I Need a Minute

I’m not ready to feel or spread the light but I will because that's what we do.

By now you know what most of my Sundays look like. I wake up, immediately teach Tanya, figure out (or not), what we’re doing with the kids, and then write my Substack essay.

On this Sunday, I woke up to my larger Block family WhatsApp group buzzing. I tried to figure out what was going on, and it took me a few minutes to piece together the terrible tragedy that took place in Sydney, Australia, at one of the first Chanukah celebrations in the world. My first cousin Chavi (@theempoweredjew) was there. You can read what she shared about her traumatic experience on her socials.

So here is how my Sunday ended up looking:

Wake up.
Nervous system down.
Anger.
Disbelief.
Hopelessness.

I started to scroll. Images, stories, sentiments. The pain. The cries to spread more light. The messages of strength and not giving up. Clips of the power and meaning of Chanukah.

I need a minute.

I’m not ready to feel or spread the light.

But Tanya class is in twenty minutes. I drive to the office, sign into Zoom, and facing me are my people, beautiful glowing faces. I take a deep breath. We lean into the pain together and we learn. We learn about integration. What it means to live like a Jew, to be an embodied Jew. In those moments I feel centered.

But now I’m home and I loose the feeling. I’m on edge. I’m not patient. I’m frustrated.

I had a plan for what I was going to share today in my essay. I love Chanukah! I was going to share how I feel this high energy, how it feels light and happy to me, and how I love tapping into it.

I wanted to share my sentiments around gift giving on Chanukah, how I grew up with gifts for every Yom Tov, and how I carry that tradition on. How it brings a level of anticipation and excitement to all the holidays.

And all these ideas still apply.

We will rally, cuz that’s what we do. But I’m a little stuck right now. I’m stuck on the thought that for families in Australia, the first day of Chanukah will never be the same. I think about my fellow Shlucha who lost her husband today, and I’m stuck. He was bringing light. He was doing what we do. Living as an embodied Jew, and he was murdered for it.

I need a minute.

It’s ok to need a minute. It doesn’t mean that you don’t believe. It doesn’t mean that you’re giving up. It just means you’re making space for grief, pain, and fear.

And after the minute, we will show up, like we’ve been conditioned to do. We know how to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. I just wish we didn’t have to anymore.

Let’s all go out and do something extra special this Chanukah. Something you don’t usually do. Something extra. Because after all is said and done, it’s the only way.

So once again, the Jewish nation will hold pain and joy, darkness and light, all at the same time.

To quote @astrotorah:
And so, we light with shaky human hands.
With strained eyes.
With trembling hope.
Not because the darkness is gone.
But because it is not absolute.

I envelop all of you in the deepest hug.

We are in this together.

Happy, happy Chanukah!

Chavie

Menorah lighting at the Montage in Big Sky.