June 15, 1999
Just about 14 years ago I sat down to write an essay for my application to Brandeis University. I wrote about being part of a people, a greater community, where I'd always had a home. I was talking about the Jewish People, but I know there's a greater human community that I've been touched by, and I hope I've touched it as well.
Since arriving in Pearl Harbor I've had time to think and focus in a way I haven't since college. Brandeis did that. There were more life lessons than practical experience, but university is a place to be molded, a place to create, not a place to enter the robotic assembly line of "real life."
I arrived hoping for a job, but found none. After some (okay, much) panic, I've been able to separate from the idea that I had to work. I am not, and will not be defined by a job. For the first time in a long time I feel like writing, like I did at Brandeis, to pour out feelings and emotions, and make them permanent. I've been thinking of who I am, and of those who helped create tis person called Jennifer, or more formally- Rabbi Jennifer Rachel Elkin Gorman. It's a long name, but I like it because it describes so much of me. I've decided to write letters to the these who were most involved in creating that incarnation. People should be thanked for the gifts they give.
October 31, 2010
Once again the US Navy has left me without a job. I left my position at USCJ because of the hours and travel required. It's not something I can do while functioning as a single parent. The Navy Times published a study while we were in Pearl Harbor about military spouses' ability to work while married to an active duty military member. The likelihood of employment dropped ten percent for each year of post-high school education. I have ten years post-high school, four for my BA, six for my MA and ordination. That means I have a 100 % likelihood of not being able to find a job while married to an active military member. It's a statistic that Sean and I have laughed at many times, but it's played out true. When the initial idea for Sean's unit to deploy came through, we looked at my position, and realized pretty quickly it was playing true again. We could laugh about it or cry. While there a few moments of despair, it was not going to change, so we embraced the laughter instead.
We also found ourselves appreciating, once again, the family and friends we have. I know Sean's in good hands, and he's comforted by the amazing support system we have here. In the past twelve hours, two friends have called just to check in. Just knowing the support system is there is a great comfort for both Sean & me. The kids teachers check in on them, and with me.
It was good to be home for Shabbat, to be back at Pride of Israel. Everyone wants to know how Sean is doing. I feel we've been traveling for so long, that somehow Sean's been gone for months already, but it's only been eighteen days. We have a schedule now, at least taking care of our physical lives. The emotional lives may take a little longer. For the kids it's been up and down. Before Sean left we went to dinner. While waiting for our meals we all wrote down the "Things We Will Miss."
Things Sean will miss: the inbound monkey, endless conversations about submarine operations on which I know nothing, face-licking by the cat at 5:00 AM, cupcake challah, seltzer club
Things Keren will miss: Abba, the "You have one big eye," Abba's good food, seltzer club
Things Eema will miss: cups of tea, chocolate milk, or hot cocoa appearing from no where, the inbound monkey, help with mornings while I'm unconscious, sharing the blame
Things Jesse will miss: EVERYTHING
Things Gavi will miss: beating Abba, Gandalf licking Abba's face to wake him up in the morning, throwing the inbound monkey at Abba, Abba's good food
We miss all these things, but mostly the day to day presence. It's all the little things that make up a life together. There's not much to say when we're on the computer, because all those things you talk about, all those things you share are important in the moment, the details that make up life. Technology is a wonderful thing. We've been sharing breakfast, and the kids love it, but it lacks all the wonders and moments that make a life. I didn't think of it at the restaurant, but I miss the laughter, especially at night when were in bed talking. I miss the warmth on the other side of the bed (the giant pile of laundry doesn't compare). I miss the sharing that somehow doesn't seem to happen through a computer screen.
When we arrived at Pride yesterday morning, Keren and Jesse fell into their comfort zones, but for Gavi the weight was back on his stomach. Being there without Abba makes him sad, and he's stated he doesn't want to go on the bima until Abba comes back. He simply stayed next to me. This too shall pass, but it's not easy.
