How ironic to be given a prompt asking, "What's cooking?," the day after my twenty-six hour fast. Yesterday, Yom Kippur––The Day of Atonement, meant a full sundown to past-down-again of reflecting, praying, and empty bellies.
Each year, I'm amazed to see how easy fasting is for me. In fact, I was so involved with getting my house ready for the break fast, that I failed to watch the clock and went five minutes past supper time! I confess, I did a little evening cooking and baking, but no tasting. If I can go a full day without food or drink, why can't I say, "No" to that second helping or fattening dish? Our minds truly contain the potential to control that thing called our body if we're serious enough to do so.
Last night, a story circulated from one of the Orthodox synagogues in town. A teenage girl fell ill due to lack of food and passed out during the afternoon service. Someone made the mistake of yelling, "Is there a doctor in the house?"
Practically the entire shul rushed to her aid, with the exception of a couple dozen lawyers pondering, Who pushed her? or Is there a loose tile below her feet that would make a good suit? And of course the temple contained those mentally challenged folks who became accountants. Cool your jets––I'M KIDDING! But in all honesty, we are quite an educated group of people.
The girl was fine. Her ego contained a few bumps and bruises, but no more than those I acquire daily.
