I'm not usually one to get super wrapped up in dates, anniversaries, and the like, but tomorrow might be an exception: January 13, 2014 will be the tenth anniversary of my discharge from residential treatment--my first-ever treatment for my eating disorder.
In my last post I talked about the nonlinear nature of recovery, and I think my own journey is a prime example of that. After that initial round of treatment, it certainly was not a "straight shot" to recovery for me. If I needed to pick a word to describe my recovery process, I think it might be, "slow." Not in a negative, "OMG WHAT IS TAKING YOU SO LONG?!" kind of way (although there certainly were moments of that), but in a, "deliberate, tentative," kind of way. Any advancement was preceded by lots of serious thought, risk assessment, and just general getting used to the idea. Whenever I tried to take on too much, I usually panicked and lost some ground. In the end, the only way for me was the slow way. Little by little.
Of course, Jewish tradition has a thing or two to say about this.
In last week's parasha (Beshalach), the Exodus reached a climax with the splitting of the Sea of Reeds. The Children of Israel crossed over on dry land, while their Egyptian pursuers perished when the walls of water came crashing back down. In that moment by the Sea, the Jewish people acknowledged the tremendous miracle they had just witnessed and their faith in Hashem was unparalleled. However, despite the magnitude of everything that had just transpired, the Jews did not proceed on a linear path to faithful devotion to Hashem. Why? Perhaps they had taken on too much, too soon.
The Midrash (Mechilta) teaches that before the Splitting of the Sea, the Jewish people practiced idolatry, just as their Egyptian neighbors did. Idolatry, as we know, is one of the most serious transgressions in Judaism...so, if the Jews were steeped in idol worship, they must have been on a pretty low spiritual level. But, then they quickly transitioned to being the recipients of Divine salvation, witnesses to a vision of Hashem that was so great, it surpassed even that of the prophet Ezekiel (and that was a pretty intense vision). So then what happened? Did the Jews manage to hang on to this highest level of spirituality? No, they did not. In fact, it was only shortly thereafter that the Israelites began to question whether or not Hashem was truly with them--and this weakening of faith made them vulnerable to an attack by Amalek. Clearly, going from zero to sixty was not a sustainable path of progress.
In this week's parasha (Yitro), the Jewish people receive the Ten Commandments from Hashem at Sinai. The fact that there are TEN Commandments stated individually, and not just one huge one, suggests that growth is meant to be a step-by-step process. Instead of taking on everything at once, we are meant to focus on just one Mitzvah at a time, ascending the spiritual ladder in a slow, gradual way. If we try to jump from the ground to the top rung of a ladder in one leap, we will almost certainly fall. But, if we take things one rung at a time--in Torah, and in life in general--we can make it to the top safely.
So, as I reflect on the "slow and steady" journey of my last ten years, I'm comforted to know that this gradual method of ascent has proven throughout our history to be the surest way to go. To everyone who is anywhere at all along his or her personal recovery path--take it as slow as you need. There's no point in rushing. You'll get there! May we all have the courage to proceed, little by little.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Running and Returning
3...2...1...Happy 2014!
The truth is, I really don't get that excited about New Year's Eve. (Who spent it on the couch watching "Finding Nemo" with a high school buddy? This girl.) As my father is fond of saying, "If you've seen one ball drop, you've seen 'em all." Nevertheless, I know this time of year does energize many people, particularly when it comes to one long-standing ritual: making New Year's resolutions.
My feelings about New Year's resolutions have run the gamut, ranging from, "Fun!" to, "No, thanks!" Now, I approach them with a more tempered attitude, which I could label, "Proceed with caution." It's not that I think January 1st-inspired goal setting is inherently a bad idea, but I do think it can lead to feelings of negativity if not approached carefully. How many of us have ever set a goal, fully intending to march toward it in a linear fashion, only to fall short and then feel like a complete failure? I cannot even begin to count the times when I've thought to myself, "EVERY YEAR I say I am going to be better at X or accomplish Y, and yet, here I am saying that AGAIN. Why haven't I gotten this right yet?" (In other words: "There must be something wrong with me.") Needless to say, this line of thinking is not particularly motivating.
Setting New Year's resolutions is a lot like the process of teshuva, and since that is such an important idea in Judaism, it's not surprising that our tradition has a thing or two to say about realistic self-improvement. In Chasidut, there is an expression called, "ratzo v'shov," literally, "running and returning." The idea is that nothing in life is a straight shot; rather, everything proceeds in a back-and-forth movement. We sleep and awaken; day becomes night; rain gives way to sunshine. According to Rebbe Nachman, understanding this to-and-fro pattern of the universe is essential to proceeding successfully along the path of teshuva.
