September 5, 2011 | 9:52 pm

Eternally Hopeful

Posted by Chava Tombosky

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This week I launched my very first song on my father’s birthday, August 31st. I thought it was an apropos date to share my music, which I have dedicated to his memory, and what better day to launch it than on a happy day, a day that represents birth and new beginnings. It also happened to be the second day of Elul, and Rosh Chodesh, the beginning of the new month of possibilities, opportunities, and self-reflection, and the month that carries us into the high holy days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

I have been singing for as long as I can remember, but to truly understand my relationship with music we will have to go back to the beginning. I can still remember my very first performance. I was in first grade. That year for our Passover recital my class had a model Seder on stage. I remember a lot of foil, stale matzo and sweet grape juice that had been used as props. By the time the real Passover came around, my palette was depleted of any desire to participate after several hundred takes of “ma nishtanah” were enforced on me.  Although I was concerned that the stage lights would burn a hole in the foil and glare in my eyes causing me to squint in front of the entire parent body, I still loved the idea of singing with Morah Music in front of my parents.  Morah Music was a young woman in her early thirty’s and one of the most beautiful women I had ever laid eyes on.  She smiled like a refined queen.  Even her legs, which rippled of purple varicose veins, markings of her body carrying eleven children in her small frame were beautiful.  She wore a well- coiffed chocolate brown wig that highlighted her high cheekbones and framed her face perfectly. She was a petite woman with a strong constitution. I had never met anyone before who looked as ravishing as she did with so many children! 

Morah Music became my icon, and a person I would look up to for many years to come. Upon her suggestion, I was chosen to sing a portion of the Ma Nishtana, the famous Passover song meaning “Why is this night different from all other nights” solo.  Although I had been in several dance and piano recitals, I had still never sang in front of a crowd by myself before.  For some reason, none of the other children were asked to sing solo.  I was of course over the moon, thinking my chance at stardom had finally landed me the most important role and I was going to take it very seriously.  I tried to hide my overwhelming excitement, and make it seem like it was the most natural event in the world. Even though Valerie the jealous Russian glared at me every day during reading time and threatened to have her sixth grade sister beat me up during recess, I just figured that was the high price one paid for fame.  I was willing to take it on.  Most importantly, I didn’t want to let Morah Music down. And seeing her smile as I belted out my line was worth every minute as I sat frozen in my first grade tiny chair thinking about Valerie’s sister mauling me on the blacktop.

Four short years later, at ten years old I was sure I caught a serious illness that required a call into disease control ordering masked nurses to sterilize my room with plastic.  I had a serious case of Chicken Pox. Serious- because it happened to me.  I only had four sores on my whole body, but the one that landed on my belly kept me up all night and caused so much anguish, my poor parents spent a week catering to my beck and call.  It hurt more than an infected planter’s wart with puss.  I thought this would be the worst disease that ever landed in my wake.  I never showered, and kept my nightgown on for six days straight. I was feverish with a high temperature of ninety-nine degrees and was sure my days were numbered.  I cried all day and begged my mother to get me a specialist.  I screamed, writhing in pain, and was delirious. 

I managed to milk this illness with great pride, and got my parents to wait on me hand and foot while I scarfed down Haagen Dazs bars as my mother slathered my entire body with Calamine lotion.  The fact that my little brother caught it from me and didn’t have a clean non-pox’d spot on his entire shape, never really fazed me.  I missed my friends in fifth grade. I missed Morah Music, and I missed the fact that I could finally tell mean Valerie that she was infected with a serious disease, and I was the one who gave it to her.  One day while I was in between my channel seven soap opera series, after Erica Kane left her sixth husband, and Palmer divorced his seventh wife, I heard wretched screaming coming from downstairs. I turned down the T.V. and could hear my mother’s screams that had frightened me to my core. Her screams turned to tears and her tears began to ascend to my quarters.  My mother had her hands out as if she was in a trance as she entered my room.  As tears took a ride down her delicate cheeks, I shivered a fear within me that I hadn’t even recognized from my younger years. These were tears that were agonizing and told me a story of jolting heartbreak and distress that would rock my very existence. These were very different tears, and I was about to absorb an uncharted and alien pain and sorrow that would teach me the very fragility of life.  As feeble as I felt from having Chicken Pox, I was no longer feeling sick, I felt my body take on an odd strength as I was about to be thrust into the reality of news that filled me with many questions that I would spend my lifetime looking to answer. That day the news my mother brought me was that Morah Music, at the age of thirty- six, had suddenly died from a heart attack, leaving eleven children, of which the youngest were a pair of eleven month old twins. Her last gift on earth was spent with thirty beautiful children who had sang to the tune of her keyboard during their First Grade recital- the very recital I had been in only four years prior.

Six weeks after eleven small children buried their mother, the high school put on a musical play that was meant to be a tribute to Morah Music.  I remember sitting in class one day, when a lovely twelfth grade girl entered our class and made this announcement:
“Many of you know, we are creating a Musical Play in honor of Morah Music. Our choir needs more singers. Normally we don’t ask fifth graders to participate, but this year, we are making an exception. Ava Shallman, would you please come with me, we need your voice?”

At that point, I was still known to the world as Ava Shallman. I know what you’re thinking, that is such a cooler name than Chava Tombosky. Shallman is my maiden name. Ava is my BFF name- Before Frum. Frum is another word for religious. Although I think Frum has become a whole other genre of Jews that have way more issues than I think I even have. But that’s another essay.

The shock on my face was quite evident. I have no idea what made this twelfth grader choose me out of my whole class to participate. The high school choir seemed more than robust, and yet they had chosen me to be in the choir that year. I was the shortest girl in the entire cast, and they decided, so I wouldn’t look out of place, to put me dead center in the middle of the choral group- ya that didn’t look funny.  I practiced my songs after school diligently. I sang every day and took my role very seriously, forever being reminded, that my singing would help elevate the soul of our dear Morah Music. I was determined to honor her through my voice.

