And yet, this is what you might have heard if you were anywhere within a 30 foot radius of my apartment yesterday five minutes after the appointed time for candle-lighting and bringing in Shabbos:
"Oh my G-d, that's a mouse. There's a mouse! There's a mouse in my apartment! There's a mouse in my shoe! There is a mouse in my apartment, in my shoe and it's Shabbos and OH MY G-D, it's going in my
room!!!!"
The following part I cannot type partly because it includes words I am not proud for having said and partly because it is impossible to fully capture with the English language what I can only describe as "screaming like a girl."
Then I did what any rational minded, level-headed adult woman would do. I picked up my Swifter Sweeper, climbed up my couch and decided to remain there. Indefinitely. Maybe even forever. And I cried like a baby.
How could there be a mouse in my apartment on Shabbos? It's already time for bentsch lichten, I am late, it is Shabbos, and now this mouse is ruining Shabbos!
Right around the time I finished screaming like a girl and crying like a baby, my uninvited Shabbos guest re-emerged from the bedroom and scurried across the floor. That was it; it was time for a face off. Swifter Sweeper in hand, I climbed off the top of the couch.
"You are only 2 inches tall," I said to this mouse "and you are not crying, so neither will I."
I walked...well, tiptoed and shrieked my way to the kitchen, got a mostly-empty jar of peanut butter and got ready for business. I removed the lid, placed it on the floor and, like a rational minded, level-headed adult woman, returned to my post on the ledge of the love-seat to await the inevitable.
And that is when I began bargaining with the little guy. He found it quite pleasing to just sit by that jar and carefully lick the remaining peanut butter from the outside. I realized this was like negotiating with terrorists--two inch tall terrorists.
"Listen, little guy, it's Shabbos. You're kind of cute after all. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."
I was somewhat disappointed in myself. As a ba'al teshuva, taking on the laws of Shabbos has been a hugely rewarding, challenging, and continuing process. I cannot remember the last time I didn't light candles on Shabbos and now here they were, looking at me sadly from my side table. Right next to them was the yahrtzeit candle I lit for my grandfather, still aglow even though it had been over 24 hours at this point. It was at once sublimely ironic and wistful. And looking at that, I took comfort. I recalled one of the final visits I had with my late grandparents when I was first becoming more observant. It was over 5 years ago and we were there on Shabbos. I brought candles with me and when it was time to light, I did so in the guest apartment at their assisted living complex. My grandfather, OBM, was already showing early signs of dementia, now that I think back to it. But in a beautiful and poignant moment of lucidity--perhaps for us both--as I quietly made the brachos over kindling the Shabbos lights from the kitchen, I heard him join in from the family room. He seemed so pleased and expressed such joy at hearing these familiar prayers. Even though he was not a religious man in that sense, I knew and know he is proud.
So last night, I walked around the corner to some dear neighborhood friends for a delicious Shabbos meal, incredible company and inspiring words of Torah. I already had gained some humorous perspective on my Shabbos Mouse Situation and through swollen eyes could even laugh at it--and at myself. And by tonight, I can say I've even learned a few valuable lessons from my uninvited Shabbos guest.
Firstly, it is imperative to have a sense of humor. We must be able to make mistakes, but also to laugh it off and, when necessary, laugh at ourselves. When we make mistakes, we must also be cautious not to be overly self-critical. We must be cautious to have this same benefit of the doubt for others as well. This mouse, aside from being in the wrong place, committed no crime. I cannot even say he was here at the wrong time because everything is from Hashem and in that, everything is good. And that is where, perhaps the most important part of my learning came in.
Inasmuch as I am patient and kind with myself, I must also be forthright and focused when there are ways I can refine and grow. Early on in my story, you may have noticed I first spotted my Shabbos mouse 5 minutes after candle-lighting. From the appointed candle-lighting time, there are technically 18 minutes before shkiah, eighteen minutes in which you can halachically still light the Shabbos candles before the official time of sunset. You may also recall, I had not yet lit the candles. There really was no reason for this. So many weeks, I come up in my head with just one or two more things I feel I need to do before I take on Shabbos and this week was no different. Had I lit right at 4:41, maybe I'd have seen the mouse beforehand, maybe not. But I would have surely had a different mindset. There is a unique and utter feeling of tranquility that overcomes me as I bring in Shabbos. It is an auspicious time for women in particular to make personal supplications, to connect one-on-One so to speak. It occurred to me this afternoon as I returned from the home of some other dear friends that I feel I am being called upon to be more stringent in lighting the Shabbos candles on time.
Beyond that and even beyond Shabbos, however, is this idea that in a sense we all let little two-inch-tall terrorists into our homes. And this is what I mean: we all have shdus that although minute and insignificant, we feel is overwhelming. We make it big, we make it powerful and we allow it to overcome us. We let it in on Shabbos, we let it in on the weekdays, we let it in our homes and we let it in our hearts. When I am truly in my rational mindset, I can say I have done and experienced many things in life which might actually be scary, overwhelming and powerful. In those times, I didn't falter. I relied solely on my emunah (faith) and called upon my bitachon (faith and trust in action, so to speak). Why then, when faced with a teeny tiny little mouse scurrying across the floor did I cower atop my love-seat holding a Swifter Sweeper? What might have been different if I had instead lit the Shabbos candles and daavened to Hashem?
And so, as we go into this week, I wish to all of my family and friends and to myself alike that we all find and nurture that ability to laugh it off. May we all continue with a good eye to see when we can grow and refine and may we have clarity along that path. May we also remember that while true emunah is always characterized by some element of doubt, much of our perceived pain and struggle could be eliminated if we at once surrender and take the reigns of prayer into our own hands. We cannot control the universe and, quite frankly, I wouldn't want to. But we can ask for help, for guidance, for support and for comfort. Time and time again, G-d has provided this and we have received.
This past Shabbos, we read Parshas Beshalach, highlighting the most intense aspects of the Exodus from Mitzrayim (Egypt). It is also called Shabbos Shira as we hear the song the entire nation of Israel sang as an expression of gratitude after the parting of the Yam Suf. It is noteworthy that the women, led by Miriam, accompanied their singing with instruments. Where did they get tambourines and drums in the middle of the dessert while fleeing Egypt and an angry mob to boot? The answer is that they had such emunah in G-d's continued miracles and goodness, that they brought them along before they left. In an act of complete bitachon, they already foresaw the gratitude they would inevitably have an opportunity to express. So, too, may we always be prepared to act graciously, humbly and with joy.
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