"Ratzo v'shov" explains why a person sets a lofty goal and then inevitably stumbles along the way to achieving it. When the person realizes that she/he has not succeeded in the way she/he wanted to, the person feels despondent and demoralized. It is only when she or he understands that progress is meant to be incremental and that facing struggles is part of the journey, that the person becomes ready to try again. Rav Ephraim Kenig gave a shiur based on Likutey Moharan 6:4 in which he explains:
"When a person ascends so high in his spirituality and feels so close to G-d (ratzo, running), he needs to know that he is still far and has not attained G-d, as it were. On the other hand, the idea of shov, returning, is when a person is in the lowest of depths, feeling like nothing, thinking he will never get up again. The Yetzer HaRa says, 'You should know yourself already. You will never change. You will just keep making the same mistakes over and over again. Why even try to get up?' It is here where G-d says, 'I am with you in this place, let us ascend together.'"
This concept of ratzo v'shov is essential to making healthy resolutions, particularly ones that pertain to recovery. I frequently meet people with eating disorders (and parents of people with eating disorders) who express a fervent hope that the path to recovery will be linear. Despite everyone's best intentions, I have never met a single recovered person who has actually had a smooth, linear path to recovery. Whether one calls them, "slips," "bumps," "relapses," or something else, rough patches are part of the process. That's just the way it is--but this isn't necessarily a bad thing. No matter what obstacle causes you to stumble, you are never back at square one. And even in those low places, there is something to be learned and strength to be gained. The key is to ignore the negative voice that says, "You will never be better than this," and instead tune into the voice of Hashem, which says, "I am with you, take My hand. You can do it."
As we set goals and strive to meet them, let's keep in mind that it's normal to trip and fall--but it's possible to trip, fall, and still get up and reach the finish line victoriously. In 2014, may we find our stride in the rhythm of ratzo v'shov and use it to propel ourselves ever forward, to our better selves.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Debunking, "Perfect"
Recently I came across an article titled, "Six Kinds of Perfection." As a person who has never truly achieved even one kind of perfection (though certainly not for lack of trying), I was intrigued with the idea that there might, in fact, be six types to strive for. Perfectionists, rejoice! More chances to hit the target!
So, I started reading. Noting that the Sages called Bereishit, "the book of the righteous," the author proceeded to make the following claim:
"Genesis is the story of a series of perfect individuals. Adam (made in the image of G-d), Noah (whom the Torah calls 'a righteous man'), Abraham (described as 'G-d's beloved'), Isaac (the 'perfect offering'), Jacob (the ultimate 'whole person'), and Joseph ('the righteous')."
Noooooo. If there is one line of reasoning that frustrates me to no end, it's the argument that any Biblical figures were, "perfect." I'm no expert Torah scholar, but I don't think you need to look very far to find the complexities (flaws?) within the six individuals listed above. Were they inspirational? Certainly. Influential? Definitely. Instructive? For sure. But perfect?
Let's do a brief run-down: Although he was created in G-d's image, Adam committed one of the first "sins" in the Torah and then blamed Eve for his own inability to follow G-d's instructions. As for Noah, the Torah says, "Noah was a righteous man, perfect in his generations; Noah walked with G-d" (Bereishit 6:9). Many Sages have argued that the phrase, "in his generations," implies that Noah was only righteous compared with the deeply corrupt individuals among whom he lived, and he is often criticized for saving only his own family and not reaching out to try to save others. Abraham certainly was very virtuous...but he was also the man who put his wife in danger by asking her to pretend to be his sister, lest the Egyptians kill him to take her as their own. Like his father, Isaac also pretended that his wife was his sister, thereby endangering Rebecca and nearly tricking Abimelech's people into sinning by being intimate with a married woman. Jacob does bear the distinction of being Israel, the true father of the Jewish people. However, he is also the man who tricked his brother into giving up his birthright, and who deceived his father in order to secure his blessing. And, finally, there's Joseph. When Jacob arrives in Egypt after not seeing Joseph, his son, for 22 years, Jacob is overcome by emotion and greets Joseph enthusiastically. Joseph, however, responds in a curious way: by turning to his brothers and telling them he will alert Pharoah that they have arrived. With everything that has transpired in Joseph's family, with everything that remains unsaid between him and his father, Joseph is unable--or unwilling--to connect with Jacob in that moment.