The big day arrived and I was pulled out of class to rehearse in the rented out theater. I took my place on the stage during rehearsal and realized the magnitude of this event that I had become apart of.  The red velvet drapes suspended behind our choral group, and the pain of singing to the tune of a foreign musician’s piano began to hit me harder than I had realized. Rehearsal ended, and the room began to fill with hundreds of women. I peeked through the curtains and scanned the auditorium. There she was, one of Morah Music’s daughters sitting in the front row. She was nine years old and was supported by Morah Music’s niece, a beautiful dark haired girl with white satin skin like Morah Music had. I stared at their beautiful dark eyes, and thought to myself, who am I? I am not worthy to experience these orphans’ pain. I am not a person who understands what it means to lose a mother at such a young age. And yet I was chosen to sing a tribute to Morah Music. I stared deeply into their bulging brown eyes, who only six weeks before, had only discerned joy and delight, but who had quickly become accustomed to desolation and sorrow. The vacancy in their eyes said so much. In many ways, this was the community’s tragedy, but it felt as though it was too soon to be acknowledging someone else’s pain for whom, it had still not become tangible or real yet.  This was not my narrative to sing about, this was their narrative, this was their pain, and they deserved their privacy to bear their wounds without an audience seated behind them. I was not the right person who was chosen to stand in the middle of a towering junior high and high school student body while chanting “Tangled up in memories, the years gone by.” Yet here I was. I had been chosen. The room could barely get through the song, and I stared at Morah Music’s daughter and her little niece as their eyes mushroomed with emotion. I promised I would one day apologize for using my voice to make sense of this senseless pain that I could never truly grasp. Because, who was I?

Living Bird. My Hebrew name means Living bird. Chava Tziporah Chaya Feiga was my God given name.  I had transformed into a living bird. A free agent called upon to use her voice as a testimony to life. Living bird. I am living bird.

The truth is, I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to share this story. I was plagued with terrible guilt for feeling as though this was a tragedy I had no right to recount.  After all, I had not been directly hurt by this event, except by my association with my teacher. My life had not really changed. I had not lost a parent. I had not lost a mother. I had witnessed my friend lose her aunt, and my other friend lose her mother. I was a witness. I was a witness like a bird who flies above the earth observing it from yet a distance. An onlooker, a bystander who saw another’s devastation yet had not truly lived through the nightmare herself.

That night I sang the song with the choir. There was not a dry eye in the house. I wept with great passion, and after the show could barely compose myself backstage. I cried and I cried. I cried for the orphans who never got to see their mother come home that day from the recital. I cried for the young father who was the head of our school who lost his wife. I cried for the students who lost their teacher. I cried for my own innocence that God stole away that night, which taught me that life is a fleeting journey that does not last forever and for the guilt I felt that I had not been chosen as the orphan but only as the girl who could sing for them. And then I looked up through my tears, and I saw my own mother. Her familiar crinkle of the nose that tells me she is smiling. “Why are you crying?” she asked.  She took me home and I lied awake for many hours plagued with guilt in between the warmth of my mother and my father. The two people who promised to never disappoint me and who would always make my own sadness whither away. The two people I trusted with my life. My superheroes. I closed my eyes and dreamt of the young girls sitting in the front row, and I prayed for them and wished that all pain for all children would end forever.

Although this story was a tale that I was very hesitant to relay, I realized I needed perspective before adding it to my narrative. After discussing it with my sister in law, she made me see this was a story that I had to include. She taught me that witnessing someone else’s pain, although it may not have been my own to bear was the experience that promoted my compassion, empathy, unconditional love, and yes, even my music. 

Living Bird. Chava Tziporah. Living Bird.

If I have borrowed some else’s pain do I have any right to it?  It is true- I had not experienced it like the family who was struck with this tragedy had experienced it. I will never truly know what their lives were like or how they coped. My own humble translation of how I witnessed this tragedy is what I am testifying, and in no way would I dare try to express their experience.  I was eleven years old when I lost my teacher, the very first woman to inspire song inside my soul and my sister-in-law reminded me that it was my duty to testify her gift as an adult. By retelling this story, she assured me I would be memorializing Morah Music’s life through the written word. Morah Music’s memory would stay immortal, and I could share in passing on her light, even if only as a mere witness.

Only she could have given me permission to write this story, my beautiful sister-in-law who married my brother and birthed my beautiful niece and nephews, my sister-in-law with the chocolate brown hair and the milky snowy white skin like her aunt. My sister-in-law, Morah Music’s niece from the front row who sat next to her cousin on that fateful day many years ago whom I sang for.
My sister in law’s name actually means, “Console the Judgment”. Console harsh judgment on yourself Living Bird.  For through dispending your own judgment, you will let your voice pacify the ones around you.

I hope you enjoy my song. And may our space be healed by the music that fills our souls. With that I will say I am Eternally Hopeful that all pain that permeates this world will one day be assuaged and pacified and most importantly transformed forever.

*This essay was an excerpt taken from Chava’s upcoming Memoir entitled “Falling From Eden”
**Chava’s song is now available on itunes for purchase.  To hear a sample, check out her page on myspace.

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July 31, 2011 | 3:11 pm

The Underserving Disease

Posted by Chava Tombosky

Is it possible that we have the power to heal ourselves? A few months ago a dear friend named Sara had been diagnosed with a molar pregnancy that had turned into a persistent gestational trophoblastic disease. Most GTDs are benign (non cancerous) and they don’t invade deeply into body tissues or spread to other parts of the body. But some tumors are potentially cancerous and if left untreated, can turn malignant.  The only way to treat this disease is to undergo a regimented chemo therapy course.  Aside from dealing with the loss of her potential pregnancy, she now found herself facing months of chemo.  What made Sara’s experience most triumphant was her willingness to share her experience in an ongoing diary she posted for her friends to participate in.  We learned about her battle with chemo and her ongoing health updates kept us all informed of her physical and emotional journey.  During Sara’s chemo therapy as her numbers were declining, and she had almost made it to the point where the molar cells had become eradicated, her numbers shifted and instead of decreasing they began to rise yet again.  The exact words she wrote in her journal upon receiving the disheartening news that she would need to continue treatment for longer than expected were, “....I still struggle to ask for what I need and to feel deserving of the things that I want.”

