Break the Fast

A goal should be specific because sweeping statements generally aren’t helpful. Don’t say “I want to be a better davener.” Say “I’m going to set aside X amount of time for davening every day”

J ust two hours ago you were like an angel. Your tearstained face was turned heavenward in heartfelt prayer. Your heart was bursting with love and compassion for your family your friends and neighbors and all Am Yisrael. “This year” you whispered to Hashem “this year things will be different.”

And now?

That tearstained face is turned downward at the puddle of juice on the kitchen floor — which everyone is trekking through on their way to the succah, leaving a trail of sticky footprints in their wake. While the younger kids are fighting over which decorations should go where and your husband is frantically looking for the hammer, your yeshivah bochurim are complaining they’re still hungry and there’s nothing to eat. As for your sem girls, they’re studying the Yom Tov menus you’ve prepared, crossing out your tried-and-true, simple-to-make dishes and replacing them with recipes they’ve just seen in Family Patchkeh — the ones with 39 ingredients each and 66 steps to prepare.

Just when you’re sure your nerves can’t get any more frazzled (your cue to reach for another piece of cake — your third, but who’s counting at this point?), the baby wakes up screaming and the neighbors’ kids knock on the door, asking if they can borrow a flashlight (Where are the spare batteries?) and a package of plastic cups (What are all those clean cups doing in the trash?!).

By the time you crawl into bed, exhausted, Yom Kippur seems like a million years ago. As for the resolutions you made, you can barely remember what they were — although you have a niggling suspicion you’ve already broken every one of them. To make matters worse, the same thing happens year after year, leaving you feeling defeated before the year has even truly begun.