What do you do on the Day of Atonement when you can't forgive?

I always tell people that I've never been less religious in my life since living in Israel. My religious friends cringe when they hear that statement, but it is absolutely true. There are many reasons and excused for this lack of religiosity, and to be honest, none of them are adequate. If Judaism was our priority, we would be attending synagogue, even if the synagogue that we find appealing is not close to our home. We do light candles on shabbat, say kiddush (holy wine), and eat challah bread. However, besides having a mezuzah on our door, lighting Chanukah candles and building a sukkah (here a Sukkah is common as Christmas trees in the states), Judaism does not permeate our lives as it did in Chicago.

However, my dear friend and Rabbi extraordinairre, Elliot Cosgrove shared a post on Facebook that motivated me to take a step back and reflect. See, the month before the Jewish high holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, you are supposed to prepare your soul for the work that needs to be done during the Days of Awe culminating in Yom Kippur (which my daughter and secular Israeli kids call bicycle day because there are no cars on the streets and you can ride your bicycle everywhere). Here's part of what he wrote on the Park Avenue Synagogue Facebook page:

Perhaps the power and promise of this month of Elul and the coming High Holy Days is not so much in seeking awe-inducing revolutions but in identifying the small yet significant course corrections needed in our lives: making the phone calls we should be making more often, resuming the good habits that we have let lapse, restoring the relationships that have atrophied. We all have a “best self” who has become unfamiliar to us in the year gone by. These holy days call on us to identify that person whom we seek to be but are not, and then close the gap. And we don’t have to wait for the year ahead to begin. The month of Elul offers us the chance to get a head start.

So, I've taken this wisdom to heart, and have identified some small areas in my life in which I can improve. However, one can't think of the High Holidays and not consider from whom, besides The Inscriber, you must ask for forgiveness. I am pretty good at that part, but the part of the holiday that I really, really struggle with is forgiving others as instructed by this prayer:



I have had some really terrible thoughts about people who have wronged me. I have that at least the popular notion of "Karma is a bitch" was real. Even my husband, who is pretty relaxed about interpersonal issues said about an unscrupulous person, "One day that person will get theirs." But it's pretty clear that the Rabbis wanted us to drop it, or as Rabbi Elsa said, "Let it go."

Non-religious writings, specifically in psychology, spout the benefits of forgiveness. There are 2759 quotes on Goodreads about forgiveness. So, this is very much a secular value as well.

Then or so why is it so hard?

For the few people who have wronged me, there is a subset of them with whom I just am angry at the action, not the person. Those people are easier to forgive (but not forget). However, there are a few people who I cannot (yet?) forgive.

Nelson Mandela, may he rest in peace, would advise me otherwise, “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.”

And of course, he had exponentially and infinitely more reason to resent those who wronged him than I do, yet still it's advice that's unheeded. So, what I've decided this year is to change course. Instead of feeling like a failure for being unable to forgive those few people on my list, I've decided to forgive myself for being unable (right now) to do so. It's not like these grudges affect me on a daily basis. It's not hindering my professional or personal success. Sure, would I prefer to be forgiving? Of course. Do I recognize that the anger must serve a purpose of some sort? Yes. But I can't forgive these few people, and I'm more consumed with self-loathing for not being able to "let it go" than the grudge against the people who have wronged me. I can understand why this might seem narcissistic, but this admission, this confession, will help me work on what is possible for me at this point in my life, and perhaps next year I can do better.

Fitbit or bust? An introduction to my complicated relationship with food and exercise.

Today I wore my new Fitbit. It’s a watch that reveals my deepest secrets. I have owned several Fitbits. They have either gotten lost or I have gotten frustrated with charging them or angry at myself for not reaching my goals. I’ve even gotten angry at myself when I’ve reached my goals, but they weren’t recorded by my Fitbit because it wasn’t charged or I forgot to wear it. If your Fitbit didn’t count the steps, they weren’t walked. Right?

So with my new Fitbit, I walked to the beach. Given that it’s summer and that I’m jet lagged, and my kids are jetlagged, I spend a lot of time sitting. So, I made myself get off the couch and walk to the beach. It would be the only way for me to reach my 10,000 steps today, never mind that we own a treadmill that I’ve used twice in the year that we’ve had it. I would allegedly use it more if my husband installed the shelf he promised to install so that I could watch t.v. on the ipad. Why should I try to install it myself or call the elderly handyman to do it? If I did that, then I’d have to walk on the treadmill or feel worse about the fact that I don’t.

See? I'm athletic.

It's not that I'm not athletic. I have some athletic ability. I have good hand-eye coordination. I can play sports. I just have issues with physical fitness and have, sadly, for more than 30 years. (Or perhaps sadder is all of the energy I spent lamenting, and obsessing over my size eight jeans when now I wear a 10 or 12. Or to cropping pictures that I felt made me look fat when now I have an actual pouch.)

