The Cat in the Hat
Tonight our daughter Nomi read her first entire book by herself. She had an assignment from school to read five books and write their names down on a list. She chose the first book: The Cat in the Hat by the one and only Dr. Seuss.
I have really vivid memories of reading The Cat in the Hat to our oldest daughter Miriam 20 years ago when she was small. I would read parts of it, then pause so she could fill in. I'd say: "But the fish said..." and she'd supply, "No no! Make that cat go away!" in her cute little voice on our couch in Jerusalem. It became an inside family joke: But the fish said... nono! When little Nomi got up to that part in the book, the nostalgia was so strong I wanted to cry.
Nostalgia is a funny thing. Someone wise once said, "Nostalgia is a trip down memory lane, with all the rocks removed." Because digging deeper, here are some other things I remember about those early years of our family in Jerusalem:
1. I was always cold in the winter, and just couldn't seem to warm up in the stone buildings, so used to American heating was I.
2. Miriam always had colds. No matter what I tried, she always seemed to get sick.
3. I was far from family and lonely. I felt lucky to have a job, but got paid so little it cost us money for me to work. I worked to alleviate my loneliness.
4. Every meal that I made felt like climbing a mountain. I didn't like to cook, but was too young and inexperienced to know that that wasn't going to change or to stop trying so hard to like something I didn't like, so I kept trying.
5. I was always always tired from waking up with babies. Afternoons were brutal, trying to entertain my kids from under the fog of fatigue. In fact, I'm pretty sure I zoned out on several cute Cat in the Hat sessions with Miriam.
Was there good? Lots! We were young and in love (now we're middle aged and in love), living in the holiest, most beautiful city in the universe. We were immersed in a Torah lifestyle, surrounded by special people whom we really admired. We had beautiful healthy children (albeit with colds) whom we adored and whom adored us. But real life, whether it was the olden days, right now, or in the future, is a huge messy mix of good and bad.
How silly, of us, then, to sprinkle the past with some kind of fairy dust ensconced in a golden halo, then compare it to our gritty, human realities of today. Why do we do this?
I think I know why. It is a tool of the yetzer hara - the evil inclination - designed to bring us down and discourage us. How can reality compete with fairy dust and golden halos? And when we're depressed, we make mistakes. We are short-tempered and critical of ourselves and others. We stop trying and setting goals. We attribute normal mistakes and failures to our own badness and weakness. We stop growing!
I have such wonderful memories of "the good ol' days." But I'm also real enough to know there was both good and bad. And the present? One day this will be tomorrow's good ol' days. I intend to try living every moment of it with mindfulness.
Shabbat Shalom,
Ruchi Koval
