MUSINGS

Stop and Watch the Candles

Yitti Berkovic

One of the perks of being a freelance writer is that my readers have no idea what I look like as I type this article. Let’s just say I may or may not be makeup-less and in a snood, with bags the size of New Jersey under my eyes. I also may or may not be wearing a sweater still bearing my baby’s  spit up from this morning. My readers will never know for sure, and hey, that’s one of the reasons I love this job. But working as a freelance writer also has its downsides, chief among them that I’m never really off the job. There’s no clocking in or out. There are no paid vacation days, no fun benefits when it snows, and no sense that the work is ever done. It’s kind of like doing laundry: You know how the minute you empty the last hamper, the other one begins to fill? For me, as soon as I submit the writing job at the top of my list, there’s a new one waiting in my inbox, ready for my attention. 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining.

I’m lucky to have a side hustle that I enjoy, a way to make money that doesn’t require me to go anywhere. I can type as I stir the supper, type as my baby plays at my feet, and type as I remind my daughter – for the 12th time – that she needs to start her homework. But that’s also the heart of my struggle. I can work anytime and anywhere, so when I find a few minutes to crash on my couch to just chill, there’s always a voice in the back of my mind chiding me: Um, Yitti, shouldn’t you be working now? So even when I’m stirring that supper or coaxing my daughter through that homework, there’s a part of me that’s impatient, that’s looking nervously at my watch, that’s wondering how much longer this is going to take.  There’s a part of me that’s realizing if I don’t move things along, I’ll be seeing the clock well past midnight.

Truth is, I don’t think you need to be a freelance writer – or a freelance anything – to relate to my struggle. In our ever-busy lives, there’s always something that needs to be done: bills to be paid, phone calls to be made, dishes to be washed, suppers to be prepped, laundry that’s been in the dryer since Thursday. And when we dare to slow down and try to enjoy a deep breath, there’s a voice that admonishes us: Shouldn’t you be doing something?

There’s a lot of talk today about being present. About dropping the phone or dropping some of the workload. About enjoying the moment wholly and completely. And here’s my raw and honest confession: I’m not very good at it. I might look like I am present, I might look like I’m listening and like I’m enjoying, but more often than not, my mind is a million miles away. My mind is on to the next thing – because that’s the only way to keep all the balls in the air. Maybe I’m a little too good at multitasking – because it feels impossible to fully focus on the here and now.

And that’s why I’m counting down the days to Chanukah.

No – deadlines won’t disappear on Chanukah as quickly as the latkes do. And no, one article can’t last for eight whole issues (now that would be a miracle!). But there’s a Chanukah minhag that has been passed from one generation of women to another, a mesorah that’s withstood the test of time but also feels more relevant than ever: After we light the Chanukah candles, it is customary for women not to work for at least the first half hour of the candles burning. Some women even have the minhag of not doing anything until the last candle burns out. (I think I’ll adopt that minhag – and buy the extra-large cups of oil this year). Because when else do we get this mandate? No work. No laundry. No dishwashing. (In the alter heim, there was also no sewing, but it’s safe to say there’s no risk of that here – considering I don’t even own a needle). Best of all, there’s no guilt. While sitting on the couch with my children at my side, playing dreidel, eating doughnuts, even eating too many doughnuts, there’s no guilt. I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. 

For me, this is the time of year when it feels like Hashem is telling me: I see you. I see the mental gymnastics and the physical stamina and the emotional strength it takes to raise children and run a household. I see how challenging it is in the hyperconnected world of 2020 to STOP and be fully present, without thinking about everything waiting to get done. So, here’s a gift. Carve into your schedule a time slot when you are supposed to be doing nothing.

It feels like a life raft.

I shut my phone. I hide my laptop. I let my laundry sit in the dryer (what’s another day without socks?), and I ignore those pesky deadlines (sorry, editors). And every night, when we light our menorah, I take a deep, cleansing breath and just sit in front of those dancing flames and enjoy them.  

Here’s the best part. When the half hour is over, I don’t feel the rush to move. My to-do list has been buried so deep in my mind that it takes a little time for it to resurface.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that, last year, those eight nights felt like a mini vacation for our family. We used that time to play dreidel for hours, making up our own ridiculous rules to up the ante, forgetting all about bedtimes and routines and being responsible. We used that time to make sushi latkes (and then had an impassioned debate about whether they were the best-things-ever or absolutely gross), and we made pan after pan of deep-fried Oreos (no debates there). We had a Chopped competition and charades night and easy-arts-n-crafts night (can’t fight DNA), and believe me when I tell you that this is not the usual in Casa Berkovic. It’s sad but true that we don’t always find the time to slow down and enjoy each other in the way that we should, so Chanukah feels like a marvelous and miraculous exception. 

We’re not so big on Chanukah presents in our house, and I know this is going to sound trite, but when you and your family are just sitting and listening and laughing without thinking about anything else – well, that’s the greatest gift of them all.

So, thank you, Hashem, for Chanukah.

Thank You for Your reminder of how important it is to just stop and watch the candles.