There is little that I feel more defeatist and more negative about than exercise and my weight. I’ve felt this way since I was 9 or 10, when I realized I was overweight. I’ve never wanted to exercise more and eat less, even, or perhaps especially, when I’ve committed to do so.

I could lie to you and say that I don’t have time to exercise or that I barely eat. But it’s not true. You may look at me empathetically and say, “Well, you do work full time, and you do have two small children.” But the thing is, I do have time, I just choose not to exercise. There are moms who work more hours with more children who exercise.  I also know how not to exceed my calorie intake-exercise ratio, but I really just want to eat what I want to eat.

So, one might argue that I should embrace my slovenliness. There are body acceptance movements that I’ve thought of being apart of. They don’t discourage exercise, but they do forbid body shaming. I don’t know if I can get on board with being proud of my body. Deprogramming years of contrary messages would take more work than, well, exercising and being part of a Facebook group.

Now usually comes the time when several friends will recommend yoga. You should do yoga (which is code for “you need a therapist.”) I have tried doing yoga probably 100 times. And each time I’ve hated it. First of all, I never feel like I’ve worked out. I trust all of the beautiful celebrities that it’s a workout, but it’s never felt like one to me. I also hated being adjusted by the instructor and because I’m uncoordinated and not flexible, I constantly needed adjusting. Sure, most instructors would ask, “Can I adjust you?” But saying no seemed really aggressive, even though in my head I thought “Noooooooooo!!!!!!” The last time I did yoga, at my gym in Chicago, during shivasana (so annoying the cultural appropriation), I made a promise to myself: I will never do yoga again. I have been very committed to that practice.

I’ve also been committed to working out with a trainer once a week. I’ve been working out with a trainer for about 15 years. Here’s the thing with working out with a trainer. After the first five years, you really shouldn’t need a trainer unless your problem is motivation, which mine is. I started working out with a trainer after an exbf encouraged me to run. He was a marathon runner and being fit was super important to him. I jogged with him for one minute and I immediately ran out of breath. He said something I will never forget, “It’s disgusting that you can’t run a few hundred feet without getting winded.” This guy wasn’t particularly emotionally abusive at this point in our relationship, but that line certainly was. Later he apologized by saying that he was used to dating physically fit women, but I had other good qualities. Thanks?

Running has never been my thing. I played soccer, goalie, and until I got to high school my slow pace never mattered. However, in high school, that wasn’t the case. For three years, every day at the end of summer and during the fall, the entire team would run in two lines. The person in the back would have to sprint to the front. This went on during the entire run (at least that’s how I recall it). I could last a couple of laps, and then I had to go at my own pace. Then, after the team had completed all of their laps, the captains would have to come out and bring the stragglers home (read: run more). I was always a straggler and perhaps there were one or two others. However, I was the consistent weak link.

The first three years, I didn’t mind the humiliation of being escorted by the captains. The captains were not my close friends. And honestly, I did try my best. I did train during the year. However, my senior year two of my close friends were captains. The third captainwasn’t a close friend, but still a peer I respected who could outrun anybody with two huge knee braces on her legs.  During that first practice, they had to bring me home w after doing many, many of those sprint-laps in the midwest summer heat. As we ran in, and the rest of the team looked on and clapped for the senior straggler, I thought about how many times my friends would have to “bring me home” that season. The next day I came to practice and told the coach that I quit. It wasn’t easy. Despite what I’ve written, I’m not a quitter. However, I couldn’t take the guilt and humiliation of those laps day after day.

After quitting soccer, I barely ever ran. I tried 5ks, but I was so slow, I didn’t see the point of paying 30 bucks for my lack of fitness recorded in a database. Also, the snacks at the finish line usually erased any calories I burned at the 5k. Also, every time I would run as an adult, I would get injured.  I did ride in Little 500 my freshman year of college. I also rode in the MS 150 when I was 30. There have been times when I could commit to fitness. But these have been short lived.

MS 150. Could have used a road bike. 

So after the disgusting comment, I hired a trainer. Training has been really wonderful for me, but very costly. However, I keep spending the money because otherwise I wouldn’t work out even once a week. In addition, it has increased my strength, although still not my cardiovascular health. I do credit training to making my deliveries and postnatal recoveries easier. (If you need a trainer in Chicago, LA, or Israel, I can recommend some great ones).

Buzz buzz. Oh, thank God. I hit my 10,000 steps. Will I hit them tomorrow? Or the next day? Or next week? I hope so. Otherwise my husband has already called dibs on the Fitbit so he can use it while he’s running on the treadmill.