature and minds of great capacity have sought to describe it. At best, when it comes to understanding and describing the one of a kind relationship we share with G-d, analogies must suffice. Rather than saying what it is, we must relate what it is like. 
My relationship with G-d is multifaceted and my service to Him is complex. It can at once be like the love a child feels toward her father and at the same time, like the reverence of a servant toward her master. I express my love through mitzvos; that is my service to G-d. That is my party-line connection straight to the Source of my purest joy, greatest comfort and overall serenity. And yet, my service is complex in and of itself. There are mitzvos I do out of desire and pleasure, like that child to her father. And there are mitzvos I do out of obligation and commitment, like that servant to her master. That does sound complicated indeed!

Av Harachaman: The Merciful Father

I will begin with a parable. The father carries his infant into the exam room. He holds this child close, gently in his arms. The child looks lovingly at the familiarity of his father's face and without realizing what is happening, or why, he feels a sharp and sudden pain. He has been given a vaccine. Instantaneously, those eyes just filled with love now well with tears and the infant begins to cry. Just as immediately, he looks to his father for comfort, and is soothed by the same loving arms that carried him into the exam room in the first place.

Wait a minute--was this compassionate father not the very man who knowingly carried the infant into the exam room where he would get a shot? Did he not know it would hurt? Did he not foresee that this helpless child could no more understand the reason for the pain he would endure than he could resist the urge to cry out so in that brief but shocking moment of agony?
And yet, the compassionate father brought his son to this place knowing he would experience the sting of the needle, knowing he would cry out, knowing full well that shots are scary and hurt--all because he wishes to protect the boy from something much more painful and severe. He cannot tell the child in a way that he could understand why he must endure this act. He cannot even prepare him for the pain he will experience. He cannot take the hurt away or even feel it for him. All he can do is continue to hold the boy gently and close; all he can do is be present in his moment of distress and draw him near in comfort. He can also have the clarity and understanding that this, too, is for the good--that even though it hurts in this moment, it is an act of genuine love and compassion.
The boy will not remember the pain of this shot nor will he likely remember many of the scrapes and stings of childhood. He will, however, remember for all time the feeling of running into his father's open arms. In that, he will have peace. In that, he will feel comfort.

Draw Your servant to Your Will

I've often loosely equated the difference between my relationship with G-d prior to becoming observant versus after becoming observant to the difference between dating to fall in lust versus dating for the loving commitment of marriage. In the former scenario, everything is hunky dory so long as the feelings are intense and positive at all times. In the latter, the reality that emotional intensity ebbs and flows is made tolerable by the realization that the reward is far greater than effort required to move gracefully through a gentle current or a tidal wave.  

Every relationship has its own unique character. That character is defined by and comprised of the two separate entities uniting now as one. That character is not measured by what you do in the moments of intense infatuation. It's not even necessarily measured by what you do in the moments of intense distress. It is, in fact, measured by what you do in all the seconds, all the minutes and the hours in between. It's what you do when maybe no one else is looking. It's what you do when you're tired or hurt or afraid. It's what you do when you actually don't feel like doing anything at all.

Likewise, my service to G-d is not consistently an act done out of joy and pleasure. There are times my soul feels as if it is on fire and I long for the depth of that connection. My prayers are heartfelt, my eyes are open and my intentions are holy and pure. There are times I am tired or busy or distracted. My soul feels like it is on the back burner and my prayers feel a bit detached and forced. My eyes wander to the pile of things I've decided are more pressing in that moment, but it is in those very moments, nonetheless, that I do pray. 

It is in those moments of distance, detachment and distraction that I know how much those prayers matter. It is like that brief conversation in which you put down what you're doing just to say, "I'm here. I'm thinking of You." You may really be thinking of the dirty dishes in your sink, but the fact of the matter is, you put the sponge aside, dried off your dishpan hands and picked up the phone to make the call. If there is meaning and value in a mitzvah done out of joy and desire, how much more so is there value in one done purely out of obligation and unfaltering commitment. In those moments, I almost always find that action precedes motivation. Just as seamlessly as my feelings seemed to waft away in the hustle and bustle of this material world we live in, the very act of slowing down to an utter halt and reaching out from so deep within seems to bring me right back to center. And once again, that fire is burning at full force; even scrubbing kugel off the bottom of a baking dish now takes on more meaning.

A Perfect Service

"Every Jew must serve G-d both as a son and as a servant." (Tanya of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, chapter 41)

And so this relationship with G-d, in all its complexity, in all its depth, and in all its vital potential is, at the end of the day (and in every moment between) a glorious and graceful balancing act. It is a delicate dance of feet intertwined with the physical world we live in and the G-dliness we strive to infuse it with. We are the vessel; He is the abundance with which we overflow. We are the moon; He is the sun by which we are visible. Together, we have the power to illuminate the darkest nights and the most dismal days. With G-d, we are never alone. At times our very souls are on fire! Through mitzvos we connect--out of love, in joy, with pleasure and a burning desire. Sometimes, the flame burns so very low and can seem to all but extinguish. In those moments, through mitzvos, we connect--out of commitment, out of obligation, maybe out of habit. And in those moments, our longing is so real we cannot even detect its very presence. We are at once the child seeking the comfort of our loving Father's arms and the servant honorably fulfilling our Master's will.

Yedid Nefesh

Every Friday night, as we welcome the holiness and sanctity of the holy Shabbat, we sing a truly beautiful song, Y'did Nefesh, Beloved of my Soul. Shabbat is a time of intense holiness and strong connection to G-d. Many have the custom to sing this again toward the end of Shabbat during seudah shlishis, the Third Meal. As Shabbos comes in each week, our souls are very much alive with that longing for G-d. By Saturday afternoon, as the hours fade and the sun begins to set, we become acutely aware of the pending split between the holy and the mundane. It is in that crucial hour that we sing again, from the depths of our being, knowing full well that the Heavenly gates are wide open. We are comforted by the beauty and passion of these ancient words. And yet, for the many eons that have passed since these words first poured from praying lips, the meaning behind then remains truly timeless:
I cannot ask that I never feel pain, hurt or fear. I cannot ask to comprehend why and when I do. I trust that everything is from G-d, and everything from G-d is good. I merely ask in times of distress for the comfort of my Compassionate Father's arms.
I do not expect to always feel a joy, radiance and vivacity in my service to G-d. I do not expect that my emotions, intentions and actions will always coincide nor that my energy will always maintain the same  level of intensity. I trust that when I feel distant, He will draw me near. The essence of a true and complete love is inherently beautiful and surprisingly simple: companionship. And...
....to him  Your friendship will be sweeter than the dripping of the honeycomb and all taste.

Beloved of the soul, Compassionate Father, draw Your servant to Your will. Then Your servant will hurry like a hart to bow before Your majesty. To him Your friendship will be sweeter than the dripping of the honeycomb and all taste. Majestic, beautiful, radiance of the universe my soul is sick for your love. Please O G-d, heal her now by showing her the pleasantness of Your radiance. Then she will be strengthened and healed and eternal gladness will be hers. All worthy One -- may Your mercy be aroused and please take pity on the son of Your beloved, because it is so very long that I have yearned intensely to see the splendor of Your strength, only these my heart desired, so please take pity and do not conceal Yourself. Please be revealed and spread upon me, my Beloved, the shelter of Your peace that we may rejoice and be glad with You. Hasten, be loved, for the time has come, and show us grace as in days of old.

*English Translation of Yedid Nefesh taken from Chabad.org