Prayer in Judaism: If you've got a minute, can we talk?

I had such a fabulous and meaningful Shabbos this past week. I was fortunate to be surrounded by some of the most loving and positively influential friends I've made over these last nine years. Some of them I've known for a long time, while others I've only just recently met. It was incredibly moving (at times overly so!) to be able to thank so many people who have been an integral part of my journey toward wellness, a college degree and foremost, toward greater spirituality...






...which brings me to my next topic of interest: 

Throughout our lives, one of the most significant areas we can develop and cultivate is our ability to relate. Humans by nature desire relationship; it's not part of the journey, it is the journey. We long to connect and modern technology has provided countless measures of doing this: cellular phones, internet, travel and transportation, media, art, music, religion, etc. And yet, even with ample means by which to relate, in reality we live in a world of great disconnect. Even though we have the tools and power to communicate worldwide in an instant, many of us would likely say we have at times, if not often, felt lonely, isolated and disoriented. 
My desire for increased Jewish education and observance began when I was very young--maybe twelve or thirteen years old. On my own, I read any books I could get my hands on, tried to make sense of it and when possible, asked questions. For all intensive purposes, my learning (and subsequently my observance) really increased after meeting other observant Jews in, of all places, the pacific inland northwest. It's not been a linear process by any means. Changing and/or creating habits is a challenge. Taking on more than one is ready for can lead directly to feelings of frustration, failure and discouragement. Additionally, I often felt challenged by the sense that I just didn't "feel" it. Regarding certain practices and halachas (Jewish laws), I wasn't feeling it. How could I keep kosher if I didn't feel it? How could I keep Shabbos if I didn't feel like doing that? And then there was this other "issue" that until recently, I thought was completely separate from practice and observance: I didn't consistently feel connected to G-d. Sure, it was easy to make Shabbos when I did feel connected, but what about the times I didn't? Shouldn't I feel intensely connected to G-d at all times? Then and only then would everything else "fall into place."  Inevitably this created a cycle of moving in one direction and then another, back to one, then the other. It felt disorienting, isolating and oftentimes lonesome. I'd begin to think I had some personal defect, that I'd failed. And at some point a few years ago, I even went so far as to try to convince myself that I didn't want to have a relationship with G-d because I had enough relationships in life "down here" that were challenging, difficult or scary. 
Interestingly enough, I never stopped praying. Even in the times I'd actively try to avoid it, these conversations automatically and unfailingly still occurred. It would catch me by surprise in moments of intense fear, exhaustion or even joy that I'd find myself talking to G-d. In 2010 when my health began to suffer to the point that I could no longer hide the symptoms or the associated emotions I was experiencing, I turned to some of the dear friends who accompanied me this Shabbos. I also turned to G-d. I stopped looking at my struggles as punishment for transgressions and started looking at it more as G-d proverbially tapping me on the shoulder as if to say,  

"Hey, if you've got a minute can we talk?"

Now I allowed the conversation to happen without specific expectations, without a need to be in a control all of the time and with firm resolve that I didn't even want to know or control what would happen. How did I get through three days and over six hours of being inside an MRI machine? I prayed. How did I calm myself through hours of waiting in exam room for test results? I prayed. And the months of sleepless hours? Every minute would have been unbearable if I hadn't prayed. And from this, I have found the following:

1. I didn't (and don't) always feel it. Not in synagogue, not at home, not on the road. But sometimes I do and it's intense and incredible. It's a feeling I've had and revisited on occasion from the time I was a very small child sitting on the bimah with my preschool class looking out past the empty shul at the sun shining through the stained glass windows: I am never alone.
2. My relationship with G-d is just like any relationship in that I don't always feel the same level of intensity or energy in our conversation and interaction. That's pretty normal!
3. That said, my relationship with G-d is different from any other relationship I have in that He is always wanting, willing and waiting to connect with me with full intensity and energy--each moment of each and every day.
4. Action sometimes precedes motivation: Slowly and continually, I take on more learning and observance. Some practices come very naturally to me right away: for instance, the Kriyas Shema recited at bedtime was instrumental in helping me to calm down and stay calm through many months of struggle and even still comforts me during occasional bouts of insomnia. It is a seemingly natural part of my bedtime routine. Other aspects of practice have required me to "just take the plunge," so to speak. One example of this has been keeping the laws of kashrut in my home. After my grandfather passed away in November (may his neshama be blessed), I decided to stop letting fear of failure keep me from making this change and to kasher my kitchen in his merit and memory. I took small and manageable steps toward achieving this goal and can honestly say that with time, study and practice, I have not only felt that it is attainable and maintainable, but I have also found it to enhance my feelings of connectedness with G-d.
5. It's not all or nothing! Each mitzvah I do is a means to connect with G-d. What I've not learned or accomplished yet does not take away from what I have learned and accomplished thus far. With G-d's help, I will continue to grow and self-refine. This is every Jew's and every person's life work.

