Monday, June 27, 2011

For all  my years growing up I learned that every yid, has inside of them, a single point of light that is there connection directly to Hashem.  The pitele yid so to speak.  That tiny spark of a soul in a Jewish neshama that no matter how far one pulls away from God, no matter how non-connected the soul to any form of yiddishkeit, no matter in how deep of a hole the light's owner might be- that tiny spark of a soul never goes out.

I spent a lot of years believing that this tiny point inside each of us that is the essence of who we are- some call it the pitele yid, some call it a shakra, some call it a spark, but a tiny point from where our entire being emanates.  I believed that from that one tiny point came everything about who we are and what we become.  

I believed God wrote our whole lives into that little point.  Our hopes and dreams.  Our wants.  Our needs.  It was the basic building block of every single person in the universe- Jew or non-Jew a like and when a person dies it is that tiny piece that returns to our maker to be judged based on how well it utilized it pregiven tools to fulfill a complicated series of tests and programs.

I believed God took out each tool one at a time and examined them.  

"Ah, a good heart- you used it well to help those who needed it.  You never let anyone struggle if you could help it.  You gave of yourself whenever you could spare it- and sometimes when you couldn't.  You used this tool well.  

"The gift of music- you used this well to cheer the elderly and to teach the young.  You enjoyed it.  It made you and those around you happy.  Yes, little spark, this tool you used well.

"A strong family name- you could have used this much better my little spark.  You could have used the schlepp with this name to help more people to build greater things.  This tool, my little spark you did not use as well as you could have.

And so on and so forth.  Once the value of each tool was added up, God would look at the sum total of you did with what he gave you and your lot in the next world would be set based on his weights and measures.

I feel now as though I have lost that spark.  Like I have lost that little package of tools that God gave just to me that was the essence of who Rachel was.  I have spent  32 years learning how to use those tools to the best of my abilities, and now I can't figure out where I put them.  It is like losing my port in a storm after running the same river for 3 decades.

For 30 odd years I was strong and tried to help others.  I ran to do favours even if they made my life harder or took time from other things I needed to do.  I stood up for what I thought was right with every fibre of  my being that I could muster.  I could go days on no sleep if it meant getting a job done for a good cause.  I loved to read, to sing, to work.  I was creative and aware of the world around me.  I saw God's hand in nature and in everything I loved.  Those were my tools.

Now I don't know where they have gone.  I lean on others for support, and have no will to put effort into anything.  I sleep to get away from my life, but in sleep I have dreams that make me want to run.  I don't read.  I barely play music.  I feel like God is a million miles away and that he has no interest in me.

So who am I now?  In 120 years how will I be judged having lost my toolbelt?  Will I find a new set somewhere along the road that I will learn to use to do good things in new ways?  Will someone come chasing me down one day to hand me my old worn out tools that I know how to use and tell me I just forgot them at my last rest stop?

They say there are many stages to artistry.

A bad artist will do bad work with great tools.
A mediocre artist will do mediocre work with great tools
A good artist will do great work with great tools
A great artist can do stunning work with bad tools.

In my day job I am a mediocre artist who can do good work with great tools.  In my life job I am now an out of work artist with no tools.

1 comment:

  1. i have found that there is an artistry to surviving tragedy. simply getting through the day takes all the tools a person has, and often requires a completely new toolbelt.