My analysis here is relatively brief and simple, and I recognize that each of the points in the previous paragraph could be fodder for its own lengthly, intense discussion. But, clearly it is not hard to find the complexities within each of the key male players in Bereishit. I would suggest that deeming these men, "perfect," is an oversimplification that erases the richness and nuances of their characters.
I believe that what makes these individuals truly great is precisely that they are not perfect. They may loom larger than life over our collective narrative, but if they did not have their own weaknesses and flaws, how would any of us be able to relate to--or truly learn from--them? They don't need to be perfect to be worthy of our admiration. Instead, they earn our respect by dealing head-on with their own sets of challenges, sometimes making what seem like less-than-ideal choices but still managing to be leaders who get their jobs done.
Perfection is something so elusive that not even Adam, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, or Joseph was able to achieve it. And yet, we don't stop trying to emulate these men. We don't stop studying their stories or invoking their names in blessings. We embrace them, complex figures all, because through their struggles they teach us much more than any "perfect" person ever could.
When I think about the people in my life with whom I'm most connected, I recognize that not a single one of them is perfect...and I love them all the more for their ability to live authentically and to actively work through their challenges. When I try to imagine a perfect person, all that comes to mind is a robotic, Stepford-wife-like creation who, as a result of her not having any complexities, is boring and impossible to relate to. Perfectionist though I am, when I ask myself, "Do my loved ones wish I was perfect?" I have to admit that the answer is probably, "no." Instead, what they probably wish is that I was more open with them about the true ups and downs of my life.
When I study Bereishit, I take comfort in the fact that even our greatest role models were only human beings--multilayered human beings with their own sets of strengths and weaknesses. It seems to me that Hashem has always understood that we cannot truly relate to perfection, and that if the bar is set at, "flawless," our shortcomings will only discourage and demoralize us. So, in His infinite wisdom, He gave us forefathers (and foremothers!) who could lead our people not because they were perfect, but because they knew how to rise above their challenges. As we each make our way through our own journeys, that's really the best we can hope for: to pass through obstacles and emerge on higher ground, and to become greater people because of it.
So, I started reading. Noting that the Sages called Bereishit, "the book of the righteous," the author proceeded to make the following claim:
"Genesis is the story of a series of perfect individuals. Adam (made in the image of G-d), Noah (whom the Torah calls 'a righteous man'), Abraham (described as 'G-d's beloved'), Isaac (the 'perfect offering'), Jacob (the ultimate 'whole person'), and Joseph ('the righteous')."
Noooooo. If there is one line of reasoning that frustrates me to no end, it's the argument that any Biblical figures were, "perfect." I'm no expert Torah scholar, but I don't think you need to look very far to find the complexities (flaws?) within the six individuals listed above. Were they inspirational? Certainly. Influential? Definitely. Instructive? For sure. But perfect?
Let's do a brief run-down: Although he was created in G-d's image, Adam committed one of the first "sins" in the Torah and then blamed Eve for his own inability to follow G-d's instructions. As for Noah, the Torah says, "Noah was a righteous man, perfect in his generations; Noah walked with G-d" (Bereishit 6:9). Many Sages have argued that the phrase, "in his generations," implies that Noah was only righteous compared with the deeply corrupt individuals among whom he lived, and he is often criticized for saving only his own family and not reaching out to try to save others. Abraham certainly was very virtuous...but he was also the man who put his wife in danger by asking her to pretend to be his sister, lest the Egyptians kill him to take her as their own. Like his father, Isaac also pretended that his wife was his sister, thereby endangering Rebecca and nearly tricking Abimelech's people into sinning by being intimate with a married woman. Jacob does bear the distinction of being Israel, the true father of the Jewish people. However, he is also the man who tricked his brother into giving up his birthright, and who deceived his father in order to secure his blessing. And, finally, there's Joseph. When Jacob arrives in Egypt after not seeing Joseph, his son, for 22 years, Jacob is overcome by emotion and greets Joseph enthusiastically. Joseph, however, responds in a curious way: by turning to his brothers and telling them he will alert Pharoah that they have arrived. With everything that has transpired in Joseph's family, with everything that remains unsaid between him and his father, Joseph is unable--or unwilling--to connect with Jacob in that moment.
My analysis here is relatively brief and simple, and I recognize that each of the points in the previous paragraph could be fodder for its own lengthly, intense discussion. But, clearly it is not hard to find the complexities within each of the key male players in Bereishit. I would suggest that deeming these men, "perfect," is an oversimplification that erases the richness and nuances of their characters.
