Be a River

I’ve been interviewing doulas this week, which has been kind of strange. Given that I will be relying heavily on one of these women during one of the most intense and important days of my life, I feel like they need to know where I’m coming from and what baggage I’m bringing with me to the birthing experience, so I can get a sense of if they’ll be able to provide adequate support.

“Hi! I’m FreiFem. Can I get you a coffee? So, I was raised in a fundamentalist home….”

It’s a little weird. In the first few years after I left the frum community, I would tell everyone I met where I came from, that piece of my story. It defined me so totally I didn’t know how to filter it. Now, I try to avoid mentioning my origins unless it’s super relevant. It’s shrunk in importance as the rest of me has grown. Which reminds me of a terrific “dvar Torah” Rabbi David Ingber said last Friday:

A Hindu master had an apprentice that was super kvetchy. He was always complaining and whining over every little thing. One day the master had enough. He told his apprentice to take a handful of salt, put it in a cup and drink it.

“How does it taste?” the master asked.

“Yech! Bitter!” the apprentice complained.

The master then walked with him down to the river, and told him to put a handful of salt in the water, and then take a drink.

“How does it taste?” the master asked.

“Fresh!” the apprentice replied.

When our bitterness gets too much, we can expand our realities and dilute the pain. We can become rivers, not cups.