At my workplace, summer is a time for relaxation. This is not to say that we're not busy; considering how lousy the economy is, business here is surprisingly booming. My company (or I should say the company for which I have oversight) is doing especially well. Westchester is just beginning to catch on to the importance of brand management and website marketing, and as a result, I suddenly have more work than I can handle. Nonetheless, as a team we are encouraged to make the most of the "slow" months because the fall and winter tend to be insane. And they are. For about three weeks in October, we are slammed with events and conferences every day. And that's in addition to the regular workload.But today was a good day, the perfect day to get away for a couple of hours. I had lunch with a dear friend who is a terrific Jewish leader in her own right - an inspiration on so many levels - and it's great to catch up with her and hear all about what it's like to lead a congregation in real life. From what I can gather, considering the many, many friends that I am so fortunate to have in my life, who have transitioned from secular life into seminary and then into congregational life, it's a lot closer to Moses' struggle to lead B'nai Yisrael through the wilderness than they would have imagined.
Catching up today really helped to put things in perspective. There are some days that I see or speak with old friends, or reconnect on Facebook, and sometimes when people ask how I've been, I wonder how much I can really tell them. The last thing I want to do is sound like a downer, but it's harder than you might expect to focus on the good (novel, school, landing on my feet in a sane job) when the bad has so much more power over me, still. More times than I can count, I have watched as horrified eyes look back at me as I describe my life over the last three years. More than once I've been asked how it is that I'm even able to talk about it.
Last night, as I was driving up to Connecticut to spend the night at my sister's, my best friend called and out of nowhere, I confessed that I had spent a good part of the day in tears. In fact, even as I was driving up I684, I was still crying. I knew what it was about. I've been thinking a lot about my dad, thinking a lot about the sheer ridiculous injustice of being sick, and knowing that I am still sick because a certain person took it upon herself to do what she could to ruin my health. What makes me even angrier is that two years after the fact, I am still dealing with the consequences. I felt like I was crying out of sheer frustration that I had made the mistake of allowing it to happen in the first place, because at some level, I feel like I must have chosen this. And if I did, then how stupid am I?
My friend understood and made the point that I was probably crying now because I couldn't cry then. Because I was too busy fighting for my sanity to actually take the time to be sad about what I was trying to survive.
I think everyone gets something like this in their life, something or someone who is just simply so unbelievably sad and sick and destructive that it takes a long time to heal from the damage, and an even longer time to let go of the anger. But eventually you have to let go or you are in danger of becoming obsessed to the point of losing yourself because you might actually succumb to the power of the thing you hate. Eventually, you have to move on.
Today I heard some really good advice about how to interpret the unexpected symbols and signs that get sent to you, sometimes at the most inconvenient moments. It reminded me of the first festival service I attended after losing my dad, which was Shavuot, commemorating the giving of the Torah at Sinai. I remember showing up for services that evening, knowing that it would also be the first Yizkor service that I would officially be a mourner.
Needless to say, I was dreading it. I'd seen enough friends - not to mention leaders and congregants that I liked and respected -- fall so completely to pieces during Yizkor that I knew I was in trouble. And at that time, the grief was so real and raw that I was positive I would pretty much lose it. Which wasn't a good thing: I was sitting up front in the sanctuary, with the choir, and the last thing I wanted to do was make a spectacle of myself.
That night, the service dragged on - all I could do was wait for the moment. I remember the tension in my body, literally feeling as if I was trying to hold myself together. I was so full of darkness, trying so hard to prepare for the emotional storm to come. And finally it did. The memorial service began with these sad, graceful meditations all about loss, the mournful melodies started up, and finally, the cantor sang the memorial prayer - El Maleh Rachamim - with such emotion that I felt my eyes start to hurt from the effort of holding back my tears.
We paused for a moment of silent reflection. I bit my lip, felt a trembling in my throat, was about to reach for a Kleenex, when suddenly, someone totally cut one. Not a hugely loud one, but as they say: out of the silence, a still, small voice.
The next thing I knew was that there I was, half a second ago trying not to cry, and now I was desperately trying not to laugh. And all I could think about was yeah, dairy's a tradition for this festival...but now I'd never be able to get through another Shavuot without being reminded of how someone cut the cheese.
So what did I learn today? In sharing that story, I realized that maybe it's been a bad time, and maybe I do have things to cry about. On the other hand, telling myself to be sad, and that I have many things to be miserable about, etc. may not be the answer either. Seriously. Because you never know when - or how - the message that changes your perspective will reach you.
On some days, wisdom emerges from the voices of the people who love you. At Sinai, it was a voice that spoke in thunder and the blare of the shofar that delivered wisdom to a people in need of direction. And even as I am still learning from the moment, on that Shavuot, it was a different trumpet blast, entirely.
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