I believe that what makes these individuals truly great is precisely that they are not perfect. They may loom larger than life over our collective narrative, but if they did not have their own weaknesses and flaws, how would any of us be able to relate to--or truly learn from--them? They don't need to be perfect to be worthy of our admiration. Instead, they earn our respect by dealing head-on with their own sets of challenges, sometimes making what seem like less-than-ideal choices but still managing to be leaders who get their jobs done.
Perfection is something so elusive that not even Adam, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, or Joseph was able to achieve it. And yet, we don't stop trying to emulate these men. We don't stop studying their stories or invoking their names in blessings. We embrace them, complex figures all, because through their struggles they teach us much more than any "perfect" person ever could.
When I think about the people in my life with whom I'm most connected, I recognize that not a single one of them is perfect...and I love them all the more for their ability to live authentically and to actively work through their challenges. When I try to imagine a perfect person, all that comes to mind is a robotic, Stepford-wife-like creation who, as a result of her not having any complexities, is boring and impossible to relate to. Perfectionist though I am, when I ask myself, "Do my loved ones wish I was perfect?" I have to admit that the answer is probably, "no." Instead, what they probably wish is that I was more open with them about the true ups and downs of my life.
When I study Bereishit, I take comfort in the fact that even our greatest role models were only human beings--multilayered human beings with their own sets of strengths and weaknesses. It seems to me that Hashem has always understood that we cannot truly relate to perfection, and that if the bar is set at, "flawless," our shortcomings will only discourage and demoralize us. So, in His infinite wisdom, He gave us forefathers (and foremothers!) who could lead our people not because they were perfect, but because they knew how to rise above their challenges. As we each make our way through our own journeys, that's really the best we can hope for: to pass through obstacles and emerge on higher ground, and to become greater people because of it.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Spin Your Turkey Dreidel!
In case you haven't heard, two great holidays--Thanksgiving and Chanukah--are about to make an unlikely convergence. The resulting, "Thanksgivukkah," has become quite a craze, producing hybrid treats such as butternut squash sweet potato latkes, and even inspiring Conan O'Brien to get in on the action with the Turkey Dreidel. Personally, I feel like these two holidays are meant to be together--how else can you explain that the biblical Hebrew word for "give thanks," hodu (הודו), is ALSO the modern Hebrew word for, "turkey"? Coincidence? I think not.
The truth is that Thanksgiving and Chanukah also have some thematic similarities, chief among them being the shared emphasis on freedom, particularly cultural and religious freedom. Most of the original "Pilgrims" came to the New World because they were unhappy with the Church of England's inflexible, dictatorial style. In England, attendance at Anglican churches was mandatory and people didn't feel that it was safe to practice their religion openly in any other way. Similarly, the Maccabees of the Chanukah story rebelled against the Greeks' attempts to forcibly Hellenize the Jewish people in the Holy Land. Hellenic culture emphasized idol worship and focused on physical beauty--concepts that were deeply at odds with traditional Jewish values of monotheism and spiritual connection to Torah.
I find the common theme of freedom fascinating, particularly the Jewish resistance against a culture of materialism. Recently I have been feeling quite frustrated with the cultural world I inhabit--it seems that I can't go anywhere without seeing or hearing something related to dieting, weight loss, exercise, or physical appearance. Between television, radio, magazine covers, social media, and conversations overheard in just about any venue imaginable, there is no shortage of evidence that we live in a food-, body-, and weight-obsessed culture.
Recovering from an eating disorder while living in such an environment can be a maddeningly frustrating experience. A clinician I know explains it this way: "A person recovering from an eating disorder is recovering into a very disturbed world." To recover means to land above and beyond where the vast majority of people are in terms of food and body. Although it can be satisfying to have such an evolved perspective, it also can be challenging. It's hard to feel forced out of all the bonding that happens over discussions about exercise routines, and it can be daunting to try to practice "normal eating" when you are surrounded by people eating diet foods. Even though I know I should be proud of myself for doing what is healthy and supportive of a life in recovery, I sometimes experience shame around not complying with the prevailing cultural expectations. In those moments when I feel like I will scream if one more person comments on how she supposes she can afford to eat dessert because she worked out that morning, I have to dig deep and remind myself that I actually don't want to fit into that cultural norm--I've worked too hard to raise myself above it.
It is hard to swim alone against the tide. The Pilgrims and Maccabees knew this, which is why they each formed groups in order to defend and preserve their true values. Similarly, we need to surround ourselves with other people who can reinforce our commitment to a life free of the food-and-body obsession. This Thanksgivukkah season, I wish all of us the courage of our ancestors to keep our eyes and hearts trained on what is truly important and beautiful in this world.
