What If We Stopped Asking And Started Thanking

I once heard a story about a man who was struggling. The advice he received was simple: stop asking and start thanking. He sat down to write a list of everything he was grateful for. Things started to shift for him. Not only did he feel better, his daughters found their shidduchim and his other troubles slowly but surely resolved.


Gratitude lists can be humbling. I’ve tried many times to write down the things I’m thankful for. Sometimes the words spill out easily, and other times I find myself staring at the page, struggling to come up with more than a handful.


But gratitude doesn’t have to be polished or perfect. It can hold both the small joys (coffee, hot showers, hugs from the kiddies) and the deepest gifts (health, resilience, faith, connection). And even then, like Ilu Finu reminds us, if our mouths were as full of song as the sea - water, we still couldn’t capture it all.


If you’ve never written your own, I encourage you to try. Here’s one of mine for inspiration (I wrote the list and used AI to help make it more poetic):



Thank You, Hashem,

for the body You’ve given me —

a mind that remembers, a heart that feels,

eyes that see, ears that hear,

a tongue that tastes, a nose that smells,

lungs that breathe and a heart that pumps,

healthy limbs that carry me,

Energy to keep going and strength to rise up again in the face of challenge.



Thank You for relief from pain,

for modern medicine, cures from ailments, and doctors with wisdom,

for moments without aches,

for the gift of healing.



Thank You for the soul within me —

compassion, empathy, resilience, fortitude,

the courage to be vulnerable,

The sense of self, esteem, and confidence I have,

the ability to dream, to create, to draw, to write,

to cook, to host, to decorate, to influence for the good.



Thank You for laughter and tears,

for the ability to feel joy, contentment, overflowing love,

for the power to learn from mistakes,

for the wisdom to know what is real,

for faith that pulls me through

and the hugs You send in the darkest times.



Thank You for Shabbos, for Yiddishkeit,

for connection, for hope,

for Olam Habaa to work toward,

for sunlight that wakes us, warms us, brightens us.



Thank You for the blessings of family —

for a husband, for children,

for pregnancies that brought them safely into this world,

for their health, their light, their laughter, their hugs,

for full-heart moments that take my breath away.

For my parents, my sisters (and brothers), my mother-in-law, other in-laws, family.

For friends, clients who trust me, neighbors/community,

for family who babysit and love my kids like their own,

for kindness from strangers,

for people who believe in me.



Thank You for shelter —

a house, a cozy bed, fluffy pillows,

fresh laundry, AC/heating that works,

a working washing machine/dryer, dishwasher,

a rainfall shower, a jetted jacuzzi.



Thank You for food and variety of tastes—

for pizza, ice cream, the smell of toasted bagels,

the smell of baking/baked goods,

for colors on my plate and variety of flavors,

for water when thirsty,

for feeling satiated and renewed energy from every bite of food.



Thank You for nature and the wide world —

for stunning oceans and coral reefs,

for snorkeling in clear waters,

for insane sunsets and twinkling stars,

for mountains, rivers, untouched snow,

for the sound of waves on the shore,

for wonders too many to count.

For travel I’ve gotten to do — Aruba, Bahamas, Bermuda, Cancun, Puerto Rico, San Diego,

for the calm the beach brings,

for the joy of swimming, the thrill of being on open water.



Thank You for moments —

birthdays, anniversaries, simchas,

first steps, first teeth, first celebrations.

For kisses/hugs from my kids, for music that stirs the soul,

for laughter that bubbles up,

for sleep/ability to feel rested when tired,

for caffeine when I must keep going.



Thank You for the miracle of birth,

for the chance to hold a newborn,

for the miracle and opportunity of life itself.



And still,

if my mouth were as full of song as the water in the sea,

my tongue as full of praise as its countless waves,

my lips as full of thanks as the wide skies,

my eyes as radiant as the sun and moon,

my hands as outstretched as eagles’ wings,

my feet as swift as deer —

I could not thank You enough

for even one moment of Your generosity.

When Sadness Feels Too Easy: A Tisha B'Av Reflection

Years ago, the mourning of Tisha B’Av felt distant. We sat on the floor and read about how the Beis Hamikdash was destroyed, of a city in flames and a people exiled. But we didn’t really know what we were missing. It was hard to cry for something abstract, so far removed from our modern lives.

But in recent years, the grief has become palpable. The losses are no longer just about what was, they’re here, now. Tisha B’Av doesn’t feel like a reenactment anymore. 

In recent times we've had so much more to mourn. And then there are years like this one, when the world feels like it’s splitting at the seams, and despair hangs in the air like smoke. Sadness is not something we have to summon. It’s already here, pressing against our chests, burning in our throats.

