That’s life 9-17

Issue of September 17, 2010/ 9 Tishrei 5771

So, with our first three-day chag over, is it just me, or does anyone else feel like a fat pig? It’s not just the overeating that does me in, but also all of the sitting and being sedentary that makes me feel like I could qualify as a float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It would be Snoopy, Kermit the Frog and me. The best part of this eating insanity is that there is no end in sight. With two more three-day chagim headed our way, my waistline is taking a beating.

A non-Jewish friend of mine is convinced that Judaism is not conducive to being thin. With two large, sit-down, multiple-course meals served weekly, it’s an uphill battle to keep one’s weight steady. How are Jews supposed to be thin, he wondered out loud, when there is so much that is centered around eating? Our eating habits are not our biggest problem, I argued. We have other crosses to bear, if you’ll forgive the expression. And of course, there are good choices to be made — celery to munch on, plenty of water to drink and blah, blah, blah. The bottom line is that if I want another piece of challah, shmeared with honey, I am going to have it. Sue me.

It was right before Thanksgiving a couple of years ago when a non-Jewish coworker of mine was visibly at her wits’ end by the time she made it to work. Apparently, she was having 20 people for Thanksgiving dinner and was completely overwhelmed by the size of the meal, the shopping, the preparation and the clean up that she knew would follow such a meal. I looked at her, put my arm around her and said, “Honey, it’s called ‘Shabbos’ and we do it every week.”

Ironically enough, local newspapers were covering Fashion Week in New York City as I was digging into my honey cake. Bizarrely thin women who look like they could use a meal at my table graced the pages of many a periodical that was delivered to my home. I would not be deterred — these women cannot be happy, I reasoned. Who could be happy being so thin that a gust of wind could blow you away?

That’s not a way to live. Come to my house; let me feed you. Want some chulent? On the other hand, the U.S. Open was being played as I was contemplating whether one more piece of kugel was really going to kill me. These athletic, toned and muscular women clearly need to eat and must work off every bit of food that they consume. There had to be a happy medium, I thought. I was not going to be a Kim Clijsters nor do I want to be, but I did not want to be Brooklyn Decker either. Frankly, there has to be a way to have my cake and eat it, too.

Checking my email right after Shabbat, I sifted through the messages that awaited me. Like a voice from beyond, a Weight Watchers “chizuk” email was in my inbox, ready to give me pointers and low-cal recipes and here to tell me I am not alone. I know I’m not alone, I thought — I’ve been sitting in shul for three days with hundreds of other bloated people. Duh.

Don’t worry: I get it, I get it. As someone told me years ago, weight loss is like religion:

You can always come back. So in this week of returning and repentance, here’s to a new commitment to being a better Jew and a more sensible eater. After all, both one’s inside and outside should look and feel good.

MLW