So much for my commitment to daily practice, spiritual or otherwise! Forgive me; it's been a week since I blogged. Why is it so difficult to adhere to a commitment like this? Is it the "daily" part of it? And then the sense that if I miss one entry and then another, my subsequent entries have to be that much longer or impressive or funny or profound? So that ups the ante even more. "The perfect is the enemy of the good." Voltaire said that (I looked it up on the Internet), and it's true. Our quest for perfection doesn't necessarily move us forward; it often stops us (miserably) in our tracks.

Last night in the car, as I drove home with my kids from a USY (youth group) meeting, I was bemoaning my failure to blog. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Mom" my children told me. "Life just got in the way." They're right. Life did get in the way this past week. Big time. So many crises and calls and meetings and errands and chores and school starting and the holidays coming and then, to top it off, moths in the cabinets.

Yes, moths in the cabinets. Not harmful or poisonous (I looked that one up too!), but disturbing nonetheless. School was about to start (and hence the need to pack school lunches),so I had gone shopping with my daughter to restock the house with healthy, appealing snacks and ingredients.

And then I opened the pantry cabinet, only to find tiny moths flying out at us. These aren't the first moths we've seen, of course. But here they were, settled down comfortably in the pantry, just as I was about to put away all the back-to-school lunch food. It was more than I could bear. The sight of them sent me over the edge. Thus began my battle with the moths. It had become urgent. And personal.

Meanwhile, of course, more serious issues claimed my attention: sick congregants and financial pressures and family stuff and shul renovations ("Oh no, the crew packed up all the prayerbooks and talleisim! Which box are they in?") But most of those challenges had no easy resolutions (except the packed-up prayerbooks; we found those.) With the moths, on the other hand, I could fight and likely emerge victorious. Even if it meant losing sleep. Or not keeping up with my blog.

Last night, even though it was late, I logged onto the WiiFit. I had lost weight since a week ago! Despite my lousy week, my missteps, my moth obsession. The WiiFit, like my kids, was encouraging. "Good work," it told me. Not perfect, surely, but good enough.

Halleluyah! I learned how to work the WiiFit. I had to. Having announced on the blog that I was going to try it, I felt compelled to follow through. Also, I had encouragement from my teen-aged son, Max. Partly, I think, he was just eager to see me wield the Wii controls. I am not a video game player. Mostly what I do is work. In the kitchen. At shul. At meetings. Driving in the car. On the phone. In front of the computer. I am always working.

I remember when Max was little, around two and a half, and we were preparing for Passover (the presence of a toddler does not make this easier!) I wanted to convey to him something about the meaning of the holiday, so I described what it was like to be a slave. "What if you could never play?" I asked him. "What if all you could do was work, work, work all the time? In the morning, all day long, until late at night?" He thought for a moment. "You mean like you, Mommy?"

It was funny, of course. Part of me was appalled. Is that really how my baby saw me? As a drudge? What kind of a role model was I for him? And how would my actions affect his view of mothers in particular and women in general? The feminist in me recoiled. Big time.

But another part of me was secretly pleased. Because he had recognized my self-sacrifice and hard work. I wasn't playing the martyr, God forbid. But he had touched a chord and the echo of that remains with me. Endless work as a female badge of honor. An assuaging of guilt. A perverse kind of self-satisfaction.

I'm ready to move away from that. I don't believe that's what God demands of us. Of women. Of me.

So tonight, Max and I played on the WiiFit. It was hard, but he cheered me on. I did pretty badly on the balance exercises. (The Wii trainer asked me if I trip a lot when I walk! As if!) But I broke a sweat. And I made a start. I played with Max. And I had fun.

I'm tired. Not frazzled or worried tired, but bone tired. Today my husband and I did some heavy work in the house, moving and cleaning and lifting. The kids were coming home and I wanted to get some things done before they came back. It was hot and humid and I didn't want to pause; I wanted to finish and then shower off.

Now, of course, the house looks chaotic. The living room is strewn with sleeping bags, pillows and suitcases. The kitchen is filled with the detritus of dinner. And the dining room with the stuff that needs to be thrown out as a result of today's sweaty labors.

So no, I didn't learn how to work the WiiFit tonight. My kids were exhausted; they wouldn't have had the patience and forbearance I require when learning new technical skills. Besides, I cleaned so much today! That's like a workout, isn't it? (Although if cleaning made a person lose weight, I'd be thin as a rail.)

No matter. I wasn't up for jumping around in front of the TV screen tonight anyway. Instead, my husband and I left our tired, crabby teenagers at home and saw a movie. And no popcorn!

Men tracht und Gott lacht is Yiddish for "Human beings plan and God laughs," or in the current idiom: Life happens.

Here was my plan for Thursday, the first day of the month of Elul: Spend the morning with meetings and appointments, swim, work at the computer and then walk in the later afternoon. I had an unexpectedly free evening, both my kids were away all week at camp and my husband (a nurse who works second shift) had the night off, so I (uncharacteristically) made reservations to go out to dinner and see a play with him.

Just as I was about to put my exercise plan into gear (i.e., change into my bathing suit), the phone rang. It was the camp nurse. My son was feeling miserably sick and she advised us to pick him up and get him home into some air conditioning. I hung up the telephone and cried. Not for myself, I explained to my husband later. For my son. (My husband thought at least a few of the tears could have been shed for our dashed plans.)

The camp was four hours away. It was a beautiful, scenic drive, but still...