I have also been on the end of the disease of feeling “undeserving”.  A small voice inside my head screaming at my psyche that I have yet to deserve happiness, wholesomeness, or contentment.  It is inside all of us as we navigate the tumultuous waters of life; except for those who are the most narcissistic amongst us.  But as the Lubavitcher Rebbe always said, “We can learn something from every person; even (narcissists)- we can learn from them how not to be.” Where does this lack of faith in ourselves and our well being come from and how can we finally look at it in the face, slap it, confront it, and tell it to leave for good; once and for all? 

The first step in healing, whether it be emotionally, physically or spiritually is to become aware of the problems that started the dysfunction.  We cannot correct ourselves or see healing in areas of our lives if we do not acknowledge where this pain stems from. 

I moved about seven years ago to the West Coast with my family from the East Coast.  We rented our first home for two years and subsequently moved into a second rental right afterwards never really unpacking our belongings fully.  Our second rental turned out to be the perfect storm that came from the financial decline into which our country has descended. Our landlords lost their jobs and stopped paying the mortgage, the house fell into foreclosure and on the eve of my last day of sitting shiva for my father, we received a letter from the bank stating that we had sixty days to be out of our home. I climbed out of my grief and pulled myself back into yet another suffocating reality that I was forced to face and began to pack the rest of my entire house into MORE boxes. We searched for a rental, but to no avail, there were very few homes on the market in our price range large enough to host all of my brothers and sisters who regularly moved in for weekend visits. I vacillated back and forth as to whether to move out of my neighborhood all together.  I was despondent and frustrated by the many ’NO’s’ life was providing me. My father had died suddenly, my home was being taken away, and I began to feel as though my life had slipped into a quiet torment.  For months and months we tried to negotiate with the bank and find ways to buy our home, but to no avail a big FAT NO sat on our doorstep.  Finally a friend said to me- “Chava, you know you have the power to turn this around, don’t you?” I looked at my friend like she was absolutely crazy as I gazed at her, surrounded by all of my belongings packed away with my computer opened to Westside Rentals, a regular site that stared back at me at all hours of the night.

I was determined to believe that I had no power at all. I became a victim to my circumstances. I could not see any way of changing my future.  A direct plan had already been set into motion, and the only receiving end I was on, was the one that filled me with pain and heartbreak stacked with bags of packing peanuts, rolls of tape and cardboard boxes.  My friend came over and sat down with me to get to the bottom of why I felt as though the script of my life would be one that ended in failure instead of triumph.  It became clear to me after some soul searching, that I truly felt undeserving of any joyful outcomes.  How could I possibly allow myself to prevail when so many others suffer? Is it fair that I get to have a safe haven while others still struggle? Do I really deserve anything positive at all? After all, this was G-d’s will to strike me and create havoc in my life. I should just take it and man up.  Maybe it was my destiny to be at the bitter end of life’s struggles instead of the receiving end of joy, laughter, ease and delight.  Sometimes when you face many difficult challenges, you just assume that is what you are meant to be given over and over again.  In my case it felt as though I was staring at a bright light inside my confined narrow tunnel, but my light was attached to an oncoming train that clearly wanted me off the tracks.  I was really sick of viewing my world like one big episode of “The Real House Wive’s of Beverly Hills” show (minus their income). Maybe it was more like “Jersey Shore” (minus the tan).

I had to change this thought process.  The thought of directly changing this momentum can very often engender the tide to shift. But when you are riding the tide, you rarely imagine there is any other direction than the one you are riding on.  I had to stop being a tragic magnet and make myself aware that I was just as entitled to a positive outcome. I had to desire and want to receive the blessing if I was going to be given the blessing.  That night I slept with a stir in my soul as I thought about why I deserved the blessing of having a stable home. I deserved this, and yet even as I said it in my own head, I struggled to believe it.  I knew my children deserved it, my husband deserved it, my family members who come to celebrate holidays and Shabbat deserved it. But did I deserve it? Obviously this is not as serious as cancer or having one’s health threatened.  Probably another reason why I felt so undeserving. In my mind I was staring at G-d’s flow chart and imagining my own needs on the bottom of the totem pole in comparison to others who suffer greater challenges.  I just couldn’t muster any merit in why I earned this blessing when so many others live with less.  Of course it is like comparing apples and oranges. One event had nothing to do with the other events I was equating my own outcome with.  To put my own needs on the same flow chart, on any flow chart, and compare them like life was some sort of tournament was completely ridiculous!  Obviously I have my own script of life and everyone else has their own journey, and to compare for the sake of making sure mine is less so someone else’s can be more is really absurd.

I woke up the next morning, looked in the mirror and said to my husband out loud- “I DESERVE THIS HOUSE.” I cringed while I said it, but after I said it a couple more times, I started to like the sound of it. “I want this house.” My husband responded- “Are you sure you want this house?”  “Yes,” I said.  “I am sure.” 

I know this sounds crazy, but within five hours a phone call came from the bank and the lender told us to be at their office that afternoon to sign the papers. This was the same bank that had refused to heed any of our offers for eighteen months. The same bank that when we finally got them to allow us to put in an offer for this house, turned us down nine times! The same bank that turned down our loan six times. It took eighteen months, 9 offers, 6 loan agreements and lots of paper work, probably enough paper work to kill fourteen forests, and yet it was that exact morning when I stared in the mirror with a positive attitude towards my destiny, rather than with doom and gloom,  when we got the good news that we were now homeowners.  I can’t explain it other than I changed my own fate because I made the decision to do so.  After seven long years, I had finally unpacked my last box.  I did call Goodwill and managed to unload a lot of things I learned to live without over the course of those seven years.  Man was it nice to finally come home. (And this is another lesson I have learned. As long as you have one pot a few paper plates and a good knife, you can really survive without all the stuff.)

Indeed my dear friend Sara, inflicted with potential cancer cells growing in her womb, who had been struggling to see her own positive outcome needed to come to the same place of feeling deserving of triumph over her health. As she wrote in her post:

“Last week, I stepped into a new space though, realizing that there were other gurus from which to learn and my insight was that it was time for me to change my mindset and to boldly ask the Universe for exactly what I wanted.  The word “guru” itself is used to describe a teacher which leads us “from darkness to light” and that’s exactly what happened to me.  The very act of typing about my preparedness for health started a cosmic ball rolling.  I declared to Tim (her husband) my willingness to accept renewed health and completeness and, as I laid my head on the pillow that night, I offered my sickness back to G-D, confident that I was safe to release this condition which was no longer serving me. And, as the hours and days passed, I felt a shift within me, like I was being filled up with new energy.  Things which had seemed pointless (everything from grocery shopping to taking showers) suddenly had new meaning as I surmised that I had a long and healthy life ahead.”

As of yesterday, Sara had finally been given a clean bill of health.  Her numbers had improved and she is finally in remission.  If she had never kept a journal or faced those rising numbers, she probably would have never even been aware of her other disease – the disease of feeling “undeserving.”  Only when she was forced to look at her life through new glasses- the ones that stared at those rising numbers, did she become aware of how she was affecting her outcome. 

Maybe that is the reason we struggle at all.  Maybe we struggle for the purpose of getting over the struggle.  That in itself is the most Divine expression we have. To be tormented by life, that’s the easy part. But when we can stare at the torment, change the direction of the tide and regroup, that is the real miracle of life.  We really have more power than we give ourselves credit for.  As in the words of Saturday Night Live’s Stuart Smalley, let us all say “I’m Good Enough, I’m Smart Enough, and Doggone It, People Like Me!” (Unless you’re a narcissist, then you should really avoid this exercise at all costs.)

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July 14, 2011 | 10:13 am

We can write our own story

Posted by Chava Tombosky

We can never leave our own story. No matter how painful. No matter how agonizing. But maybe we can rewrite it.

Sometimes it feels as though we are walking inside an insulated tunnel filled with pictures, images, words, and messages that overwhelms our senses. Some of these messages relay fear and haunting circumstances that become the 4d movie we wish we could close our eyes off from ever confronting.

How do we move on from deep rooted pain? How can a family face their future when their child has been torn away from them and brutally murdered? The frustrating part of living this 4D movie is that there are never any answers to the why’s.  The inability to understand tragedy is a constant and man’s search will never learn this answer. The sad fact is, we only have our reaction. We only have our behavior to live with after tragedy has dealt us pain. We only have our own action, our own reflexes, our responses we become in control of.

We can never leave our own story, even though it feels unimaginably swollen with festering burning anguish.

World-renowned speaker, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Jacobson suggests that the word G-d can be swapped with the word “reality”, which can completely alter our image of the Divine; the scriptwriter of our lives.  Reality is the world or state of things as they actually exist in this corporeal sphere.  It is the truth that connects us with what is here and now in this physical realm. But if we have walked into a 4d movie, we also know, eventually that movie must come to an end and we can walk out. Eventually, the credits come up and a new reality does take over; a comforting idea.

These few years we experience on earth are just a blink of the eye in comparison to the vast universe that house our souls and carries our deeds and our everlasting reality to the next world, and the next one and the next one. Our realities constantly shift and change .  Sometimes our reality challenges our inner psyche and sometimes it enlightens us. Sometimes it forces us to grow and sometimes it breaks us. But it always keeps us shifting. Nothing ever stays the same.

Maybe we don’t have to leave our story.

We are born into this world kicking and screaming as we take our first breath of life, as we leave the warm and safe womb that was our existence for nine short months. We are thrown into this mysterious world without any game plan, without any script, without knowing the destiny we face or the experiences we will confront without warning. And yet we are born stronger than we give ourselves credit for, because we do manage to inhale despite the fact that our fragile lungs have never experienced air. We do manage to take a breath and scream and let the unfamiliar world into our fragile six pound frames. We do manage to make sense of pain and laugh again and dance again and sing again. We do manage to confront our existence with raw energy that propels us into the next reality that then becomes the new script of our lives.

Maybe trading in G-d for the word reality helps us in realizing that our reality gives us power. We are not helpless. We are not weak. We are kindled forces born to help thrust the Holiest Reality into this world. We have power to choose how we are going to relate to our ever evolving story.  Our reality is the constant break of waves that heaves through our lives like a tormented ocean always finding ways to push us to the shore. Always finding ways to make us move, to make us evolve, to make us become our better selves. Only after our current relationship with this reality has ceased and we will walk into the next reality, the next world, will we truly learn all the answers for what has become the script of our own lives.

We are Divine beings made in the image of the Divine. The Divine has no image. How can we physically duplicate an image of a blank portrait? What does it mean, what are we supposed to learn from this?

Maybe we are to learn that we are finite beings with infinite possibilities. We are finite beings trapped in a finite world yet built with limitless strength, immense faith, and the boundless ability to overcome the natural. Maybe we have the ability and the power to reshape our own destiny and how we react to pain is part of how we determine our destiny. Maybe we have the ability to change our reality. Maybe we have more power than we think.

We can believe in our 4d movie as the only story. We can reel in pain. We can see our existence as finite. Or we can mobilize our sacred and eternal purpose by holding hands with our Reality and realize eventually this movie ends, the credits come up and we will look at it all from a distance with clarity and understanding.

