This isn’t a pretty story and I should probably be
embarrassed to write it but maybe someone can learn from my mistakes.
It all began last Friday morning when I got irritated
with my husband. After forty-five years of marriage I know the time to complain
is when I’ve just begun to get annoyed, not after I’ve been stewing in my
frustration so long that the pot is ready to boil over. For some reason, which
I don‘t understand, I ignored that important life lesson. When I finally confronted
my husband I was hot.
He apologized but to my ears his apology was weak. Frustrated
he couldn’t understand why I couldn’t just get over it. Our argument escalated.
We began yelling at each other. Mean words were exchanged. Worn out we made a truce of sorts and I headed to
the kitchen.
I had liver, eggs, and onions to grind in the
hand-grinder that was a present from my mother years ago. Almost with my eyes
closed I could usually put the old-fashioned machine together in a matter of
minutes. For some reason it wasn’t working that morning no matter how many
times I tried. Impatience overcame my good sense and I threw it on the ground
in a temper. Even though it was made of cast iron I managed to break off the
handle.
Ashamed of myself I dissolved in tears. They weren’t
able wash away my rage, though. Somehow my husband found the right words to
say. I calmed down. Though we were both emotionally bruised (and I had a
physical bruise from when I slammed my fist on the table) we were able to
bridge the abyss our tempers had created. We left together, as friends, to do
some errands.
One of those errands was that I bought a new, plastic
hand grinder. It cost only sixty shekels, not a big expense. I could justify
the purchase by reminding myself the old grinder had begun to rust. It should
have replaced years ago. But that’s not the end of the story.
The metal blades for the grinder needed to be immersed
in the vessel mikvah. Not far from my home, it’s outside the regular mikvah
with a heavy metal lid covering it. Once opened that lid it supposed to hook
onto a special knob to keep it from falling on someone’s head. Well, the knob was broken and the lid fell,
not on my head, but rather on my back, pushing me down so I was whacked both in
the front and in the back.
Instead of being grateful I wasn’t seriously injured I
was enraged and my rage was directed at myself. I didn’t need a high IQ to
understand that I never would have been at the vessel mikvah that day if I
hadn’t bought a new grinder and I would have never bought a new grinder if I
hadn’t lost my temper and broke the first one. I was full of regret for my
actions.
There was more to come, however. As I drove home,
crying again, some driver began driving backwards down the street in front of
my house. I laid on my horn and managed not to be hit. Furious I entered the house
and threw the items in my hands on the floor. My keys were fine and I didn’t
break the new grinder. But the cell phone? I did it in.
Sunday morning I bought a new cell phone bringing the
financial cost of my anger to over a thousand shekels. There were other costs,
besides money and bruises, however. I lost all the memory in my old phone. Rebuilding
it and adjusting to a new machine take time and patience. I’m thinking of it as
my repentance project and hope I’ll never get so angry again.
Thankfully, my husband has forgiven me for my extreme
displays of anger. I pray HaShem has forgiven me too. Now I need to forgive
myself.
My novel, Growing With My Cousin, a good summer read, is available at Jewish bookstores and on line at http://www.feldheim.com/growing-with-my-cousin.html or
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