I had a really unique conversation over Shabbos with some friends. I am so inspired by their journeys toward learning and observance; they each have a unique and individual strength in this process that will not only benefit them but will cultivate their individual abilities to touch those around them. During our conversation I came to a realization: no longer does a single day go by that I don't feel connected and in relationship with G-d. I do not feel disoriented, lonely or isolated. Through this, I have enhanced and strengthened my human relationships; as emotional as saying 'goodbyes' can be, I see inherent beauty and value in having connections to people that are strong enough to hurt a bit when they change. Furthermore, even in times of upheaval and change, I can count on conversation with G-d. Prayer for me is the ultimate antidote to almost any uncomfortable emotion. It infuses my daily activities--from the mundane to the most significant--with gratitude, hope and the comforting realization that I am never alone.

Parshas Behaalotecha: Always With the Kvetching!

Ugh! It's cold, rainy, windy and all around dreary here in the usually-warm-and-dry-by-June inland northwest. I was supposed to receive a conference call at 1:30 that never came. Whine, whine, whine--and now I want cheese but am all out!
Alright, so I'm kind of joking around here, but the truth is my inner dialogue is quite often full of complaints. If it's sunny and warm, I'm kvetching about having to water my flowers or being too hot. If that phone call had come on time, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to write this blog post. All in all, life is pretty darn fantastic. I am, thank G-d, alive, healthy and happy. Nonetheless, I often find reason to be unsatisfied. I will boldly venture to guess that I am not alone in this either. In fact, the earliest documentation of excessive kvetchiness can be found in the Torah as the Jewish people made their exodus from Egypt.
We were freed and then the sea was in our way; we whined. G-d made a miracle and split the sea; we celebrated. Then we decided we were scared; we whined. G-d made another miracle and sent clouds by day and night to protect us; we celebrated. Then we got a little hungry; we whined again. G-d made another miracle and sent us water to drink and manna to eat. This heavenly manna arrived daily and in double doses for Shabbos. It could taste like anything you wanted it to! And for a bit, we were satisfied, but then after a while...you guessed it, we whined some more. We were bored with the manna and wanted meat! Sound familiar at all?

Ok, now I'm NOT joking--my parents really did hang a sign like this outside my playroom when I was a kid!

The parsha (Torah portion) of this week is Parshas Behaalotecha, which translates to "when you raise light." It is in this parsha that we learn about the laws of building and lighting the menorah that was found in the mishkan. However, that is a seemingly minute portion of this particular reading. Much more focus is put on the implementation of a "second Passover" for Jews who were ritually impure and unable to participate in the first one. Additionally we read about the kvetchiness of the Jewish people regarding their dissatisfaction with the generous manna supply. Moshe elects seventy elders to assist him in governing the Jewish people. Meanwhile, Miriam speaks ill of Moshe and is punished with leprosy. Nonetheless, Moshe prays to G-d for her healing and recovery and his prayers are answered.
Right about now, you might be wondering how I'm going to tie all this together? What does my kvetching and the kvetching of the Jewish people have to do with raising light? Or with modern day life for that matter? Actually, I've found it has a great deal of relevance and applicability. We live in a culture and society that is very rooted in instant gratification. I can, with the click of a button, share my ideas with friends nearby, family far away and complete strangers halfway across the world. How powerful is that! But what happens when I am made to wait longer than a New York minute for something? I feel frustrated; I kvetch. I want what I want and I want it now. And when I get it? There's something else that I want, which I want right NOW! Modern technology has provided us with a means to communicate in ways we were previously unable to even fathom. Like manna, we can use this tool in any way our mind can imagine; the sky is the limit. However, like the Jewish people during the time of the exodus, we grow so accustomed to the predictability and generosity of this tool that we take it for granted, misuse it at times (think: all those Facebook and twitter posts that maybe didn't need to be broadcast...) and grow brazen enough to demand more.
Yet, each and every day my life is abundant and full of blessings. It is raining today so I don't have to water my flowers. My plans changed this afternoon so I got to study this week's parsha and write this blog post. And like the Jewish people of the many generations before and many generations to come, I am called upon to raise a light in a world around me that can, no doubt, be very dark at times. Oftentimes, this light begins with finding genuine--not conditional--gratitude in the abundant blessings I receive each and every day. Some of these blessings may be obvious to me; others may be harder to reveal immediately.
A friend of mine recently wrote the following and I really took it heart:
"I'm not optimistic or pessimistic, I don't know if the glass is half full or empty...I'm just so glad there is a glass."