The truth is that Thanksgiving and Chanukah also have some thematic similarities, chief among them being the shared emphasis on freedom, particularly cultural and religious freedom. Most of the original "Pilgrims" came to the New World because they were unhappy with the Church of England's inflexible, dictatorial style. In England, attendance at Anglican churches was mandatory and people didn't feel that it was safe to practice their religion openly in any other way. Similarly, the Maccabees of the Chanukah story rebelled against the Greeks' attempts to forcibly Hellenize the Jewish people in the Holy Land. Hellenic culture emphasized idol worship and focused on physical beauty--concepts that were deeply at odds with traditional Jewish values of monotheism and spiritual connection to Torah.
I find the common theme of freedom fascinating, particularly the Jewish resistance against a culture of materialism. Recently I have been feeling quite frustrated with the cultural world I inhabit--it seems that I can't go anywhere without seeing or hearing something related to dieting, weight loss, exercise, or physical appearance. Between television, radio, magazine covers, social media, and conversations overheard in just about any venue imaginable, there is no shortage of evidence that we live in a food-, body-, and weight-obsessed culture.
Recovering from an eating disorder while living in such an environment can be a maddeningly frustrating experience. A clinician I know explains it this way: "A person recovering from an eating disorder is recovering into a very disturbed world." To recover means to land above and beyond where the vast majority of people are in terms of food and body. Although it can be satisfying to have such an evolved perspective, it also can be challenging. It's hard to feel forced out of all the bonding that happens over discussions about exercise routines, and it can be daunting to try to practice "normal eating" when you are surrounded by people eating diet foods. Even though I know I should be proud of myself for doing what is healthy and supportive of a life in recovery, I sometimes experience shame around not complying with the prevailing cultural expectations. In those moments when I feel like I will scream if one more person comments on how she supposes she can afford to eat dessert because she worked out that morning, I have to dig deep and remind myself that I actually don't want to fit into that cultural norm--I've worked too hard to raise myself above it.
It is hard to swim alone against the tide. The Pilgrims and Maccabees knew this, which is why they each formed groups in order to defend and preserve their true values. Similarly, we need to surround ourselves with other people who can reinforce our commitment to a life free of the food-and-body obsession. This Thanksgivukkah season, I wish all of us the courage of our ancestors to keep our eyes and hearts trained on what is truly important and beautiful in this world.
image from www.timesofisrael.com
Monday, November 11, 2013
"Hashem is in this place..."
I think my favorite thing about Bereishit is the richness of the narratives. Our Matriarchs and Patriarchs, complex and dynamic figures all, have so much to teach us about the human experience that I really do feel like I learn something new from them every year.
The parashiot of last week (Vayeitzei) and this week (Vayishlach) each center around Jacob as he experiences two of the defining moments of his life. I recently read an insightful article by Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks that explores why Jacob--and not Abraham, Isaac, or Moses--is considered the true father of the Jewish people. After all, we call ourselves "Am Yisrael"--the children of Israel (Jacob). What is it about Jacob that earns him this status? Chief Rabbi Sacks argues that it is Jacob's resiliency, his ability to flourish in the wake of struggle, that makes him the ultimate leader of the Jewish people.
In last week's parasha, Jacob runs from Esau's anger and goes to sleep outdoors with his head on a pile of stones. While asleep, Jacob has one of his major spiritual epiphanies: he dreams of G-d's angels going up and down a ladder reaching from the ground up to heaven. When he wakes, he utters one of my favorite lines in the entire Torah:
The parashiot of last week (Vayeitzei) and this week (Vayishlach) each center around Jacob as he experiences two of the defining moments of his life. I recently read an insightful article by Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks that explores why Jacob--and not Abraham, Isaac, or Moses--is considered the true father of the Jewish people. After all, we call ourselves "Am Yisrael"--the children of Israel (Jacob). What is it about Jacob that earns him this status? Chief Rabbi Sacks argues that it is Jacob's resiliency, his ability to flourish in the wake of struggle, that makes him the ultimate leader of the Jewish people.
