Passover and the Infertile Jew- A Fresh Take on the Four Questions and the Four Children

In my previous post, I go into great depth about the focus of fertility at Passover and some ways to cope. In this post, I'd like to focus on two very specific parts of the Passover seder.

The Four Questions

The Four Questions are asked by the youngest at the table, and sung to a delightful melody that is often a chance for the youngest to show off their mad skills learned in Hebrew school. Essentially the questions boil down to: Why is this night different from all other nights? They each highlight unique aspects of the Passover holiday: why do we double dip our food? Why do we eat matzo instead of leavened foods? Why do we eat bitter herbs? Why do we recline while eating?

I present the Four Questions, retold in the context of infertility, to highlight the very unique aspects of our struggle: Why is our path to family building so different from all others' paths?

• On our path, why do we pay to have a child when all others are conceived for free?
• On our path, why do we choose careers and places to live based on healthcare availability and not career goals or regional interests?
• On our path, why does baby-making involve more needles and/or paperwork and less lovemaking?
• On our path, why do we still worry even after we find out we're either paper pregnant or actually pregnant?

On Passover, the Four Questions are answered with the telling of the story of Exodus. So we too must tell our stories: sharing our paths to family building, however we may get there. 

The Four Children
While the Four Questions address the uniqueness of Passover, the story of the Four Children (traditionally the Four Sons) address the meaning of Passover. The Four Children are represented as the Wise Child (what are the laws/customs of Passover?), the Wicked Child (What does Passover mean to you?), the Simple Child (What is Passover?), and the Child Who Does Not Know Enough to Ask. Think about your own journey through infertility: I'm sure you've all encountered some versions of these "Children" in trying to answer our favorite question: "So, when are you having kids?"

I offer up infertility's approach, and call it the Four Friends:

The Compassionate Friend asks: "What can I do to help?" We tell them to let us cry, to provide us with plenty of distractions as we wait for test results, to get us out of the house when we are mopey, to be respectful of our need for space or when we don't want to hear about their children, that we don't always want advice and sometimes we just want an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on. Most of all, we want them to know we're not contagious and we don't want them to cut us off b/c infertility is isolating enough.

The Inconsiderate Friend asks: "What did you do wrong to deserve being punished?" We tell them that cancer patients don't deserve cancer, that the Haitians and Chileans didn't deserve an earthquake, that infertility is just as random as any other disease or disaster and they are both comparable in the scope of emotional crises. We tell them we don't deserve to be treated or spoken to in this matter, and that we will exclude their negativity from our social circles.

The Naive Friend asks: "Why don't you just adopt? Why don't you just relax?" We tell them that if infertility was indeed so simple to cure, it wouldn't affect one out of every eight couples. We also tell them that adoption is not a simple decision, and turn the question back to them: why don't they just adopt if it's so easy?

And what do we tell the Friend That Doesn't Know Enough to Ask? We tell them that we have a prior commitment the same day as that baby shower, we congratulate them on their news but would you excuse us- we have to run to the bathroom, and that we don't have kids yet because we're just having so much fun "practicing" right now. Or we tell them simply that we're going through a hard time and it's just too complicated to get into the details, but we'd still love your support and if you'd check in on us once in a while.

. . .

A good Shabbos and a wonderful Pesach to you this coming week.

Surviving Passover: Thoughts on Being Jewish and Infertile

Passover is one of my favorite holidays, second only to Thanksgiving. They're both about food, family, and rich with tradition. Passover is not an easy holiday for the infertile Jew; so much emphasis is placed on children and fertility that it feels like there are little landmines left around the seder plate and hidden with the afikomen. How does Passover affect each sphere of the ALI community: adoption, loss, infertility? And how do we make this a meaningful holiday and spare ourselves the mental and emotional strife?

Before I go on, I need to say: this post is a big step for me. This time a year ago, I nearly lost my faith in the wake of finding out about my infertility. This year, like the crocus that fights through the snow, I come with a renewed perspective and a resilience to go on.

