Imperfectly Ever After

This blog post is humbly dedicated to the loving memory of Esther bas Chana, z"l. Although we cannot begin to understand the ways of Hashem, we were blessed that you remained close to us during our wedding day and in the seven days to follow. I will forever be grateful for the brief time I merited to share with you, for the wisdom, kindness, and kedusha you bestowed upon us and for the most special gift of all you gave me--your dear grandson, now my beloved husband.

I haven't done the research to check, but I'm willing to bet that there are a lot of beautiful, flowery blog posts and articles out there about wedding days and life thereafter. In some ways, maybe this is one of them. In some ways, it's not at all. The day I was married surpassed my wildest dreams. All of the struggles, hurdles, and hard work it took to get there were well beyond worth it to be surrounded by dear family and friends from near and far as I walked the final steps and seven circles toward being wed. In our Orthodox Jewish community as well as many others, it is customary that the chosson (groom) and kallah (bride) refrain from seeing and contacting each other the week prior to their wedding. Before that week began, my chosson and I organized our final plans and preparations in a comprehensive To Do list beginning with the tasks we would embark on early in the morning and ending quaintly at approximately 10:00 PM on our wedding night with "Live Happily Ever After." 

In some ways, it's hard to determine what part of the story a wedding is. Is it the beginning or the end? Perhaps it is a bit of both. It is the end of life as we once experienced it individually and the birth of a life united together as one. But it really isn't linear like that either. Life is full of circles and cycles. We are born, we grow, we become. We live and those who are truly lucky will love as well. And when our time and our mission here in this physical world is complete, we move on and pass the proverbial baton. The Jewish year, too, is full of circles and cycles. Circles of hours and days, weeks and the months. Cycles of milestones and holidays, traditions and celebrations.  These are the circles and cycles of life. We enter in and out of them, weaving through space and time. Along the journey, we can long so deeply to feel with certitude that we are accompanied and not alone. At times, we are so focused on the future, we fail to look just behind us and see the hand gently placed upon our shoulder. At times, we are so focused on the past, we fail to look just in front of us and see that our loftiest dreams really are just within our reach. But sometimes -- at the right times--at the quietest hours just before the dawn, G-d gives that to us. He allows us to feel without a doubt that we are never alone, that everything we could ever want and need is already within and around us. 

The story of our wedding was also one of circles and cycles, beginnings and ends. Just days before the wedding, my husband's grandmother was rushed to the hospital after a terrible fall. Without direct communication, it was hard to really know what was going on and in a heartfelt effort to preserve the simcha (joy) of our occasion, family on all sides tried very hard to protect us from any information we might find upsetting. Grandma Esther was an amazing woman. At 98 years old and standing at a meager 4'7" tall, she was a spitfire. I had the true honor a short while before our wedding day to share an afternoon with her in her home. She thought I was 21 years old and a supermodel. Who was I to argue? She supported our journey toward marriage in so many ways--ways I cannot even begin to adequately acknowledge. Sitting in her kitchen, I could feel the kedusha (holiness) surrounding me. The room was filled with beautiful intricately painted ceramic plates. When I asked about them, I learned that she had painted each and every one by hand. She explained that when she was a very young newlywed she had a hard time adjusting to married life. She was scared and frequently took trips to stay with friends. Finally, her friends told her she must return to her husband, to her new life, and that she should take up a hobby. She took up painting ceramics. In times of fear and uncertainty, she walked outside and noticed the beauty and detail of the flowers. This, she explained, is where she saw G-d. And so she came home to her husband and she painted all the beauty she saw. I think, in that way, she found beauty and perfection in her new life and eventually also within herself.

Grandma Esther often said she was staying alive for the wedding. She was so looking forward to that day and to hosting the first of our sheva brachos celebrations in the week to follow, that it was almost impossible to conceive of the show going on without her there. As Hashem would have it, she watched our chassanah (wedding ceremony) from a hospital bed via live webcast beside some amazing family friends and wished my husband a hardy mazal tov over the phone just seconds after he broke the glass beneath our chuppah (wedding canopy). Truth be told, the whole day was a whirlwind. From those early morning preparations to the hours of joyous dancing and celebration in the evening, I'm not sure either of us really had a second to slow down. The following evening, the first of the sheva brachos was moved to the rehab center where she was supposed to be recovering. At the last minute, is was moved again, back to her synagogue and she was rushed back to the hospital. We were surrounded by family and friends, and dear friends of Grandma Esther's. It was such a special and joyous occasion. Neither my husband nor I realized at the time that en route to the rehab facility that evening, she had suffered a massive heart attack and stroke back to back. By Divine Providence, she ended up hospitalized just blocks away from the Brooklyn-based hotel we stayed at. The night before leaving New York, my husband and I paid our last visit. Even in a hospital bed and hooked up to machines, she looked radiant. She looked strong as ever and in a way, peaceful as well. And she was true to her word. She stayed alive for our wedding. The afternoon following our final sheva brachos celebration, Grandma Esther passed away. It was as though she had gracefully escorted us through that whole first week and danced right alongside us b'simcha.

Now, in the weeks following our wedding, I still feel and strive to maintain her presence. I try to conjure up her wisdom and strength with every dish I wash and every box I unpack. So far in the past month, I've had two "out of body experiences." The first was on our wedding day when after three weeks of not seeing each other and after a week of no contact, I saw my husband approaching in preparation for the bedeiken (veiling ceremony). As I saw him walking toward me in his new black hat and kappota, escorted by my father, his brother, and two of our dearest friends, despite being firmly planted in my bridal chair, I felt like I was free falling. The second "out of body experience" happened last week when we went to the local bank to open a joint account together. The banker asked me what my occupation was and despite copious hydration, I suddenly had the worst case of cotton mouth of my entire life as I choked out "housewife." 

