Of a Lump in My Throat

Hello My Dear One,

I began writing while still hospitalized for a virulent bacterial infection, and although I am now back home safe and sound, I want you to hear what my thoughts were at the time, and what they are now.

I have been sitting here for days, in hospital, battling through a PeriTonsillar Abscess caused by a virulent strain of Strep A that attacked me nearly 2 weeks ago.  I have been pumped full of meds, had 2 CT scans, a procedure done at 10:00pm on a Sunday night with only a few shots of Lidocaine, a needle, a knife, some clamps, and the warning "Don't Move."  I have been on a restricted diet, monitored day and night, and have learned that apparently I don't breathe all of the time while I sleep.  And all of this because of a lump in my throat, a puss filled abscess on the back side of my left tonsil, that grew from 1cm to 2.5cm in less than 48 hours.  I have been subjected to a battery of tests, all because of a lump in my throat.

And all of this has led to a different lump in my throat, not a physical one, but a figurative one that is often described as the way one feels when faced with a sadness that is too great for initial speech.  We even refer to it as "getting choked up" in the U.S., when we are overcome with emotion that might make us cry.  Because here is the U.S. we are not as quick to show our sadness, particularly as men, and more so when in public.  We say that we are "choked up" because we cannot speak the words, or cry the tears when faced with the flood of real emotion in times of sorrow.  This to me is in itself a sadness, however I am just of guilty as this as most of those around me.

Now all of this could well lead into an exploration of cultural norms and mores, how men and women react differently to emotions, and what it means to be a member of a society that prizes violence and heroism over intimacy and relationship.

But I want instead to talk about the lumps in my throat.  I want to explain what has brought me to this place of a physical lump, and to the figurative one as well.  I want to explore the feelings that got me into all of this and also out of this.

I got sick with Strep A nearly 2 weeks ago, and I started a course of antibiotics almost immediately.  I felt a little better, tired, but better, and thought I might even be able to return to work at the end of the week.  But all too quickly I was much sicker, and I was failing fast.  After 2 emergency room visits I was sent to a larger hospital and began a lengthy process of recovery.

But I wondered, why did I grow this crazy puss filled thing in my throat in the first place.  Why me?  I know I have amazing skills at growing cysts, this is at least the 5th in the last 15 years, but really?  An abscess on a tonsil?  One that was growing at an alarming rate, and slowly blocking my airway?  I was literally getting choked up by this growth in my throat.

I knew that from a medical standpoint it was a potential that comes whenever someone has strep throat, and it can happen especially if there is a history of tonsillitis, and/or a weakened immune system, such as mine.  Having diabetes has always been a liability, but sometimes I forget how much of one it can be.  My health is often more at risk than others and I need to protect myself through preventative measures in a more aggressive fashion that I frequently do.

Further, I work in an elementary school and am exposed to all manner of bacteria, viruses, sickly kids, and other environmental health risks.  It can be a highly stressful position, where I never feel like I have enough time to complete everything I want to do in my day.  That sense of unfinished business can be trying at times no matter how much I try to walk away from it when I am not there.  And I never really stop thinking about the kids I work with.  I want to bring them my best self, my most creative ideas, and something that might make learning a little better, a little easier, a little more enjoyable than it has been in the past for them.  I want to engage them and make them lifelong learners too.

But even with all of these factors, I'm not sure I can blame this round of illness on much of any of that.  No, I think deep down that my own emotional conflicts over theological school, call, meeting the needs of my family, and ignoring my own health were the real culprits this time.  My inability to put my own physical, spiritual, emotional, and intellectual needs ahead of anything else is always detrimental to my body, as it decides to shut the whole system down to keep me from wreaking any more havoc on myself.  Just like the encapsulating cysts that I excel at growing, my body eventually encapsulates me in a cyst so that I too must be drained of the puss that I have accrued within my spirit.

Much like the physical abscess I had blocking my airway, my emotional airway was blocked by an unwillingness on my part to acknowledge that I was doing too much.  I had taken on projects, and work, and commitments I could in no way fulfill, and yet I tried to take on more.  From my innermost self that wants to be loved, I continue to put myself into those vicious circles of offering too much in return for too little.  Over extending myself is not truly a sign of flexibility or the ability to multitask, rather I see in my own life that it is merely a way of running oneself ragged and incapable of doing anything.

I was in so much denial about how overwhelmed I was that I had even stopped really caring for my diabetes.  I suspect that this a key player in my prolonged illness.  Diabetes is an autoimmune disorder, and when it is improperly managed, the body cannot respond to bacterial or viral attacks with enough strength to properly fight off the illness.  My blood glucose levels had been rising and my overall average was up as well.  I drank coffee laden with sugar, creamers, and sugary syrups.  I ate candy bars, donuts, cakes, cookies, and way to much protein.  I lowered my immunity and suffered the consequences.

