In a few short months, I will be celebrating my 40th birthday. When my parents took my daughter and me to dinner last week, I joked that it was the first of my birthday celebrations.
Something about 40 feels awfully grown up. I used to think 30 was when you became a grownup, but this is like the real deal. Like many others, I always had visions for what life would be like at 40; now that I’m close to that age, I can’t even remember what those visions were. I am so very lucky to be turning 40 at the same time as so many wonderful women in my life (not that the younger and older ones aren’t also wonderful!), but it’s particularly meaningful to think back about our pasts and see what we have all built for ourselves. Not one person has had it easy and all have faced their fair share of hiccups to navigate, but often I wonder if any of the visions we had for our lives a decade, or even two, earlier actually came to fruition. But if there is anything life as Option Z has taught me, it’s that it’s really important to live in the present and not plan too far in advance and just look at what’s right in front of you.
Some of you may have noticed that I haven’t written in quite some time. And while many of you may have heard, I was zoche to get married a few short months ago so life has, b’chasdei Hashem, been kind of hectic. There are many moments when I can’t believe it myself. It’s not that I didn’t believe that HKBH was capable of enabling me to find a spouse, but it’s almost that I defined myself for almost 15 years as someone single, that I couldn’t define myself any other way. So am I having an identity crisis at this monumental birthday?
When I was in high school and definitely in Israel for the year, I watched so many peers struggle with their belief in God. I totally didn’t get the struggle. I was, and continue to be, much more focused on my emunah peshuta—whether it’s naive or not, it works for me. I believe in God without needing any discovery workshops and biblical sources. And as I got older and life got seemingly more complicated, you know, when you don’t get the college schedule you want, so you end up on campus for an extra semester, it continued to work for me. And as life got actually complicated, that emunah peshuta was the only reason I navigated life with any sort of menuchas hanefesh. Belief in God didn’t need to make sense, because how could anyone otherwise explain all the good and bad happening simultaneously—the pockets of challenge during what is truly a time of simcha, or the ability to see yad Hashem during an intense nisayon. Certainly during those moments, when I needed Hashem’s Divine wisdom, there wasn’t a spare moment to rationally prove His existence before I could figure out what I was actually supposed to do next.
Based on my previous writings, I feel like this is probably what you assumed about me. Part of this emunah, also led to a very deep feeling of acceptance of my identity. There was something about it that I even “owned.” Somehow I felt unique, that my identity of almanah came with halachic connotations, like some sort of validation when I needed support from those around me.
And then something funny happened. I met someone through the hands of the most calming shaliach, and there was nothing rational about it. I had finally identified myself as a mother, as a Zamist, a member of my community and lastly, but also very important for me, an employee for the incredible organization of which I’m grateful to be a part. So how was this all happening now? I had comprehended that davening for my first husband to have a complete refuah shelaima or for a money tree to start sprouting in my backyard were not realistic yeshuas to daven for. In my mind, getting married was the ultimate yeshua that seemed attainable so that’s what I davened for. Yet, when it was staring me in the face, I needed to rationalize why this was all happening when it was happening, and how it could be happening now at this moment. All of a sudden, life was too good to be true and a big part of me couldn’t let myself enjoy it as much as I could have because I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening.
And many hours of talking this out with professionals, rabanim, family and friends, a cocktail filled dinner in Los Angeles, a miraculous trip to Israel last summer and the most intense Yamim Noraim of my life, my head, heart and soul were aligned. It hit me that yeshua isn’t an event—it’s a process to get you to a state of mind. There is something very real about being mentally in a place where you are actually able to receive bracha, and in this case it was my husband coming into my life. In many ways, the Corona lockdown was the beginning of my yeshua, a real chance to clear the noise in my life. Despite the word “simple” being the key component in emunah peshuta, there is nothing simple about it. You are forced to zone everything out and constantly remind yourself that you are in Hashem’s hands—always, no matter what. More importantly, you are in a state to know from the depths of your heart that you are truly capable of navigating whatever comes your way.
Sometimes I feel that our religion has built in waiting periods. A couple of weeks ago, we had Shavuos after counting the days to receive the Torah. In a couple of weeks, we’ll have the Three Weeks to prepare us to be immersed in our national mourning on Tisha B’Av. Then we quickly roll into Elul and we blink and we’re at Yom Kippur. I used to always be counting and waiting for the next big event. I just need to get through x, and life will be easier when y happens. It’s hard to always be waiting because so much life happens when you’re waiting for life to happen. Because I have let myself live a life of yeshua, I just know that I got this and there’s nothing rational about it and that’s the best part. And more importantly, I can’t be dependent on anyone else—this is just between me and Hashem.
There’s a saying that sometimes it’s just not good timing. No truer words could ever be said. I needed to have every single experience of life before my husband came into my life and I would not change a thing. As I elongate this 40th birthday, what I’m grateful for most is perspective. So I guess I was living my Option A life this whole time.
Rachel Zamist has lived in the Passaic community for the past 32 years and has watched it grow and transition. She is the beaming mother of Mimi, a student at Rachel’s own alma mater, YBH
