The "One Meal Rule" Was Made to Be Broken

Ah, Israel. Land of milk, honey, and feral cats. So good to be back!

The cool thing about returning to a place every year is that you can see how much better you get at navigating that place. The first time I was on my own in Israel, I was pretty much at a loss--couldn't communicate, couldn't navigate, had no idea what was safe and what was not, etc. But as this summer's trip got started, I noticed that I was handling pretty well things that would have really challenged me in years past:

1) Figuring out how to get from Tel Aviv to my apartment in Jerusalem

2) Filling several day's worth of free time before my program started

3) Going to a medical clinic for a small (non-recovery related) issue and asserting myself with an Israeli doctor

There were two things that very nearly pushed me over the edge, but I held on. First, when I had already been waiting 30 minutes to check out in the grocery store and a woman with a VERY full cart told me to move back and cut right in front of me. I wanted to cry, but I did not. I saved it for when I got back to my apartment and realized I had no internet connection. THEN I cried. But I got some help and handled it, and in a few hours it was up and running. Success! So far, so good!

But then, there was the issue of Shabbat plans. It just so happens that everyone who would normally host me for Shabbat is out of town this week, so as of last night I had no plans for either Friday night or Saturday lunch. Now, at home this would be no big deal--I am by myself for most Shabbats and actually like it because it gives me some quiet downtime after a week of teaching. But in Israel, spending Shabbat alone somehow feels more pathetic than it does at home. Still, I had pretty much convinced myself that it would be fine, when one of my teachers, who takes me under her wing every summer, texted me and asked what my plans were. Even before the words, "I don't have any," left my fingertips, I thought to myself, "She's not going to like this...." Now, I've explained the whole "quiet Shabbat alone" thing to her before, but she's Israeli and Israelis operate under a different paradigm--it is a cardinal rule that One Should Never Be Alone On Shabbat, and this goes even for die-hard introverts like myself. So it didn't surprise me at all when my teacher responded with, "Do you want me to call a friend?" I didn't think it would pan out, though--so last minute! And I'm vegetarian! Who would take that on? Well, I don't know exactly how she did it, but within 12 hours my teacher had nabbed me a place at a lovely family's table for Friday night. And then a few hours later I got ANOTHER text from my teacher, saying she had found a lunch meal for me, as well, with two young women I'd actually met one time on a previous visit.

I knew, objectively, that this was just what I needed--I now had plans for BOTH meals and would not be lonely at all. But on the other hand was my One Meal Rule: at home, if I get invited to one Shabbat meal, I'm off the hook for the other one. Dinner out = lunch at home, and vice versa. It's hard to say exactly why Shabbat meals stress me out, but mostly I think it's the unknowns: how long will it last, will I be able to leave when I want, who else will be there, what will we eat, what will we talk about, what will I say, etc. It's all just a little overwhelming...and even as I was maybe 90% happy to accept the lunch invitation, there was 10% of me that started to panic: "Too much! Too much! I can't!"

But then I thought, wait a minute...actually, I can. I am the one who made it from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem speaking only in Hebrew. I am the one who, though I lacked the vocabulary to stick up for myself, did have the wherewithal to give a dirty look to the woman who cut me in line at the supermarket. I am the one who got creative when I learned that my apartment didn't have any ice cube trays (in Israel? In the summer?!) and figured out that I could use the refrigerator's egg trays, instead. And I am the one who chose be honest and tell my teacher that I had no plans for Shabbat, knowing that she would do what good friends always do: get you what you need. So I can certainly swing two meals out in the same Shabbat weekend. Will it push my limits? For sure. But I have a feeling I will be glad I did it. And I feel very fortunate to have people in my life, like my teacher, who will go out of their way to help me grow.

So, if I never post again, you can assume that breaking the One Meal Rule did me in. But I have a feeling I'll be back next week!

The Challenge of Relaxation

The past few weeks have put me back in close touch with a familiar, unpleasant emotional state:  stress.  It's getting to be the end of the school year, which is always a fun time but also brings with it a lot of Things That Must Get Done Immediately.  At the top of my list have been 23 narrative progress reports, one for each student in my class--an endeavor that is time consuming, to say the least.  Close behind that is the realization that I have exactly three days between my last day of school and when I leave for Israel, and one of them is Shabbat--not a whole lot of time to get ready!  Then, there are all the small-yet-significant items such as student assessments, work meetings, and closing down a classroom that has accumulated a year's worth of papers and other random items.  So, I've spent the better part of the past two weeks alternating between frantically trying to stay on top of things at work while also attempting to tackle some pre-trip preparations.  The result has been a near-constant knot of stress in my stomach and frayed emotional ends...and, as this past Shabbat approached, I thought, "I CANNOT afford to take 25 hours off!"  For the first time in a long time, I found myself resenting Shabbat.

