That Simple Thing Known As Emunah (Faith)

It's a typical Sunday here. I took my time davening (praying) this morning, and now I'm still sipping my morning cup of coffee. It's hard to believe that nine weeks from today my chosson (groom) and I will be preparing for our chassanah (wedding)! Reality comes in small doses of excitement, panic, anticipation, and everything in between. I'm in the final stages of preparing to leave Albany, NY at the end of next month and it was barely a year ago I was in the final stages of preparing to come here! What an amazing difference one year can make!

I remember last year on a hot and sticky summer day, while visiting the place I planned to potentially call home, that I sat at the Shabbos table of the head Chabad shlichim here. I was in such awe and shock to be there; they are a highly respected family in our community and worthy of that respect. They had some of their children and grandchildren visiting that day as well. Many of them have gone on to open their own Chabad houses in surrounding areas and university campuses. I was just some young woman coming from across the country with a Big Idea to move back to her childhood hometown.

Trying to get a sense of this Big Idea, one of the rabbis asked me:
"So, you have a place to live here?"

"No." I answered.

"Oh," he responded, seeming a bit surprised. After all, my cross country move was less than one month away. "Well you must have a job then, right?"

"Um, no." I answered.

"So you have a lot of emunah, then!" he concluded.
I, at that time, came to a different conclusion: I was completely off my rocker! What was I doing with a one way plane ticket, no place to live and no way to support myself?! And though I was very familiar with this word, what was this emunah I supposedly had?


Time and memory are an amazing pair that gracefully dance around one another. About a year later, I remember in theory that there must have been times I panicked and tears that I shed making a 3,000 mile move after 9 years with nothing but 15 medium sized boxes, one bicycle, 3 suitcases, a carry-on and some medical equipment. I recall my dear friend, my rebbetzin from Spokane, driving me to the airport at 4:00am. I remember the 13 plus hours of traveling with three connecting flights. I remember keeping a stiff upper lip (even though the lower one was getting a wee bit wobbly with each passing time zone). And I remember the moment my carry-on exploded on the tram at the Newark airport, letting loose a laptop and piles of important paperwork and documents on the floor of the bus just as it pulled to my gate. No matter, I thought. I made it this far, I'll just stuff it back in and keep going. But what do I recall the most? That last 45 minute flight from Newark to Manchester, NH. The weather was horrible; the plane was the size of my morning vitamin. And as it shook violently in a night sky flashing with lightening, I heard this song on my ipod and felt nothing but comfort and hope. I knew I was on the cusp of something huge and in that moment, it didn't matter that I wasn't sure what that was. All that mattered was that I knew that things would be good. I knew G-d was with me; I had nothing to fear. G-d was with me when I'd made that journey in the other direction 9 years before. He was with me when I got sick; He was with me when I got well. He was with me in times of plenty; He was with me when resources were scarce. There was no reason not to believe that He was with me now.
And what else do I remember? I remember thinking to myself that I was seeking my own Avraham. A man who could open his heart and his home. A man who could have enough emunah to "take us home" even if, like me, he didn't know for sure where that was or how to get there.

Fast forward about a year to a typical Sunday. My coffee is cold, but I'm still sipping slowly. I'm nine weeks away from marrying that man I believed so deeply I would find if I took 4 planes 3,000 miles away to a place I'd called home as a child. And do I find myself stuck in moments of doubt? Of course. I worry about leaving my job and having nothing lined up on the other end. I worry about missing the friendships I built over this last year. And yet, in the areas it matters most, I have no doubt at all. I know without a doubt that, with G-d's help, I've found my basherte (soulmate). Of all of his many good qualities, the one I most greatly admire is his emunah, his complete faith in G-d. It is present through his unwavering confidence in his Yiddishkeit. It is visible through his deep and complete love for his fellow Jew and the beautifully selfless way he will bend over backwards just to help a friend in need. Our ancestors before us have walked to the chuppa  (marriage canopy) in this way for thousands of years; we are just blessed enough to carry on in that tradition.

But what is this emunah that allowed us to make our individual returns to the ways of our ancestors? How did having faith merit us the z'chus after a lifetime of searching to meet each other face to face on a sidewalk in Flatbush, NY? Is it trust or temporary insanity that allowed us to know without a doubt after barely three months and only that many face-to-face meetings that we are meant to be husband and wife? Perhaps it is a bit of both. Emunah is not blind faith, but what we do see versus what we don't is a huge part of it. As I took an evening Shabbos stroll through a local park yesterday, the setting sun shone brightly in my eyes rendering me completely unable to see the ground before my feet, let alone what lie ahead. Nonetheless, I kept walking. I didn't need to see to know the pavement just two steps ahead and two steps ahead was all I needed to know. Additionally, having the sun in my eyes didn't make me question whether or not I would ever see again. No one worries they are blind because the sun is in his eyes! We just inherently know that it is temporary, that if we keep moving we will see again or at the very least, time will move the sun. And we also know that this same sun that renders us temporarily blind also warms our shoulders and shines on our cheeks and paints the evening sky in shades of pink. So, too, can we know without a doubt that feelings of fear over the unknown are temporary. With G-d's help, if we keep moving, it will be revealed or at the very least, time will reveal it for us. We don't need to see everything that lies ahead in order to take next step; we need only to put one foot forward and then the other. Not everything is meant for us to see; not everything is our responsibility. But that element of doubt that characterizes our trust is just like that setting sun. It is temporary. Through time and space, it will pass. And G-d is very much there to gently warm our shoulders, to shine on our cheeks and to paint the path ahead in shades of hope. That is the very simply thing known as emunah.