One day.

Maybe that is the purpose of it all. We can’t choose our story. We can’t walk away from it. But we can inspire others and morph into something new that we never thought we could become because of it.

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June 29, 2011 | 7:23 pm

RECOVERING APATHETIC

Posted by Chava Tombosky

This past week I attended an “Ask the Rabbi” lecture where two Orthodox Rabbis and one Orthodox Rebbetzin sat on a panel ready to answer questions on Jewish life, ritual, and tradition.  There were many interesting questions thrown at them like “What is your take on using marijuana, what’s your feeling about men and women texting each other, and what is your opinion on the Jewish education crisis?”

Obviously these were all important questions that deserved good answers, and for the most part, the panel answered them pretty well.  One anonymous question that was posed left me frustrated and dissatisfied upon hearing their answers.  The question was, and I quote:

“I am married to a religious and observant man and we are raising our children with Jewish observance as well, but deep inside I am feeling despondent and disconnected and feel as though I don’t believe in any of it anymore. What do you have to say about what I should do to rectify my frustrations with religion?”

Across the panel, the patent answer that was given to this tortured soul was “You should learn more.”  Although I agreed with this answer, my frustration lied in the fact that this poor soul was never actually celebrated for asking her question. She was also asking an impassioned question, and deserved an equally sensitive answer instead of rhetoric. Here’s what I would have said (had they asked me to be on the panel, but they didn’t.):

Hello. My name is Chava and I am a recovering Apathetic.  (Then I would have waited for everyone to respond with “Hi Chava, it works if you work it”….I like cheesy AA sayings- it helps sets the mood.)

First let me applaud you for asking your question. For by the mere fact that you were in tune with your soul needing more, and by your ability to articulate your lack of inspiration, you indeed inspired me to re-ask this question to myself again. I have faced this shameful feeling in the past and, I imagine, you may have inspired many others, with the same sentiment, who may have been afraid to ask this question but were scared of judgment or criticism.  For how do we possibly learn, evolve, or tackle difficult issues if we hide from them? On the contrary, you were brave enough to face this deep seeded feeling of apathy and asked for an emotional response.  You deserve an emotional answer.

There are many reasons a person feels despondent in life.  Sometimes it is out of lack of practice, sometimes it is out of pain, sometimes it is out of boredom.  It is human. It is normal.  My despondency was a result of deep pain rooted in betrayal.  I had witnessed an event that caused me to truly face my lack of faith in people, which in turn hurt my faith in G-d.  Leaders let me down, and children got hurt as a result of men and women who were in leadership positions and who were unable to stand up for right versus wrong.  This event shook my faith to its core.  I had put so much faith into people instead of into the principles that I was living by, that I became a broken hearted tortured soul yearning for love and light, understanding, and rectification.  While on my search for closure, I ended up at a holy site in New York. The Lubavitcher Rebbe is buried in a cemetery in Queens and many from far and wide go to his place of burial to pray and to lament and to seek spiritual atonement and enlightenment.  It is a well known fact that Jews all over the world from the beginning of time have visited the grave sites of their past righteous teachers and leaders to pray and meditate, and to ask the righteous to invoke on their behalf.

It was a cold January day. The clouds hovered over my head and the chill in the air was way below zero.  As is customary, I took off my leather shoes out of respect and proceeded into the cemetery barefooted with only a thin nylon sock separating my delicate toes from the stone frozen ground.  I stood for a long time in meditation, begging G-d to allow the Rebbe to intervene on my behalf and on behalf of the many children who needed healing. I had cried for my own broken heart who witnessed senseless manipulation and irreversible crimes, which stole many children’s innocence away inside the doors of an institution that promised to protect and adhere to high moral Torah standards. I cried for the many leaders who failed at a time they should have been strong with resolve over how to protect children from sexual abuse.  I cried and I cried. My cold breath suspended in mid-air as every last word I uttered froze through the chilled wind. And then I looked up to the heavens and I saw the sky, and you know what- it was still grey.  Nothing had really changed. My despondency became more real and my bitterness and anger more fresh.  Religion had let me down, and I was frustrated that the only person who had the answers was now in a grave unable to truly give me any guidance.  How could I possibly adhere to a faith that had disappointed me so?

I dragged my cold stiff body back into the Synagogue attached to the cemetery.  Tears covered my skin and my eyes bled the truth that my heart was feeling.  Nothing, no one, could possibly change my verdict. I was as apathetic as I could have possibly become.  There was a television playing in the background where the Lubavitcher Rebbe was lecturing past lectures that had been taped during his years as leader.  Typically these lectures played all day never repeating itself more than once. Through my crying I noticed the TV but was not paying attention to the words.  For when you are feeling indifferent, there is nothing that can really change that feeling except for more indifference. It is a slippery slope, and sometimes G-d has to tap you on the shoulder or shake you in order to recreate your focus to set up a personal recharge.  Sometimes that shoulder tap ends up being the TV breaking down. For a few moments, there was an interruption in the program, the screen scratched a fuzzy picture and then seemed to replay the exact same lecture. It was so noticeable, most of the folks in the Synagogue stopped what they were doing and paid attention only to go back to their private prayers. For some reason, this pause had me pause in my own wallowing of emotion and without realizing, I started to pay attention to what the Rebbe was reiterating now for the second time.  I will forever remember these words, as they are etched in my mind every time I feel far away from my purpose or resolve: (I am paraphrasing of course)

It is said that the Jews left Egypt in the “Middle of the night”, otherwise known as “Midnight”.  But the Jews were deserving of this exit from Egypt. What could possibly have been G-d’s purpose for having them sneak out of Egypt in the middle of the night? Surely it was not to hide this miracle or sneak them out of Egypt out of shame because the Jews were well deserving of leaving Egypt and many knew of their unjustified slavery.  The only thing one can learn from the moment the Jews left Egypt, is that the darkest hour of the day is midnight. That was the exact moment the Jews left their inexcusable slavery.  Sometimes when life is very difficult, when a person is in a deep slavery, a heart breaking situation, the darkest hour, it can seem as though there is no light at all. But midnight has a startling lesson, for every single minute after midnight the earth rotates towards the sun therefore making each minute and hour after midnight a little bit brighter.  When the Jews left Egypt, they left at the darkest moment of their lives, but every minute and hour after became a little bit lighter, a little bit brighter. For a person attached to his Higher Power is never stuck. He only has to look to midnight to know the light is but a few hours away, no matter how broken hearted he/she is.

