Avinu Malkeinu

Happy Yom Kippur! Just kidding, Yom Kippur isn’t happy. And no one says “Happy Yom Kippur.” My friend Dev said to call this entry a Jewsletter. I am writing this Jewsletter mid-fast, so no food, water, or vices from after dinner yesterday until sundown tonight. The one part of being the token Jew growing up that I liked was sharing my culture/ethnoreligion with the world (but not evangelizing — Jews don’t do that).

Although my practices have veered from going to temple (synagogue) to going to temple (Ess-a-Bagel locations throughout New York), I have fasted for Yom Kippur every year since after my Bat Mitzvah. No matter my proximity to a temple or other Jewish people, the fast is something I can make time for. Being able to deprive myself safely is a privilege.

A quick Judaism lesson for those confused: the two holiest days in the Jewish calendar are Rosh Hashanah (new year) and, celebrated ten days later, Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur is all about atoning and apologizing for your shortcomings of the last year. A weirder bent to these two holidays is its relation to death. Apparently, Rosh Hashanah is when God opens the Book of Life and he spends ten days writing in everyone’s names who will survive the next year. On Rosh Hashanah it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed. That’s what they said in temple growing up. Yom Kippur is a reminder that life is short, and we should spend our time bettering ourselves and making amends with people before it’s too late.

I thought this would be a timely entry on apologies and forgiveness. I can be very aloof, and I love having this day to reflect on my behavior. This past year has been easier than others, and I feel like I have less to atone. But it’s a rainy day in New York, and the heaviness of Yom Kippur finds a way to coax everything out of me. I don’t need to be in a synagogue to hear the sad songs.

Some songs scare me, and Jewish prayer songs are often sad or scary due to their minor key and overall Jewish complaining. Yom Kippur tunes are even grander and eerier than usual, and none more big and scary than Avinu Malkeinu, which translates to Our Father, Our King and has been in my head all day. The song is basically like God, please accept us even though we kinda suck and only sung during these High Holy Days. Each listen, I revert to the bored, tired elementary schooler pissed that she doesn’t get to spend her day off of school doing nothing like her Christian peers that’s about to get her sh*t rocked. Avinu Malkeinu draws you in like a snake to a charmer, and melancholy low notes fill the room. It used to frighten me into being present. I find the song hauntingly beautiful.

Avinu Malkeinu sets the tone for my atonement today. This year is easier than recent ones because of all the emotional work I’ve done to be the version of myself I aspire to be. I grew up hating Yom Kippur, but I’ve really leaned on it over the past few years and weirdly enjoy this opportunity to slow down. I needed days like Yom Kippur during my time in New Hampshire.

A week before I moved to the Granite State, my parents told me they were splitting up. If you are close to me or caught me deep in conversation and three drinks in, you would know that I cut contact with my dad. I am a privileged person, and this was one of the big traumas of my life — right at the onset of a massive transition. I’ve alluded to this in almost every newsletter, and now feels like the right time to put it on the Internet. One of my greatest privileges was having a solid nuclear family, and I delusionally thought that my family would be perfect forever. I saw strained father-daughter relationships around me and always thought of how lucky I was to have such a great relationship with my dad. Oops!

I was a mess. I needed a lot of love and help. I was so sad and angry at my dad. I felt betrayed and blindsided. I wanted to be there for my mom more than ever. I truly look at my life as pre-finding out and post-finding out. I had just graduated college, and my childhood was fully snatched away. My heart grew nasty, and my thoughts were filled with hate on the daily. I sunk into depression with ease as the snow fell outside my window in a sleepy city with few friends.

I was not well-acquainted with anger before this time. I started yelling at slow cars and steaming when the TV remote wouldn’t work. All of my relationships changed shape with the addition of most peers graduating. I was lonely, and the people who listened to me bitch about the same thing over and over again showed themselves as true friends. I was not a good friend during this time even though I tried. I lost people I loved deeply and had to teach myself how to make friends as an adult, especially an adult that’s not doing so hot.

My whole life I prided myself on being a grudge holder. A friend would commit one small act of wrongdoing and I would drop them faster than a hot plate. Simultaneously, I struggled with loneliness. I did not want to compromise and wanted only authentic connections with people who cared about me at the same level as I did about them. I also, and this is still something I struggle with, never think I do anything wrong. I think I can empathize with others, but as soon as it has to do with my faults, I often have blinders on. When I realize my errors, I think I’m great at apologizing and being sincere. If I didn’t apologize, it’s because I did not realize I did something wrong. Sometimes I over-apologize to make someone feel better, even if I think I’m right. I can’t be right 100 percent of the time, right?

