Spreading My Wings: Chapter 9
| November 4, 2020Soon, inevitably, I will be part of the afar I came from. But I can make my life into something that matters — by connecting to You
When you’re precariously posed at the brink of a new year, the future is scary to contemplate. As you get older, you realize just how much is at stake. Life itself is, of course. But so is every other factor and facet of our lives. Nothing is forever. And nothing can be anticipated as inevitable, either.
A week before Rosh Hashanah, I got a phone call. It was one of my closest high school friends. Her voice, normally cheerful, was morose. “Freida Rochel’s father was niftar,” she told me hoarsely. “He was sick for three years. They kept it a secret. She never even came to seminary.”
I hung up, sank down on my bed, and buried my face in my hands. I had never been close with Freida Rochel. She was a happy girl who never seemed to be struggling with something so difficult. And now, at the start of what was supposed to be her seminary year, her world had crumbled.
My heart ached for her. As I sobbed, I prayed that I hadn’t added to her pain over the years by saying something insensitive. The thought that I might have said something to hurt her was excruciating.
As I tearfully mouthed words of Tehillim, I davened for Freida Rochel’s father to have an aliyas neshamah and for her and her family to find strength. To find comfort. Pouring my tears into tefillah helped me feel that I was partnering with them from afar, both in pain and in prayer. I achieved closure that way. But that mournful night gave me a new perspective on approaching the Yom Hadin.
This year was my first where the variables were so totally up in the air. In grade school, you sort of know what to expect. There’s always health, Eretz Yisrael, and Mashiach to daven for, and then the usual teachers, friends, school, jobs, grades. But this year, I had no framework to apply my tefillos to; what lay ahead was completely unknown. Aside from wondering which friends I would make, which responsibilities I would get involved in, where I would go, and what I would be exposed to, there was the scary thought of what would happen after seminary. Because if you do the math, even though it’s called a “seminary year,” seminary is not a year long. And Rosh Hashanah has to last you all the way until next Tishrei!
I had no clue what I was doing with myself after seminary. All those life-altering decisions I knew I would have to make once this “year” was over were part of the plan that would be mapped out for me this Rosh Hashanah.
With so much so clearly in Hashem’s hands, my tefillos took on a completely unspecific nature. I viewed myself as being judged for whom I wanted to be and what I wanted to accomplish for Hashem in the world. I thought back to the way I had used my year gone by, and I felt an intense readiness and desire to use what He would hopefully gift me this year for His sake once more.
On the second day of Yom Tov, as I stood in the seat that my brother Shmuli had bought for me, surrounded by other seminary girls and older kollel wives, the chazzan reached the chilling crescendo of Unesaneh Tokef. V’kachalom ya’uf, he screamed. We are nothing. And then, the booming response from the congregation: V’atah hu Melech. You are everything.
Suddenly, my thoughts crystallized before me. My life is a tiny blip in time, I realized. Soon, inevitably, I will be part of the afar I came from. But I can make my life into something that matters — by connecting to You. Because You are the Melech Kel Chai V’Kayam.
And how can I do that? From my machzor, the answer jumped out at me. U’seshuvah, we cried — doing Your Will. U’tzedakah — becoming a conduit for Hashem’s brachah to others.
The chazzan started Kedushah as our tears dried on our faces. Please, I begged, gift me the privilege of living a life that sanctifies Your name. For Your sake, HaKadosh Baruch Hu.
It’s a tefillah that has stayed with me ever since.
to be continued…
(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 834)
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