It was at that moment I knew my heart would mend. I also knew it would be up to me to pull myself out of my pain and practice getting my soul fed through love and light, and yes, learning also helped.  The question shouldn’t really be, what should you do to rectify your frustrations with religion, but how do you rectify your frustrations with your soul? Your soul is not going away. Whether you leave your path or stay on it, your soul will continue to be tortured if it is not fed. For every person’s soul is just an extension of a Higher Power pushing itself into this earth. We all have this Higher Power inside of our selves, but it is up to us to let it out and shine. And if it feels dormant, the only way to unleash it is by acknowledging it’s sleep, taking ownership for its rest and re-inspiring it so our inner selves soar. Remember midnight is the darkest hour, after that, eventually the sun comes up- but if you do not get dressed, open the shade and make room for the light, it will remain trapped in bitterness, despair, and apathy.  So keep asking questions, keep seeking and searching, and eventually your soul will lead you instead of your despair.

Thanks for letting me share. And yes, it works if you work it…..(See- Cheesy, I know, but it helps.)

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June 15, 2011 | 11:52 pm

Yisgadal Vayiskadash Shmay Rabah….

Posted by Chava Tombosky

Today marks the last day of my father’s Kaddish.  Michoel the son of Mordechai.

“May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified….”

For eleven months, three times a day, my father’s three sons, my brothers, committed to uttering these words. Inside the gates of reality. Inside the world that is of flesh and bones. Inside this existence bound by time and physical space and

“...in the world that He created as He willed….”

Words are power for they bear witness to the reality of creation. Words identify creation. “And he said let there be light, and so there was light.” Words. Small words designed to build worlds.  “He is on life support, your father is going to die today.” Words, which altered my life forever. Words, which brought myriads of pain. Small words designed to build huge unknowing unthinkable worlds.

My father’s creation was one that will never depart from me or the hundreds and thousands of lives he touched.  Although he was not a King, he was a man who lead his life with great humility like Moses, with wisdom like King Solomon, with fair judgment like King David.

“May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days,”

For when his life left me I wondered… will the vibrations of his soul be felt by those who have been left behind?  On the days I mourned with tears and raw emotion, was that because my body reacted to what my soul instinctively knew? That his soul was transcending higher, to greater worlds built on more than words?

“And in the lifetimes of the entire Family of Israel, swiftly and soon…”

Will I quickly see him again in a new world, one with no pain, with no despair, with peace?

His flesh and warm embrace is no longer in my midst. Yet the power of his deeds, the influence of his healing hand, the acceptance of his nodding brow still remains inside the many creations that choose to accept such greatness, and for this reason….

“May His great Name be blessed forever and ever,”

For by saying these words about the ultimate creator:

“Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, mighty, upraised, and lauded be the Name of the Holy One Blessed is He..”

We the creation praise our creator.  In essence the Creator also praises the greatness of His own creation, possibly making them one and the same for if these words indeed praise creation itself, and my father was to me

“Beyond any blessing and song, praise and consolation that are uttered in the world…”

It is clear we have more power than we give our selves credit for to withstand loss, to withstand this silence, this void. For we are built in G-d’s image, therefore our image is naught. For somewhere in the cosmos lies the ultimate truth that His Majesty and I are truly one not bound by time, not bound by space, not bound by this constricted reality. Then if this is indeed true therefore, I will have no choice but to

“Now say Amen…”

Upon the closure of this holy day that will leave as quickly as it has landed upon me, I pray-

“May there be abundant peace from Heaven and life upon us and upon all Israel.”

For by participating in this ritual of expression with grace and dignity, without postponment or suspension, the tears that followed my goodbyes that were said too abruptly in a cold white room familiar with the smells of disinfectant and oxygen and the noncaustic stench of death that swarmed this ICU space, a space I never imagined I would have walked into to say a final goodbye.  A space I did not imagine on that warm summer unassuming July morning, would hold my seven siblings crying in shock and despondency only nine traveling hours later. Yet, still, despite my heartbreak, I remain grateful for those last moments. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to say goodbye, to sum up love and affection, like an appendage I was born with. Fifteen minutes without warning, without knowing and yet…

“Yisgadal Vayiskadash Shmei Rabbah…..”

It is the last day of my father’s Kaddish.  Michoel the son of Mordechai.

“Now I say Amen.”

For I know, that although this pain stabs my heart with all my being- it is

“He Who makes peace in His heights, may He make peace, upon us and upon all Israel. Now I will forever say Amen.”

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June 10, 2011 | 5:10 pm

Biggest Loser Winner Anouncement with my bro “MENDY”

Posted by Chava Tombosky

-Hey Mend- thanks for coming on the show today.

Mendy:  This is a show?

-Just go with it.

Mendy:  Are there cameras? How do I look?

-You look great.

Mendy:  I know, I should look great, I’ve been dieting and exercising for the past six weeks.

-The Shallman/Tombosky biggest loser diet, ya I’ve heard of it.  So I hear they have a winner.

Mendy:  They?

-Ya. They.

Mendy:  Aren’t we the- they?

-Semantics.  How do you think we should announce the winner for our Biggest Loser contest?