Once I stopped speaking to my dad, the grudges changed. Thankfully, I no longer have many petty grudges. If I do, I want to undo them. They have been replaced with the Big Grudge against my dad. I do not know the future of our relationship and just take it day by day. I want to be forgiving of myself for however I feel going forward. For now, I’m satisfied with my decision and focus on my core people despite the Big Grudge peeping from the back of my head now and again.

When I had my final argument with my dad, he never apologized. The lack of accountability brought me into a new era of awareness, seeing apologies as a strength instead of just words. There are plenty of times that sorrys suck, just watch any reality show or bad relationship where someone says I’m sorry you feel that way. But sorrys can be brave through their discomfort and deepen relationships. I am still not a very confrontational person, but I try to nip awkwardness in the bud. Guilt is a useless emotion, and I try to eliminate it as best as I can. I am a work in progress, but I am trying! Sorry is another way to say I love you!

Now forgiveness, that’s what’s tough! My daddy issues showed me something we hear and think we know, that everyone has their own struggles and may come into a situation with a different mindset than you. This lesson has increased my capacity for forgiveness and prevented many a relationship from decaying on my end. All I can hope from my relationships is kindness and authenticity. I used to fear forgiving someone who does not deserve forgiveness, but that closed me off from forgiving people who certainly do. I have not forgiven my dad, but the Big Grudge allowed me to forgive plenty of people. Forgiving, more often than not, does not involve lowering your standards or allowing loserdom into your life.

Last year, I pretended to be a college student so I could get into a reform temple in Manchester without paying money (which is a thing that happens for High Holy Days only — annoying!). I sat in the back of the wooden sanctuary and sang along, happy to hear that some melodies were the same as my temple growing up. Avinu Malkeinu is, in my opinion, the climax of the High Holy Days service. The elementary schooler within me listened attentively. I grew up with a Jewish mom for cool factor and a Catholic dad for assimilation, but congregants always thought my dad was Jewish because he attended services and sang along. I would lean on him and my mom when I would get bored.

This time, I had no one to lean on at services. I thought about Avinu Malkeinu’s translation as Our Father, Our King. I think part of why people love having a religion so much is that it’s a way to have God as the perfect daddy, someone you can always lean on and learn from. Although most religions encourage submission to an almighty God, I like that in Judaism you can question teachings and define meaning however you want. I am small singing along to Avinu Malkeinu, but I am strong. I can be powerful all on my own.

I started writing the fixation parts of this installment yesterday at the airport, flying back from a perfect Pittsburgh trip at my mom’s. My flight was delayed, and I thought, why get angry when you can get tipsy? It’s around 3 p.m. and I siped prosecco at the airport bar while writing about something I saw in the wild. Plenty of odd people visited the bar. I watched a couple next to me fight aggressively before paying and leaving. Suddenly, a moderately attractive mountain man, or really, a mountain biker man, flies into a seat next to me. Frazzled, he orders an IPA then decides on getting a shot because he’s “afraid of flying.” I’m writing and minding my own business, but when he decides to get a shot of fireball, he turns towards me and asks if I want one, too.

I take him up on his offer, even though I just started my second glass of prosecco. Time to be drunk at the airport, I guess. Time to deal with a weird dude, I guess. We down our shots, and he left a sizable enough drop left that he never finished. I’ll call him Derek, and he’s flying home to the other side of the country. Derek and I are having simple small talk. His eyes are sunken into his face in a way that I’m not sure are from sleep deprivation or drugs. His hoodie and hat are good quality, but he’s a bit disheveled. He seemed nice and harmless, so I obliged conversation.

I asked him why he was in Pittsburgh, and he said, Do you want the REAL answer? Of course I do! Turns out, he is having an affair and spent a weekend with his mistress. I was fascinated that a random stranger was spilling their biggest secret to me. He was very happy to talk about it, telling me to ask away about anything. Derek and his wife have been married for ten years and, thankfully, do not plan on having kids. Their sexual relationship has been in the gutter for two years, and this is his first affair; the woman “threw herself at him.” Derek’s wife thinks he’s on a business trip but apparently has been texting and calling more. She is picking him up from the airport once he’s home. Why hasn’t Derek filed for divorce? My wife and I are financially well off. But if we did get divorced, I’d give most of it to her, anyway.

