Not Quite There Yet

...but it's ok

Time gets very abstract in this stage of early parenthood. Middle of the nights become lively again, though not at all in the fun ways that they were in my younger days. Getting pooped and peed on while changing a diaper at 2:20 in the morning has that effect.

Just recently, after getting Nili quieted and ready for bed, as Lauren passed her to me, and I rearranged myself to prepare, I inadvertently caught Lauren with an elbow that would’ve made your favorite WWE star proud. You can imagine the pain Lauren felt and the awfulness I felt at this middle-of-the-night snafu.

You wake up groggy, hit a middle of the day lull that puts the post-lunch fatigue to shame, and then when night hits again, there’s a little bit of this circus-like, anticipatory haziness and trepidation at another night that can feel never ending. And yet, there’s joy there still…if you can find it.

Amid all the bullshit advice people give you: “sleep when the baby sleeps,” “isn’t this stage so fun?” or my personal trigger of the moment, “it all goes so fast”,

there is one that does speak to me-

You have to find joy in the harder moments

Learning to laugh at our life, the moment we’re in, or being covered in a bodily fluid has made difference in this go around as we’ve navigated now playing man-to-man defense. It allows us to connect, remind each other that we’re in it together, and also reflect that it won’t always be like this. That’s part of why I don’t like all the unsolicited advice. Like most things in life, finding it your own way is the best way to move out of a challenging period. It’s not that the advice is wrong, it’s just ill-timed. But I digress so let’s go back to laughter and joy.

While the point I am making is about a very particular phase of my life and one that’s not had universally, I do think the larger point about joy and laughter in the face of darkness is universal, and I want to reflect on that vis a vis the holiday of Purim. You know, that joyous day where we dress up, feast, and revel in the topsy turvy nature of the world. So why am I talking about joy in the face of darkness on such a, well, joyous day?

There is a liturgical peculiarity about Purim in that we don’t say the collection of Psalms that make up the prayer unit called Hallel. Hallel is a prayer that is said on holidays and the beginning of each Jewish month. It comes from a part of the Psalms that deals primarily with God’s goodness and beneficence. When we celebrate, we say Hallel because it allows us to get in a joyous mindset. So Purim would seem to be the perfect day to say it, so why don’t we?

A number of answers are given in the Talmud: we don’t celebrate miracles that take place outside of the land of Israel, the reading of the Megillah itself becomes a quasi form of Hallel, and the answer relevant for this piece which is that the salvation of Purim wasn’t quite as complete as other salvations. After all, our annihilation was avoided, but we still were subjects to Achasverosh.

That answer is interpreted by Reb Tzadok Ha’Kohen of Lublin creatively¹:

There are two kinds of salvations. When one is totally subsumed within darkness and then brought out to full freedom and redemption. That is what we mark with Passover and the story of the Exodus. But there is another salvation that happens even while you’re still sitting in the valley of darkness; you can still feel the divine light. This is an even greater form of salvation because to access that connection amid the depths of your sorrow is a great feat of courage and joy. This is the miracle of Purim. Despite the fact that we’re still not yet at full freedom, we haven’t despaired as it says even in the story of Esther itself ‘for the Jews, there was light, joy, and gladness.’

For R’ Tzadok, we don’t say Hallel on Purim because we’re betwixt and between. We’ve started the process of moving away from being fully consumed but we haven’t yet reached redemption. Because there is still work to be done, we don’t mark the day with Hallel. The rest of the day is certainly joyous and full of gladness but in a nod to the aspirational nature of seeking redemption, we omit Hallel.

I find this idea deeply resonant in so many areas of life. Certainly it applies to these moments of literal darkness in the middle of the night as a parent of a baby but the nuanced nature of how it can apply universally is powerful. It is very rare in life to find ourselves in a place of holistic joy. There is always an anchor dragging us. But that need stop us from striving to find light, joy, and goodness.

We can look around us and see the various challenges we’re facing. As a Jewish people, too many of our own are still hostages. We look with consternation as Jewish power has been wielded by many a nefarious characters to our detriment as a nation. Domestically, we see rifts, divisions, and ever growing threats to our religious identities and the fabric of our democracy.

And yet, we’re still here. As one my favorite writers often says:

To win a game 7, you have to have persevered through three losses

Life is tough for all of us for myriad reasons. But we can find joy within that toughness with the help of ourselves and others around us. That joy, in turn, keeps us in the game.

There are a number of ways we can do this. In your version of my middle of the night elbow to the head and poop-extravaganza, seek out opportunities for laughter and connection. Remind yourself of the progress that you have made. When the moment comes for you to act, take Esther’s lead. Even as she was nervous about what it would mean for her standing, she leapt onto the scene to stand for something bigger than herself.

That’s the work. That’s one of the reminders of Purim. There’s no Hallel but surely there’s a chance to reach for laughter, mirth, and taking a few steps to get closer to redemption, especially when things seem bleak.

Sending wishes for a joyous and sacred Purim!

1. Divre Sofrim 32