I am daydreaming again.

Having stumbled upon the description of God’s breath hovering on the waters, my imagination has transformed me into a hummingbird. I am sitting still but my mind is buzzing.

Daydreaming is both a necessity for my writer-self and a luxury for my mother-self. It can also be a liability. Often, the open space of my dream state allows the tempest of my nightmares to overwhelm me. I am standing at the edge of a chasm, peering down at God’s breath hovering below me.

I feel light-headed: I could easily lose my balance.

Rabbi Tsvi Blanchard taught me that the ability to tolerate both the nightmare and the fantasy of my dream state empowers me to transform my fear to joy. As I embrace the truth of his teaching—my mind cannot soar higher unless it has hovered low—I struggle to discern my thoughts amid the noise of the dream. I am surrounded by chaos and nothingness.

I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with oxygen.

I exhale slowly, feeling steadier as my breath fades.

I take a second breath, emptying my mind of anxiety.

The third time, I close my eyes and hold my breath close to my heart.

Somehow, I find the strength to surrender the dream and wait in the spaciousness of the moment. As I exhale, I see my potential joy rising up like a fog lifting out of the deep chasm.

It is the breath of God hovering before me.

Please join me as I celebrate my Bat Mitzvah year in Atlanta by teaching Torah at Taste of Limmud on Sunday, March 25th, 2:00-6:30 p.m. at The Weber School.

Taste of Limmud is a “delicious, nourishing, satisfying sampler of Jewish learning, culture and ideas.” In this mini-version of the LimmudFest weekend, you will meet hundreds of Jews from the Southeast and experience meaningful Jewish learning with top educators, including Joel Marcovitch, Marni Davis & Stuart Himmelfarb.  I will be leading a session titled “There’s No Place Like Home” and signing copies of Found in Translation, which will be available for purchase all day.

Sign up now, because pre-registration closes on March 18th!

I pray in airports.

Many of my fellow passengers likely pray on board the aircraft, but I find myself praying in the waiting place—my place of anxiety—and today my prayers are especially heartfelt.

I arrive at the Park-and-Ride with plenty of time to spare, despite the slow-moving traffic on the highway. My husband lovingly chides me for worrying:  “You always sit at the gate for at least an hour.”

He can afford to be good natured, since I am traveling alone for business and he has already arrived safely at his office. “Remember before 9/11?” he asks. “We used to leave for the airport an hour before our flight. Security was just walking through a metal detector.”

I recall our last real vacation, a before-the-baby-is-born trip to California. I stepped gingerly down the jet way, looking over my shoulder toward the terminal, wondering if I would be able to stretch my legs across his empty seat during the flight.  How long could it possibly take to park the car? I knew we should have left the house earlier!

“Yes,” I tell him. “And I remember the leeks, cucumbers and melons in Egypt. And the fish we ate for free.”

He laughs. “You have plenty of time,” he reassures me. “I have to get to a meeting.”

“I’ll call you when I land.”

I recite my first prayer—praise for the shuttle driver—as I step through the airport doors and note the time: my flight departs in 2 hours.

I’d heard on the radio earlier that “Security wait times” were close to 30 minutes. But as I round the corner, brandishing my cell phone with its QR-coded boarding pass, I see there is no line. Then I hear a commotion erupt beyond the glass partition.

“What should I do about this line?” one TSA officer calls to another.

“Turn them around and send them back through the next lane,” her colleague replies.

My second prayer is a petition: “Please, God, don’t let anyone who was at the front of that line realize that he is now going to be last.” I think my spouse is right, after all. Things were better in Egypt.

“You called 911, right?” another TSA agent asks.

“Yeah, I called.”

That’s when I realize the delay is not about searching carry-on bags and directing travelers through scanners. TSA agents are clearing the way for paramedics to attend to the woman at the front of the line who’d had a seizure.

My third prayer is interrupted by a polite request: “Ma’am, step forward please.”

I take a deep breath as I hand him my identification. My final prayer of the morning is gratitude: “Thank God for the TSA agents who acted decisively to help a fellow traveler.”