I was on the edge of my seat. Derek seemed guilty but not regretful. He felt bad, but not bad enough to stop. I find myself more convincing when I pretend that someone is sort of correct so I can spoon-feed them the truth. Although I find multi-offender cheaters monstrous, I cannot lead with overwhelming disdain. I asked him questions, shared my experience with cheaters, and told him that cheaters will never win. He was properly intoxicated and seemed so lost. I gave him firm advice with a smile, and he thanked me profusely while touching my back way too much in his goodbye. His final sentence to me? Life sucks, and then you die!

There are thousands of cheaters like Derek roving about the world in limbo, following natural urges, and burning invisible bridges. Dominos falling over and over. Talking to him was the perfect end to another weekend home where the man of the house is Bean the Goldendoodle. How do you forgive someone after they transgress over and over? I do not have an answer yet and won’t for a long time. We hold grudges for self-preservation. We forgive when we are ready. I’m not one for rushing forgiveness. If it comes, it comes. Despite my shortcomings, I speak to people like Derek thankful that I have integrity.

My flight was about to board. I left the airport bar nicely drunk, feeling content in a space that usually highlights my anxieties. I was hungry. Chick-fil-A closes on Sundays, McDonald’s had too long of a line…I succumbed to something that felt better than cheating: Auntie Anne’s Cinnamon Pretzel Bites. I sat at my gate with sugar all over my jacket. Bliss.

I knew it would be a short flight, and I let the buzz ride out. It was grey and gross in both departure and arrival cities. Once we flew above the clouds, the skies cleared. Beautiful, endless blue. Drunk me was ecstatic. I thought it could serve as a metaphor for how we get bogged down by the everyday little grays, but when you change your perspective, the grossness is temporary and small.

Fretting over the small stuff happens, but I do not want to put so much of my energy into stress. Forgiveness is a privilege — a privilege to give because it shows trust and a privilege to receive because it shows understanding. More importantly, forgiveness is constant. We forgive every single day. It’s okay that the pizza took a while to arrive at our table. It’s okay that the L train decided to not go past Union Square. These things can be annoying, but spending so much energy hating stops being fun after a while. I’ll always be a hater, but meeting people and the universe where they are allows you to enjoy the ride. An interaction may be a blip for you but a defining moment for someone else, and vice versa. I am ignorant, but I am trying. I have to forgive myself, too. Forgiveness is a lifelong process, one that I learn and stumble through constantly.

I was nervous to write this entry and do not know if it flowed well. I used this to pass the fast time. Even if you aren’t Jewish, maybe these musings will inspire you to reflect. If there is something I’ve done over the past year (or before then!) that upset you, please let me know so I can apologize. Also, I’m not doing a How To or Top 10 this week because of how long this is.

G’mar Chatima Tova! (The closest you can get to “Happy Yom Kippur.”)

Been crushing on this guy and we have been on a few dates months ago and I felt a really strong connection (still feel it) with him. However, since then it quickly became painfully clear that things were going nowhere (which is fine) but the problem is not only do we share friends BUT he lives in the same neighborhood as me and I end up running into him all the time. How do I move on when I don’t feel like I have the space I need to stop thinking about him/seeing him everywhere??

— Tired Neighborhood Hottie ❤️

Oh Hottie, I hate this for you! First of all, I’m sorry that you have to deal with this. This is hard, and you should be forgiving of yourself. Unfortunately, time is the only true healer. That one hat he wears won’t be as cute; his smile will slowly dull. You can accelerate this process by making new memories with new people. I especially hope so of the romantic or sexual variety, but fostering other friendships (yet obviously not ditching your shared friends!!) could be helpful, too.

It just sounds like you need a new crush. Open yourself up to new opportunities. Be bold at the bar. Fire up that Hinge again. This will take a while to get the right groove of since your reminders of him are frequent. I had a friend at an old job deal with this after dating a coworker. It was hard, but time and preoccupation with others helped.  Maybe go to a different grocery store so you don’t see him in the milk aisle.

Want advice from someone as unqualified but possibly more confident than you? Send in a question for Olympic Coaching.