In last week's parasha, Jacob runs from Esau's anger and goes to sleep outdoors with his head on a pile of stones. While asleep, Jacob has one of his major spiritual epiphanies: he dreams of G-d's angels going up and down a ladder reaching from the ground up to heaven. When he wakes, he utters one of my favorite lines in the entire Torah:
"Surely Hashem is present in this place, and I did not know!" (Bereishit 28:16)
I connect deeply with the idea that Hashem truly is everywhere, even the most seemingly ordinary of places--if we don't see or feel Him, it's because we fail to notice, not because He's not there. Chief Rabbi Sacks takes this a step further and points out that not only did Jacob find Hashem in the middle of an otherwise obscure field, but also this happened at a moment of intense personal vulnerability for Jacob. Similarly, in this week's parasha, Jacob flees from Laban and is heading home to meet Esau (who he presumes is still angry with him), when, once again, he finds himself alone in the middle of the night. Suddenly, an angel appears and wrestles with Jacob until daybreak, at which point he gives Jacob his new name: Israel, "...for you have striven with the Divine and with man and have overcome" (Bereishit 32:29). Just as in Vayeitzei, Jacob descends to a place of true vulnerability only to emerge stronger than he was before. Explains Rabbi Sacks:
"These are the decisive spiritual encounters of Jacob's life, yet they happen in liminal space (the space that is neither starting point nor destination), at a time when Jacob was at risk in both directions, where he came from and where he was going to. Yet it was at these points of maximal vulnerability that he encountered G-d and found the courage to continue despite all the hazards of the journey.
That is the strength Jacob bequeathed the Jewish people."
From Jacob, we learn that G-d is present not only in our moments of glory; rather, He can be found even when we are struggling and are unsure in which direction to turn. If we are open to seeing Him, we can find Hashem even in our lowest, loneliest moments, and from those encounters we can gain the strength to move forward.
The "liminal space" of recovery is a scary place to be. It's a space in which we can no longer retreat into the obliviousness of the eating disorder, but we've also not yet reached secure footing on the other side. When I was in the thick of that space, there were times when I felt profoundly weakened, frightened, and alone. And yet...Hashem was there.
He was there in the constant, enveloping love of my family and the close friends who stuck by me the entire time. He was there in the new friendships that sprang up during treatment and gave me the day-to-day encouragement and understanding I needed. I found Hashem in my mentors, my clinicians, and others who challenged me and guided me along my path. Hashem was in the natural world that always managed to ground and soothe me, no matter how distressed I was. And the result was that I emerged from that vulnerable space, open for connections, more in touch with myself, and feeling a bit braver than I had been before. Was I automatically "cured"? No. But I knew that I was stronger for having gone through that struggle, and that I had within me the energy needed to keep going on the journey.
Of Jacob, Chief Rabbi Sacks writes:
"He said to Pharaoh, 'Few and hard have been the years of my life' (Genesis 47:9). Yet on the way he "encountered" angels, and whether they were wrestling with him or climbing the ladder to heaven, they lit the night with the aura of transcendence."
May we all be open to the presence of Hashem in the darkness, and may we emerge from that place more whole than we were when we went in.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
The Tune of Ambivalence
If you listened to a public reading of this past week's parasha, Chayei Sarah, you might have noticed a rare treat: the vocalization of the shalshelet, one of the rarest notes in Torah trope. The shalshelet occurs only four times in the entire Torah: Bereishit 19:16, 24:12 (which we read this past Shabbat), and 39:8, and Vayikra 8:23. Appearing on the page as a tiny zigzag, the shalshelet looks exactly like what it was meant to represent: a psychological state of uncertainty and ambivalence.
Britain's Chief Rabbi Sir Jonathan Sacks explains the shalshelet as follows:
"The Torah does not have a word for ambivalence...it does, however, have a tune for it. This is the rare note known as the shalshelet. It appears three times in Bereishith, each time at a moment of crisis for the individual concerned...The agent is called on to make a choice, one on which his whole future will depend, but he finds that he cannot. He is torn between two alternatives, both of which exercise a powerful sway on him. He must resolve the dilemma one way or another, but either way will involve letting go of deeply felt temptations or deeply held aspirations. It is a moment of high psychological drama."
Two weeks ago we heard the shalshelet when Lot hesitated before fleeing Sodom, which was destined for destruction. This past week, the shalshelet appeared when Abraham's servant, Eliezer, asked Hashem to provide him with a very specific sign regarding which woman would be the suitable wife for Isaac (one interpretation is that Eliezer secretly wanted his own daughter to marry Isaac, and so he was ambivalent about finding another woman to fill that role). There is also a shalshelet in the Joseph narrative, when he refused the temptation to sleep with Potiphar's wife. The final example of the shalshelet comes when Moshe inagurates his brother Aaron and Aaron's sons as the Kohanim (High Priests), roles he wished he and his own sons could fulfill. In each of these instances, the person involved feels an intense pull between two conflicting options--what he thinks or wishes is, and what actually is. The resulting cognitive dissonance leads each man to wrestle with his decision; it is this struggle that the shalshelet represents.