It’s in the headlines we try to avoid and the images we can’t unsee. In propaganda videos that show hostages with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks, emaciated bodies that look like they’ve been pulled from the rubble of another century. We thought we’d moved on from that kind of horror. But history has a way of folding in on itself, and the echoes of the Holocaust no longer feel so far away. They feel like a warning flaring in real time.

And then, beneath the weight of national sorrow, there’s the grief no one sees. The kind that doesn’t make the news but quietly unravels your world. We each carry something: some losses loud and life-shattering, others quieter but no less harsh.

For me, this year brought a loss of foundation-shaking grief. The kind you don’t bounce back from, you crawl through it. And then, when the dust hadn’t even settled, came another blow. Smaller, maybe. But grief doesn’t work that way. Pain doesn’t keep a scoreboard. And in the shadow of the first, the second was like salt in a wound that hadn’t even begun to close. Kind of like an aftershock that still steals your breath and leaves you gasping.

Grief on top of grief. National and personal. Collective and solitary. The sorrow of what was taken, and the hollow ache of what never had the chance to exist.

Tisha B’Av invites us to sit in that darkness. Not to tidy it up. Not to explain it away. Just to sit. To cry if we can, to feel if we dare. To stop pretending everything is okay.

Because some years, mourning doesn’t need rituals. It’s already stitched into our days, in the quiet moments, the empty spaces, the ache that doesn’t go away.

But maybe there’s something sacred in that. In not having to hold it together. In being given permission,  no, the obligation, to fall apart a little. To remember that the world is broken, and that we are too.

And that the brokenness matters.

Because at its core, every loss, every wound, every shattering—personal or national—is a ripple from the same fracture. The pain of being in galus, of living in a world where Hashem feels hidden, where the Shechina has withdrawn and we’re left searching.

When we cry, we’re not just crying over what happened, we’re crying over the distance. Over how far we are from wholeness, from healing, from redemption. From G-d.

We cry because we remember that we weren’t meant to live like this.

And we cry because deep down, we still hope we won’t have to...very soon.

Men Are From Mars Women Are From Venus

Please excuse the tired metaphor, but I really think that John Gray was onto something. This isn't about his book, and I by no means align my marital perspectives with all of his (both as a married person and as a marriage counselor). However, I do agree that men and women are two completely different creatures.

There have been many books written regarding the psychological differences between males and females. Although I think most people recognize that men and women are very different, in some ways we sometimes think that the other gender is just a different version of us. But women are not just prettier, more emotional men, and men are not egotistical stoic women.

You can read R' Aharon Feldman's The River, The Kettle and The Bird  to learn about "understanding the different natures of male and female, controlling anger and criticism, fostering love, giving and gratitude." John Gray's Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus books share "a practical and proven way for men and women to improve their communication by acknowledging the differences between their needs, desires, and behaviors"

Alison Armstrong, author of In Sync With the Opposite Sex, Making Sense of Men, Understanding Women and other such books/workshops writes about how each gender has different realities. Because this is true, and many people don't understand this, we treat the opposite gender based on specific expectations and thus in a way that causes them to treat us poorly. Clearly, this gets in the way of having a mutually satisfying relationship.

For example, Armstrong relates that most men are driven by duty, honor, and obligation. Many women don't understand what this means and assume that men make decisions based on the same things that women do, to avoid someone being mad at them for example, or some other emotional reason. She explains that men (generally) want to take care of, make happy, spend time with, contribute to, and protect their women. A man responds to how he's treated, so if a woman stops being receptive or criticizes him, he loses motivation to be her knight. Armstrong proposes that a woman can "turn her prince into a frog" if she treats him in the way she naturally treats the females in her life.

Gray talks about how men and women tally giving and receiving love differently (women want consistent small things not just one big act of caring), how they deal with stress differently (women want to talk about things but when men are stressed they retreat and isolate), among other ideas.

There are so many books out there at this point that will share the secrets to a happy coexistence. I think it boils down to a simple understanding -- men and women are by definition different beings.

So let's break it down. While it is true that not all men are the same or want the same things, and not all women are the same and want the same things, there are some very basic differences that show up across cultures and upbringings. I've seen it where the guy sometimes will have the more stereotypical female traits and vice versa, but generally partners end up with someone who sees and experiences the world very differently than themselves. 

People generally marry someone who is their foil in so many ways. Whether its this psychoanalytically understood "attachment reenactment" where someone (often subconsciously) marries their partner to recreate and resolve old childhood wounds, or just simply that opposites attract, it would be boring to marry someone exactly like you. Because this is true, you have to realize that you'll likely end up with someone who doesn't speak the same "language" as you. 

