Getting Political

Unless you have been blissfully living under a rock, you know that there is a national election coming up (this week!) in the U.S. Personally, I have had a stomach ache for about 72 hours straight just thinking about it, and that's just the Presidential election. There's also the matter of Congress, and there is no collective body in the United States for which I currently have more disdain than Congress. But the Presidential election clearly steals the show in the absurdity department. I feel like where we are today as Americans is kind of like the experience of waking up one morning, taking a look at your life, and thinking, "How did I get here?" If you do a careful and, honestly, not-so-difficult analysis, you can easily see how you did get to where you are. But it still seems so impossible. That is the United States right now. This situation was an impossible joke until we realized we made it happen, and now here we are.

As a teacher, I often worry about how I will explain disturbing current events to my young students. Thankfully, most of the time my kids exist in a state of age-appropriate unawareness. Every year, 9/11 comes and goes without more than a peep of recognition. After the Sandy Hook massacre, only one student seemed to know what had happened. The Boston Marathon bombing also seemed to pass in and out of my students' consciousness with minimal disturbance. So I was hoping, perhaps irrationally, that maybe my kids would also be unaware of the complete mess that is this Presidential race. But then two weeks ago we were on a school bus, coming home from a field trip, and I heard one of my boys in the back of the bus yell, clear as day, "TRUMP TOUCHED UP HER SKIRT!" And then I knew, there was going to be no avoiding it.

I told this story to my best friend in Israel last week, and I asked her, "G-d forbid he gets elected--how am I going to explain to my third graders that the man who brags about basically committing sexual assault is now our President?!" She paused, and then replied, "Yeah...I wish I could say that was my biggest problem with him."

I think that about sums it up.

And so, I have been a puddle of anxiety for the past few days. Right before Shabbat I had to take a Xanax, because OH MY G-D. Then I thought, how am I actually going to survive Tuesday? Or Wednesday, for that matter? I can't just keep taking Xanax. I mean, I can, but I'm going to need an actual strategy. So (and here's the Jewish connection I know you've been waiting for), I decided to see what Jewish tradition has to say about managing acute anxiety. Here's what I found.

There is a verse in Proverbs (12:25) which says:

דאגה בלב איש ישחנה ודבר טוב ישמחנה

Anxiety in the heart of man bows it down, but a good word makes it glad.

As is so often the case in Hebrew, the word for, "bows it down," ישחנה, can have other meanings, depending on how one reads the word in context: 1)  to suppress; 2) to ignore; 3) to articulate. These meanings also correspond to three strategies (or stages) for managing anxiety.

STAGE ONE: Suppress/Minimize

In this stage, we can make our anxiety bearable by making it smaller, often by telling ourselves that the problem isn't really as big as it seems. Regarding this election, I definitely did this for quite a while when I told myself, "Americans would never let Trump get elected." Since the possibility seemed too awful to even begin to deal with, I just told myself it wouldn't happen. But that only worked for so long. Which brings me to...

STAGE TWO: Ignore

This is when we separate ourselves from the source of our anxiety. Personally, I have spent a lot of time in this stage lately. I stopped watching the news, I didn't read any articles on politics, and pretty much just stuck my head in the sand without apology. I figured this was the only viable option because whenever I came across any non-comedic election coverage, I felt my anxiety shoot up almost instantly. I'll be the first to say, avoidance is one of my favorite strategies. But now the election is two days away and I'm finding myself checking in with Nate Silver at fivethirtyeight several times a day, so it's time to move on to the next phase of the plan:

STAGE THREE: Articulate

This stage, my lovelies, is where we talk about it. 

I did this at shul yesterday with a friend of mine during Kiddush--we spent the entire time processing the current political situation, and every ten minutes or so we would say, "I can't even talk about this anymore"--at which point we would continue to talk about it. While it didn't solve anything, it was so helpful to just talk about it with someone who could commiserate. And while this was shared anxiety that we both were feeling, I think this strategy works even when the anxiety is all yours--talking about it takes some of the power away. 

