Yali Szulanski - Writing

This is a reminder to hold space for your pain. Twenty minutes before Shabbat Shuva, my head racing with competing priorities, my foot urged the accelerator to get me home faster - I suddenly felt chills creeping up my body. An image from a dream I’d had the night before flashes at me - a head on collision with another car. I had woken up with my heart racing, my palms sweating, my breath rapid, and my whole body tense - an unfiltered fear response. ..more in the link below.

Hold Space For Your Pain Yom Kippur 5783

Inside.

We float on dreams,
and relive nightmares.

We practice words
we’ll say when the time comes.

Inside.

We hold our tears,
to show big smiles.

We cover fears,
with ”it’s okay- you’re okay”.

Inside.

We yearn for order,
and live in chaos.

We work for love,
and hide our sorrow.

Inside.

We carry for people,
and drop ourselves.

We open wide,
and wish for closeness.

Inside.

We fear extinction,
but drink from plastic.

We both feel deeply,
and wish it to stop.

Inside.

We are as sure as we stand,
and then fall over.

We want to hold on,
and are told to let go.

Inside.

We hide our scars,
but open our wounds.

We hold hands,
but can’t remember the dance.

Inside.

We carry pain,
and create joy.

We carry hope,
and say we are not afraid.

Inside.

We carry spirit, universe,
and sometimes G-d.

Sometimes not.

We carry on…
and sometimes - everything - not.

Inside.

We see differences,
but carry sameness.

We live in tension,
but laugh together on the release.

Inside

We all know
and yet forget

how to walk on the same road.

Inside A poem about us all.

Honored to write this week’s Dvar Torah for Maharat 💕

Shabbat Shalom!

“While we may work our whole lives towards the goal of full recovery, there will always be a part of us that can only glimpse it from the mountain” - Yali Szulanski (’25)

Read more on this week’s parsha here: https://www.yeshivatmaharat.org/thisweeksparsha

[To Climb “But” Hill You Need Strong “WHY” Shoes]

Hearing “No” is hard. Even if the “no” is said politely — “no, thank you.” or “let’s hold off on this for now” — it’s still hard.

Each of us is trying to create something in this life — we enter the world each day trying to leave it a little bit better than it was that morning. Some of us do this in the boardroom, others in the classroom, and others on the streets — and everything in between. We live in a world of constant content — we can pick up our device and watch, hear about, or scroll through anything about just about anything. It feels overwhelming — especially for those of us who want to create helpful, meaningful work.

On days where I google the term “mindfulness” and come across thousands upon thousands of search results, it is hard not to think that my work, perhaps, isn’t adding that much. This usually happens on days where I have heard that an application I have submitted, a manuscript I have worked on, or a proposal I have sent in — has been rejected. Someone, for some reason, on the other end “loved it, but…” — “You’re amazing, but…” is a refrain I’ve heard over the years of building this work, and this year, I have come to realize that the process of creating can feel very much like an arduous climb, of what I now like to call — “But Hill”.

But Hill is a steep, jagged, rocky path carved into the side of a mountain where it is both intensely hot and humid, and also rains all the time. Oh, and also, there are a lot of exposed roots and tiny pebbles that get into your shoes. And snakes. Lots of snakes. But Hill is unpleasant, it is disheartening to face, and it is — sadly — a necessary climb for any kind of growth. So how do we do it? How do we get on up there and climb that big ol’ But Hill — sometimes every single day? We need to have strong “WHY” shoes.

What are “WHY” shoes? They are the deep, core, spiritually resonant reasons for why you do what you do — for why you get up every single day and contribute to the world. These reasons are solid, deep, and unique to you. If you ask any teacher, for example, why she goes into the classroom every day, very few — if any — will say “for the money.” If you ask an artist why they create over and over again, despite the possibility of years — or maybe decades — without anyone knowing of their work, you will not get the answer “for the fame.” I’m pretty sure Vincent Van Gogh didn’t cut his ear off to become a Tik Tok star.

