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| Clara with our daughter, Ma'ayan in Surfers Paradise |
When I was
20 years old and enlisted in the US Navy, I went through the initiation rituals
that are practiced, with some variations, by most military forces known to
humanity. I didn’t expect basic
training, or ‘Boot Camp’ as it is called, to be especially difficult but I did
expect some challenges. I’d never been a
PT ‘animal,’ so I expected to have to work hard at the running and
calisthenics. But those proved no
problem for me. We ran and did
calisthenics every day, and that gradually whipped most of us into shape. It turned out that the biggest challenge was…clothes-folding.
Yes, clothes-folding! Every article of clothing to be folded just
so, everyone’s locker arranged according to a strict instructions. During locker inspections, any discrepancies would
result in a dump the contents of the locker in a heap amid shouts of: “You’re
going to kill somebody!” And then the
offenders would have to do push-ups. Lots
of push-ups!
Of course, the clothes-folding was
just a way to teach attention-to-detail.
This is a skill that a 20-year-old male is not likely to have in great measure. In the navy, no matter what one’s
occupational specialty, attention-to-detail is critical. In the high-stress environment of a warship,
something not secured correctly, something not stowed correctly, something not
attached correctly can cause an accident costing lives.
But that doesn’t mean that some of us
didn’t try to make the clothes-folding ritual easier. We would fold each item as carefully and as we
could, ensuring the most possible uniformity of the widths of the garments. Then we would use the same two of each type –
one on our bodies and one in the laundry, which was done daily. So during the entire eight weeks we would
wear only two tee-shirts, two pairs of undershorts, two pairs of socks and so
forth. Every night we would not have to
re-fold the garments returning from the laundry as we would be wearing them the
next day. That left time for other
chores, and less sweating over the minutiae of clothes-folding.
There was a danger in this, of course. If the folded skivvies looked unused, the
inspectors would gig us for not circulating our supply. And then the dreaded locker dump. And the push-ups! For those not circulating their skivvies, a
typical ‘punishment’ – after the push=ups – was to wear a clean pair of
skivvies on one’s head, walk around the room, and announce to each shipmate: “I’m
going to kill someone!”
But we learned over time that they simply didn’t have time to inspect
that closely. They would only notice unused skivvies if something else set them
off. So we continued taking our clean skivvies
out of the laundry basket and putting them on.
Of course, after Boot Camp,
where it no longer matters that every pair of skivvies is folded the same width
to the millimeter, I learned to circulate all my skivvies. Or so I thought. But I bought a few new packets of skivvies in
December. And just last week I noticed that
every morning, I seem to be wearing the same worn-out, yet not quite ready to
discard pairs every day. That’s
strange, I thought. Every day, I
pull my clean skivvies from the bottom of the pile in the drawer. So, in the course of a week, I should be
wearing some older pairs and some newer pairs. But it seems that the same two or three are
ending up covering my bottom. And I’m
sure that the new skivvies are in the mix.
When I brought them new ones home I made sure to open the packages and
toss the new ones in the laundry.
And then, finally, I realized what
the problem probably was. I asked
Clara: “When you put the clean underwear
in the drawer, do you put it on top or on the bottom?
“On the bottom, of course,”
Clara answered. “That way you’ll wear all of them.”
And then I started laughing like a
madman. “I take from the bottom,” I told her. “To ensure I’ll use all of
them!”
Military men need attention-to-detail.
And of course, Clara herself has
military training and experience. As
well as years working as a nurse, who have an equal need for
attention-to-detail.
So I’ve begun taking my clean skivvies
from the top. And the other day, Clara
thought to ask me: “You are taking from the top now, aren’t you?” It’s just one more illustration of how Clara
makes my life easier and more pleasant.
Not taking stock of these ways that our partners enrich our lives is, I
think, one of the main reasons that couples end up in family court. Divorce rates are not an indictment of
marriage, or of the quality of our relationships. They attest to our learning not a appreciate
one another. And why do we appreciate
one another less and less? I think it is
because we expect our lives to be fun and easy. So when they aren’t – at least most of the
time – then we begin looking for reasons. And we usually find such reasons in our
partners. They’re not fun enough. They don’t keep the house well enough. They don’t cook well enough. They don’t want sex enough. Take your pick.
From skivvies to sex, what a
transition! But then, everything ultimately comes down to sex, doesn’t it??! Just kidding!
Well, sort of… The real transition
is from skivvies to the sublime joy of a marriage partner who takes care of
little details, week after week, without complaint. And how we are sometimes so intent on doing
things ourselves that we tend not to notice.
There’s a Friday evening ritual that
we practice at home, which we omit here at shule when we transition from
the evening service to the blessings before dinner. Every week, I ask all the ‘girls’ to bless the
‘boys’ with a special blessing, and then we switch roles and the ‘boys’ bless
the ‘girls.’ But there’s a special
blessing for husbands to bestow upon their wives, and that is for him to recite
the 31st chapter of Proverbs to her. It doesn’t appear in the prayer book that we
use. In the politically-charged movement
of Reform Judaism, it is considered anti-egalitarian. It implies separation of gender roles. It excludes, I suppose, same-sex couples. And those who are widowed, or divorced. So it didn’t make the cut in the siddur. But I always derived joy from reciting it to
Clara on Friday nights, because it speaks the truth: that wives support their husbands in so many
ways that are frequently unnoticed. So
at least once a week, we remind ourselves.
The chapter should be familiar to you; it begins Eishet Chayil mi yimtza? A woman of valor, who can find?
Today is Clara’s birthday, my Eishet
Chayil’s, according to the Hebrew calendar.
She was born on Shabbat Hagadol – the Shabbat immediately before
Passover. On the civil date of her
birthday, she will be in the air, flying back from Colorado. Actually, she’s going to miss her civil
birthday this year. That’s the day she’ll
lose, crossing the International Date Line from east to west. Sooo…happy birthday Clara; may you enjoy many
more!
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