Kislev 5782: How Do You Define Home?

The past two months have been a bit of a whirlwind. My husband, son and I left Moscow to go back to America for the Jewish holidays, stayed there for six weeks and from there went straight to Israel for three more weeks, for my sister’s wedding. The entire experience was magical and so special amidst the exhaustion that naturally came with it all. It was a period that brought immense connection, spirituality and reflection — in some unexpected ways.

When I say I’m going to America, I often say, “I’m going home.” But these past two months allowed me to explore what it means to have three different homes. I started in America — the place I grew up and where I still feel most comfortable. It’s a place where I speak the language, know how systems work, can find my way around a CVS or grocery store (ogling the unreal kosher options in all the aisles) and have the majority of my family and friends.

In Israel, as a Jew, I have my most spiritual home. It’s the place where connection to Hashem comes most naturally. I can visit the Kotel, or Western Wall, where the cries and prayers from Jewish women around you are almost palpable. I have my sister there and one of my best friends in the world. It’s home to religious mentors, the seminary I grew at Jewishly and the place I met my husband.

Yet, in both of those places, I don’t have my unique home. I don’t have the apartment and space that I, with my husband and now son, have turned into our home. It’s the space we have and host Shabbat meals in every week. It’s the walls that encompass the memories of teaching my son how to sleep, where he learned to walk and where I spent the early days of motherhood. It’s the pillows that have felt my tears as I adjusted to marriage and, essentially, a whole new stage of life. It’s been my safe haven in Moscow, Russia, where the outside can feel so foreign and distant.

So, where is home, really? In America I feel like I’m in my comfort zone – yet I don’t have my own space. In Israel, I feel so connected as a Jew, yet I still feel distanced in a country where I don’t know the language and don’t fully understand the Middle Eastern culture. In Russia, I have my physical home and my internal home inside it, but I feel so disconnected from the world outside its walls. I find myself yearning for pieces of all three when I’m not in the other two.

As I returned to Russia this time, I knew it would be difficult. As excited as I was to get back to my own bed and kitchen and to put my son to sleep in his own crib, I was nervous at how the sadness would creep in once I was farther away from the rest of my family and friends. Now that it’s happening, I’m trying really hard to grasp at something that will pull me through.

We just entered the month of Kislev — one that’s all about spreading light. It’s one of the darkest months of the year, and so for many, can be harder to muster up the same joy and excitement that naturally come with the warmer months.

One thing I’ve set out to focus on is chesed. Getting out of myself is a way to combat the sadness. Seeing the needs beyond me can ease the internal darkness I so easily fall into. This doesn’t have to be big, as chesed starts in the home. Right now, I’m trying to give to my husband more in ways that I know will make him feel loved, like packing a lunch for him to take to work. 

I’m also seeing what some of the needs are in the women around me. Would it brighten someone’s Shabbat to receive an unexpected cookie delivery right before? Probably. Taking a few minutes and getting out of my own head while doing something for someone else has already become so beneficial to my mood and general wellbeing.

Then, there’s the internal focus. When I do feel really closed off, I have to remember to turn to Hashem.

The zodiac sign of Kislev is Sagittarius, which is symbolized by an archer’s bow, according to the Zohar. The Kotzker Rebbe says Yaakov Avinu compares prayer to shooting a bow. The closer the archer draws the bow, he says, the further the arrow will reach. So, too, with tefillah. “The more a person channels their inner focus and heart to Hashem, the further they will go.” 

I set a reminder on my phone that goes off every single day, prodding me to say, “Hashem is with me.” After I say it, a feeling of calm washes over me. I’m right where I need to be. Even in the darkness of Kislev, even in the depths of Moscow — or especially so — Hashem is there with me. It just might take a bit more arm strength to find Him, to pull that bow closer.

So, while I don’t have that external comfort of America or the spirit of Israel with me, I do have my home, with its memories and walls and pillows and bed, and that’s not nothing. I have Hashem with me everywhere, and when I focus on that, I really feel like my extroverted self gets a boost. I feel connected.

It’s hard, regardless of where you live or whatever your situation is, but we all can bring out the light. Whether it’s within our homes, our neshamot (souls), the outside community or a bit of each, we have that light within of us. We are warriors and we’re stronger than we think. Consider this your (and my) little reminder.

xoxo, Alex