Your WHY Shoes have to be indestructible. They have to be water resistant, blister repellant, have good grip, and also be incredibly comfortable. Your WHY shoes need to be soft enough for you to land on them every time you are facing But Hill. If you are a teacher, and your WHY Shoes are the love that you feel when you see your students grow — incredible. If you are a community leader, and your WHY Shoes are the rush you feel when you lead a successful effort — cool. If you are working with underserved communities, and your WHY Shoes are the knowledge that every single day, you are helping make someone’s life a little better- — yes! Whatever your WHY Shoes are made of, they better be strong enough to get up But Hill — over, and over again.

I climb But Hill a lot, especially as I am once again beginning to share my work with wider audiences. This year -I have been given the opportunity to climb But Hill many times. From conversations with schools, to submitting writing, to applying for grants and fellowships — But Hill has shown up a lot.

“We were impressed by your background and application, but…”

“You really are such a powerful writer, but…”

“This does sound so great, but…”

“Thank you for submitting such powerful work. We were very moved, but…”

These are real — copy and pasted from emails I have received. I am sharing them because I believe that there is absolutely no shame in trying — and not succeeding. Struggle is to be expected in a long journey — which is what life is — but giving up is just not an option. Some of them are actually quite nice at first, and then there’s the “but”…

Another way to think about But Hill, is to think of the other side — “Not Yet Valley” — hearing a no doesn’t mean give up forever. It actually means: Rethink — Review — Reflect — and Reset. When someone says they love your work, and then follow it up with a “but” — it means something didn’t quite click. Maybe it is energetic, maybe it is in the wording of your proposal, or maybe — it just isn’t the right time.

Every time, I found myself, again, standing at the bottom of But Hill, and asking myself the question, “why should I climb this again?” The answer doesn’t always come easily, sometimes I wonder if I am better off with more “traditional” forms of work. Then, I remember that I am wearing my “WHY” Shoes.

My WHY shoes are the now hundreds of letters, emails, and testimonials I have received from kids, parents, and communities about the impact of the work. I think about the kid who was so afraid to socialize they hid in their closet — who now has emotional and professional stability in their 20s. I think about the kid who was too anxious to go to school, who is now thriving in high school. I think about the kids — so many of them — who were hiding mental struggles — who learned the language that gave them inner strength, and the ability to really help themselves. I think about the kids — now adults -who still write to me about how they use the tools I taught them. My WHY shoes are filled with the knowledge that I can help others lead lives with less suffering, with more emotional strength, and with tremendous potential.

The truth is, for every email that had a ‘but’ in it, there have been so so many that have had “and” — the ultimate connector.

“We love this work, and we feel this is so important for our school community, and…”

“Thank you for submitting such powerful writing. We were so moved, and…”

The “and” is the gentle, sloping downhill on the other side of But Hill. It passes through Not Yet Valley and ends up in “Now is the time” village — and guess what?

We all get there.

It might look different for each of us. We are not all going to be giving TED Talks (although, hey, i’m not against it), but we are all going to make a difference in this world. Our individual contribution might feel small — we cannot all be presidents, CEOs, principals, heads of state, billionaires…but we can all be contributors. We can all be creators, supporters, friends, healers, and allies. We can kiss boo-boos, innovate in our spaces, and make rocking music. We can climb again and again.

But Hill is rough to face, and sturdy WHY shoes will make the journey bearable.

What are your WHY shoes made of?

To Climb “But” Hill You Need Strong “WHY” Shoes Resilience despite Rejection

You know the scene: you are running late, or you’re in a public space — maybe a store, or a community gathering — or you’re just trying to have a quiet morning at home. All of the sudden, seemingly out of nowhere, your child begins to have a really, really big feeling.

Maybe they’re your 3 year old child and they’re crying, screaming, and resisting any kind of conversation.

Maybe they’re your 8 year old child, and they’re saying, “I hate you!” and physically pushing you away.

Maybe they’re your 13 year old child, and they are facing you down with arms crossed, feet planted, and a face that looks like a quickly gathering storm.

Maybe they’re your 15 year old child, and everything that you’re saying, doing, and even the way you’re breathing — is wrong.

Maybe they’re your 18 year old child and they are still in bed — and they can’t seem to leave it.

