Bracha
Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al s’firat haomer.
Blessed are You, LORD God, ruler of the Universe, who hallows us with the mitzvot, commanding us to count the Omer.
Today is the fortieth day — five weeks and five days of the Omer.
Today’s Reflection
Anxiety is a liar. While I am a naturally anxious person, and often I consider my anxiety as a superpower because it helps me be attentive to details, a high achiever, and always striving for success. But when my anxiety is disregulated and evolves into periods of panic, I know it is lying to me and it is a conscious effort to untether myself and reality from the anxiety.
Rabbi Kedar teaches, “What we think we know about the future, we make up. We make assumptions so that we can plan and justify our way of living. We think we understand what is true and right, what is important and necessary, what is a priority and what is essential. And that is OK. Until its’s not” (Kedar, pg. 134-135). I felt this way in February 2020 — life was humming along, work was great, family was healthy, we just had a family vacation in LA. Then the global pandemic upended all of my plans, created new levels of work stress causing me insomnia, bald spots, deep fatigue, and an overall sense of powerlessness that I’m frankly not used to.
Like I said in a previous post, my ability and willingness to pivot when obstacles arose, helped me to strengthen my capacity for compassion, grace and also helped to see what is really important in life: loved ones, health, well-being, service, prayer and engagement with the Divine.
I have learned this lesson before during the 2016 wildfires in Fort McMurray that displaced us for our home for months. On that fateful day of May 3, 2016, when the massive wildfire entered our community and all 88,000 of us were racing to evacuate through firestorms, I remember contacting friends, coworkers, and even acquaintances to check on them and we all said, “I love you.” Like the 2016 wildfire, the 2020 major flood, and the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, “…the valley casts a shadow and we walk in a fog, dazed, finally understanding how oblivious we have been to what’s really important” (Kedar, pg. 135).
Rabbi Kedar goes on to teach, “So we refocus our lives and something odd happens. The colours are brighter, the laughter is poignant,…and slowing down doesn’t seem like a waste of time, and friendships are redefined, and our words have meaning” (Kedar, pg. 135). Now that I’m reminiscing on the 2016 wildfire, I remember escaping Fort Mcmurray through a literal “valley of shadows”, with dense black smoke impairing our capacity to see clearly while driving, being surrounded by raging fires, and embers raining heavily down on us — and not knowing if we would ever return, if our home would be burned, if anything would ever be the same again.
I returned early to Fort Mcmurray in July 2016 with special permission to check out the extent of damage of my office building, which had been the only building left standing while everything in the neighbourhood burned down on May 3rd, only 30 minutes after we evacuated. I remember I was going to stay until the end of the workday to answer phones, while everyone else went home to pack and evacuate. Luckily I left the office that day just in time.
We eventually made it to Edmonton as evacuees, and stayed for 3 months. The evacuation was truly the best of times and the worst of times. We got closer to friends, family and shared a special bond with all other evacuees. There was a time from May 4-6, 2016, that we were certain that our home was gone. And while I was sad about my losing closet (shameful, I know!), I was kind of at peace with the whole ordeal. Luckily, our home was saved and basically undamaged, while most of our neighbourhood burnt to the ground.
But when I returned to Fort McMurray that July, the wildfire was mostly under control, and it was a sunny summer day with a bright blue sky. As we drove into town, the vibrance and brilliancy of the green bushes growing underneath the millions of black burnt trees was striking. Life always finds a way. Just as the land resets and renews, the bright green bush grew from the burnt roots and soil, that flourish cascaded the hills and river valleys gave me hope and filled me with optimism. While our community would never be the same, we knew that healing, growth, and renewal is possible. Rabbi Keder framed it this way: “Because in the valley of shadows, there is clarity. Do not fear” (Kedar, pg. 135).
And so it is. Amen selah.