Mendy:  Maybe SNL can do a skit about it.  Can Tina Fey play me? Or maybe we’ll get to take on some dysfunctional family reality show and do an entire face off and then make a big reveal with some large hoo-haw announcement that tells everyone who the biggest loser is, and we can beat each other up and freak out on each other and then make our ratings even higher- ooh, wait, maybe they’ll invite our whole family to be cast in the next Modern Family and we can show them how it’s really done-

-How what’s done?

Mendy: duh, family drama.

-Don’t do that Charlie Sheen bit, it’s so over.

Mendy:  They don’t think so.

-They?

Mendy:  They- there’s gotta be a they, right?

-But I thought we were the- they!

Mendy:  Do you think we can get royalties for this contest, maybe a commercial deal, or a brand endorsement?

-Brand endorsement? What could we possibly endorse?

Mendy: Our dad was a gastro man. Maybe we should endorse Toilet paper wipies.  Or how bout a line of sitz baths?

- I think we should endorse something every family needs.

Mendy: What’s that?

-A Padded room.

Mendy:  Can it be sound proof? I’d need it to come with nerf boppers incase we feel the need to hit each other upon announcing the winner.

-Back to the contest…

Mendy:  Ya,  It’s real exciting.

-Really? What’s so exciting- did you win?

Mendy:  Well, I didn’t win, but I’m pretty proud of myself.

-So what, you came in second?

Mendy:  No. Not exactly.

-I know, you hit third place, you animal you, you hit third!

Mendy:  Chava, I didn’t hit third either- we both know YOU hit third! Way to go, I hear you beat Tova, niiice.

-Why you gotta do that?

Mendy:  Do what?

-Steal my thunder!

Mendy:  Chava, do you think the cameras are getting my good angle?

-I think you look a’right.

Mendy:  Do you think we should tell everyone who came in second?

-Who’s they?

Mendy- The people behind the cameras…….Yaakov came in second!

-Wait, I was gonna say that-

Mendy:  Here’s the thing about this contest….the thing I loved about it the most…..

-Being in touch with everyone each night, asking what everyone was gonna eat, getting to fress on lots of carbs in the after party?

Mendy:  That after party was the bomb, but no- By the way, did you sort of feel like we were eating in Little Italy with the wine, the outdoor setting, that fig goat cheese dish that I couldn’t see because of the dark and those cute lights that hung over the patio? Never mind.  The thing I loved about this contest the most, was that Robbie came in first!!!!! He lost 20 POUNDS!!!

-You stole my thunder again! I wanted to say who won!!

Mendy:  Chav?

-Ya.

Mendy:  I’m really happy Robbie won.

-Cause he had the most to lose? Cause he looks gooood. Cause he worked really hard and even though he was grumpy because he didn’t eat bread for six weeks, he still won and so it was all worth it, because at the end of the day, although I had to put up with a grumpy husband, at least he can fit into really cool looking pants instead of the ones he usually wears that has an elastic waist band??


Mendy- Nope. ‘Cause I got to keep my fifty bucks. (Thanks Rob)

Mendy: Can I take this stupid judge costume off now?

-But you look like Randy Jackson!

Mendy: No I don’t.

-Simon Cowell?

Mendy: Not even close

-How bout that guy from Dancing with the stars?

Mendy:  Okay I’ll keep it on.

 

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June 7, 2011 | 1:33 pm

Biggest Loser Meets “RABBI ROBBIE”

Posted by Chava Tombosky

Judgement Day Has Arrived….

The Scale Of Merit Has Been Calibrated….

Tonight It Shall Be Decreed Who Shall Live And Who Shall Dine…

Tonight We Will Know Who Is….. The…. Biggest….. Loser….. Da Datam (that’s drums….)

As Yaakov mentioned today on our family blog, the competition is getting heated:

“All liquid diet today boys and girls -
big coffee at 2pm
weigh in at 6pm
collect $300 at 6:05pm
collect Tova’s $50 check at 6:30pm (i’m sure she will forget her checkbook and she doesn’t get paid until Friday)
eat cheese cake at 6:10pm
bring $50 cash - i don’t want to chase you for the money.
bring your flip so we can document the event.”

With only a couple hours left till weigh in time, We still have 2 more BL competitors for you to meet.  Four hours and counting till weigh in time….

Let’s first meet Robbie:

My husband, Robbie, is a wonderfully sensitive guy who has always been there for the entire family. He is one of a kind and we are all secretly hoping he wins this competition.  Everyone has their reasons. Some believe he won’t actually make anyone pay up. Others are just hopeful that Robbie gets so fit that he becomes the next Rocky.  Robbie had the most to lose, and when we started this competition, he was the most defiant against participating. Funny enough, as soon as the start button was pushed, he became the most competitive out of all of us. He didn’t really want to let anyone of us beat him, and I am really really proud of his progress, even if I had to listen to him brag about his fifty minute elliptical stints, and how little calories he consumed….on a regular basis.  When Robbie first joined the gym, the owner, a Jewish guy, became really interested in Robbie’s progress- mainly because the owner was hoping to make Robbie his walking marketing example.  “Lift those weights like you’re lifting the Torah,” the owner would order .  “Blow, blow through those abs like you’re blowin a Shofar on Yom Kippur.”  Every day Robbie went to the gym, and every day, he has become more and more fit and of course he has also managed to bring the fit gym owner to synagogue a couple of times for his own spiritual work out.  I’m really proud of Robbie’s progress. Hopefully, he will keep on going, and eventually he’ll be able to run….run really really fast- like he’s running from the army out of Egypt.

Here’s what Robbie had to say about our BL Competition:

1. How much weight did you need to lose?
 
“I had officially entered the obese zone (one step up from the ‘over-weight’ zone) about six months ago.  For those who are interested, you know you have entered the obese zone when you take your sick child to the pediatrician and the pediatrician puts you on the scale and spends the entire appointment discussing your heath while your sick child sits sniffling and coughing on the examination room table.”
 