Regardless of their age, and how the emotion is showing up — it is big, it is loud, and it is disrupting your moment. The way you will react depends on a handful of factors — how you are feeling right then, your priorities for this specific situation, whether you care about what people around you think and — most acutely — the way your emotions were handled when you were a child. In the situation where you are running late, and you need your child to cooperate — you might already be feeling overwhelmed, frustrated, and even disappointed with yourself. When the goal is to get out of the house in a timely manner, it is hard to make space for a child who is having a big feeling.

to read more, click the link below...

Emotions: Suppress, Regulate, or Embody? Why they’re different, and why it matters for your kid (and you).

Kids are sponges. They eat up the way adults in their lives act around them, and more importantly — the way they react. The younger they are, the more they look to the grown ups to help define their worlds —both internal and external.

Our emotional literacy, or the way we interpret and express emotions, is a skill that we strengthen both automatically and deliberately as we grow older. As babies, we develop the ability to interpret sensations — touch, sight, smell, taste, and hearing — to learn about what defines our environment. Even children who may not have full use of all five senses are able to develop an emotional understanding of their environment early on. Our brains are constantly scanning our environments for information that ensures our survival. If we are safe, comfortable, and not exerting too much energy — our brains are happy. It means we are in a state that perpetuates us, well, continuing to exist.

To read more, click the link below...

Children: Little Emotion Mirrors Have you noticed how children mirror your emotions?

Yikes — did your stomach just lurch up a little bit towards your throat when you read that title? Did a shudder reverberate through your spine, emerging from a deeply guarded place in your past? Did you just feel a little bit of dread? fear? anger? sadness? It’s okay — you’re okay.

Let’s take a deep breath. Raise your arms high up in the air - and then as you breathe out - release it all down to the ground. Shake your arms out, roll your shoulders, shake your head.

We don’t like to talk about our failures. Failure feels icky in our bodies, and sticky in our minds. When we are deep in our failure-voice, we are trying to run through a muddy river with lead bottomed boots. We are dirty, grimy, ashamed - and we want to get out of here as fast as possible, and if we can avoid seeing the people involved in our failure- all the better. Maybe we grab some of the mud and rub it all over our faces. We gag. Failure makes us gag.

We would much prefer tell people how well we are doing, how much we are “crushing” our goals, and how good we are at “getting it done.” When people ask us how we are doing, we share the highlights — usually the same ones we might share on social media. We don’t want people to know that we tried something - and it failed.

We like to feel like our life is a highlight reel, because — well — it makes us feel better. As children, many of us were conditioned to believe that anything less than our best was not good enough, or that if we are not good at something— that we might never be. Never for a child is a long, long time. We might have been made to feel bad for failing to do something on someone else’s timeline. We might have internalized that if we are not perfect — not our best — constantly ready to go — then we are not quite going to get there. We might have been ill, weak, or frightened as children, and told that it was our fault — a failure of grit, stamina, or constitution. We internalize these voices, and they become our own. They re-emerge when we are failing to tell us that we are failures. Something as simple trying to bake a cake that didn’t rise can trigger that internalized voice of failure. It can become your “Tiny Spotted Elephant” ( Click here for more on that!) Instead of wanting to try again, we believe that we are made to fail. We believe that we, in fact, are what is causing the fail.

It is very hard to admit when we have failed at something, particularly something that we might have been telling people about.

For some the question, “how did it go?” can be a crushing reminder of disappointment.

The truth is though, we all do it. We all fail — all the time. We don’t respond to emails, we don’t say what we really feel when we saying it might make things better, we’re late, we check our phones while with other people, we find loopholes within loopholes so that we can justify something we’re doing. We fail at work, we fail at home, we fail sometimes just walking down the street (I see you texting and walking). We fail at things that are deeply important to us. We are failed by memories of our past, we fail to appreciate the hope in our futures.

Most glaringly — we fail to recognize just how worthy we are — especially when we fail. When we fail, we often fail rigidly - it didn’t work, it’s over, this will never succeed. I invite in the idea that we can fail flexibly - it didn’t work this way, let’s try again that way, let’s see how it can succeed.

Over the last few days, I have failed spectacularly at two pretty big goals that I had set for this year — one in the professional realm, and another in the personal realm. Both failures occurred basically within 24 hours of each other, and both brought with them a feeling that was quite unexpected: relief.

Yep. I felt relieved at the fact that I had failed at something — two things — that I had dedicated many months, quite a bit of energy, and so much hope to.

The personal goal required five months of hard, dedicated, precise physical, mental and emotional training. It required me to be willing to push through physical limits I thought I had, and mental limits I definitely had. It required that I be kept accountable to another person, who dictated said training and commented on it. It had a very specific goal outcome — with very little wiggle room. Sometimes it meant running 20 miles with a start time before 5am. It required sacrifice on the part of my family for me to have this time to try to reach this goal. On Sunday, a day I had been training for since the second week of January, everything fell apart within the first half hour, and the goal very quickly slipped out of my grasp. It didn’t matter. I was — quite literally — on top of a mountain, and I had to make my way down.

In what turned out to be one of the most grueling — and memorable — 3 hours 48 minutes and 18 seconds of my life, I pushed to get to a finish line in a body that wasn’t responding the way I expected it to, and a mind that was reeling. I faced fear that I wouldn’t make it, anger at wanting to stop, and sadness at having to let go. I could feel my body shutting down, and I heard my mind screaming. I also had no cell service, so there was no one I could call. It was just me, on the mountain, making my way down. It might have felt meditative, had my insides not been writhing in pain the entire time. The pain was real, acute, and crushing. I felt the disappointment start to seep in when I knew my goal was out of reach. The voice admonishing me for wasting so much time and energy cleared its throat and began to sing in my ear.

I barely had the energy to contradict it - but I had enough energy to start asking questions. I wondered about how much value we attach to our goals, and what we are learning from constantly chasing them. I wondered about how we chase them, what they mean, and what happens when we fail. I wondered, “what is the point of all of this?”

I began to ask the question that I tell so many others to ask themselves in tough times: “Why is this happening FOR me?”

The answer didn’t come on the mountain. By hour 2, my focus was: get water, don’t get eaten by a bear, and get home. The answer came later, on my drive home, after blessedly having made it down: this happened today because again I see the strength I have to keep going. I know I can do hard things. I know I am resilient. I know that I am worthy. I failed, spectacularly, at this goal, because I am worthy of another try. The relief came with gratitude and hope.

We are all worthy of another try. If you look into the scripture of many of our organized faiths, there is messaging from The Sages on the virtue of trying again. (Pirkei Avot 5:22–24 for anyone interested in some Jewish text). We are worthy of the again!— at a physical goal, at something we want to accomplish professionally, even deeply personal quests that we aren’t sharing with the world quite yet. We can all fail flexibly.

The professional goal — this, as expected, is quite a bit more complex. It involves other people, it is tied to what I am most passionate about, and it is in a space that I love. Being in this work feels like being wrapped up in a yummy sweater made of the softest yarn. I am pretty obsessed with this sweater -and I wanted another party to experience it. Yet — a couple of months ago, I found a loose string, and I started to pull on it. Pretty soon, all I could focus on was the string — and the sweater began to unravel. I received much commentary on how quickly this sweater can unravel from others who had worn ones like it — and yet here I was, pulling at the string. Earlier this week— the sweater finally unraveled beyond wearability. No one could enjoy it - not me, and not the other party.

Again, I felt something odd: relief.

Although this time, rather than the gratitude and acceptance that came with Sunday’s failed goal, this relief brought with it sadness and disappointment. Sometimes, failing is public — and hard. Sometimes our reputations ride on it. Sometimes it feels like we are pulling a layer of skin off our face — in front of everyone.

Again, I asked the question, “Why is this happening FOR me?”

I resisted the answer. I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted to hear that I could fix it. That I could remake this sweater and share THIS sweater. I really couldn’t — the sweater was no longer wearable. The sweater, however, still had yarn that was perfectly usable. The yarn — beautiful, intricate, well made — could be re-used. Ah. The answer was: This is happening because you created something good. It might not be right for this place at this time — but it will be right for others. Use the yarn again. Share the yarn. Try again. Make a new sweater. Fail flexibly.