I don't know about you, but I am going to need all of these stages over the next few days. I suspect 

that, regardless of where you fall on the political spectrum, you are going to need them, as well. So use them as often as necessary to combat the stress of the current situation and its aftermath. And if it all works out well, I, for one, will be bentching gomel. Feel free to join me!

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!

And...I'm off!

Well, the time has nearly arrived--I'm leaving for Israel tonight! The end of the school year was so overwhelming that I really didn't start thinking about this trip until maybe a week ago, and then I realized, "I HAVE SO MUCH TO DO!" But now, the to-do list is all checked off, the bags are packed, and my anxiety and I are ready to go.

Because, let's be honest, there is so much I can be anxious about! There are any number of possible flight problems, things that can go wrong with luggage, transportation issues, etc. I know I won't be wholly at ease until I finally arrive at my apartment in Jerusalem. Simply put, I like to be where I'm going, but I don't like getting there.

But, PG, I will get there. And, of course, I have some goals.

The first is related to physical health. I have been at a healthy place for a long time, but in the past month or so I've managed to boost myself up a little bit more so I could begin exercising...and I've managed to maintain it. I like how my body feels right now, and I'm proud of what I've managed to accomplish. Any long stretch of time away from my usual routine and environment can pose challenges, but I feel ready to tackle them this summer. It will be work, but it's work I think I can do--and I'm determined to give it my best effort.

The second is related to emotional health. Last summer was the first time I experienced symptoms of depression while in Israel, and it totally threw me off because Israel was supposed to be my "happy place." So I've been proactive this time around and have arranged a bit of a safety net--people I can text or call when I feel like isolating but really need connection.

My third goal is just...to be present. It's as simple and complicated as that. I want to learn new ideas and meet new people, maybe even make some new friends. I want to be myself and not worry about what others might be thinking. If there is an opportunity to do something fun and spontaneous, I don't want to be so chained to my routine that I can't take advantage of it. I want to have fun. And be connected, and be enriched. All those forms of nourishment that Israel is so uniquely good at providing.

And, hopefully I will be back here often over the next month to write about my experiences! So stay tuned :).

Lehitraot!

See the Birthing

The end of the school year is always a crazy time for me as a teacher.  This year was no exception, as I discussed in a previous post.  Aside from all the logistical hoops through which I had to jump, there was also the poignancy of saying goodbye to my flock of third grade graduates, to whom I'd become deeply attached.  I thought that this year I might not have much time to dwell on the transition, due to my impending departure (tomorrow!) to Israel...incorrect!  I always, always have time for Transition Anxiety because, if I'm going to be honest, "change" isn't really my thing.

Sure enough, not even one day after closing up my classroom for the summer, I felt the anxiety set in.  For ten and a half months of the year, work is my world and "teacher" is my identity.  My colleagues are my "other family," and each year my heart grows just a little bit larger to hold a new class of students, all of whom become "my kids."  When I am at work, I know who I am and I like that version of myself.  I thrive on the structure of my days, and I know how to deliver what is expected of me.  No matter how much I need summer vacation, it is always a tough adjustment.  I usually feel a bit lost without my usual routine, I miss the easy social connections I have with the other teachers, and I definitely miss the kids.  At the bottom of all of this is the unspoken question, Who am I outside of teaching?  It's murky territory, and I don't like it.