The next afternoon, after spending the night with our son in an air-conditioned motel, and assuring ourselves that he was on the mend, we returned him to camp. He wasn't in tip-top shape, but then again, neither were we.

I'll spare you the details of our long drive back through lashing rain, tornado warnings ("Anyone driving in a car through this listening area is advised to exit the car, lie down in a ditch and cover your head"), traffic jams, accidents, and road work. Forget the scenery: we needed to get back before Shabbat, which begins 18 minutes before sunset. Well, we made it, but just barely. Our four-hour trip had stetched to nearly six.

Luckily, we had food. Pointing out to my husband that we had prepared no food for Shabbat (when we don't cook), I had looked at the map and suggested that we stop off in Monticello (a largely Hasidic religious enclave in the Catskills) to look for Kosher take-out.

Success! We found a place called Coby's Corner; on Thursday nights and Fridays, they turn their large back banquet hall into a self-service Shabbat take-out extravaganza. There, arrayed on long tables covered in white plastic, were: chickens prepared in a variety of ways, kugels, rice and barley dishes, gefilte fish and whitefish and herring and salmon, meatballs and stuffed cabbage, roasted potatoes and vegetables, fried Morroccan cigars, kishka, knishes, franks in blankets, cole slaw and potato salad, pickled red cabbage, spiced chickpeas, chopped liver and chicken soup (noodles and matzo balls extra.)

I was at once thrilled and alarmed. Is it any wonder Jews have issues with food? Before me, I saw the evidence. Shabbat, holidays, family, celebration, love and loss - for us, it's all connected with food. Lots of it. Not all of it so healthy, either.

I filled plastic containers and tins, shoved a couple of chickens into a foil-lined bag, and began making my way to the register. Just then, my husband came in. His eyes widened. "It's just the two of us, you know," he reminded me "the kids are both at camp." I pointed out that we could have one feast on Friday night and then eat completely different food on Saturday (instead of the usual leftovers from the night before.) He could take some of the food to work and we would have some more for when the kids came home. Or I could freeze it.

To summarize: On Thursday, I sat in a car instead of swimming and walking. On Friday, I bought food for a small army. Tomorrow, the kids come home. I'll make them show me how to use WiiFit!

Rosh Hodesh Elul. The second posting of my blog. This morning, I participated in a conference call with Barack Obama about healthcare. Me and a thousand other rabbis. Still, it was pretty thrilling. The President, and the rabbinic speakers who followed, made reference to Unetaneh Tokef, that dramatic (if rather chilling) prayer we recite on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. You know, the one that asks "Who shall live and who shall die? Who by fire and who by water?" and includes a long list of possible calamities. Scary, sobering stuff. Listening to that prayer, we imagine our future hanging in the balance, our fate decreed, signed and sealed on those Days of Awe.



Except.



The crescendo of the prayer/poem is the declaration that teshuvah, tefillah and tzedakah - repentance, prayer/reflection and righteous/charitable acts - can soften the harshness of the decree.



God doesn't decide it all for us. Of course, life happens. And we all get sick and die. But we have a role to play as well. We are God's partners.



I didn't get so unhealthy overnight. And I didn't just suddenly start neglecting myself. It happened little by little, in response to pressures and crises. And in response to some good impulses, too. The desire to help and support others, to be a good mother, wife, daughter, rabbi, teacher. Now I want to be another kind of role model, though. One who pays attention to her own precious life. Who doesn't squander the blessings of health. Who attempts to soften the harshness of the decree.

Starting a blog was my sister's idea. "Remember this day," she told me. "It's the day you decided to write a blog and change your life." This is not the first idea she's had for me. Last year, she tried to convince me to go on "The Biggest Loser," that reality show where people engage in a very strict, intense regimen of diet and exercise, lose tons of weight and get fit and healthy. I don't know what she was thinking. I have a family: a husband, two teenagers and a little dog who live with me. And a mother and mother-in-law who live nearby. And a congregation. And they all depend on me. I can't leave them for months on end. I can barely leave them for hours on end.

And, of course, that's part of the problem. Like many women, like many rabbis (and other clergy), I'm too busy helping other people to take very good care of myself. And my sister worries about me. Hence the blog idea.

Start a blog about losing weight., she told me. A blog about getting fit. About learning to set limits and having a more balanced life. Make it a discipline. (A spiritual discipline?) Do it late at night, when your meetings are over and the kids are in bed (has she met my kids?) and it's too late to make any more phone calls and you're done cleaning and cooking and you're up anyway. (I am. I'm a night person.)

At first I dismissed the idea entirely. After all, I'm not a fan of blogs. Bloggers strike me as completely self-involved. They assume other people are interested in everything they do, in all their random musings. Plus, I don't like the idea of people knowing so much about me. Strangers, people I don't know, might read my blog. (Or, even worse, people I do know.)

But my sister's timing was impeccable. The summer was drawing to a close. Yet another summer during which I had not lost weight, or gotten enough exercise, hadn't felt relaxed or renewed by the end. And now it was going to be too late. Because facing me all too soon were back-to-school and Rosh Hashanah and programs and sermons and deadlines and responsibilities.

My sister told me to start a blog and I realized that the Hebrew month of Elul was about to start. The month before the new year. The month for introspection and resolution and taking stock. The month when we focus on all the ways we can change the world for the better, beginning with ourselves. The month when we acknowledge that we are created in God's image and ponder what that demands of us. My sister was right. It was the perfect time to begin to blog.