(Holding on) Opportunities (on Hold)

From a list of 117 books put out by My Jewish Learning earlier in the year, I had put a handful on hold.  I read the introductions of a couple.  I skimmed a few.  I purchased one, "My Jewish Year: 18 Holidays, One Wondering Jew" by Abigail Pogrebin.  The premise of the book was to observe all, large and small, well known and often ignored, Jewish holidays across the year. 

Several years ago, I used Ariel Burger's book "Witness:  Lessons from Eli Wiesel's Classroom" as a framework for a blog series.  November would mark three years of studying Hebrew.  While I could pronounce but not remember all the months of the year, I had a solid foundation of major holidays beyond what my childhood self ever knew existed.  I decided to make this book a guide to understand both my year and how my engagement of particular days asked me to pause in reflection, both Jewish and not.  

The book arrived quickly via Amazon but the chapters began with Rosh Hashanah. I waited and I did too. This week I opened and began to read.  The first chapter surprised me, as the author herself also described, that reflection essential for New Year's began forty days prior to Rosh Hashanah.  While I had no knowledge of this practice, I also had to admit, it had always been my practice.  I had already begun. 

First, I was born at the end of August, another 'new year' of sorts.  I considered my birthday worthy of pause and interrogation of past and possible future action.  Throughout the gap between my birthday and Rosh Hashanah, I often returned to these concerns and hopes.  

Second, my gym community participated in a goal setting activity called Fall 50.  It was 50 days of committing to two separate wellness goals which could include nutrition, relationships, spirituality, among others.  As I read Pogrebin's pre Rosh Hashanah narrative, Fall 50 paralleled with the contemplation of traits during Elul.

Third, the apples.  My dad's orchard had 11 varieties, and we began our 'sweet new year' in August.  I loved the connection of Rosh Hashanah with apples and honey, but the reality of the apple year was that all varieties have their own timeline. We weren't in control when they arrived or how many appeared at a time.  Like the apples, beginnings happened before we realized it. 

"There are so many opportunities for new beginnings," I shared this statement as part of my participation time in Hebrew conversation class.  My teacher responded, "Opportunity.  Erin, that is a beautiful word."

It was a beautiful word, even more so when I pronounced it correctly.  It was also a scary word because I wanted to pronounce it correctly.

The right and the wrong of action. I wanted to send sweetness into the world.  I wanted to keep some for myself for later.  Yet, somehow in this year of abundance my dad and I were tripping over to who and when, which recipe to make, what to save in the refrigerator, what to can.  The more apples, the more uncertainty about when he would pick them, created less enjoyment.  

Before Rosh Hashanah and after, I stared at the bags of apples.  

"Wake up," I heard in the Netflix movie, I wasn't sure how much I should enjoy.  

"Start.  Move."

I sliced, baked, dried and canned.  If I kept moving, even the most laborious puzzle would work out.  

Ripped palms from the gym plus hot water.  Cuticles cut from my own nervous teeth dripping with lemon juice.  Hot water.  Lemon juice.  I reached for another apple.  The unknown.  The forgotten.  And another.  I winced at sweetness coated with pain.  The what if, the balance between fear and hope.

Pogrebin realized, ". . . it's a quintessential Jewish act: seeking, grappling.  If you're reaching, it's because you believe there's something to grab hold of." (29)

I was reaching long before the apples.  The holidays I was about experience through the author's eyes had already made me reconsider my Jewish identity through my own eyes.  Despite receiving no interviews for organizations on the JewishJobs listserve, this year I felt more opportunity in my Jewishness than ever.  Apples across all seasons.  Environmentalist.  Feminist.  Reflective.  Kosher.  : environmentalist, feminist, reflective, Kosher. 

I read the next section and then glanced around my room.  Pogrebin focused on the tradition of casting off.  Originally, I had asked the question ‘What could I shed?’  And, there was a difference between ‘garbage’ and items that were not ‘garbage’ but did not have another identity.  A better question was ‘What should I shed?’  There was too much under the bed.  Too much in my closet.  Too many pieces of me that were not pieces of me that needed to remain anymore.

Which brought me back to the apples.  My dad bought those trees.  He pruned them.  He thinned and sprayed the apples.  Ultimately, he picked them.  Somehow, I was the one who was worried about letting them go.  Even in a bad year, he refused to settle for an apple he had to cut around too many wormholes.  I pleaded that he didn’t throw any away.  Despite the investment, when a tree showed it wouldn’t produce, he cut it down without hesitation.  I begged for its life.

 Pogrebin asked, "What are you holding onto?"

When I could identify that, perhaps I would have enough space in my hands to grab for what I was truly reaching.  I closed the book before turning to the page on Yom Kippur.  On Yom Kippur, we would ask, 'what if I die tomorrow?'  Today, I had to sit with, 'what was it that I was keeping that was keeping me here?'