But what about those figurative lumps in my throat?  Well, as I sat there, stuck in that bed, I began to see how much I missed my wife and children.  I realized how much I missed my work life.  I realized how much I missed my freedom to go to a grocery store and by some fresh fruit and vegetables.  I realized that I missed my life.  And that, that missing of my own life, was what brought the true lumps to my throat.

For nearly 40 years I have suffered from the belief that my existence was not truly important to the world, or even my own family's.  I didn't feel that my wife really needed me to exist, and of course she doesn't need me to exist per se, but to have a loving and fulfilling life we need each other.  Our existences are dependent upon the love that we create and share as two grown adults in the life altering bond of marriage.  We need each other.  And that emotion was overwhelming enough to bring a lump to my throat.

And so too, being a present, loving, nurturing father to my two magnificent sons.  Likewise my colleagues, my students, my friends, and the people with whom I share my stories of what it means to be intersex and transgender.  I meet each person exactly where they are and allow them the space to share with me their struggles and their triumphs.  What greater importance could there be in life?

And we have all been granted this opportunity.  We are given the gift of our lives to live into and share with others.  We are connected by our experiences, by our comings, and our goings in life.  We are connected by something as simple as a smile, or as profound as a lifelong relationship filled with hardships and joys that push us to be better people than we could have ever imagined.

Yet there is one more element to this magic, G-d.  Because I believe that it is the G-d outside of us, and the G-d within each of us that creates these opportunities to experience this brief flicker of time we have been granted.  And perhaps this brought the biggest lump to my throat.  The knowing that the G-d within me and the G-d within each housekeeping staff member, CNA, nurse, and doctor created a place of care, healing, and recovery for me, for my family, for my work, for my friends, and for the very people who cared for me during my illness became a truth that changed my life.  I mattered.  They mattered.  My existence here and now has meaning and value, and my absence would be a loss.

As a new week begins, I come to it with an appreciation for another day to be.
I am here, and my life has meaning.  Thanks be to G-d.

Thank you for having meaning in my life, in the lives of others, and for choosing to be a part of the lump in my throat.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari

Of Call, Of Discernment, and of Teaching

Hello My Dear One,

It is now Autumn, the season that brings a cooler breath to our lungs, more vibrant colors to our eyes, and the needed space for a quieter reflection as the earth begins to prepare itself for the coming hibernation.  For many, this is a time of contentment, a time of settling into a deeper place that came with the activities of summer.  It is a time of discernment for all of us as we prioritize what we must do in order to make the coming months safe, warm, and nourishing in all ways possible.  It a season of planning ahead.

In my own days of fall, I am in the midst of a discernment process, one that I have experienced multiple times before and will undoubtedly repeat in years to come.  It is listening to my call to ministry and what exactly that call is.  It is a remarkably, and achingly difficult thing to do, to sort out my own emotions from my delusions, my desires from the needs of others, and whether the voice I hear is G-d's or my own.  This process is what gives us the ability to serve others the way that G-d wants us to, but only if we can truly, truly listen.  And for a person with mental health issues, well it is even trickier to know what to listen for.

So, I have once again explored the possibility of attending theological school.  I have even visited a campus and reveled in the academic opportunities and enjoyments that come with being in a graduate school setting.  I loved the camaraderie, the jokes, the intimacy, the theological discussions, and the hope for a deepened faith life and practice.  I was nearly giddy with the thrill of course work, readings, exegesis, and frozen yogurt runs at 11:00 at night.  Yes, the sheer exuberance that comes with academia for a lifelong learner, is like an alcoholic beverage to me.  I am intoxicated by the very potential for more study.

To make the letters even sweeter.

And I believe that as a Jew, this is normal.  It is, I suspect, an inborn calling within all who are members of the 12 tribes of Israel, to physically long for learning.  We get our first taste of the Aleph-Bet with actual honey, to make learning a sweet process, thus ensuring that we will want to continue.  It will also probably lead us to being diagnosed with some form of pre-diabetes or diabetes within our lifetimes, but so what? Being able to read is more important than a functional pancreas, right?

We become "men" and "women" at our Bar and Bat Mitzvahs when we have learned how to read Torah well enough to participate in Shabbat, speaking ancient words, sharing the sacred space where words take on meanings that we would otherwise not ascribe to them.  And in some communities we still gift the newest "adult" of our group with a fountain pen, to further impress upon them, and us, that reading, discussing, and writing about G-d is what makes us truly "grown-ups."  Funny story, one of my young cousins, herself preparing for her upcoming Bat Mitzvah, was attending a Shabbat service with all of us to celebrate my Uncle's 80th birthday.  After we celebrated the occasion during the service, my Uncle jokingly asked where the new fountain pen was, and my dear, sweet, modern cousin, asked in earnest, "What's a fountain pen?"  Apparently, we should have said something like a stylus for your iPad.