The more we understand the opposite sex, the better we can get along with and support them.

Male and female realities are often very different:

• They give and receive love differently.
• Most stereotypical men lean towards showing love via physical touch, acts of service, and problem solving
• Women show love through words of affirmation, quality time and emotional nurturing.
• They process emotions differently.
• Men are generally socialized to suppress emotions and/or manage them privately
• Women express and process emotions more openly and seek connection and verbal processing to feel better
• They communicate differently. 
• Men tend to be more solution-focused
• Women are process-focused, and they can walk through emotions without needing a solution, just empathy and presence
• The conflict/connection dance is different between genders. 
• Men generally shut down and withdraw in the face of conflict
• Women often push for further connection and conversation
• Their validation needs differ. 
• Men feel loved when they're respected, appreciated, and admired for what they do
• Women tend to feel loved when they are seen, heard, and understood for what they are

Of course, these are all stereotypes, and you may find men and women that take on the more stereotypical male or female opposite tendencies. These patterns are influenced too by culture, upbringing, and personality, not just sex/gender. 

The important piece to remember though, is that no matter what side of the fence you find yourself on, you're not looking across the table at someone of the opposite gender that in general thinks like you. He or she is seeing the world through a different kaleidoscope if you will, a different set of rules, different needs, a different coding language. Act accordingly -- ask questions, don't make assumptions, be curious, learn what s/he needs or wants. 

It’s Not Your Fault if Someone Hurts You

With regards to relationships, we talk a lot about trust. Earning it. Breaking it. Rebuilding it. But there’s something we don’t say enough:

If you trust someone who ends up hurting you, that’s not your fault.

Let me say that again, in case you need to hear it louder:

IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT.

You are allowed to trust people. You are allowed to believe someone when they tell you they care about you. You are allowed to lean into closeness, to choose connection, to give someone access to your heart without being blamed later for their betrayal.

I have a client who started dating someone and really wanted to build something meaningful with her. But early in their relationship, he found out she had been talking to other guys in ways that felt flirtatious and crossed boundaries. When he brought it up, she told him she just believed guys and girls could be close friends, and she hadn’t really thought it was a big deal.

It was a big deal to him. It hurt. It wasn't aligned with his relationship values.

But they kept talking. She listened. And as their relationship grew more serious, she began to make changes—on her own. She stopped communicating with those guys, unfollowed and/or blocked them, and began checking in with him when one of them reached out. She even offered to give him her phone password—not because he asked, but because she wanted him to feel safe again.

She’s done a lot to earn his trust back. But even now, months later, he still struggles.

Because she hurt him once, and now he lives in fear of it happening again. That fear—though understandable—is getting in the way of their connection. It’s keeping one foot in the door, just in case. It’s making it hard for him to believe that she won’t do it again, even though she’s shown every sign of growth and commitment.

This is the trap of broken trust: we start believing that if we hurt, it must be because we weren’t careful enough. That maybe we should have guarded our heart more. That next time, we won’t be so easily fooled.

But that kind of thinking doesn’t protect us. It just punishes us for being human.

Because here’s the truth: If someone hasn’t given you a reason not to trust them, you don’t owe them suspicion.

And even if they once did break your trust—but have since done the work to rebuild it—you get to decide whether you want to stay, and if you stay, how to let yourself live fully in that choice. Even more so if others in your life caused you to build this narrative and belief that you can't trust people, don't apply that as a general rule.

You don’t have to keep bracing for betrayal just to prove you’re strong. You’re not weak for trusting. You’re not naive for believing someone can change. You’re not foolish for choosing to love.

If someone breaks your heart, the pain is real, but the blame is not yours to carry.

So let me give you permission—

To trust. To hope. To love. Even when there’s risk involved.

To stay soft even after being hurt. And to stop punishing yourself for what someone else chose to do.

You deserve connection.

You deserve peace.

You deserve to stop questioning whether it was your fault.

It wasn’t.

Stop Trying to Fix What Isn't Yours

Ok, back to some relationship blogging, a break from the life stuff for a moment.

This is a very important relationship skill, an important life skill really.

Don't take responsibility for other people's feelings. 

Read that again.

You are not responsible for other people’s feelings.

You can care. You can show up with empathy, kindness, and support. You can apologize if you caused harm. In fact, please apologize if you caused harm! You can apologize even if you didn't mean to cause harm, especially if you didn't mean to hurt someone. But their experience is their own. Don't try to explain it away or fix it. Just make space for it. Don't make it personal and don't internalize it.