I don’t know yet what the next try looks like for either goal. The failure is too fresh, too sore. There are still raw, emerging feelings that I need to tend to, process, and release. The sadness still emerges at night, I still am having conversations about it in my dreams. I have no idea how I will try again — on either front — but just the knowledge that I can, that I am able to, that I am worthy of it -is a miracle.

We all love to win, to succeed, to get at it. It’s very exciting to share good news — it can uplift, spread joy, encourage others. Failure, though, as it turns out — can be a real gift too. Talking about our failures — openly, honestly, vulnerably — shows real courage. It can encourage others to try — and fail — and share about it. It can teach our children that it’s okay to try many times to get something right — or not. It can help someone who is struggling, but isn’t sharing about it. It can help heal our past — where we were told that we were not okay. We can fail flexibly, and show others that they can too.

We are okay. We are worthy of another chance, another try, another YES. Our challenges show us our strength, so that one day we can bask in the glow of our successes.

This life will leave us all with battle scars. When we fail flexibly, we learn how to get up again — stronger. We learn how to keep going.

Let’s Talk About Failure Yikes — did your stomach just lurch up a little bit towards your throat when you read that title? Did a shudder reverberate through your spine, emerging from a deeply guarded place in your past? Did you just feel a little bit of dread? fear? anger? sadness? It’s okay — you’re okay.

Today I am thinking a lot about The Tiny Spotted Elephant. What is The Tiny Spotted Elephant? It is the manifestation of that voice that shows up to say you're not good enough. It's that little itty bitty whisper in your ear that says "this isn't going to work" when you're trying something new. It's that cackle that you feel in your heart when you hit a roadblock, and it says "I told you so." It is the voice of your past - people who told you to stop being you, to be someone else. It is the grown ups that zapped your confidence as a kid, and then blamed you for it. It is you - trying, falling, trying again. It's a very, very persistent creature, this Tiny Spotted Elephant. .Click to read more!

The Tiny Spotted Elephant and other voices of doubt, shame, and regret.

We think we know...

Broken People #Poem We think we know each other, because it once rained upon us too. Trouble greets us all,  whether we are five or ninety-two.

[Some of us]
April 18,2022

Some of us in shackles,
Some of us in chains,
Some of us in throes of long enduring pains.

Some of us in illness,
Some of us in dirt,
Some of us in bodies shielding others from our hurt.

Some of us in ego,
Some of us in shame,
Some of us still longing for long desired fame.

Some of us in war,
Some of us in hiding,
Some of us still wondering why we are law abiding.

Some of us in silence,
Some of us in cries,
Some of us on ships still wandering the skies.

Some of us in grief,
Some of us in rage,
Some of us still rattling in our cage.

Some of us are gone,
Some of us are lost in memory,
Some of us are shells of who we used to be.

Some of us are trying,
Some of us can’t see,
Some of us haven’t yet left Egypt, some of us aren’t free.

"Just like that , this insightful eight year old hovered over the question of— “can there be freedom without suffering? and without suffering, is it really freedom” Could G-d have scooped us up to freedom in an embrace of compassion, rather than through a road of destruction? Can we have peace without war?"

Does G-d have arms? Have you ever wondered? In the narrative of of the Haggadah, we read about a G-d that pulled the Israelite slaves from Egypt into freedom…

We are allowed to feel joy. We are allowed to feel joy This morning in a classroom, a group of children were making cards to send to children who have fled their homes in Ukraine, and are currently housed as refugees in Poland. The conversation flitted oddly between talk of war —

She is everywhere you look; her work brings your sustenance.

She is the teacher.
She is the farmer.
She is the fundraiser.
She is the director.
She is the writer.
She is the actor.
She is the doctor.
She is the principal.
She is the Rabbi.
She is the CEO
She is the intern.
She is the change maker.
She is the instigator.
She is the healer.
She is the mother.

[A Woman of Valor - 2022 adaptation] Happy International Women's Day...