Heck, we even call our spiritual leaders, Rabbi, a word that means teacher.  It is as if Jews see the need for someone to provide educational opportunities in order to grow, as well as someone who can provide comfort during our times of trial.  And Rebs of old inspire and teach through the Talmud, a collection of explorations and answers to every possible life scenario, and most importantly at least 2 answers that completely contradict each other.  That's right, there are multiple answers to life's questions and there, codified in volumes of texts, is the very answer to the mystery of spirituality itself.  There is no one right answer.  We humans cannot grasp the enormity of G-d, and when we try to answer questions with an either or solution, we show our limitations as created beings.  With G-d there are no "either/or" answers to life, rather, it is "both/and."  Within the first few verses of Torah, in Genesis, the term for G-d used during the creation of humans is a plural, meaning the divine.  G-d is both/and, singular and plural, greater than the entire cosmos, yet within each atom that it is composed of.

So, in my current (perpetual) discernment process, I am seduced by the opportunity to delve again into the words that create meaning within my life.  I have a visceral response to the idea that I could spend hours upon hours sitting in a library, pouring over texts, writing, thinking, imagining, believing, and dreaming about what each letter could mean.  It's true, I would love a life of academia, filling my mind to the brim with every last bit of knowledge I could fit in there.

And yet.

And yet.

For as much as I have a call to learning,  I have a deeper call to teaching.  And of course the two calls are really one in the same, but it is how one chooses to live into them that can have remarkably different effects on the people around you.

If I choose to throw myself headlong into a world of academia, a world of abstraction, and a necessary laser like focus, I will likely lose the connection to my family, friends, and community as I become ensconced in my world of books.

If I choose to throw myself headlong into a world of teaching, a more concrete world, and a necessarily large world view, I will likely grow in my relationships, and have more to offer to those I love.

And, as the Talmud would offer up, both options are right, both options are wrong, and there are infinitely more options than those that I have created.

In my life today though, I know that for as much as I love academic challenges within higher education, I learn far more when I am teaching those who require a little more, a little extra, another set of eyes, or ears, or hands, or neurons in order to learn for themselves.  Everyday, every single day, I am blessed to be able to go to work, experience totally different world views from my own, and get hugs from people half my size.  Being an educator in an elementary school is the best thing I've ever done in my life, save for being a good husband and father.  Being a positive male role model for boys and girls who may not have one is a priceless gift that I have been given to share.  Being allowed to be myself grants me more knowledge than I will ever be able to contain.

And that brings me right back to my discernment process and my own sense of call.  Those dreams of academia, of discussing and debating, of questions that lead to more questions, of philosophical dilemmas worked through in the early morning hours over beer and sleep deprivation, each dream more tantalizing than the next.  But they are just that, dreams.  They are not goals.  They are fantasies, and in all truth, they are fantasies that I have already fulfilled in my seminary days.  I've lived them all.  And I have a life that calls me now to dream new dreams, make goals, and live them out in the here and now.

It is seldom easy to put a want on hold.  It is seldom easy to prioritize which task must be done first.  Should I work on the outdoor tasks before the snow falls?  Should I work on tightening up the inside jobs in my house before the cold winds blow through the cracks in this old farmhouse?  Are the questions I pose literal, figurative, or both?  In the end it probably doesn't matter, whether or not they are reality nor the actual order of the tasks.

In the end I know that whatever decisions I make will have consequences for more than just myself.  Each choice will affect my wife, my sons, my job, my community, my faith, my sanity, and my time to enjoy the changes in the seasons that continue to fly past me.  Each choice isn't about me, it is about the family I have created, and the family that I have chosen to be a part of.

It has been nearly a year since my Deconstruction, and I can't bear to think of putting my loved ones or myself through that again.  Ultimately, I know that a choice to return to theological school, regardless of the reasons would eventually lead to that, and that is not a choice I wish to make.  I am a far better man than I was a year ago and as such I know when it is time to put the good of myself and of my family first.

Teacher, Scholar, Family man.

So, will I regret not attending theological school?  Maybe.  Would I regret not being here for my family, for my students, my community, my friends, or even my own life?  Yes!  I recently read that one should live the way you want to be remembered in your eulogy/obituary.  Meaning, that I want to be remembered for my love and devotion, my volunteerism, the differences I made in others' lives, the way I helped shift understanding of what it means to be transgender, intersex, and interfaith.  I want to be remembered for the good that I did, the Tikkun Olam, and not the times I left my family for my own personal gains.  

So, it is time to plan ahead then, to prepare for the coming hibernation of the wintery world that is coming.  And my plan is to stay the course.  I have found my call in teaching, and in so doing, I will always be able to fulfill my desire to learn.  There are exams for me to take, classes to complete, and teaching that needs to be done.  And there is the constant learning of being a husband and father to my ever evolving family and its growing needs.

May it be so that there is always more to learn.

Thank you for continuing to learn with me, and to teach me on this journey together.

Be well.  Love your neighbor as you love yourself.  And remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari