Author: Cantor Jessica Hutchings

Torah

/ Cantor Jessica Hutchings / 1 Comment

Today, my son reached out his arm (could have been his knee, I’m not quite sure) and touched the Torah.

While standing by the ark, the Rabbi and I posed for pictures with the 5th grade class at their naming ceremony.

We smiled with the students as their parents proudly captured the moment. I dreamed of one day, soon, being one of those parents and giving my child a name that connects him to generations of peoplehood…

Suddenly, while clutching the nearly 500 year old Czech Holocaust surviving scroll, I felt Baby Hutchings reach out and touch it.

He is just about ready to greet the world and be part of the chain. Now, all that stands between him and the crown of Torah… is me.

Keyn y’hi ratzon.

Beatles and Babies

/ Cantor Jessica Hutchings / 5 Comments

One year ago today, I woke up knowing we would find out whether or not our transfer worked and if we were pregnant.

We woke up with the sun and drove across town to the fertility doctor for a simple blood test and a day of anxiously awaiting the clock.

It also happened to be the day of an annual tradition, Beatles Shabbat. (If you don’t know what I’m referring to, Beatles Shabbat is a Shabbat experience created in my student pulpit, tying prayers to Beatles songs, and it took on a life of its own. Today, it’s a band of 12 instruments, hundreds of people attend in groovy attire, and its anticipated in the congregation each and every year. It’s a super FAB way to kick off the new school year before launching into an introspective time of Elul and t’shuvah.)

I was worried that if I knew the news, good or bad, before taking to the “One Night Only” Beatles bimah, I wouldn’t be able to be klay kodesh (a holy vessel) for my congregants. I would be #distracted.

Instead, we gave permission for my assistant, Rachel, to take the call from the doctor when the results were in, and she left a sealed envelope on my desk for the Chazzband and I to open after the service.

I think I circled the oneg (it means delight, but we use it to name the time after services when we eat cookies and schmooze… which brings us delight!) once before making a detour straight to my Chazzband and heading back to the office and find out the news.

We opened the happy announcement and both sobbed joyful tears.

We were pregnant.

We created this baby out of love and a petri dish, it was tested and hand picked, and nothing would go wrong, right?

Wrong.

The weeks following Beatles Shabbat were distracted, but I had to keep my focus and prepare for the quickly approaching Yamim HaNoraim (Days of Awe). A couple of days before Rosh Hashannah, we went back to the fertility doctor to see the heartbeat, anticipating only the most exciting of High Holy Days.

The drill was familiar… enter a cold room, undress from the waist down, wear a paper coverup, legs in stirrups, scoot down to the end of the table, hold Chazzband’s hand, lights go out, wand goes in, and the ultrasound tech looks for signs of life while you smile with impatience.

But that day… Quiet.

The starkest quiet I’ve ever heard. The kind of quiet where excitement turns to nervousness. “Usually she turns the monitor towards us and calls out measurements,” I thought. “Why is she so quiet?” After what seemed like a lifetime, she says she has to go get the doctor. “OK, maybe this is normal on first heartbeat day…”

It wasn’t.

Dr. Shapiro came in and looked quietly as she scanned again for him. Still lying in the dark, he explained that they didn’t show growth from the week prior and there was no detectable heartbeat. First, shock…then gravity took tears streaming from my face and sent them backwards to pool on the exam table, wetting my ears…and total disbelief overwhelmed my whole sense of self.

The techs left the room, the lights flicked on, they sat me up, Chazzband and I both in tears, and Dr. Shapiro said, “It’s rare, but sometimes we just need to give it more time. You’ll come back next week and we’ll look again. I know it’s a hectic time for you, so maybe you want to wait, but we will want to do a D&C soon.”

A what?

What was happening? How did this immense joy become unbelievable sorrow? How would I stand on the bimah and be your Cantor for the Holiest of Days, my mouth and my heart wide open, if I was experiencing a brokenness like never before? This couldn’t be my reality. But it was.

I cried a lot that week. Much of it a blur.

We went back two days before Yom Kippur to confirm the news that we had lost the potential life growing inside of me, but I would have to physically carry it with me until after Yom Kippur. It seemed like an impossible yet sacred task as it’s mother.

I stood in front of Aron Hakodesh (Holy Ark) on Kol Nidre and lost myself in angry, personal, shattered conversation with G!D.

The day following Yom Kippur, we checked into the hospital and had the minor (which felt major) procedure to have the remnants of the pregnancy removed. It was traumatic and life altering. We were both forever changed by this loss. I had feelings it was a boy, I had named him in my heart. Nonetheless, it was gone and the doctor’s explanation was, “This is just G!D’s way of taking care of what wasn’t meant to be.” To this day, I don’t know if that comment was helpful or hurtful. Then again, nothing would have made that moment easier or clarified the why.

Here we are today, a year later. And… it feels like I’ve been pregnant all year!

We waited 14 long and trying weeks for my HCG levels to come down so that we could try again (in other words, my body held onto some of the pregnant tissue, and thought it was still pregnant for almost 4 more months following the missed miscarriage.) Yeah, that wasn’t traumatic either… not.

On my dad’s Birthday, February 27th, we went in to transfer our 2nd of 3 embryos. I did my nice relaxing acupuncture with Dr. Roth, and then the quiet again… waiting in the office and they weren’t coming out to take me back for the procedure. Instead, an hour later, they took us back to the conference room where Dr. Shapiro explained that the embryo defrosted with abnormalities and he didn’t anticipate its survival. (We spent thousands EXTRA to make sure these were healthy embryos… and you’re telling me 2 out of 3 of them are proving to not be survivable?!”) He gave us the choice to defrost the third and final embryo. We chose to take our chances and hold our breath that the remaining hope of life, over a year in the making, would be the one.

We were told to wait 90 min and we would transfer #3. We walked across the parking lot for a smoothie, I remember not being able to drink it out of pure nervousness. On the way back, we talked about “What ifs.” Is it time to think adoption? Changing fertility doctors? Can we afford this again? Financially, emotionally, physically? I’m a stubborn and optimistic person. I don’t give up. But I was feeling defeated…

The phone rang at 42 min… they were ready for the transfer, the 3rd embryo looked “perfect”.

Again, we waited. Again, we cried happy tears 10 days later, and this time, at 6 weeks, 8 weeks, 10 weeks, 12 weeks, 20 weeks… the beating heart of our growing son was clear and hearty (no pun intended!). Every ultrasound appointment, my heart still sits in my throat. Except now, I feel him swimming inside of me, so the doppler is just reassurance that he’s baking just fine. G!D willing, the 3rd time’s a charm.

Today, it’s Beatles Shabbat again. It’s also the first day of our third trimester. 28 weeks. I can’t wait to meet him, but in the meantime, as he grows within me, we’ll rock out to the music of The Beatles, bring in the sacred sounds of the High Holy Days, and even call grandma to the Torah for her Bat Mitzvah.

May these moments in these remaining 12 weeks help bring him into the world with joyful song in his lips and upon his heart. May he be our blessing on this journey of life.

Shabbat Shalom 🎵

Feel like a Giant, not a Grasshopper

/ Cantor Jessica Hutchings / 2 Comments

Shalom All!

Well, today marks 20 weeks pregnant. That means, we’re halfway to meeting this baby! The gender reveal is just 6 days away, and I’m finally feeling anxious to know a bit more about who we are preparing to meet.

This week’s parsha, Sh’lach, points out a moment that we seem to be reliving again and again in different ways. We, the people seeking the promised land, look out into the scary world ahead and compare ourselves to others. In our Torah, we looked at the people of Canaan and said (in a matter of words), “They are giants and we are mere grasshoppers in comparison.”

One can’t deny that this mindset is both toxic and relevant today. In this moment, I’m comparing it to the “dreaded” scale where we continue to step on and measure our worth in numbers. No doubt, watching the scale creep up these past 20 weeks has been hard… it’s a mentality I’ve struggled to ditch. Honestly, I had thrown away my scale last year. Being pregnant, however, I just wanted to monitor it between the weeks I saw the doctor in case anything drastic happened. When I had hit 9lbs gained last week, I felt that sick feeling in my gut that I used to get when I was deep in diet culture. Then I realized, “Hello! You’re making a new life in you! This isn’t failure weight, it’s weight of hope and success.”

You see, it’s never failure weight. The number does not define us as humans. It is simply a measurement of what we physically carry the world, and there is no wrong number.

This morning, I stepped onto my usual treadmill at the gym, which happens to be in line sight of the faces of people stepping on this high tech scale that measures their fat, muscle, etc. 80-90% of the people who step up respond with a facial expression of disappointment or disgust. It makes me sad, every time. I want to shout to them, “Get off that scale, smile because you’re here at the gym, working to live a life of good health. You are amazing. You are beautiful and that number does not define your worth.” In a moment of seeing a number, we are so prone to feeling like grasshoppers… mere insects of what we actually are.

This Shabbat, be a giant… proud of who you are, where you are and what you’ve accomplished this week. You are not a number.

Shabbat Shalom!

Today Was Our Due Date

/ Cantor Jessica Hutchings / 5 Comments

Happy Passover, Friends! Apologies for being radio silent, but there is nothing new to report at the moment.

It is infertility awareness week, however… which is all too real, as this is the day I was due. Our first pregnancy, our first IVF transfer, it was a success… until it wasn’t.

As the lights went out in the ultrasound room, we were expecting the best…

Instead… silence…. until… “I have to go get the doctor.”

There was no growth since six weeks, and no heartbeat detected… I laid there, chazzband squeezing my hand, and both of us in disbelief. Dr. Shapiro told us not to worry yet, and to come back next week. It was the day before Rosh Hashannah. As a Cantor, the Holy Days are my World Series of the year… and I was heading into it with the most emotional cloud over my head. I barely made it through.

When we went back the next week, it was confirmed that the fetus had died.

The news came two days before Yom Kippur.

Those days of t’shuvah (repentance/return) were filled with immense despair and intense anger… I almost felt as though, in a single second, I had forgotten how to pray.

Dozens of people have come to me for consolation, guidance, and prayer… and when I was the one in need of my own advice, there was only darkness.

I stood before Aron HaKodesh (the Holy Ark), Avinu Malkeinu (a pinnacle prayer meaning, “Our Father, our King”) on the page in front of me, and I sobbed aloud, in front of a congregation of 800+ people. I was completely vulnerable, and my prayer couldn’t have been more raw.

The day after Yom Kippur, I was admitted to the hospital for a D&C because I had a missed miscarriage and the fetus remained in the womb I was building.

I was forever changed.

It took weeks for me to muster the strength to officiate a funeral or visit the preschool and months to perform a baby naming.

My body did not want to let go of the growth, preparation, and change. My HCG levels remained for an almost unheard of FOUR MONTHS after we lost this potential life. My body held onto those hormones and the physical and emotional weight.

I did not know if I would be myself again. I’m still not sure of that. I’m a new version of myself.

Women go through miscarriages all the time. This shouldn’t be such a pivotal life moment…. right? Wrong.

Did you want to start a family? Yes.

Was it years, dollars, emotions, hormone injectionS, and heartache in the making? Yes.

Did you start dreaming about what this potential life would become? Yes.

That is why this has forever changed me, and will always leave a permanent mark on my heart.

While we have gotten through the trauma and sadness, today is just a difficult reminder of what could have been, but wasn’t b’sheret (meant to be).

SIGH… AND… We move forward. We keep hoping, dreaming, planning, striving, fighting, growing, changing…

There WILL be a rainbow baby. I can feel it. This is my prayer.

Today, I am giving myself one day of quiet time. Working from home… taking in the sunshine… reflecting on where we’ve been and where we’re going… probably eating some chocolate toffee matzah.

Because… THIS is my unapologetic healing.

Tomorrow, I’ll rise again, pep in my step, and look towards the future. It’s a bright one.

For all who are struggling with infertility… I’m with you. I’m listening. You are not alone.

When the Balloon Pops

/ Cantor Jessica Hutchings / 3 Comments

You know that moment when everything is sincerely going great, and for a moment, you’re actually not thinking about the things in life that are difficult?