At the root of this are two core beliefs that underpinned my eating disorder and my general tendency to be very, very hard on myself:

1)  You earn your worth through what you do.
If I wasn't actively engaged in some productive activity, if I wasn't constantly giving others the impression that I was hardworking and dedicated, then I would lose my right to claim those adjectives.  In order to be liked/admired/considered valuable, I must always be doing something visibly useful.

2) Relaxation is an indulgence.
If there was one word that would turn me off in an instant, it was indulgence.  I believed wholeheartedly that indulgences were for people who had no willpower, that relaxation was for people too weak to push themselves.  I, on the other hand, was a champion of self-denial who found some degree of satisfaction from forcing myself to work/study/exercise when others said, "I've had enough."

After years and years spent working on shedding these core beliefs, I've considered myself pretty much divorced from them...and yet, as this past Shabbat neared and my stress level rose, I found them creeping back into my line of thinking.  But I've worked really hard to learn how to enjoy Shabbat, and I did not want to lose my ability to give myself over to the spirit of those 25 hours.  I went back to some of the writings about Shabbat that I've collected over the years, and came across two that helped me refocus on the meaning of Shabbat:

"It is a day in which we abandon our plebeian pursuits and reclaim our authentic state, in which we may partake of a blessedness in which we are what we are, regardless of whether we are learned or not, of whether our career is a success or a failure..."
--Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Sabbath

and...

"Master of the world, let me merit the joy and freedom of the holy Shabbat, and let me nullify the enslavement of the days of the week.  I pray that my mind will be completely settled, without any confusion at all--and that on the holy Sabbath no thoughts of labor and business, nor any worry or trouble, will enter my mind.  Rather it will be in my eyes as though all my work is done.  Then I will have truly attained the rest and pleasure and joy of the holy Sabbath."
--Reb Natan of Breslav, Likutei Tefilot 2:13 

What I learn from these quotes is that Shabbat is a time for me to separate myself from doing and concentrate on being.  In those 25 hours, I get to believe that it's not what I do that makes me valuable, it's who I am.  And although that might be challenging to accept, it's also critical for maintaining a healthy attitude toward myself and toward life.  For sure, it was challenging this week for me to say to myself, "For the next 25 hours, I'm done with work.  There is nothing I have to do.  I get to just be."  But I managed, and let me tell you--if ever there was a week when I needed Shabbat, it was this week.  A day of putting away the to-do list was exactly what my body and mind required.

I know that Shabbat can be challenging because it bumps up against those eating-disordered core beliefs that we cling to so tightly.  Yet, to be able to lean into that window of time when we simply are who we are, is so precious and vital to recovery, and to life.  I hope that we all can begin to release ourselves from the pressures of constantly producing and give ourselves that chance every week to relax and recharge.

Shabbat Shalom?

Last week I had the privilege of co-facilitating a discussion on eating disorders in the observant Jewish community.  We initially thought only a few people would voluntarily come to something like that...were we ever surprised when over twenty women showed up!  The discussion was passionate and thought provoking, and one topic that rose to the surface time and time again was:  Shabbat.  How, exactly, does an individual with an eating disorder navigate that "island in time"?

The Jewish year is dotted with festivals, but they each happen only once:  there is only one Pesach, one Yom Kippur, to get through each year.  Shabbat, however, comes EVERY WEEK.  This is supposed to be a blessing, a weekly opportunity for pleasure via food and rest.  But, what if you find neither food nor rest pleasurable?  For a person struggling with an eating disorder, Shabbat easily turns into 25 hours a week of facing head-on that which is most stressful.

I suppose it's not a stretch for people to understand why the lavish meals and seemingly constant presence of food can be so threatening to a person with an eating disorder.  The challenge posed by rest, however, is perhaps more difficult to parse out.  For me, physical rest is satisfying only if my brain is also able to quiet down...and, when I was actively engaged in my eating disorder, my brain was never, ever quiet.  I've always compared the endless stream of anxious, obsessive thoughts to the ticker tape that runs constantly across the bottom of the screen on CNN.  It felt like there was never a moment when my brain wasn't broadcasting some worry, and the way I dealt with the anxiety (and with any uncomfortable feeling, really) was to exercise.  Aside from the obvious "benefit" of burning calories, physical activity was my outlet for feelings and my way of coping with sensations that were unpleasant and scary.  For many people with eating disorders, exercise serves that dual purpose.  It's understandable, then, that to be faced with a day that is full of food AND devoid of physical exercise might feel like too much to bear.  

So, the challenges are clear.  What can we do?  Well, some aspects of Shabbat are probably not going to change.  There are always going to be meals, and it's probably never going to be considered "shabbosdik" to go for a long, sweaty run.  However, there are ways to work within the system that can make the Shabbat experience, if not actually pleasurable, at least bearable to someone with an eating disorder.  

