an amulet for the unknown future

My father is conditioned to bless the good and the bad. His capacity to do so always amazes me. Growing up, when something would break, he would instinctively shout out, “Mazel Tov!” It didn’t matter if it was a mechanical pencil or something of great value, even a family heirloom. According to him, according to his ancestors, it was inherently good luck. This became even more true when I married into a family with a resident mosaic artist. My father now has a dedicated purpose for his broken treasures. 

There is something whole to be made of everything broken, even the shattered pieces, even our broken hearts.  

I, for one, felt shattered on Wednesday morning. And so I called my father. We shared a deep cry. I am not yet ready to make something whole out of the election results. I am not done remembering what fascism has done to my people on other continents and fearing what it could do here. We are each entitled to our own response in our own time. 

I am, however, ready to remember that I have tremendous faith in us as a community, in the wisdom fo Jewish tradition, in the knowing that through us courses the blood of survivors, rebels, caregivers, and righteous souls. To remember that we are more powerful than we might feel this week. To remember that we cannot relinquish our dignity, our joy, our interdependence. Today I offer you each my heart, my practice, my reaching words as refuge. 

This week’s Torah portion contains one of the most formative moments in our spiritual legacy. Genesis 12 begins with God’s instruction to Abram to leave everything he knows, and journey to a place that will be revealed to him. How could he not have been afraid? 

In merely three verses, the call of Lech Lecha invites all of us to imagine our spiritual journey begins with the unknown, with loss, with letting go, maybe even with breaking. 

The call is deeply personal. Written in the second person singular, Lech-Lecha. As if to emphasize, this is your journey, on your terms. And while the description is undoubtedly external, to physically go from one geographical place to another, the grammar suggests that every physical exodus is supported by and necessitates a spiritual journey inward. 

The story of Abram comes just in time to remind us that the future was always unknown. We are the descendants of brave spiritual ancestors who risked everything in search of purpose, connection and survival. 

On the other side of this consequential election, the unknowns of the next 4 years are terrifying to consider. I am noticing that my anticipatory anxiety is surging. Trump's campaign promises threaten real, physical danger that will target many of us directly and all of us indirectly. 

So it has been very necessary for me to remember that those particular threats are not present this week. You can still prepare - see my PS below - but everything I have learned on my own spiritual journey has taught me that in the face of the unknown we are well served to stay close to the moment, to limit the stories we tell about what’s to come and to instead focus that energy on extending deep care to ourselves and others. 

Yesterday that inspired me to sit in Cedar park for lunch, to feel the warm breeze and notice the crimson leaves crunching beneath my feet. When my anxiety is high it is an important cue for me to return to my practices that ground me in the present tense. In my body and my breath. 

The beginning of this parsha contains not just the call of Lech-Lecha, but also the promise that we will be blessed, that when we have the courage to let go and brave the unknown, there will be blessings we can’t yet imagine. 

In her poem Mazel Tov, the poet Jessica Jacobs writes, 

“…Mazel tov! we say at births and other
joyous occasions, the Jewish go-to
for Congratulations! Yet טוֹב tov means “good”
and מַזָּל mazel, “constellation” or “destiny,”
and sometimes, like Abraham, you must
leave the place that grew you to grow
toward better stars…So, if I wish
you, mazel tov, know what I mean is,
May you find a reason to open
your door to the dark. I’ll mean,
May you live beneath good stars,
and take the time to notice.”

More than an affirmation on what has happened, Mazel Tov is an amulet for the unknown future. That you are able to orient yourself in time and space, and not lose your way in the darkness. That your stars may align. That your destiny contains goodness, sweetness, silliness, connection and joy. That you feel surrounded, supported, guided on your journeys. 

In honor of my father and in honor of broken things, I wish you a Shabbat Shalom and a Mazel Tov! May you live beneath good stars and find blessings in the dark.