It’s an awesome moment when life is a rainbow, and you’re so happy to be right where you are….

Then… the balloon pops.

Someone says something that deflates and shrinks you to a point of weakness.

This infertility journey is one where that balloon pops often.

I’ve discovered these last few months that people don’t know what to say. It’s our human nature to want to comfort others. With that goal in mind, many people think saying something they think might be helpful… and it’s often the opposite of comforting.

How can we be more sensitive and mindful when speaking to our loved ones experiencing infertility?

Let’s look at three real examples from this past week:

1. Via text: “Look at these adorable pictures of my new niece!” ~Balloon pop 🎈

I realize others may not agree on this one, but in this moment, I have a tinge of sadness every time I see a very little baby. It won’t always be this way, but it’s still raw.

We (the women struggling with loss and infertility) are happy for your new addition. Really! We are genuinely so excited for your family, wholeheartedly, even as we struggle to build our own. We are not saying we don’t want to see pictures of infants, we do live in the world and see them everyday, but we don’t need to be blasted with intentional reminders from loved ones. Please just ask first if we want to see photos of new babies in your life. Somedays, it’s going to be great and somedays hard to see.

2. Cornered at a work event: “I’ve been wanting to tell you my own struggle, you never returned my messages about this.” Then they go on to tell you how they were 40 when they gave birth and they had this struggle and that. Then promise you will also be successful. ~Balloon Pop 🎈

There’s a lot here, let’s break it down.

A. It’s incredibly distracting to corner someone while they are working and focused.

B. While I am an exception because in my work, it is my great honor to accompany, lend an ear, and be a source of spiritual strength for my community, I’m not most people. If this person was sharing their story with me as a healing moment for them, all good. I’m here for you. Let’s talk about YOUR fertility. Anytime. Sincerely. Most people, however, will not find strength in your struggle. At least not in their moment of loss. Therefore, it’s better that you don’t share unless they express interest.

C. I never returned your message because it was days following my miscarriage, and I wasn’t ready. I haven’t brought it up because I wasn’t sure it would be helpful to hear it. I didn’t know how to tell you that.

D. Thank you for your encouragement and certainty in my future, but none of us know the future. I choose to live in the today, full of hope, not looking back or ahead. It’s how I’m coping, and actually, it’s going very well!

3. At the oneg following services: “Cantor, there is a rumor going around.. and I heard you’re pregnant, Mazal Tov!” ~Balloon pop 🎈

Oy va VOY!! No! This happened two weeks ago in religious school. One of the students thought it would be funny to start this rumor in his class. He’s been curious about babies, and he’s a little boy who did not know better. He’s a child. I expect this from children. From a grown adult… just… facepalm. Punch me in the stomach, why don’t you?

Maybe it’s the hormones I’m being pumped with, but like a deer in headlights, I gave this person a dead stare and said, “It is NEVER okay to ask a woman that.”

I think I embarrassed this person, and I am truly sorry because it wasn’t my intention.

But… seriously? Did you just say that? If I was, it would be my business to share. If I look like it, but am not, why draw attention to it? (Did I mention being pumped with hormones?!) You KNOW I just had a miscarriage so why on earth would you even go there? Just… oy. That’s all. Don’t ask. Ever. Never. Not even to a person nine months pregnant. Never.

Look, I love each of these people. They are dear to me. They did nothing wrong. I’m the broken one (although I’ve healed so much!), and all that we, the aspiring mothers, are asking for is a little sensitivity. If you love a person who is in this position, just think before you speak.

Just be there for us, and help us inflate the balloon of joy, fulfillment, and hope for the future.

Your presence is all the support we need.

Shavua tov!

Thanksgiving 🍁

/ Cantor Jessica Hutchings / 12 Comments

It’s been 9 painful weeks.

Both of us have done our best to put on a face, walk outside, go to work, and be with friends and family. I knew, if I did not step forward into life, I would be stuck in a very dark place.

There are too many things to celebrate, most importantly, the upcoming nuptials of my beautiful sister to her Prince Charming.

In truth, yesterday was the hardest day yet.