You cannot take someone else’s pain away. You cannot process their emotions for them. You cannot fix what’s not yours to fix.

Sometimes we feel this intense pull—especially in close relationships—to make someone feel better. To soften their anger. To take away their sadness. To fix the discomfort between you. Or even just to explain yourself when you seem to be the reason why they're sad, mad, or hurt.

But feelings don’t work that way.

They’re deeply personal, often tangled up in stories that go way beyond the current moment.

And no matter how badly you wish you could, you can’t climb inside someone else’s emotional landscape and make it okay for them.

They just need space.

What you can do is own your part if you’ve done something hurtful. But the rest of it is theirs to work through. And it's really freeing to get to this place where you don't try to fix things. You don't need to feel bad or this sense of urgency or guilt. Making space is the best thing you can do.

Because their feelings are theirs. Their healing is theirs.

When you don't try to fix someone else's feelings, you don't take responsibility for them. You let them have their own emotional experience; you let them feel whatever it is they need to feel. And you can be there on the other side of it. But you cannot, and should not, try to climb into it for them. It doesn't work, and will make you both frustrated.  

Here's another side benefit of not taking responsibility of others' feelings. When someone you are close to (a partner or another family member or close friend) has strong negative feelings about something, their feelings often permeate your own. Sometimes their feelings even seem to be your fault. When you realize it's just how they're feeling, what they're experiencing internally, then there is no need to fix them or "put them out" no matter how painful they may seem. The person himself/herself needs to deal with the feelings and the best way they can do that is alone.

Benched

If today feels like it might never end, I must remember it's but a blip in time. It feels interminable, but in reality it's a page in a longer story. 

Benched, but not forgotten. Watching, waiting, resting. Knowing the game isn't over yet.

There’s a kind of ache that stretches time, that makes minutes feel like hours, and hours feel like they might just swallow you whole. It's the pain of waiting, the painting of days in shades of loss, of the unknown. Of grieving and hoping in the same breath, over and over again.

Right now, this day feels defining. Heavy. Like it might be etched into the architecture of life forever. And maybe in some ways it will be. But not the way it feels right now—not in the way pain insists it will always matter this loudly.

The truth is—today is only one thread in the big tapestry.

But it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like everything. It feels like it defines me. But somewhere far off, future me will glance back at this moment and barely remember the exact contours of this quiet mess, or which emotion came first. The rawness will soften. The sharp edges will dull.

This moment, where I feel like I’m drowning, is actually a gasp for air between laps.

It reminds me of the space between heartbeats. Silent, easy to miss, but vital. The beat matters—but so does the pause. The quiet between. The place where nothing is certain but life is still happening.

I don’t know what’s coming. I don’t know if hope will be realized or how long it will take. I don't know if things will just have to evolve and adjust. I just know that time doesn’t freeze, no matter how much grief or longing tries to convince me it has. It moves. Even now, it moves. And I have to believe that good will come. 

And someday, today will be part of the before. Just a brushstroke in the painting. A foggy memory that once felt enormous but now fits inside something larger—something lived through, a step along the path.

So I breathe. Mark the letting go. I hope, or try to. I remind myself that I am still here. Life's still in motion. I'm not standing still with everyone else moving around me. My path is just different than I thought it would be.

This is the quiet between heartbeats.

And here, life is waiting.

On the bench before play, waiting for my turn, knowing it will come when it's time. 

The Quiet Between Hearbeats

Dear Me, the One Who Waits,

I see you. Sitting in the in-between. Not where you were, not yet where you long to be. Caught in the aching middle, where hope and grief live side by side and every day feels like too much and not enough.

You didn’t choose this. You didn’t ask to become familiar with this kind of waiting—the kind that bleeds, the kind that reminds you over and over that you are not in control. And yet, here you are. Still showing up. Still hoping. Still breathing, even when it hurts.

I know you’re tired of being patient. Tired of aching. Tired of the silence when you’re begging things to speak in signs of life, of readiness, of possibility. Tired of feeling like you’re stuck while the world moves on.

But I want you to know: you are doing more than enough. You are holding space for dreams and for pain at the same time, and that is a holy kind of strength. You are not broken, even if you feel like a puzzle with missing pieces. You are healing, even if it’s slow and messy and invisible.

It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to grieve the version of life you thought you’d be living by now. And it’s okay to still want—to still try. Wanting doesn’t make you ungrateful. Hoping doesn’t make you naive. It makes you brave.

So today, rest if you can. Cry if you must. Dream if you dare. And when tomorrow comes, you’ll meet it exactly as you are—waiting, hoping. 

With all my love,

Me