Sitting on our seder plate will be the beitzah, a roasted egg, a symbol of both life and fertility. Typically, particularly among the Sephardi, a roasted egg is the first thing eaten at the start of the festival meal. Traditionally this is also the first food a mourner eats following a Jewish funeral: in death, we remember life. We are reminded of life's cycles, of marking time- these concepts are foundational to the Jewish faith. The beitzah is perhaps the most visible reminder, the first of the emotional landmines on our holiday table. This year, instead of looking at that egg and thinking about the fact that I don't really have any good eggs of my own, I see the beitzah as a symbol of hope. There's something about a thin little shell containing possibility within: the act of hatching, of breaking through- this is a lesson in patience, struggle, and ultimately, hope. The egg is the idea. Its hatching is the fruition of our hopes.

Turning the pages of our haggadah, we read aloud how Pharaoh ordered the death of all Hebrew first-born. Later, the final plague results in the death of all Egyptian first-born: the profound loss of life- including Pharaoh's only son- moves him such that he releases the Hebrew slaves. I cannot imagine what it must be like to read this and have experienced any kind of pregnancy loss. I have always struggled with this part of Exodus. It speaks so clearly of almost Hammurabian retribution: you kill our first-born so too shall yours be killed. But from a theological standpoint, I suppose it illustrates that God is indiscriminate, b/c the same God who kills the Egyptian first-born is the same God that allows the first-born of his Chosen to be killed. What can we learn in this moment? Carpe diem. When someone's time is up, that's it, so make the most of the time you have.

For some of us in the ALI community, this still makes no sense, that something we've longed for could be taken away so soon. We cannot regain those lives, so we must live our own lives as best we can, yet these wounds leave scars on our hearts. As we retell the story of Exodus, we relive the pain of that scar even as we eat maror (horseradish) and karpas (vegetable) dipped in saltwater to symbolize tears, so that we as pass on our traditions even the pain of the memory is still felt. It is an almost kinesthetic form of cultural and historic education. 5000 years later we are still feeling the pain of Exodus, so it is only natural that those grieving a loss- be it at 6 weeks, 6 months, or even 6 years of age- still feel the pain. Acknowledge this pain of loss. Weave it into your story. Use it as a tool to educate and comfort others.

Even the emotional toll of adoption is featured in the Passover story, as Moses is rescued from the reeds and raised as the adopted son of the Egyptian princess. For the couple waiting to be chosen by prospective birth parents, that sense of hope and yet waiting is just as palpable as the Hebrew slaves waiting for their freedom. The Hebrews, once freed, they had to be ready to go at a moment's notice- that's why matzo is unleavened and we eat unleavened foods, as the bread didn't even have time to rise they had to flee Egypt so quickly. With domestic adoption, the same is true: everything has to be ready to go because you could be in line at the post office and get a call that you'll be placed with a child in a matter of days. So how can the prospective adoptive parent who's mind is half on the food in front of them but have their cell on vibrate in their pocket, waiting and hoping for that phone call? I recommend capitalizing on that energy, that excitement, and that hope. Channel energy into action. Offer to babysit the kids while the moms cook (might as well get a little extra practice in before the real deal, right?) Or, screw babysitting and get to work in the kitchen! Infuse your food with your energy so that your guests grow as excited with each bite as you already are. Get creative: nothing helps keep that energy moving like a little creativity. Maybe you arrange a beautiful table scape with handmade place cards, or you stitch your own matzo cover.

There are still even other areas that focus so much on family, children, legacy, and fertility, particularly the Four Questions and the Four Children. I'll get into a much more in depth look at those tomorrow.

This is by no means a comprehensive survival guide, but these are just a few things to make this holiday a little more bearable and perhaps provide a renewed context. That being said, I know this is a tough holiday for some and really can reawaken some old wounds. Like any other family gathering, if you need to bow out or only stay for a short while- do so. Ultimately, you need to do what's healthy for you and your partner. Make sure you do what you need for your own healing. I highly recommend having your spouse or a close friend read you this beautiful and invigorating guided meditation over at Ritual Well on the Kos Refuah/Cup of Healing.

For those of you cooking like fiends this weekend like I am, I wish you ovens that heat evenly, fridges and freezers that will fit all your precooked food, and short lines at the grocery store. More thoughts on Passover and infertility tomorrow.

Is the chalice is half empty or half full?

Allow me to indulge in a little tarot and my inner Goddess. This past Monday I went to the Salem Red Tent Temple. I've been a few times, and a good friend of mine (let's call her Honeybee) is one of the organizers. The concept is simple: mirror the ancient practice of women gathering for their monthly cycle a la The Red Tent (a must read for every woman. A brilliant, moving, amazing work of literature). All women are welcomed, young, old, single, married, divorced, widowed, fertile, barren, red green blue or purple - you get the idea. Coinciding with the new moon each month, we sit, we lounge, we have soup, we make offerings to the Goddess*, we share stories, we cry, we laugh, we create art and meditate, nap, and support. It is a wonderful, wonderful gathering.

*Through these Red Tent Temples, I have come to terms with exploring the Divine Feminine, or Shekinah, in Judaism. At this point in my spiritual journey, I'm not looking to a Divine Masculine/Father figure: I'm looking to the Malkah Ha-Olam (Queen of the Universe). So while there's lots of Goddess talk, I'm not Pagan. I'm a Jew through and through, but I see Adonai in her feminine context right now as opposed to the more traditional Avinu Malkenu (Our Father, Our King).

There are a couple of decks of tarot cards and this week, someone brought Goddess cards. I asked my Honeybee to do a reading for me. Here's what I pulled from the Goddess Tarot deck:

While we didn't necessarily do this with the intent of a past-present-future spread, it certainly reads that way. The Princess of Swords (commonly known as the Knight of Swords) wades through the reeds, her blade ever-ready to strike. Honeybee noted how it seems as though she presents one face forward, looking rather dainty as she gathers up her skirts, but the back of her hair is disheveled, her sword drawn. In a way, it's putting forward one face while keeping a high level of defensiveness up; but she is again, ready to strike and thus able to do what she has to do to survive. My other friend, a High Priestess (let's call her HP for short), and I both noticed how much this card reminded us of the Egyptian Princess who recovers Moses from the reeds.

The second card I drew was an inverted Queen of Cups. A symbol of fertility, its inverted meaning was painfully obvious. The suit of Cups also draws heavily on emotion, and her inverted chalice represents an outpouring of emotion. HP seems to think it's not so much that I'm empty, but perhaps I've given too much of my self lately, and that perhaps I need others to fill my cup. In its normal position, the Queen looks quite stable in the tumultuous sea around her, but inverted, it's clearly a symbol of instability.

The final card I drew was Justice (VIII in the Major Arcana). In other decks, Justice is XI; typically VIII is Strength. She is represented by Athena, who as HP noted, is often associated with war and decked out in her armor. Here she is presented as the Weaver Goddess in flowing robes. Athena is actually the Goddess of Wisdom, and is a brilliant strategist. HP felt that Justice does not necessarily mean "winning" but a sense of victory all the same. What I was surprised to see was the element of water reflected in all of my cards: the Princess in the reeds, the Queen in her sea, and if you look closely, there is an aqueduct in the background of Justice. As HP noted, Athena is a strategist, so perhaps I will find solutions that I don't necessarily come to mind at first. It's a little of bit thinking outside the box. I also noted that an aqueduct has the ability to sustain whole populations and cities for generations to come. I also saw Masonic imagery with the two columns in the card image as well (Ari is a Mason).

So, to put it simply: my guard is up but I put forward an "everything is just peachy!" face, I'm an emotional wreck in a sea of infertile instability, and my sense of Justice will come through non-traditional solutions and through careful research. That's pretty spot on, I would think.

I also pulled three cards from the Goddess Oracle deck, and the first one I pulled was Artemis, pictured below:

The card represents Selfhood. I thought the image of the huntress with her hunted was quite powerful. She is bare-breasted, confident, patient. I also thought it was funny that she had her hair up (I often wear mine in a ponytail or up in a clip). She clearly has her sights set on her target, and there is an assuredness about her that she will obtain that hunt. Quite simply, I need to aim my sights on what it is that I really want out of life, and go for it.
. . .

Today it's been exactly 11 months since my last period. I have often said, over this last almost-year, that I have missed the tampons, the cramps, the bleeding. I've lost my sense of marking time. The Red Tent Temple I go to has given me back a sense of this cycle. There is power and comfort to be found in gatherings of women. I take this same philosophy back with me to the IF community: we need to share our stories, cry our tears together, laugh and celebrate together. It is vital to our survival, and ultimately, to the fundamental sisterhood we share. I could go on about this, but I recommend heading over to Sonja's blog for more on thoughts on sisterhood, community, and support.

Closing thoughts: I am reminded of an opening psalm often sung before Friday night Shabbos services:

הִנֵּה מַה טוֹב וּמַה נָּעִים שֶׁבֶת אָחִים גַּם יַחַד

Hinei ma tov u’manayim shevet akh-im gam ya-khad.

How good and pleasant it is to dwell together in unity.

To all my sisters in the IF community, and all my sisters everywhere: I hope you find peace and unity this weekend.

Shabbat Shalom.

"In Silence"

This is an incredibly moving piece from WNYC's Radiolab: In Silence. Rather than their normal focus on science, this podcast focuses on the idea of silence in the universe, and in that silence where we might find God, and ultimately, faith. Cohost Robert Krulwich offers a reflection and meditation on this concept via two stories: the binding of Isaac upon the mount and the departure of Noah during the flood.

I thought it particularly fitting for Erev Yom Kippur, and at this particular station in my life. Ari and I had listened to this a few months ago, on one of our many treks back and forth to NJ, and I made a mental note at the time to listen to it at the next Yom Kippur, so we listened to it last night again.

It was refreshing, comforting, restoring.

An easy fast this evening, and may you be inscribed for another year.

Looking at things in numbers

So my latest round of thyroid function tests have come back. And once again, my TSH has shot up, so now we're up to 100mcg. I was quite frustrated the other day when I actually went back through this blog and plotted my TSH levels over the last 6 months on a graph. And here they are:


What's particularly frustrating is how much this resembles my BBT chart that I started keeping almost a year ago: peaks, valleys, and no biphasic pattern. Not that my TSH should resemble a biphasic menstrual cycle, but it should appear stabilized.

*sigh*

This has been a rough week for some reason. Nothing in particular has triggered this emotional onslaught, but I am very frustrated with my thyroid, and I've just been very sad this week. What didn't help was calculating exactly how many days it's been since my last period: 281 days. 9 months, 1 week. 40 weeks rounded down. If I had conceived instead of getting a period on 12/20/08, I would be exactly full term today. But we weren't trying, we had no idea about my Dx... it just wasn't in the cards then.

But damn is it hard to realize it's been that long. I really do miss having my period, even the mood swings, the tampons, the cramps - all of it. It marked my sense of time. I'm lucky that I meet with a lovely group of women for a Red Tent Temple at each new moon, and that's helped immensely.

Like I said, it's been a hard week with regard to my IF headsphere. Tomorrow: Yom Kippur. The Days of Awe come to a close, and our fates are sealed for another year. I've sent up my prayers louder than ever this year, so we'll see. On Rosh HaShanah it is Written, and on Yom Kippur it is Sealed.

Good shabbos all.

L'shana tova, 5770

The summer of '69 (5769, that is) is now past, and we welcome in a new Jewish year. Ari and I are pretty relieved that this past year is over, as it was probably the most tumultuous one in our lives. We started the year with me in a new job, a new apartment, and my very odd stroke-esque episode that paved the way for the diagnosis I have now. There was our first anniversary, our first trans-national trip (5 days in California in January), and our first friends to have children. There was Ari's layoff. There were my diagnoses (POF and Hashi's). There were blood tests, and semen analysis, and too many hormones, too little hormones, and scrip after scrip after scrip. We lost our Nan. We hit bottom.

And as this new year begins, we are on the upswing. Ari is starting his own company (of which I will be owner, b/c not only will it then be a woman-owned business, but a minority-woman-owned business), I've essentially got a new job while remaining in the same department, my health has been stabilizing considerably in recent weeks (doc thinks we're *this* close to getting the right dosage for me), and we're heading to Japan for 2 weeks in the middle of October. Things- finally- are looking up for us.

This morning, Ari and I went to Rosh HaShanah services. It's been several years since we had each been to Rosh Hashanah services; we do Kol Nidrei for Yom Kippur every year, but we're almost always traveling for dinner with families and never make it to Rosh HaShanah services. So slap me stupid when the bulk of the Torah and Haftorah portions are the very portions for which the name of this blog derives: the stories of Sarah and Hannah, and they laugh and weep respectively, imploring to God to hear their deepest prayers for a child in their barrenness.

And their prayers are answered. It always seems to work out so neatly in the Torah.

I was not prepared for this at all this morning. The cantor spoke of how Rosh Hashanah is all about beginnings and births, and as he welcomed a Kohein for the first aaliyah, he remarked on how her aaliyah was doubly-blessed, as she was very visibly pregnant. I sat in services, my mind spinning, trying to maintain my composure. "Compartmentalize, Miri, c'mon, you can keep your shit together you can do it." My inner monologue was unrelenting. Did my eyes well up with tears? Did I zone out to my happy place for a few minutes? You bet your sweet bippy I did.

I had an appt with Dr. G yesterday. I explained that we're not financially ready to pursue ART at this point, but said we'd be happy if anything were to happen naturally, magically - miraculously, even. We're going to tweak my dosage one more time, but we think we've pretty much got it figured out. 1 more round of blood tests and I should know by early next week.

As I think of the Jewish new year, I always think of resolutions I make for myself. Every year, I promise to myself to be more Jewish, to be more engaged with my faith. Then I pledge to be a better girlfriend-fiance-wife (as the role has evolved over the years). I truly believe I'm going to get myself healthy- I say it, but I don't necessarily follow through. And this year, these resolutions are the same. But have I added one? Perhaps. Perhaps it's not a resolution, but it's an acknowledgment of that which dwells on my heart. To pray and hope for the next to impossible.

That the Book of Life may inscribe a new paragraph under our story, that like Sarah and Hannah, my supplications are heard and answered. As the year has begun on an upswing, let it continue to rise; that I may hold my head up in hope, in faith, in courage.

A sweet New Year to us all, and may we each be inscribed in the Book of Life for another year.

Life as of late.

Life has been a bit nuts lately. Ari's mom is now in sheloshim, the 30 day mourning period following Nan's death. Ari had a potential job offer in NH fall through b/c his point person was in a horrific car accident. He's negotiating another offer now, but it's not looking good; he's thinking about freelancing now. It's all uncharted waters, and daunting, at best.

At work I've essentially been given a new job without a title change or pay raise (yet... maybe?). My old responsibilities have been stripped for new ones, including the direct supervision of our largest student staff team, the biggest res hall on campus, and oversight of 9 other RDs and the entire residential programming model for our campus. This is an amazing opportunity; I just wish I had been given more than 48 hours notice. In fact, I'm blogging on my phone during some downtime at our RA retreat.

We are looking forward to the High Holidays. We are *stupid* excited for our trip to Japan in October. I have said the Amidah for 8 days running now. Life has been a blur, really.

I have been breathless, trying to keep up.

Update on Ari's Grandmother

(Follow up to my most recent post.) Still no progress for Ari's grandmother. She ate yesterday- something she's barely done in 2 weeks- but no progress one way or another. She is still generally unresponsive.

Right now, Ari and I are operating in that mode where we're just waiting for the phone call. It is a conflicted place to be in.

Hospice care is simply astonishing to me. I'm the kind of person who wants to make the world right, to get my hands dirty and wade out into deep waters to make change, to heal, to repair. The idea of hospice care is simply to let nature take its own course. Ari and I have read her living will, and this is in fact, her wishes. These were her wishes made several years ago, in fact, while she was still quite lucid and mobile. We may not intervene- all we can do, legally, is stand by.

For ENFP & INFP personalities such as Ari and me, respectively, this course of (in)action is contrary to our personal beliefs and values.

Yesterday I went shopping for a new dress for the inevitable. I felt so shameful doing it, but as Ari explained, when it comes to Jewish funerals, there just isn't time to go out and get new clothes if you don't have them for the funeral. The deceased must be buried as quickly as possible. I felt so awful, like I'm willing this kind of fate upon her and yet, it was a matter of practicality.

FFS, she's not dead yet.

In the end, I didn't buy anything. I have a dress, and Ari just did a ton of dry-cleaning so I have a cardigan to wear as well. If anything, I just need to pick up a pair of new shoes.

What it comes down to is that I'm not standing here, arms folded, tapping my toe in impatience. I'm here waiting, continuing with life as normally as possible. And I pray. I pray a lot. I don't ask for G-d to be quick in His decision. I simply want her to be comfortable, to be happy, to be at peace.

B/c if there's nothing else I can do, I can do this much.

Eikev.

This week's Torah portion, Eikev. A good chunk of Jewish theology can be found in these quick chapters in Deuteronomy: the V'ahavta, the concept of welcoming strangers. The overarching theme is love, from a very parental aspect.

This weekend was supposed to be my last weekend before the shit hit the fan at work as we gear up for the opening of the University. I have several weeks of training ahead of me- long days, lots of time away from home. I was planning to relax, take things slow, but instead we drove 5.5 hours south to spend time with his family.

Ari's grandmother is dying.

I have never witnessed anything like this in my life before, and nothing can prepare you for the gamut of emotions of watching someone literally just slip away in front of your eyes.

As we left her, she was sleeping. The shallow, rapid breathing- a strange punctuation like an ellipses to an inevitable ending. She is in and out of lucidity. She's in hospice care, and only has oxygen at this point. As we left tonight, Ari's parents believe it's a matter of hours really.

My heart is breaking to have to drive back tonight- I have to be in at 8am tomorrow. Of course, barring the course of events over the next week, I'll be on the first plane back home. But for now, we drive back, b/c there's not much else to be done.

This weekend has been filled with symbols and portents of death: playing poker with 4's all over the place, an absolutely awful car accident I passed where I actually saw a body covered with a sheet, an out of place crow at the mall parking lot, cawing ominously.

...

EDIT: Post resumed at 1:16pm, 8/10/09. I have had 2 hours of sleep to my name, and am on my 3rd cup of coffee. I'm jittery, I'm exhausted, I'm miserable, and I'm trying desperately to give a damn about my work. It is a stretch.

Ari's grandmother is still deteriorating. We were all convinced that last night would be it, but by 10pm, there wasn't progress one way or the other, so we made the call to drive back to Boston from NJ. I have been doing a lot of writing in the last 48 hours- scribbled in margins, in spare notebooks, in various Word files. It has been my sole coping mechanism.

Like my blog description says: writing it all out, one day at a time.

Nan has been a grandmother to me, and there is nothing that can prepare you for literally watching a person die. Aside from the onslaught of confrontations with my own sense of mortality, this is fascinating, sad, taxing, and overwhelming.

Ari and I are officially writing off 2009. Aside from our trip to Japan coming up in October, and our awesome vacay in California in January, I am done with 2009.

B/c I really can't take much more.

Book Review: "And Hannah Wept" by Michael Gold

Finished And Hannah Wept: Infertility, Adoption, and the Jewish Couple by Michael Gold. It's currently out of print, and was first published in 1988... so, the information is a bit dated (IVF was apparently still highly experimental at the time the book was published). I enjoyed and appreciated its expansive breadth of material, but didn't feel neccesarily as satisfied emotionally reading it.

The book covers halakha (Jewish law) pretty extensively, and how different passages in Torah, Talmud, and Midrash basically permit just about anything when it comes to infertility treatments. Sometimes I felt as though the book got too bogged down into technicality in terms of Jewish law; for the Orthodox couple, I can see the relevance and importance of finely splicing out exact parameters of what is and is not permitted by Jewish law (treatments on the Sabbath, the use of donor eggs or sperm, the acceptability of semen testings, for example). But for the less observant Jew looking to find comfort in her faith, And Hannah Wept delved just a bit too far for my taste.

Is it a good resource? Yes. Do I feel reconnected to my faith? Absolutely. Does it offer the latest information about the latest advances out there? Not so much. But what it does is it contextualizes the experience of infertility through the Jewish perspective in a way that makes the most sense according to Jewish law.

