Fast

My body seemed to heal and flare up in a never-ending cycle. When I got married, I was still sick. Still searching. Still hoping. But finding out I was expecting, and then giving birth to my oldest, only added to the medical roller coaster that was my body’s default setting. I was still looking for the elusive answer to my issues.

One day, before yet another appointment with my gastroenterologist, I slipped into a nearby bookstore to browse for a few minutes. Idly picking up a book, I suddenly realized that I was holding an answer — a desperate one.

The book was about the power of long fasts as a tool to heal illnesses like mine. I devoured the information. The author believed that the body has a natural ability to heal itself when given the space.

I showed it to my doctor, who shook her head.

“This book talks about fasting. That’s not something I would do.”

But I kept researching. None of my doctors offered me any hope, and I couldn’t live like this anymore. I discovered that the type of supervised therapeutic fasting the book described was only being done in specialized clinics, mostly in the US, far from my home in Eretz Yisrael. So I called the author of the book, a doctor in New Jersey. He listened carefully, but told me he didn’t have a proper facility to monitor patients long-term.

“This treatment isn’t legal in Israel, but there’s a clinic in California,” he said. “It’s legal and safe. Look into it.”

I did.

By the time I reached California, my colitis had spread. The doctor ran extensive tests to check my overall health and confirm that I could undergo treatment. I stayed in a special section for patients of the clinic, where I was monitored and supervised by doctors and nurses during my 14-day water-only fast. Different people and body types can fast for different lengths of time, so I was checked every day to see how I was dealing with the fasting. I stayed at the clinic for a full month: one week of preparation, two weeks of fasting, and a final stretch for recovery.

Maybe it was my imagination, but a few days into the fast I felt like my body was resetting itself, calming, and transforming. After the fast, I did another colonoscopy — the same test I’d had dozens of times before — and this time, everything was clean. I flew back home and showed my Israeli doctor the before and after colonoscopy images. She shook her head. “I don’t believe in this.” She didn’t have to. The pictures spoke louder than her words.

I was able to eat without fear. I could leave my house. I could walk. Wheeling my baby in his stroller around the neighborhood, breathing the fresh air and seeing the blue sky, I finally felt free.

Hike

Soon after, we exchanged the deep blue sky of Eretz Yisrael for the often slate-gray skies of Manchester, England. It was a busy time. I was juggling a new home, a new culture, and a new job. But as time passed and we settled in, I felt the urge to get out. Walking outside was something I didn’t take for granted, and I wanted to do more of it. Remembering the times I couldn’t trust my own legs to carry me, when the simple act of moving forward felt out of reach, made every step a miracle, a celebration — and a victory.

I found a national hiking group called the Ramblers. There was a branch in Manchester, and I joined. The leader of our group scouted out the area first, using old-fashioned maps, and every Wednesday, rain or shine, we journeyed to the countryside. It was often a full-day adventure. Sometimes, the area was an hour’s drive away, followed by hours of hiking, but the experience of walking through the beauty of the English scenery was exhilarating.

When Covid hit, that was the end of the Rambler walks. Those trips had been 30-60 minutes away from my house, but now I went out on my own, discovering the beauty spots closer to home, learning every bus route by heart. Soon I realized that walking alone wasn’t the same. As the months dragged on, I felt isolated and stifled. Even as restrictions eased, the Ramblers still hadn’t started again.

“Why don’t you take some Jewish women on one of those walks?” my mother suggested. “So many ladies don’t know where to go, or they don’t want to walk by themselves. You don’t need the Ramblers. Just do it yourself.”

She was right. Why should I walk all alone? But this had to be shorter than the Ramblers. We needed walks that could fit into a busy Jewish woman’s life. I decided to do a variety of times, a mix of close (five to ten minutes away) and “far” (20 to 40 minutes away), with walks ranging from half an hour to an hour and a half. Before I could talk myself out of it, I advertised my newly created walking group in a local paper and waited.

Four women joined. We were going on our first walk!

Scout

It was an incredible experience. The fresh air, the camaraderie of walking with a group, and the amazement of the women who had never been to this scenic area right near Manchester — before we returned home, I was already planning the next outing.

As I began this new adventure, I learned. One small group consisted of two athletic hikers and one woman who was out of shape. As she struggled — and her companions disappeared over the horizon — I learned to create groups based on the difficulty of the trails we took.

I also started visiting the spots I chose in advance, scouting out the terrain, sometimes six or seven times, to make sure it was the right level for each individual group. The recipe for a walk needs to be perfect — a dash of challenge, not too much dampness, and the right surroundings. And while in the beginning we would take buses to reach the trails, I soon began driving the women.

When I take a woman out into nature — to breathe fresh air, get some exercise, make friends, carve out a space for herself, and discover new places — it feels meaningful. It’s my form of chesed. Some people love to cook. I love to walk. And I love the endless variety. Sometimes I go with five women, sometimes with a group of 15. Some groups are newbies, others are full of regulars, and some are a mix. These walks have brought so many people together, where the women learn about new spots to visit and make new friends, and I enjoy meeting women of all ages and abilities.

