I am ravenous. Or, anyway, I was. I came home late and was so hungry. Had I ever really eaten dinner? (Um, yes, but a long time ago and not at home.) I nuked some frozen vegetables and then sat down to check my e-mail. An old, dear friend of mine who lives far away had sent something which made me smile. It was a diet plan:

Breakfast

1 grapefruit
1 slice whole wheat toast
1 cup skim milk

Lunch

1 small portion lean, steamed chicken
1 cup spinach
1 cup herbal tea
1 Hershey's kiss

Afternoon Tea

1 The rest of the Hershey Kisses in the bag
1 tub of Hagen-Daaz ice cream with chocolate chips



The dinner and late night snack were, as you can imagine, increasingly outrageous. Why is this so funny? Because it strikes a chord in all of us. This is not just a joke about dieting; it reflects a truth about how our best intentions go awry.

We may begin the day (the project, the school year, the job) with rigor and discipline. But we find that this is not enough to get us through. Inevitably, we feel deprived and so we say to hell with it and inhale the bag of barbeque flavor chips (baked, not fried, but still...)and all six 100-calorie packets of whatever. We give up because we can't figure out how to follow through with our goals, and still feed/nurture ourselves.

So here are the questions for tonight:
What are we hungry for?
What will (or won't) satisfy that hunger?
And must it involve Hagen-Daaz?

Instant feedback. Constant encouragement. Praise for even the tiniest accomplishment. That's what I need and that's what I love about the WiiFit. I know there are folks out there with far greater inner resources than I, people who don't require someone else to cheer them on every single minute, who are nourished by a voice within. Not me. I need a WiiFit coach not only for workouts, but for my life.

"Don't worry, Deb!" "Great job - keep it up!" "You're almost there!"

Of course, there are people who do this professionally. They call themselves "life coaches." Or "therapists." Or "spiritual directors." Or even "rabbis."

I need something more. I want someone who stays with me after the 50-minte hour is over, after the service has ended. Someone who whispers that word of encouragement or correction or comfort when I am "walking by the way, when I lie down and when I rise up." Whenever.

Isn't that someone supposed to be God? If only I could hear God's voice the way I hear the voice of the WiiFit! An instant feedback loop for the spirit:

"Extend that hand a bit more - that's it, Deb!"
"Try hearing not just with your ears, but with your heart. Yes, like that."
"Be patient. Show more love. Yes, even to that nudnik in your office."
"You can't fix it. It's OK. You did what you could."
"Open your eyes! Pause. Be grateful. Good for you!"

This month of Elul, it seems to me, is about learning to listen for the voices in our lives which move us forward and keep us going. The voices without and within.

Oh, and I've lost three pounds.

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.