Coincidentally (or not?), when I picked up my copy of, Toward a Meaningful Life:  The wisdom of the Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson, this past Shabbat, I opened directly to the chapter titled, "Upheaval and Change."  To be fair, most of the Rebbe's teachings in this chapter are intended to refer to global upheaval and catastrophic events, but I think they can be applied to personal life changes and transitions, as well.  Put generally, the Rebbe says that when things around us are changing, we can use our relationship with Hashem to ground us.  Upheaval gives us the chance to separate who we are from our material world, to get in touch with that which is at our cores and does not change.  Additionally, he teaches that change is an opportunity for growth:

"Our sages teach, 'Who is wise?  The one who sees the birthing' [Talmud, Tamid 32a]--not just the darkness, but how it leads to light.  Growth occurs in three stages:  an embryonic state, a void between old and new, and a state of transformation.  Upheaval is the middle, chaotic stage.  From our human perspective, it may appear as an abyss, but in the larger view, it is the first sign of something new, a birthing."

I think recovery is definitely this way--the "letting go" stage, when we release our hold on the eating disorder but don't yet have anything positive to cling to, certainly can feel like a frightening abyss.  But, as the Rebbe says, that chaos leads to transformation and growth into a fuller, more authentic life.

I can also apply it to where I am in this moment:  the transitional space between "teacher mode" and summer.  It is hard for me to let go of teaching and the comfortable routine it brings.  But when I stop and think, I know that I am the same "me" whether I am working or not, that who I am is more than my profession, and that maybe this time away from work will give me an opportunity to develop some of the other aspects of myself that get a bit lost during the year.  Tomorrow I will fly to Israel, where I will get to spend time with people dear to my heart, learning texts I love in a place that is my second home.  If I allow myself to expand beyond my identity as a teacher, if I let myself fully inhabit the experiences of this next month, then I know I will grow in ways I can't yet anticipate.  Getting to that growth requires some traveling through uncertainty, but if the choice was either, a) consistency and stagnation, or,  b) disruption and transformation, I know I would choose "b," hands down.

So, for all of us staring down some sort of transition or change and the anxiety it brings, I share the words of the Rebbe and our sages as a reminder that if we can weather the bumps in the road, we will be rewarded with a birth into new beginnings.  I will certainly continue to write and share with you what I am learning on this next adventure!

(For skeptics who need a bit more convincing--or if you just like good music--the Indigo Girls reinforce the Rebbe in this song.)

Born With Purpose

Birthdays...on the surface, purely delightful; in reality, so much more complicated.  I don't know that I've ever had an approach to birthdays that wasn't at least partly tainted with anxiety:  I clearly remember crying on my ninth birthday because I WOULD NEVER. BE EIGHT. AGAIN. (Yup...I was that kid.)  Fast forward to my twenties, and I still received my birthday with mixed emotions; only then, it was due to the mire of anorexia and depression in which I found myself stuck.  Every year, my birthday would roll around and I would feel a deep pull of sadness as my own emotions failed to match those of my family and friends.  My parents' excitement was the hardest for me to assimilate:  they were celebrating a wonderful child they loved, and I felt like that child didn't really exist.  While I was grateful and comforted by their enthusiasm for my life, part of me remained convinced that I didn't deserve it.

Well, yesterday I officially entered my "early thirties"(!), and I approached the day feeling hopeful that maybe this would be the year when I would feel only (or at least mostly) happy on my birthday. After all, I've been through a lot of therapy, and I'm now in solid recovery and have a life that I enjoy and am proud of in many ways.  And yet, as the day neared, I felt myself getting on the old, familiar emotional roller-coaster of self-criticsm and guilt.  Luckily, I still happened to be working my way through Toward a Meaningful Life: The wisdom of the Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson by Simon Jacobson, and the chapter titled, "Birth," may have saved my relationship with my birthday.

The Rebbe's idea is simple, yet profound:  Your birth was the moment in which Hashem knew the world could not continue without you.  At the time you were born, Hashem put you on earth for a specific purpose; that moment was the beginning of your mission on earth.  Jacobson expresses the Rebbe's philosophy as follows:

"Many people seem to feel that because we didn't choose to enter the world, our birth is a stroke of coincidence or serendipity.  This couldn't be further from the truth.  Birth is G-d's way of saying that He has invested His will and energy in creating you; G-d feels great joy when you are born, the greatest pleasure imaginable, for the moment of birth realizes His intention in wanting you..."