Of course, taking so many diverse groups out for walks means we’ll run into the occasional issue. There’s the woman who insisted on wearing completely inappropriate footwear for a long trek, and the one who dressed for a leisurely Shabbos stroll, not a real get-your-heart-pumping walk. I’ve learned to gently explain how to dress the part of a real walker, with comfortable shoes and clothing.

One of the biggest issues that kept cropping up in the beginning was that the paths we take are a haven for dog-walkers and their canine companions. We would be walking along peacefully, when the women would start to scatter — and I’d see the approaching dog. Even more frightening for some; many of the dogs weren’t leashed. For some women, the fear was crippling. I wanted to help, but I wasn’t sure how.

Meanwhile, I had to attend a networking event for my “real” business (photography), and I convinced an acquaintance to come along. A few weeks later, she was the one introducing me to someone whose profession immediately intrigued me. The man was Jewish, and he had a deep affinity for dogs. He worked as an animal therapist at a school for children with special needs, and I thought he might be the perfect person to help the terrified women in my walking groups. He was interested, and offered to host a workshop about dogs.

That first time, the dog expert spent almost an hour answering fearful questions about dogs, and then explaining how Hashem created the nature of dogs, and the way to understand their behavior. He told the women to explore the source of their fear, and then explained that dogs are intensely social creatures, not aggressive. They use body language — tail wagging, ears perked up or flattened — to communicate. Once you understand what they’re trying to say, dogs seem much less frightening.

We’ve repeated the workshop a few times, and it’s been extremely helpful. After he finishes the indoor presentation segment, the women go outside to the yard where they can pet and walk a group of dogs that he’s brought. Most of them actually try it (for some it’s the first time they’ve ever touched a dog!) and see that it’s not as terrible as they’d imagined. And while the majority of them aren’t rushing to the pet shop to purchase man’s best friend, for these women, walking outside becomes less frightening. Some have told me that even strolls to their neighborhood parks are easier after the Dog Workshop.

Connect

Every time we walk, we discover new beauty spots together. For so many of us, these walks become a way to connect with both nature and each other. The women can be a diverse group, and it’s amazing to watch them chat and laugh together as they walk along the paths I chose.

“It’s the lifeline of my week,” one woman told me.

Everyone’s always exclaiming about how good the walking makes them feel. Life is hectic, and if you’re going to drop a ball, walking is probably the first one that will go. But I always tell the women that they can’t just put exercise on hold until life “calms down.” After all, their future health is 50 percent dependent on what they do now. When you walk now, it’s 50 percent for now and 50 percent for the future.

But this isn’t a health group. It’s an everything group — and sometimes, the connections result in Hashgachah that goes far beyond movement.

There was a woman who was late for her first walk, and we couldn’t wait for her.

“Just catch up with us,” I told her.

She managed to make it, but that was the first and last time she joined. Two years later, I bumped into her, and she shared that on her only walk, she’d formed a relationship with one of the other women. The two struck up a real friendship and kept in touch.

When this woman was having a hard time finding a suitable school for one of her daughters, she mentioned it to her “walking” friend.

“Oh, you know, I know a good school for your daughter,” her friend replied.

The girl is thriving in her new school, and it’s all because of that one walk, which led to one friendship with a woman she would probably not have met otherwise.

Stride

Inspired by the pleasure I get from my women’s walking groups, my husband recently started to arrange walks with men, boys, and local boys’ schools. It’s an aspect of the walking we’d love to develop. And I dream of taking women out one-on-one — the shy women, the ones who need a companion to share some outdoor time with — and helping them enjoy the connection with another person, Hashem, and His beautiful world.

When the women hesitate to come because there’s too much for them to do at home (when isn’t there?), I tell them that when you don’t want to clean your house, you call a cleaning lady. When you don’t have the energy to cook, you just lift the phone and have a pizza delivered. But taking care of your body — no one else can do that for you, even if you pay them.

And when they do come, and I’m outside with them, seeing the beauty and enjoying the camaraderie, I can hardly believe I’m the same person who could once barely get out of bed.

But I’m grateful for the journey. The path I’ve traveled, and the road yet to come. For every step of the way.

Tova’s Tips

Not all trees are the same.
People ask me, “Isn’t nature the same everywhere? Trees, grass?”
Not at all. Every place has its own vibe, its own energy. I’m always on the lookout for a new trail, a new view — because sometimes, you don’t need a vacation, you just need a change of scenery.

You don’t have to walk. Just move.
Walking is great, but it’s not the only option. Don’t love walking? Try biking, swimming, dancing — whatever keeps you moving and gets your heart going. You’ll feel so good afterward.

If you can, skip the treadmill.
Yes, it “counts,” but walking in place isn’t the same as breathing fresh air and seeing the real sky. Go outside when you can. Let your eyes soak in the colors. Smell the fresh air and the trees. Even a ten-minute stroll can shift your whole mood.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 959)