Marriage is one of the few topics most people are blatantly honest about. Almost everyone is happy and eager to tell you how hard it will be and many are also willing to share some tried and true tips and advice. They talk about toilet seats left up and toothpaste caps left unscrewed. They speak of unusual flossing habits and less than preferable nail clipping practices. They mention burnt-to-a-crisp dinners and other kitchen disasters. Perhaps what these well-meaning and experienced folks are trying to say in their own unique way is that "Happily Ever After" is not what fairy tales made it out to be. Marriage is not a means to an end with Happiness being the destination. Ever After is the desired destination and Happiness is the journey.

Now, after about a month of being married, I can tell you with confidence that it's true--marriage is hard. Wonderfully, beautifully, imperfectly hard! Not because of either of our unusual habits or unique quirks (and yes, we both have them), but because no more are we two separate individuals living parallel lives in the same universe. We are one united force sharing not only the same soul, but also the same home. No more is there this question of where do I end and where does he begin? To see it as such would be to deny that my left hand is part of my physical body. I recently was reminded of an oft told story of the person who is chopping vegetables with his right hand and accidentally cuts a finger on his left. He is so angry that his right hand would do this to the left that in his rage, he cuts off his right hand. The struggle of marriage is not that we are critical of each other; it's that we are critical of ourselves. And, when we are harsh and impatient and unfair to ourselves it is as if we are taking one hand and cutting off the other. Inasmuch as it is damaging to ourselves, it is just as harmful to our spouse.

The Jewish month of Elul, the month in which we were married, is a time of introspection and self-reflection. It all comes to fruition in the month of Tishrei with Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and then Yom Kippur, a Day of Atonements. It has been a whirlwind month for us, constantly traveling between our home in Williamsburg, VA and our home-away-from-home in Norfolk, VA where we go to shul. Almost two months after moving from Albany, NY, I still wake up in the middle of the night and feel disoriented, going through several state lines in my sleep-induced haze before I remember where I am and why. But then I look over at my husband lying fast asleep and I feel the greatest sense of comfort and home I have ever known.

In the evening as Yom Kippur begins, even the most self-proclaimed secular Jews flock to shuls around the world to hear the hauntingly familiar and ancient melody of Kol Nidrei. We say this prayer three times. The first, as I've learned, is to cultivate forgiveness between other people and ourselves. The second is to cultivate forgiveness between G-d and ourselves. And the third--that is when we must forgive ourselves. 

I can recall early in my journey toward teshuva attending some meditation workshop on my college campus. They asked us to close our eyes and imagine finding compassion for our closest friend. That was easy. Then we were instructed to find compassion for our worst enemy. That was a little trickier, but not impossible. Even someone who has greatly hurt us has some redeeming quality that allowed us to be drawn toward them in the first place; otherwise, we'd never feel such hurt to begin with. Finally, we were asked to find compassion for ourselves. For me, that was hard. I left discouraged. And the surprisingly hard part in being married is not finding compassion, kindness and forgiveness for my husband, but rather cultivating that for myself. My husband doesn't care if I burn lunch or if dinner isn't ready when he gets home from work. In fact, pardon my language, but the guy thinks I sh*t rainbows! And I don't care if he forgets to take out the trash when I ask or leaves the shower curtain open. I just love sharing this space together!

Right now, we're still in a whirlwind. We don't know if we're coming or going much of the time. On one quiet and slow afternoon, my husband stopped to ask me if I missed my friends in Albany. After brief contemplation I responded that I hadn't really thought about it and went about the day.  A few weeks later, at a not-so-opportune time one busy morning, I announced tearfully just as my husband had to leave that I missed my friends terribly. Timing is not always impeccable. My husband suggested that maybe getting married when we did in the month of Elul, right before the holidays was hard. Even though Elul is such an auspicious time to be married and we most certainly wouldn't change a thing, it's a busy time and we really haven't had the opportunity to settle in and settle down. But in a way, that is the beauty and perfection of it! Elul is a busy time of transition as our neshamas (souls) make the whirlwind rounds of preparation for the month of Tishrei. By the time Rosh Hashanah comes, we're at the peak of the adventure, but the journey is just beginning. We spend 10 more days cycling and circling through acts of teshuva and pleas for forgiveness in a heartfelt effort to return Home. But the truth of the matter is that we are already there. G-d is Home and He has been with us the whole way.

Following Yom Kippur, we enter into the holidays of Sukkos and Simchas Torah. This time is called in Hebrew z'man simchaseinu, the season of rejoicing. Sure there is an element of seriousness and almost somberness to the conversations we just had with G-d, but we're not walking away feeling bogged down by the amount of "work" we have ahead of us. Rather, we are rejoicing in the opportunity to do it! And so right now with the house still half in boxes, my husband and I already have some lofty goals and beautiful dreams. G-d be willing, we also have all the time in the world to fulfill each and every one and to come up with others along the way. Boxes, settling dust, unfinished laundry and all--this house is already completely home. Not because it's perfect or "finished," but because we're here together, with G-d's help, imperfectly ever after. And just like Grandma Esther, z"l, we must find the beauty in each other and in the world around us, and paint it with a loving and compassionate eye.