Wow.

When I actually sat and thought about that--that Hashem put me here on purpose, to bring something to the world that only I could bring; that He created me with love and care and joy--I mean, I actually felt goosebumps.  That's not to say that I then rushed out to buy party hats and streamers, but I did spend some time thinking about what Hashem might have had in mind when He created me...when He breathed my soul into my body, what was the hole in the world that He was hoping I would fill?  How can I use the many, many gifts with which I've been blessed to not just imagine a better, more sacred world, but actually help create one?

My suspicion is that for many of us in recovery (and for many other people, too), birthdays are a mixed emotional bag.  I offer this teaching of the Rebbe's in the hope that if your birthday approaches and you feel there's nothing to celebrate, you remember that even if you don't think you're special, at the moment of your birth G-d felt nothing but joy.  He created you filled with purpose and Divine light...and all of it is still inside you, just waiting to be let out.

So, as another year of my life begins, I feel profoundly grateful to all the people whom Hashem has put in my life to help me along my path:  my amazingly devoted parents and family; my friends who nourish me with both fun and authentic connection; my students who fill me with passion and purpose; my teachers who believe in the power of my mind and heart...and, this little community here, because through our collective energy we release a little more light into this world.  May we all be blessed with such supports and able to use the gifts they give.

Remember:

"Birth is G-d saying you matter." -- The Rebbe



     

Anxiety Comes Calling...

Whenever I sat down to think about this week's blog post, my mind would stay on task for a few minutes before being distracted by news coming in from Israel--reports of rockets, missiles, air strikes, and sirens.  No matter how hard I tried to focus on philosophical issues, I always ended up dwelling on current events in the here and now...so I decided I needed to write about that.

As much as I relish a rich political debate, I don't want to have one here.  The more I learn about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the more I realize I will never be able to sort through all of its complexity.  To be honest, right now I am relatively uninterested in the nitty-gritty details of that complicated history.  What occupies my mind is something much more basic:

People I love are in danger, and I'm not able to help them.

For me, this is what it boils down to.  In my mind, Israel is no longer just a place where a lot of Jews live.  It is the place where my friends and teachers live, where I lived this past summer, where I have learned and grown and shared and connected.  The land of Israel is a place where I feel at home, and the friends I have over there are some of the people dearest to me in the entire world.  This week, I talked with friends of mine whose lives had gone from mundane to surreal in a matter of hours; I read about rockets landing near the communities of two of my teachers; I found out that my friend's husband was called up to the army; I heard about sirens going off in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.  My best friend told me about how she and her coworkers ran for cover when they heard a siren, and this morning I started my day by reading headlines about a public bus bombing in the city where she lives. As I go about my days in my relatively safe neighborhood far across the world from the center of the action, I can't help but notice the pit I feel in my stomach or the way my breath often stops just short of actually reaching my diaphragm.  I am aware of my fear, my frustration, and my sense of helplessness--and my need to manage all of those emotions effectively in order to keep living my life.

Historically, I've not done well with handling anxiety over things beyond my control.  My mind spins and whirls around the what-ifs, and I tend to need more reassurance than usual that no news does not, in fact, mean bad news.  In early recovery I started learning about the "cognitive distortions" in which I often engaged:  catastrophizing, emotional reasoning, jumping to conclusions...those were but a few of my favorites.  For a long time, I dealt with helplessness, fear, and anxiety by exercising or starving them into oblivion.  At this point in my journey, though, clearly I need some new strategies...and this past week has given me an opportunity to practice the coping skills that I've worked hard to develop.