"When we choose to say, "oh that's happening over there", and move on with our lives while another nation faces war, destruction, major disruption, and its people face displacement and very real death - it is a shrug that is felt across oceans. War is not new to our planet, nor do we truly have a day where there is no war on the Earth. There are battles that we, in the west, do not hear about - or choose not to. Those of us with personal or religious ties to Israel feel this deeply several times a year - when rockets rain down on cities that hold our loved ones, and palpable fear is heard in their voices. "

[On Grace, War, and Impact] I rarely get to see any physical trace of the runs I go on - I take the steps, add up the miles, and go on my way. As I was going around in circles this morning, grieving so much of what the world holds in it today, I noticed that - given the sleet, and my being the only person out today - I kept se...

 “who is flying this plane?” - in each of us? in the places we work? in the schools our kids (or we) attend? in our communities? in this country? In the world?

Who is flying this plane? Last week, we went on what was our first plane ride as a family- and real getaway in over two years. My kids don’t know this, but despite…

“We are waiting for one of us to discover the miracle, to bring it forward, to share it with us in a gentle way so that we may again sleep at night, so our hearts can dream.

Almost every conversation now is tinged with anticipation — will you have the miracle for me? Will you give me the permission that I need to release, exhale, let go?”

Yearning Wakeful Heart We are asleep, but our hearts are wakeful

"Life is full of moments where we stand on the edge of The Wilderness — a place that is both frightening and hopeful. The Wilderness can show up when we feel a sense of restlessness in a job or relationship, it can show up when we look at our child for the first time and we are flooded with both love and tremendous fear, or it can show up in the silence between the grunts of despair — the sounds of growth happening."

Embrace The Wilderness Lessons from this week's Parasha and Paw Patrol

Yali Szulanski - Writing updated their info in the about section.

Do you know someone who needs help with their writing? Are you working on a project and need a copy boost? Are you struggling with your writing? Is your child struggling with their writing? Is writing a paragraph for homework torture for them? Do you want their writing to improve over the summer?

I offer coaching in writing for kids ages 8 and up, for adults in expressive/creative/blog writing, editing services for projects small and large, ghostwriting (when you want to tell a story, but are struggling with writing it yourself) - and translation services!

Reach out via messenger or at [email protected] for rates and availability!

Feel free to share this post with anyone who might be interested.

"“Both….and…” is hard. It rarely makes sense. It gives us the creepy crawly crazy feeling. Yet -here we are, in a new year (right?) living it every day. In some ways we are both teaching and learning, both shrinking and growing, both fearing and hoping.

I both ran past the chair, and took it home within me."

Living in the time of "both...and..." Nothing makes sense right now. One day it will all make sense. These are the dualities that we live in right now. We live in a time where we are both in the past and in the future — and quite disbelieving of the present. In the same week, I found myself both saying that the kids I am seeing are ex...

“The plague of darkness evokes imagery of desperation, fear, and of dark times. It is the plague, perhaps, that most echoes the time we live in now.”

Bo: In Times Of Darkness, Can We Share Our Light? By Yali Szulanski - Hazon “The plague of darkness evokes imagery of desperation, fear, and of dark times. It is the plague, perhaps, that most echoes the time we live in now.” Parashat Bo occurs in anticipation of Bne’i Israel’s exodus from Egypt. Here, the last three plagues coincide with a divine hardening of Phara...

"Survivors of struggles with mental illness, of trauma, and of abuse often describe this experience of moving through life, but not quite feeling part of it. Children and adolescents with whom I work have even described their feelings of anxiety as a separating force from those who appear “normal”. “Why can’t I just be like everyone else in my family/class/community?” is a question I tackle often when working with young people who already carry the weight of an internal battle."

