“Y’know, there are some people who fly into a panic when Elul comes. They’re terrified and quaking and totally hating themselves. And then there are those of us who know we should be quaking because we’re far from perfect, but it’s just too hard and scary to focus on.

“But I think we could all be doing this a little differently. We’re approaching our relationship with Hashem through yirah, not ahavah.” I paused again, then shifted topics; Cliff had taught us this move.

“How many of you here are momtrepenuers?”

I scanned the room, more hands than I’d expected. Good.

“So how’s that going? Rough, no? No matter if you’re over the hump, starting a business is capital-H hard. And I’m sure some of you have either called in a numbers guy to help you figure things out, or been audited. Both guys are looking for every error you’ve ever made, but one guy you bentsh, the other you hate. What’s the difference?”

I pointed to one woman who’d raised her hand.

“The auditor is terrifying, and the numbers guy is also terrifying, but exciting too.”

Other women nodded.

“Yes!” I agreed. “Coming to Yom Kippur through yirah is like a mafia sit down with an IRS auditor. You’re quaking in your boots, hope they don’t find anything, you’re thankful when it’s over and hope if there’s a penalty it’s not too bad. It puts you into your place, but it’s easy to fall into a pit of self-loathing with this approach.

“When you come to Yom Kippur through ahavah, it’s like when you invite the numbers guy in. You knew something wasn’t right in your business, you knew it could be better, but you didn’t know what. You hope he finds stuff, you hope he finds everything. Because everything he finds is an opportunity for growth. When you walk out of those sessions you have your work cut out for you, but you’re empowered.

“We can only approach teshuvah from that place if we help put ourselves in that place to begin with. A place of simchah, a place where we can loosen up. And that’s why I suggest adding some silliness to your life — it might help you grow in your relationship with Hashem.”

I sat down, feeling a little weak. I’d never gone so deep into anything, I’m usually fluffier. I gotta give Yehudis credit, this course is giving me the tools to structure myself and take my speeches further.

“Thank you, Rebbetzin. Your words are so inspirational,” the moderator said, then moved on to the next rebbetzin. I looked out at the audience. Many women were looking right back at me, some nodding. One woman was rolling her shoulders, probably because this program was so long. They had listened. It felt so strange.

I looked down to the first row, Yehudis Schloss was sitting front and center. Arms crossed, legs crossed, eyebrows might as well be crossed.

I hope it wasn’t something I said.

“How do women do this more than once?” Leah kvetched from the couch. I was sprawled on the loveseat.

“Eh,” I flicked a wrist. “This is nothing. Second trimester is the easiest.”

“Easiest?” Leah’s voice rose an octave.

“Yup.” I sat up and looked around. The other kids were playing outside or taking Shabbos naps, we could talk freely.

“I’m still so tired. My back kills. My legs feel weird, like I can feel them, does it make sense, how is this supposed to be easy?” Leah whined.

I tried not to laugh. “Just wait till your third trimester, where rolling over in bed takes four-star general military-grade planning.”

“Ha,” Leah said.

She reached for the chocolate covered almonds on the side table between us. Her hand brushed the dish clumsily and it tipped, almonds cascading to the floor.

“Blech.” Leah got up and began collecting the almonds.

“See, if you were in your third trimester, you’d just leave them on the floor. If you were desperate, you’d ask Pinny to do it for you. There’s no way you’re getting up for lowly almonds.”

Leah looked up.

“Look, if you wanna play the kvetching game,” I continued, “my back is killing me, and I can’t stand for more than 20 minutes at one go. The doctor has me walking a half hour every day, that’s why I’ve been going to the library so much. But that doesn’t help the heartburn. I’m like a fire-breathing dragon.”

Leah settled back on the couch. She looked ahead at the door, avoiding my face. The bowl of remaining almonds was on her lap and she took one after another mindlessly.

“Can I have some?” I asked. Leah put the bowl back on the side table and got up.

“I’m going to lie down.”

“What happened to commiserating?” I smiled at her. She didn’t return the gesture.

“It’s kinda weird commiserating over pregnancy with your mother.”

She climbed the stairs.

Well, that didn’t work. I thought commiserating would help us bond. But she still walked away

.to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 701)