Hours Before Release

Once, when I asked my Dad if people thought he looked Jewish (sometimes you’re too close to the subject to tell yourself), he quipped, “I’ve got the map of Israel on my forehead.”

Lately, as the shifting Middle East war dynamics dominant news headline, I, too, am reminded of the map of Israel on my forehead.

Whether it’s a friendly fruit vendor I’ve bought from a dozen of times asking me for the first time if I’m Jewish and explaining how much he loves the Jewish people, or it’s the cashier at Trader Joe’s asking me about the Jewish holiday before I admit my allegiance, and then diving into the ceasefire and asking me when the hostages will return.

As an American Jew, I am not automatically connected to Israel or the Israeli people or the Israeli government and yet, instinctively, subconsciously, there it is, the map of Israel on my forehead for everyone to see.

I am monitoring Israeli news closely, checking in every few hours, preparing for the time difference when I can see what’s happening Monday morning when it’s Sunday evening here.

For it has been the cloud over us for years now, this connection and disconnection, and when the news of the ceasefire finally arrived, I did not feel a sense of euphoria, as the Israeli news stations reported of those in Israel, I did not feel cause to celebrate. I feel a small, sad sigh of relief.

I can certainly understand why the feeling would be different in Israel, when your daily life and immediate children are ensnared in this conflict.

One year ago, someone shared on FB the weekly Torah portion of that week and showed how if you deciphered it in a certain mystical way, it was talking about the release of all the hostages during the holiday of Sukkot. And I remember that Sukkot, holding bated breath, for that prophecy to come true.

Now it seems it will come true, one year later, but I see no mystical magic in it. It seems all too human, and too late for too many, and quite, quite sad.

But still, relief.

If it’s possible to cry and say thank you at the same time, there it is.

I am scheduling this to be sent before I receive the news of the final exchanges, may only good things come.

It’s almost the last of the High Holidays, with Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah. I’ve been pondering the “too muchness” of this holiday season, the way it hits so much, so quick, so often.

Though I try every year to make the most of it and make it manageable and even ENJOYABLE , inevitably, every year, I start to descend and lose myself.

The chaos of disrupted routines and so many meals and lack of alone time eventually has me, as the weeks go on, in a state of emotional exhaustion.

“But why?”, I ask myself, “why was it designed this way?”

Why does it have to be all together like this, again and again? Why have the final holiday of Sukkot, the presumed “time of our rejoicing” , when we have not yet recovered from the previous ones? Why not give us time to recover, a couple of weeks, a month, so we can fully experience that  joy and connection?

Why start off the new year, after we have repented and cleansed and sworn to be better and bigger this year, when we are weak from emotional exhaustion? When our pocketbooks are drooping? Just give us some normalcy, let our nervous systems relax into familiarity, please !

I have often thought of the chaggim as similar to having a newborn, with everything thrown at you so rapidly.

And I’ll offer something I realized for myself that is probably not in any Jewish commentary, for it seems sacrilegious to even offer it, but it comforts my soul to think like this:

Perhaps that is part of the point.

Perhaps we are being introduced to the idea right off the bat that there will be high expectations for us that we will never be able to meet, that we will inevitably fail. And that one of the first steps to the new year is to forgive ourselves and to make our own sukkah, our own sense of what we can handle. We begin the new year by saying yes but also by saying no; no, we cannot host that meal, no we need more help, no we will sleep in and avoid people for a few mornings because we just need it. No, we will not feel incredible joy and gratitude at every moment. Yes, we will be okay with that’s who we are at this time. Yes, we are okay.

I’ve started thinking about my own body as a sukkah, with my bones as the poles and my skin as the walls.

And how every Sukkot, i need to descend in and consult with myself; in contrast to what the Torah and/or community thinks I should be doing, to What I can handle, what I need. And that often means some time away from everyone to recharge and remember who I am in the first place.

Maybe to remember that we will never be enough and that’s okay, we will love each other and ourselves anyways, is the rejoicing of this season.

We self harm because we’re searching for relief. The hardest part of it, I believe, is not the firestorm of anxiety beforehand or the actual experience, but when it’s over, sitting with the shame of what we’ve done to ourselves.

And come early Monday morning, as we exchange bodies for bodies, as we beat our chests and promise this year will be different, I do believe that is when we will have to really begin the process of sitting with ourselves fully, of realizing to the full extent everything that we’ve done.

Relief, yes, joy, yes, and also, something else entirely.

Here we are, millions of little sukkahs, bones and skin and little beating hearts inside, sitting together, arms linked, with the map of Israel on our foreheads, eyes wide open.

It is what it is, and we will forgive ourselves, and we will rebuild.

This year will be different.