Why we HAVE TO talk about Bruno: validating survivors mental illness, trauma, and abuse. *this post contains spoilers for Disney’s new movie, Encanto, and discussion of sexual assault, and traumatic events*

Sharing a piece I wrote for The Bayit's Social Action Chanukah Reader:

Change Agents in Paradox
Yali Szulanski

Jews are good at paradox. From a young age, we are both taught to be able to live with joy in the celebration of life, and the challenge of what it means to live as a Jewish person imbibed with the painful history of our people. Most of our holidays ask us to hold both triumph and tragedy together in one celebration - from Purim, to Pesach, to Hannukah, we are asked throughout the year to hold the stories of thousands of lives lost, while at the same time praising the mighty, the few, and the strong who perpetuated our survival. This paradox we live in, as Carl Jung would say, acts as a great witness to the truth - it comprehends the fullness of life, which is sometimes beautiful and sometimes terrible. On Hanukkah each year, we envelop ourselves in the narrative of miracle, of lights shooing away darkness, and the small beating out the mighty, when in reality, those were instances of joy juxtaposed with tremendous pain.

In describing the mitzvot connected with Hanukkah, the Talmud explores the definition of miracle - often declaring that since all were present at the time, all are obligated to observe. As part of this celebration, we tell the story of what we are celebrating, and we perform rituals in which we commemorate and celebrate. When it comes to Hanukkah, these often involve fire, oil, and much delicious food. There is an immense amount of joy in Hanukkah - it is often a favorite holiday of children due to its less restrictive nature in terms of observance, and more opportunities for communal gatherings.

In Megillah 18a, The Sages are in a heated debate about whether or not one must understand the word of the Megillah in order to fulfill the Mitzvah of Megillah by hearing it. The Mishnah says - yes. The Talmud raises a difficulty on this—how can one fulfill one’s obligation without even understanding what he is hearing? What meaning is there to such an act? How can one celebrate a miracle without fully holding it in its entirety? One of the answers is, that’s just the way it is! Ravina, a 5th generation Amora, finds difficulty with this since there are words in the Megillah that even Hebrew speakers would not understand. From the presence of these words, Ravina concludes that in general reading the Megillah is not in order to understand it. It is a ritual act that one must “perform” with or without understanding. Its purpose is to “proclaim the miracle” just like the lighting of the Hanukkah candles. Therefore, there is no need to actually understand the words. In two of our story-heavy holidays, Purim and Hanukkah, the actual understanding of the miracle is not actually necessary for the performance of the ritual. The celebration is a paradox - we survived, and yet we don’t necessarily need to know what it is we survived in order to celebrate. Were I to comment, I might ask - shall we not spend a moment in the pain that is rooted in our stories, and bloom from its understanding?

We live in a pandemic time. While many would rather refer to it in the past tense, or use the term “post-COVID”, the reality is that this fire still burns brightly for most of the globe. Even in the parts of the United States where vaccination rates are high, and people still wear masks while walking outside, parents of preschoolers shudder at unwelcome sneezing from their children. We are in a race against the clock, against an invisible virus, and against ourselves- but there is no medal at the end of this race. No one will be waiting for us when it is truly “post-COVID” with a heat sheet and a bag of pretzels. Rather, we will be left with the deep wounds of millions of people taken from their lives, entire communities ravaged by housing insecurity, unemployment, and socioeconomic devastation, and the lingering trauma that we have yet to understand. Yet, we really only want to read the hopeful stories - the ones that say case numbers are down, that vaccinated folks only have mild symptoms, and that international travel is open once again. Those who dare write about the suffering that is rooting itself in the narratives of our children's lives - and our lives - face being the target of a polemic response. Still - while my three year old son runs away at the sight of a Q-tip, he understands why the momentary discomfort is necessary to keep our community safe. He - at such a young age - can hold the paradox of “this hurts, and I know why it is good.”

The suffering of our time is not hyperbole, it is fact. We know from our own history that the more we silence the pain, the more we are likely to suffer its consequences in the future. Yet - we do know how to hold pain together with joy, we do it every year, several times a year! So much growth can come from also sitting with the pain, the loss, and the grief. We teach our children to look at the silver that ligns pain, when in reality, being able to sit with what is hard is how we get through to growth, evolution, and real change. When we teach our children that these miracles are diamonds in deep muddy waters of painful history, we teach them that they can get through hard times, that they can do hard things, and that they can become growth agents, and solution makers. If we can sit with what is hard, we can truly celebrate what is miraculous.

Change Agents in Paradox Jews are good at paradox. From a young age, we are both taught to be able to live with joy in the celebration of life, and the challenge of…