2. What have you done to change your habits over the past few weeks?
 
“The first big eye openers for me were: (1) how many calories were in my favorite foods and (2) how many calories I was actually consuming.  Thanks to technology, and my wife’s suggestion, I downloaded an App called MyFitnessPal from MyFitnessPal.com.  This is an awesome fitness tool, because it helps you determine a calorie goal for the day and then track your actual caloric intake.  It also allows you to create a social network of friends who can monitor your results (like facebook).   I was shocked to find my afternoon bag of chips had over 400 calories and the cookies that I munched on with my Grande Soy Vanilla Latte during my mid-morning pick-me-up had another 400 calories.  I was easily consuming 3,000 - 4,000 per day!  So the hardest habit for me to change was just being aware of the food choices I was making throughout the day. The other great thing about MyFitnessPal is it actually motivated me to exercise because it tracks net calories.  So if I used all of my daily 1200 calories before dinner, I could go to the gym after work and get another 500 calories by, let’s say, doing an hour on the elliptical machine!  At least initially, my exercising was just a way to consume more food!  May seem a bit Pavlovian, but that is exactly the kind of motivation that was getting me to the gym for the first few weeks ”
 
3. Who in the family do you really want to beat?
 
“As it turns out I am a fairly competitive person, so I am really looking forward to losing more weight than everyone else!  Truth be told, if not for the competition I would not have lasted more than a week.  There has been very little personal reward during the past five weeks.  I really don’t enjoy exercising - when your 40 lbs overweight everything at the gym is an ordeal!  And I haven’t enjoyed diminishing my caloric intake either - let’s face it, you don’t become 40 lbs overweight without developing a deep, personal relationship with your favorite foods!  So the only thing that really kept me on track for the past five weeks has been the competition - or more pointedly, the transparency of setting a goal and then having an accountability to a group who will mock your defeat at family gatherings for years to come!  And here’s the amazing thing - now that I have made it through the first five weeks (albeit kicking and screaming) I have just begun feeling better!”
 
4. What do you plan on doing with the $400?
 
“I haven’t really given that much thought…  Thank G-d, our life is very full and blessed with lots and lots of good things that usurp every dollar earned.  So I think I will use this money for something that everyone in family would enjoy.”
 
5. Are you proud of your progress?
 
“I am very surprised with my progress!  I haven’t been on a sustained diet or exercise regiment for a long, long time.  So I didn’t really know what to expect. I am proud that I have not had a single slice of Pizza in for the past five weeks.  Pizza is definitely my “gateway drug”... and I have turned down a slice about a dozen times over the past six weeks.”  
 
6. Do you plan on  spending any of you $400 on Chava?
 
“I don’t understand the question… After being married with children for almost seventeen years I don’t really know the meaning of the words, “your money” - please explain ”

(that’s my man:) )
 
7. Will you continue eating better and exercising even after the deadline?
 
“I am so glad for the support of our family and am hopeful to keep up the new eating and exercise habits for a long time to come.”
 
8. Most importantly, what do you plan on eating the second the wager is over?
 
“Hmmmm…. that’s a good question.  I still have a long way to go, so I really don’t think I am going to launch directly into a “binge” after the wage is over… of course, I couldn’t promise that I am not going to go on a cheese cake binge either… One day at a time… One day at a time…”
 
9. Would you consider doing another 8 week Biggest Loser competition, and if so, how much mula are you willing to put in the pot next time?
 
“I would definitely go for another eight weeks, but honestly don’t think the money part is very important.  The truth is, it was the teamwork and accountability that were the most helpful part of the competition.  It’s not really about winning or losing at this point.  I think we have all won by endeavoring to lose the weight!
 
(Of course, I think I will enjoy winning the competition just a little bit too ”

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June 6, 2011 | 4:06 pm

Biggest Loser Meets “ROCKY”

Posted by Chava Tombosky

Rochel Leah is the youngest of the bunch. She is eighteen years younger than me. She has the best style out of all of us sibs. NO one can put together a four-dollar outfit from Forever 21 and make you think it’s expensive couture from Neiman’s better than Rox. We are all in awe of her style, her humor, and her incredible ability to handle anything difficult that comes her way.  Although I am much older than her, we are really close.  I am so proud of her for taking on this competition. She has her first job, she got her license and is working really hard at eating better. For eighteen, she is “rocking it” out of the park! Here’s what she had to say about our Biggest Loser Competition:

1.  How much weight would you like to lose?

“I had ten pounds to lose.”

2.  What have you done to change your habits over the past few weeks?

“I’ve been more aware of my choices and have said goodbye to Funions. Still, I miss 7-11 runs.”

3.  Who in the family do you really want to beat?

“No one. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could eat healthy and stick to it for longer than two days.”

4.  What do you plan on doing with the $400?

“Shopping spreeee…..”

5.  Are you proud with your progress?

“I feel much better about myself but I feel as though I could have done a little bit better. I was on a 1200 calorie diet, but over the past two weeks I think it’s been more like 1500, maybe 2000. I don’t know, I just stopped counting, I NEED a vacation from all this!”

6.  Do you plan on spending any of your $400 on Chava?

“I’ll probably spend it before I see her.”

7.  Will you continue eating better and exercising even after the deadline?

“We were supposed to exercise!!?”

8.  Most importantly, what do you plan on eating the second this wager is over?

“I’m really excited Shavuos is coming, less than 72 hours forty six minutes and fifteen seconds away.”

9. Would you consider doing another 8 week Biggest Loser competition, and if so, how much mula are you willing to put in the pot next time?

“Unless it is the real Biggest Loser, where I am on TV and up for winning like a million dollars, while not having to diet at all as I miraculously shed weight just from looking at the funions, then no. Still I am really proud of myself that I managed to eat vegetables on a regular basis. I also learned to like the treadmill- and not just as a hanger.”

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