The idea that ambivalence has always been a part of our collective history is something to which I really relate. I honestly don't think I've ever been more ambivalent about anything than I was about recovery. I really wanted to believe that the eating disorder was the glue holding me together, when the reality was that it was actually preventing me from being a fully functional human being. On the one hand was the deeply ingrained and immediately satisfying pattern of restriction and self-punishment; on the other hand was the Big Picture Truth: if I wanted to be able to truly experience life, to be open to joy and connection, then I had to get rid of anorexia. Either way, I had to give up something and stood to gain something else. The question was, which was the better bargain?
Through the shalshelet, the Torah teaches that ambivalence has always been part of even the greatest individuals (I mean, can I really hope to do better than Moshe Rabbeinu?). However, although it might be tempting (and easy) to lean into our less-than-healthy patterns, the goal is for us to keep our eyes on the big picture and ask ourselves, "Is this really going to lead me to my best self?" Feeling ambivalent is not inherently bad. The key is to ultimately make choices that lead us in the direction that our core selves--and Hashem--want us to go.
I always feel validated and reassured when I recognize in Biblical figures some of the same insecurities and struggles that I myself experience. Rabbi Mois Navon beautifully sums this up when he says,
"There exists a tendency to take for granted the greatness of our exalted paragons, however in doing so we often lose what is really to be gained from having such noble models. It is not from looking up to their perfection that we learn from their example, but in examining their path and their struggle to that perfection that we stand to gain the most. And it is only by maintaining an ever attentive ear to every nuance of our heritage, as profoundly demonstrated by the shalshelet, that we stand to reap all of its didactic rewards."
I wish for all of us the awareness to recognize our own "choice points" and to consciously make decisions that lead us down the paths we are truly meant to take.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Worthy of Love
In this post, I want to tackle an issue that has been lurking around in my mind for a long time, and which recently has taken up a front-and-center section of my brain space. It's a theme that I hear over and over again--from adults about their partners, from parents about their daughters, and from women themselves: the lack of belief that a person with an eating disorder has in the inherent goodness of her being. It's heartbreaking for loved ones, who have the often frustrating task of caring deeply about a person who feels unworthy of love and belonging. For individuals with eating disorders, this lack of self-worth often takes the form of an insidious, nagging voice in the back (or front) of the mind that repeatedly says things like:
"You are a bad person." "You'll never find anyone to love you." "People would never like you if they really knew you." And on, and on. Clearly, this is a voice that seriously undermines recovery...and it is one that far too many of us hear.
Where does it come from? I can't claim to have done any formal research, but it seems to me a major source of these messages is a surrounding culture that communicates a need to earn your self-worth. If we could only get that advanced degree, secure that promotion, lose those extra pounds, win that competition, have that attractive mate and those adorable children--then we would be good people. In other words: in order to be loved, we need to prove our worthiness--and if we ever stop proving it, we'll stop deserving love. I'll be honest and admit that there are times when I, too, get sucked into the "I am inherently unworthy" vortex. Case in point: during my sophomore year in college, I actually sent a good friend of mine an email in which I asked her, "If I stop being pre-med, will you still think I'm a good person?" I believe her response was something along the lines of, "Are you serious?" I was.
In recovery, I've had to do some serious "cognitive restructuring" around the concept of self-worth. One thing that has helped tremendously has been exploring--and buying into--what Judaism has to say about the inherent goodness of a human being. Every morning, I recite the blessing of Elohai neshama (for my favorite audio version by the group עלמא, click here). In this prayer, I reaffirm that my soul, my essence, is pure and good. Hashem placed it into me thoughtfully and lovingly, and it remains inside me, holy and intact. There is nothing broken or bad about me at my core. I might make mistakes and poor choices from time to time, but those are just behaviors that I can fix if I choose to do so. No matter how far I feel I have "strayed," the purity of my soul is never in doubt.
In his work, Orot HaKodesh, Rav Kook offers a teaching that counters the notion that we need to earn our worthiness. He writes:
"Know yourself, and your world; know the meditations of your heart...and of the life beyond you, around you, the glorious splendor of the life in which you have your being...
Look at the lights, in their inwardness. Let not the names, the words, the idiom and the letters confine your soul. They are under your control, you are not under theirs.
