We had a variety of lovely guests
on a Shabbos afternoon, and as I was preparing the next course, the ladies
congregated in the kitchen, and we started talking about cooking. We reminisced
about feeding our families “once upon a time.” One of the women admitted that
she no longer enjoys cooking. My eyes grew wide as she went on to confide that she
felt downright fear. I couldn’t believe my ears because all along I thought I
was the only one.
My memory of those bygone days is
rather sketchy, but I know for a fact that I kept my family well-fed. Like my
contemporaries of that time, we cooked and cooked and cooked some more. In
those out-of-town years, our friends were our family, and so we had guests
aplenty to cook for, along with the home crew. I can’t say I was ever a chef;
cooking was something I just did. And as my grandmother, a”h, used to
say, “And how!”
It was only once the children left
the nest and my 9x13 pans were replaced by 8x8 ones that I stopped cooking even
more. Added to that, my husband’s and my appetite changed so much that Shabbos
meant a simple dinner for two rather than a seven-course meal.
As my cooking stints began to
dwindle, a fear, real and raw, crept in, taking my breath away. And before I
knew it, we stopped having guests altogether. Well, sometimes I would invite someone,
but only at the very last minute when the menu was already planned. I told
myself that I liked spontaneity, but in that deep, dark place, down where no
one sees, I knew the truth.
As my husband found more chavrusas,
he started suggesting that we invite some of these delightful families to our
Shabbos table. “Could I do that?” I wondered as my fear began rearing its ugly
head. “Let’s think about it,” I would say.
That fear without a name showed up
periodically at my front door, wearing hats of different colors and styles. It
knocked rather loudly when it came to learning, since I didn’t grow up hearing
stories on the parsha, never heard of Navi, and didn’t know what
learning meant unless the subject was math, history, or grammar. We called it “studying”
back then, and it was something you did to pass a test. In fact, I can attest
that my fear of learning began at the same time as my fear of failing the many
tests and quizzes that came my way. The day I closed my books for the last time
was a happy day indeed, but by the time I was on the path of emes, those
learning fears of mine were still simmering beneath the surface.
The same was true regarding
davening. When my children were young, I didn’t have time to daven, but there
was a legitimate excuse that we women all had, and you can bet I took full
advantage. When those excuses were no longer there, I found other ones to
replace them. I kept myself busy with everything I could think of except what I
knew deep down was missing – something my neshama was craving yet didn’t
dare face. And so, I sailed away on a voyage, finding my way to a new city and
a new job, all the while navigating this new stage of life-beyond-parenting. As
I dabbled in this and looked into that, nothing seemed to hold my interest for
very long.
And then one day, seemingly out of
the blue, I started learning on my own. Our son told my husband and me about
this fascinating place in Lakewood called Capitol Sefarim. It was everything I
loved about bookstores, shelves crammed with books of all genres and that
wonderful smell of old books that can only be found in a used bookstore like
this one. We found ourselves leaving the store each time we visited with stacks
of treasures.
It could be the Yamin Nora’im
davening that did it. Maybe it was then that my neshama was finally dusted
off after years of being buried somewhere. I don’t know; all I do know is that since
then, my Shabbos afternoons now include learning along with my afternoon nap.
Who would have ever believed it? It seems that a lightbulb of sorts has been
turned on, and with slow and careful steps, I have found my way into the world
of mussar. I stumbled upon Rav Ezra Zafrani on Torah Anytime, who
reminds me of a Sefardic version of Rav Avigdor Miller. Then there’s this
wonderful Mesillas Yesharim shiur I recently discovered with
Baltimore’s own Rebbetzin Baila Berger that just “happens” to take place when I
am not working.
Character development is hard work,
and I’ve joined all those who came before me in discovering that the more a
person knows, the more he realizes what he doesn’t know. Thankfully, my
teachers treat their students with lovingkindness since we are not from the
generation of the Novardok yeshiva. It’s been a good beginning to a wonderful
journey, and I hope to go veiter (further) for many years to come, with
the help of the One and Only.