Regarding food:  My discussion co-facilitator made the brilliant suggestion of simply not keeping platters of food on the table where people are eating.  If possible, put the food on a separate table or ledge so that it's not constantly staring people right in the face.  This also helps people focus on whom they're eating with, not just what they're eating.  To give the struggling individual some sense of control over the food, allow that person to serve him or herself, and ask ahead of time if he or she would like to be involved in the menu planning.   

Regarding rest:  "Rest" does not have to equal, "sitting around doing nothing."  It is perfectly permissible to do leisurely activities such as taking a walk, playing board games (may I suggest Bananagrams?), or going to the park.  Weather permitting, I personally go for a walk in nature EVERY Shabbat, and I also try to do something intellectually stimulating such as learning Torah or having a meaningful conversation.  But, really, people are encouraged to engage in any pleasurable activity (within the bounds of halacha).  For someone with an eating disorder, "distress tolerance" skills will be especially important on Shabbat and that person should be permitted to do whatever he or she finds soothing, no matter how "unusual" the choice might seem to others.  

For people working on recovery, know this:  there are going to be tough Shabbats...and that's okay.  You are NOT a "bad Jew" because you fail to enjoy Shabbat, or because you can't freely partake of what everyone else seems to find pleasurable.  You are doing the best you can.  Beating yourself up for all the Shabbats that you "should have" enjoyed serves no purpose other than to make you feel badly about yourself.  I was a big-time self-berator until I finally realized that punishing myself for missed opportunities did not bring back those chances, nor did it do anything to help me take advantage of future ones.  That said, knowing I was unhappy was a major motivator for me to get well.  And, now when I actually enjoy sitting at a Shabbat table with friends and good food, the experience is so much sweeter because it is a prize I've won.  I wish for all of you that you find your own paths to future Shabbats full of pleasure and satisfaction--one small step at a time.

Victory...In Meal Form

Shavua tov!  I hope we're all emerging from Shabbat rested and energized for a new week.  I was fortunate to enjoy a beautiful Shabbat in Jerusalem and want to share a bit of the experience with you.

On Saturday I had Shabbat lunch at the home of one of my Pardes teachers, along with five other students from my program.  Walking into large groups of people tends to really stress me out, so I arrived a little early to give myself time to settle in before everyone else came.  (It helped that my teacher has two adorable children under age 5, and I was more than happy to keep them occupied while she and her husband finished preparing the meal!)  By the time we sat down for kiddush, I felt comfortable and ready to be present for the experience of the lunch, which turned out to be one of the best Shabbat experiences I've had thus far in Israel.

What made this Shabbat lunch so amazing?  Well, many significant things happened:  1) I arrived at the table hungry, and I was okay with that; 2) I ate foods that I did not cook myself and whose ingredients were at least partially unknown to me; 3) I made conversation; 4) I listened to what other people said; 5) I ate dessert, not because I was particularly hungry but because it looked delicious; 6) I left the table feeling full, and I was okay with that.  Even as I write this, I am aware of how mundane those things seem...it sounds like any ordinary meal.  And yet, for me the beauty of this experience was its sheer simplicity and the knowledge that the basic act of enjoying a leisurely meal with friends was something I could taste for myself. 

There were whole years full of Shabbats when none of this would have been possible.  If I made it to the table at all, it was in body only--my mind was frantically calculating, measuring, comparing, and worrying--leaving no room for being present.  This past Saturday, the victory was in being able to take full delight in an experience I used to be able to only watch others enjoy.

Despite having spent all morning in shul, I believe my most spiritual moment of the day occurred as I sat around that table, surrounded by delicious food and delightful company.  I felt intense thankfulness to Hashem for seeing me through recovery to that day, that meal.  I'm glad Hashem knows what's in my heart even when I can't express it in words, because there's no way I could truly verbalize the gratitude I feel as I reflect on what I was able to be present for this past Shabbat.  It was, as I like to say, a total "Baruch Hashem moment."  It was also not the first time in recovery when I've had such a moment at a meal, but part of the gift is that it is exciting every time.  For me, recovery means being in a perpetual state of shehecheyanu, because I never take for granted being able to enjoy eating freely in the company of others.

I share this anecdote not because it contains some deep Torah insight or profound spiritual teaching.  Rather, I share it because there was a time when I did not believe such an experience would ever be within my reach, and this past Shabbat I found the prize firmly in my grasp.  I want to say that it is possible to trek through the arduous process of recovery and emerge on the other side, able to engage fully with the delights of this world.  If it can happen for me, it can happen for you, too.