Do you curb your enthusiasm?

In that merit, thank You, G-d for the glass that You so unfailingly fill up each and every day to overflowing. And thank you, "Blogosphere", for keeping me grounded and providing an opportunity to share and express the light that is within each and every one of us.

My Story As Told By ME: And the Many Hats I Wear

For those who missed it or asked for copies, here is a modified "blog version" of the presentation I gave during my university's Diversity & Disability Contest a couple of weeks ago. The contest criteria were to present a five minute lesson on some aspect of disability as diversity. The entire experience was humbling. I got to meet some incredible fellow students and hear many other unique stories. Coming in second place was only the icing on the delicious cake!

My Story As Told By ME

And The Many Hats I Wear

Life begins as the story others tell about you.

She was born six weeks early.

She did things her way.

“NO,” and “You can’t,” were not words even in her vocabulary!

...But time goes on and as we grow, life becomes the story we tell about ourselves

It can, in fact, be summed up quite nicely by the many hats we wear.

The hats we choose,

The ones we didn’t,

And oftentimes, the hats that were never even put on the table for us to see...

 I was just a “typical” little kid.

Maybe I was a lot like you,

I wore many hats as a child, and planned to continue in just that way.

At twelve years old, I learned to knit my own hats.

It seemed like the world was a giant ball of yarn at my disposal and I had all the tools I needed to create something incredible!

Only in my early teens, I started to feel exhausted,

To the point that I had trouble even staying awake.

It didn’t matter if I slept for two hours or for twelve,

I experienced chronic and continuous pain.

I saw doctors and specialists,

Experts in their field,

And my options all seemed to unravel to nothing but a label

In the best of circumstances: “NORMAL TEENAGER”

(No, I don’t think those words go together either)

But in worse circumstances the labels included:  “overreacting” and then “depression” and other types of “mental illness”

 Which led to some of these: 

worthless, hopeless,

incapable…

stupid, failure, fragile,

LAZY,

ruined, broken, damaged

These were not the words I’d necessarily chosen, but for years they were the ones that defined me, accompanying me from a childhood of academic and extra-curricular success to an adolescence of remedial classes, barely attending let alone graduating from high school and over a decade of swallowing prescription medications that were unnecessary if not a risk to my health.

The details and diagnostics aren’t so important now. 

In just a few weeks, I’ll finally wear this hat, which I was told was never possible.  

I’ll wear this hat in part because I’m stubborn and at a certain point in my life, it stopped being OK for others to decide which hats I could wear and which I could not.

"In just a few weeks, I’ll finally wear this hat, which I was told was never possible." 

I’ll wear this hat also because just about two years ago as I was nearing the completion of my bachelor’s degree, I developed some more unsettling symptoms. 

The thought of seeing doctors again was scary. Worse than that, however, was the idea that taking time off might mean all those labels were true. I took the chance nonetheless, put my academics on hold and began another arduous process of doctors’ visits.

Ten months later, somewhat accidentally, I was finally correctly diagnosed with obstructive sleep apnea. In all likelihood, I’ve had sleep apnea or the propensity for it from the time I was born. After fifteen years of severe symptoms, it took only one night of observation in a sleep lab to see that on average I stopped breathing over 30 times per hour.  

Often I’m asked:

Aren’t you angry that they never knew?

Or What if they had figured it out 15 years ago? How would your life be different?

Occasionally I do think about that, but for the most part, I’m celebrating. Plus, check out this awesome Darth Vader hat I get to wear to bed every night:

The important part of this story,

the one I tell about myself today, is that at one point, I allowed misconception and an all-too-common perception dictate which hats I could wear, which hats I would wear and more importantly, all hats aside, how I defined who I am. Standing here today in celebration of the many characteristics of diversity on this campus, I ask you:

Who narrates the story of who you are? And who you will become?

Were there people who shaped you into being? Were there ones who tried to tear you down?

For me, it’s not about ability or disability.

It is about opportunity and the right to choose how I define and describe myself.

It’s about remembering at any moment that although there is much we can tell from the cover of a book, there is more to every story than meets the eye.

At the end of the day, as I mask up for a good night’s sleep, it feels more important to me to acknowledge the multitude of traits that connect us than the comparatively few which set us apart.

 

“Today, it feels more important to me to acknowledge the multitude of traits that connect us than the comparatively few that set us apart.”