Here's what has worked so far:  I try to keep my consumption of news reports to a reasonable amount, as opposed to keeping Israeli news sites up in my browser for the entire day.  I don't check the news late at night, when I need to be relaxing in preparation for sleep.  I make an effort to curtail the number of emails I send to my friends--enough to satisfy my need to know they're safe, but not so many so that taking care of my anxiety becomes another problem on their plates (okay, so my best friend still gets a lot of emails...but isn't that what best friends are for?).  When I say the prayer for peace every day, I say it with more feeling, more kavannah.  I signed up for the Shmira Project, started by two families affiliated with Livnot U'Lehibanot, one of my favorite Israeli organizations.  And, I've tried to shift my focus from what I can't control to what I can...how can I bring light to the lives of the people I care about in Israel?  How can I bring light to the lives of the people I care about here?

Two hours ago, a ceasefire went into effect.  I'm hopeful that it sticks, and that the rockets that have continued to rain on southern Israel will slow to a trickle, then to nothing.  I hope that life gets back to normal for my friends and teachers, and that soon we will return to thinking and talking about matters not related to national security.  Finally, I hope that this week when I wish them all a shabbat shalom, that's exactly what it will be.

Intention Matters!

I love rules. Love them. Give me an open-ended task with no guidelines, and I become a ball of anxiety. How am I supposed to know how to do anything correctly, if no one explains the dos and don'ts? One of the things I found most reassuring about anorexia was the intricately detailed system of rules I created regarding food and exercise. Although completely arbitrary, the rules made me feel safe in the belief that if I followed them, nothing bad would happen to me.

Is it any wonder that I am pulled toward traditional Judaism? Look at all the rules!

I didn't begin increasing my level of religious observance until I was well on my way in recovery, but it still didn't take me long to realize that if I wasn't careful, the stringent regulations of traditional Judaism could become mere substitutions for the self-imposed rules of my eating disorder. I'd always been uncomfortable when other people paid attention to my physical body, so I was more than eager to sign up for religiously sanctioned modest dressing. And then, there were the negative commandments forming the basis for laws of kashrut and fasting. How comforting to know that if anorexia wouldn't be controlling what I ate, Hashem would be!

I knew that I did not have the luxury, as some people might, of just taking on rituals and rules without thinking them through. Covering one's body and restricting one's food options and intake might not be triggers for some people, but they definitely are for me. However, these are also important parts of traditional Judaism that I wanted to integrate into my life. How could I do that while still preserving the recovery for which I'd fought so hard?

For me, the key is intention. I need to do mitzvot for the right reasons, and this sometimes requires that I "re-frame" some thought patterns. Here are some examples:

Modest dressing:
Old thought: "Hey! I get to completely cover my body in shapeless skirts and long sleeves because Hashem wants me to! Now NO ONE will look at me! Awesome!"
New thought: "When I wear modest clothing, I am sending the message that my body is precious and not for just anyone to have access to. I can wear skirts and shirts that make me feel attractive while still letting others know that I value modesty."

Kashrut:
Old thought: "Now I have a whole new way to control what I eat and avoid scary foods...and it's totally justified because it's religious!"
New thought: "The idea behind kashrut is that eating should be a sacred act. It is one way I have of striving to be holy as Hashem is holy. Kashrut teaches discipline...by having some limitations on what I eat, I am acknowledging the presence of Hashem. But this does not have to lead to deprivation."

Fasting:
Old thought: "A whole day with no food!"
New thought: "If fasting becomes about weight control, I cannot allow myself to do it. Period. Fasting should be a way for me to focus on repentance, to turn my energy inward. To do it with the goal of food restriction is to completely miss the point."

Bottom line? Yes, it matters whether or not we do the mitzvot. But, it also matters what our intentions are as we do them. Human life has the highest value...the principle of pikuach nefesh clearly states that almost any negative commandment can be broken in order to save a life. If I twist the mitzvot into ways to perpetuate a life-threatening eating disorder, that is not what Hashem would want. As Jews in recovery, it is our responsibility not only to do mitzvot, but to do them with a pure heart, for the purposes for which they are intended.