Untying the Tangles

One of my "projects" during the past year has been integrating more daily prayer into my life. I find that taking time to "talk" to Hashem when I begin and end my day helps me to feel more grounded and centered...and, not surprisingly, I love the structure of the ritual. I've been fortunate to have the guidance of some gifted rabbis, and of some friends who have doubled as passionate teachers. I'll be truthful and admit that not EVERY prayer resonates with me. But, there are a few to which I feel deeply connected, and I would like to focus this post on one of them: Ana B'koach.

Ana B'koach is one of my favorite parts of the Kabbalat Shabbat liturgy. I'm aware that it is loaded with deep kabbalistic meaning, but that's not why I love it (I don't really "get" kabbalah, to be honest). No, the main reason why I'm drawn to this prayer is its beginning:

Ana b'koach gedulat yemincha, tatir tzerurah.
I've heard this translated several ways, but my favorite is: We beg You, with the strength of Your right hand, untie our tangles. I just LOVE that image. There have been many times in my life, particularly in my recovery journey, when I have felt that my soul is all tied up in knots. When I was in treatment, a therapist asked me to draw how I envisioned myself and my eating disorder. I remember drawing a little red stick figure surrounded by a tangled mess of black scribbles. In recovery, I have found freedom from that hopelessness. However, there are still times when I feel bound up by life, pulled in different directions and unsure how to unwind. In those moments, I yearn for Hashem to reach down and gently help me untie myself.

The other theme of this prayer that resonates with me is that Hashem treats gently and mercifully those who acknowledge His "oneness." Part of my work in recovery has been realizing that, ultimately, life is in Hashem's control--not in mine. It has been a tough concept to accept, because if there's one thing I love, it's being in control. That's a big part of what my eating disorder was all about: micromanaging my surroundings, my intake, and my body in an effort to avoid all discomfort. In recovery, I'm having to realize that I'm just not as powerful as I might sometimes wish I was. I can take initiative, I can put my best effort into things, and I can make educated choices...but the truth is that I do not see the whole picture, and I might not know what ultimately is best for me. The only one who sees how all the pieces fit together is Hashem, and I have to trust that all the experiences He brings me are going to lead me to positive growth. When I internalize this belief, I open myself to Hashem's love and mercy.

When I say Ana B'koach, I close my eyes and turn my focus inward to a conversation that is between just Hashem and me. As my mouth recites the traditional Hebrew, here is what my soul is saying:

Please, Hashem, help me untangle myself. As I try to live my life in a way that makes You proud of me, please protect me and bless me. Guide me to bring goodness to my community and light to the people whose lives I touch. Help me to keep my eye on the ball and to see my way out of confusion. Please, Hashem, know that I am trying. Show me what is right for me to do.
Recently, I came across this version of Ana B'koach sung by a choir from a girls' school in Israel. I can't get enough of it...I find it absolutely beautiful and want to share it with you!

My wish for us all is that we continue to merit Hashem's help in untangling ourselves from the knots in which we find ourselves.

Sing it!

If you've never experienced the process of "shul shopping," let me tell you, it's not easy! Even in the neighborhood where I live, where there are probably at least 12 synagogues within a 3-mile radius of my apartment, it was no small feat to find one that felt like a good fit. I had a lot of criteria: Hebrew, but enough English so I could follow; traditional, but open-minded; authentic, but accessible. After several internet searches and one rather humorous visit to a synagogue that was decidedly NOT a good fit (another story for another time), I found myself skeptically giving one last shul a try. It was a Friday night, and in this congregation's siddur, they include contemporary readings to go along with each traditional psalm of the Kabbalat Shabbat service. I turned a page, and came face to face with this reading, accompanying Psalm 98:

To sing a new song,
I must sing with a new voice.
I must let go the known
and embrace the unknown,
for the new is always a surprise.
To sing a new song,
I must open myself to wonder.
I must embrace the fullness
of mind and body.
I must wash myself
in the totality of Life,
its births and its deaths,
its risings and its passings.
I must let go the boxes into which
I stuff the stuff of life
and allow what Is to speak its truth.
And then I shall take that truth
and sing it aloud.
With lyre and with drum,
with voice and with silence,
I will sing a song that
surprises even G-d.
And in that surprise will be
a great deliverance.

With that one reading, I knew I was home.

To me, that passage speaks so strongly of the work that is involved in recovery. It acknowledges the challenges--letting go what is known in favor of the unknown, and opening myself to all of life's experiences, both the pleasant and the unpleasant. At the same time, it articulates the hope--that what what bursts forth from my recovered soul will be a song so brilliant, so powerful, that even Hashem will marvel at its beauty.

Three years later, I still attend that shul. Undoubtedly, I am in a very different place in my recovery now, than I was then. However, this reading still speaks to my core, and every Friday night I am comforted and grounded by its honest message: if we want to sing a different tune, we have to be willing to live a different way...and the reward is better than anything that can be imagined. In my own journey, I have found this to be true...and so I want to share it with you, in the hope that you find the courage to sing the song you didn't know you could!