Ascend toward the heights, because you are of mighty prowess, you have wings to soar with, wings of mighty eagles...seek for them, and they will at once be ready for you." (Vol. I, pp. 83-84)
Put simply: The beliefs, "I'll be a good person when _____," or, "I'll never be a good person," are false beliefs. We might have absorbed the notion that we have to do, earn, or prove something in order to be people of any value, but the irony is that we actually don't have to do a thing. We are good people simply by virtue of being. When we came into the world as infants, we were pure at heart and already lovable--and we still are. We might have changed the packaging and accessories a bit here and there, but the essence of our beings has remained the same Divine, precious light that it has always been. Make no mistake--there are a lot of distractions out there, but nothing can take away from the pure soul that was put into each of us specially by Hashem.
So...to anyone who is anywhere in recovery and struggling to believe in her (or his) self-worth, here's the take-away:
If you never get a diploma...if you never climb the corporate ladder...if you never fit the media's definition of thin/fit/attractive...if you never are recognized as "the best" at anything...if you never get married...if you never have children...
...you will still be a good person who deserves to be loved. And anyone who really knows you, knows that this is true. Now YOU need to believe it.
And, if you're the loved one providing support to someone who feels unworthy and inherently flawed, remind that person that this is just a feeling--not reality. Provide examples of why you love that person for who she or he is, not what she or he does or has. It's a message that, when communicated authentically, can't be delivered enough times:
You will always be a good person. You will always be loved.
"You are a bad person." "You'll never find anyone to love you." "People would never like you if they really knew you." And on, and on. Clearly, this is a voice that seriously undermines recovery...and it is one that far too many of us hear.
Where does it come from? I can't claim to have done any formal research, but it seems to me a major source of these messages is a surrounding culture that communicates a need to earn your self-worth. If we could only get that advanced degree, secure that promotion, lose those extra pounds, win that competition, have that attractive mate and those adorable children--then we would be good people. In other words: in order to be loved, we need to prove our worthiness--and if we ever stop proving it, we'll stop deserving love. I'll be honest and admit that there are times when I, too, get sucked into the "I am inherently unworthy" vortex. Case in point: during my sophomore year in college, I actually sent a good friend of mine an email in which I asked her, "If I stop being pre-med, will you still think I'm a good person?" I believe her response was something along the lines of, "Are you serious?" I was.
In recovery, I've had to do some serious "cognitive restructuring" around the concept of self-worth. One thing that has helped tremendously has been exploring--and buying into--what Judaism has to say about the inherent goodness of a human being. Every morning, I recite the blessing of Elohai neshama (for my favorite audio version by the group עלמא, click here). In this prayer, I reaffirm that my soul, my essence, is pure and good. Hashem placed it into me thoughtfully and lovingly, and it remains inside me, holy and intact. There is nothing broken or bad about me at my core. I might make mistakes and poor choices from time to time, but those are just behaviors that I can fix if I choose to do so. No matter how far I feel I have "strayed," the purity of my soul is never in doubt.
In his work, Orot HaKodesh, Rav Kook offers a teaching that counters the notion that we need to earn our worthiness. He writes:
"Know yourself, and your world; know the meditations of your heart...and of the life beyond you, around you, the glorious splendor of the life in which you have your being...
Look at the lights, in their inwardness. Let not the names, the words, the idiom and the letters confine your soul. They are under your control, you are not under theirs.
Ascend toward the heights, because you are of mighty prowess, you have wings to soar with, wings of mighty eagles...seek for them, and they will at once be ready for you." (Vol. I, pp. 83-84)
Put simply: The beliefs, "I'll be a good person when _____," or, "I'll never be a good person," are false beliefs. We might have absorbed the notion that we have to do, earn, or prove something in order to be people of any value, but the irony is that we actually don't have to do a thing. We are good people simply by virtue of being. When we came into the world as infants, we were pure at heart and already lovable--and we still are. We might have changed the packaging and accessories a bit here and there, but the essence of our beings has remained the same Divine, precious light that it has always been. Make no mistake--there are a lot of distractions out there, but nothing can take away from the pure soul that was put into each of us specially by Hashem.
So...to anyone who is anywhere in recovery and struggling to believe in her (or his) self-worth, here's the take-away:
If you never get a diploma...if you never climb the corporate ladder...if you never fit the media's definition of thin/fit/attractive...if you never are recognized as "the best" at anything...if you never get married...if you never have children...
...you will still be a good person who deserves to be loved. And anyone who really knows you, knows that this is true. Now YOU need to believe it.
And, if you're the loved one providing support to someone who feels unworthy and inherently flawed, remind that person that this is just a feeling--not reality. Provide examples of why you love that person for who she or he is, not what she or he does or has. It's a message that, when communicated authentically, can't be delivered enough times:
You will always be a good person. You will always be loved.
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