What I most appreciated about this book was that it doesn't place the burden of fault with the infertile couple, as I've encountered in some other Jewish resources. True, 3 of the 4 Matriarchs were infertile, and it was their prayers that were answered by God that ultimately restored their fertility, but Gold acknowledges this is a not a realistic approach to modern issues of infertility. He argues that Judaism teaches couples facing IF to pursue aggressively, in all their power, to be able to fulfil God's first commandment of "be fruitful and multiply." This is one of the few Jewish resources on IF where I don't feel like I brought this on myself, or that God is testing me in some cruel way.

Still nervous as hell about next Friday. Trying to stay positive and keep myself as distracted as possible.

Happy Passover!

Fascinating post on BlogHer: The Perfect Storm of Holidays: Infertile at Pesach (found via her blog, Stirrup Queens*). Got me thinking about religion, faith, and the Jewish perspective.

Passover starts tonight at sundown. Last night A and I had a really long, thoughtful discussion on faith and God. Initially, I didn't want to celebrate Passover, which, for the most part to me, is attending 1-2 seders and keeping KFP for the week (kosher for Passover). But I've realized over the last week or so, that one of the things I love so much about Passover is that it brings together family, and instead of turning away from the ritual aspects of the holiday, I can instead try and find meaning.

The linked post talks about how Pesach is so enveloped in the idea of children, but I disagree in that it is solely about children- for me, it's about more than children- it's all about family. Since I wasn't born Jewish but rather converted (2 years ago on April 20th!), we only usually have 1 family seder with A's parents. And literally, 9 times out of 10 (b/c I think I've been to at least 10 seders at his parents' house), there are usually no children. The only time I can think of is literally once, and she was maybe 9 years old and unrelated to the family anyway. Add to the fact that I'm open about the IF issue with both of our families, and I'd like to think I've dodged the "So, when are you having kids?" bullet.

Passover tells the story of the Exodus: the Jews are freed from Mitzraim (Egypt), wander around lost for a little bit (read: 40 years) and find God (that whole Mt. Sinai thing). What a great parable for anyone coping with infertility, even the non-religious. Look at the metaphor of "Exodus > 40 years in the desert > Mt. Sinai" as "Diagnosis > Coping > Coming Out a Stronger Person" somehow. To simplify it is not to invalidate the gravity of IF or the profundity of Exodus, but rather to draw a parallel meaning. Thus, re-contextualizing the way I look at the practice of ritual right now allows me to find that meaning, that guidance that I still feel a bit raw over in approaching God directly. Perhaps this Passover marks my Exodus out of a question of faith and toward my Mt. Sinai of accepting God, and thus, this situation (b/c all the Jews at Mt. Sinai chose to accept the 10 Commandments- interesting sidenote here. The Torah was given, but it was up to the free will of each person to accept the Torah).

I'm not dreading Passover. I was this past weekend, but really, I have no reason to. I'll be surrounded by family that loves and cares for us, and thankfully, I shouldn't be around too many wee ones. And if I am, I'll manage. I'm really looking forward to spending the time with family. I think A and I could really use it, especially since this will be the first time we're seeing them since my Dx.

This post has gone on long enough, but I have a whole other post to do re: the Infertile Matriarchs.

*PS... Stirrup Queens is one hell of a resource when it comes to finding other blogs out there about IF. If you haven't checked her out, and are looking for other women, couples, and *gasp!* the elusive male point-of-view, I suggest checking it out.

Who are Hannah & Sarah?

"Be fruitful and multiply."

Perhaps the most basic of the commandments in Judaism, and yet, three of the four Matriarchs were infertile. A cruel twist of fate? Harsh punishment or ultimate test of faith? I'm not here to debate theology, but rather, I reflect on what these two very different reactions to infertility can teach us from the Torah.

Hannah, in the Book of Samuel, is barren and weeps before the Lord. She prays day in and day out, and promises her child to the service of the Lord if He but answers her prayer. Sarah, the wife of Abraham, laughs when the Lord says she will bear a child in her old age after years of being barren. Both women do conceive and bear sons.

The journey through infertility is much the same: tears, laughter, and ultimately, faith.

(For more information on infertility in the Torah/Bible, I highly recommend Michael Gold's And Hannah Wept; it's out of print, but is an excellent in-depth look at the whole phenomenon.)