My heart of hearts wanted to be grateful and just push back the feelings bubbling to the surface.

There were SO MANY pregnancy announcements on Facebook this week. (B’shaah tova to all of you. Truly. Sending so much love)

At dinner with friends new and old, people I didn’t know even knew I was pregnant, also didn’t know we miscarried and asked how the pregnancy was going. It wasn’t the first time, and although it’s an awkward spot, I am not upset, I was not super private about the pregnancy.

Then, in another conversation, my dear friend (who I absolutely love for always just saying what’s on her mind, so this isn’t a criticism on her in the slightest) told the one pregnant person in the room, “They are trying to get pregnant.” Pregnant lady’s response? “Isn’t trying fun?”

What I wanted to say, but didn’t…

It was supposed to be. It was three years ago. It’s now, literally, the least fun thing in the world that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Also, I’m not trying to get pregnant. I was pregnant. I’m still mourning that.

Sure. Let’s chat about trying again…

We want to. As soon as possible. My body, on the other hand, has other plans. It still thinks it’s pregnant… a little bit. The doctor says my HCG titers are not resolved and we cannot start the process again until they do. Meanwhile, I sat in his office 8 weeks ago and he said we would try again in November… well November is almost gone.

It can’t happen in December because with the current timeline, I would be on bed rest during my sister’s wedding.

Maybe January… Maybe.

Someday. For certain.

I’m awake 30 minutes before my 3:30am alarm, sleepless before our flight to NYC. A trip we originally planned as baby-moon #1 to re-enact our engagement from 10 years ago… This time around, we planned to take photos, and in those photos, announce our pregnancy.

We are still going AND we are still taking those photos where the Chazzband so romantically proposed at the Statue of Liberty, in March of 2008. We’re still going to enjoy each other, and a long weekend in the city.

Even in our grief… we have to keep living.

Even in our grief…we are thankful.

For our friends who hosted us on Thanksgiving, and the many people we are blessed to call our friends.

For our families both near and far.

For our puppies.

For life, love, health and hope.

This blog is a place where I will continue to share the struggle… the strides… my truth. To the woman I overheard gossiping at the Chanukah bazaar who said, “Why doesn’t the Cantor just get over it… miscarriage happens all of the time,” I will not, for one moment, apologize for breaking a silence women have faced for decades. Infertility and pregnancy loss is real, common, nothing to be ashamed of, and should not be suffered alone.

It’s not just a miscarriage, it’s a gaping hole that, while mended and healed over, it will always be a permanent place in our hearts.

I own that.

I embrace that.

This is life.

Messy, real, imperfect… life.

May your Thanksgiving Shabbat be filled with joy even if you are experiencing pain. May each moment we get to open our eyes and breathe, be a moment to cherish and give thanks for.

(Shoutout to my beautiful friend Gwen, who so lovingly made this beautiful necklace in memory of our loss. You can find her jewelry @handmade_by_gwenann on IG. Handmade in Wales!)

Emerging

/ Cantor Jessica Hutchings / 3 Comments

I am not the person I was a month ago.

In the past, I’ve felt myself bend… sometimes really far… but it wasn’t until September 12th, 2018 at 8am, that I broke in two.

Today is the shloshim of finding out that my unborn child had no heartbeat. Yeah… yeah… I’m aware that I cannot mourn because s/he never drew breath. This fact doesn’t negate that we still experienced a tremendous loss, that I’ve been holding onto it quite tight.

Each passing day brings an ounce of healing. Jumping back into cantorial duties… getting back into the world… keeping up my exercise routine… enjoying the company of friends… it’s all helped.

Knowing I needed a ritual to help me move forward, my clergy partner suggested that I do something both physical and spiritual to officially cleanse myself of this experience.

Mikveh.

For the past several years, I have been the mikveh angel for others… shepherding amazing women as they choose Judaism and complete that part of their journey with mikveh.

Today, I went to the mikveh for myself. I did it to regain wholeness, and find solace in the loss.

My hope was to immerse broken and emerge whole, I prayed to God.

(Thanks to my colleagues at Temple Beth Shalom, the mikveh was available just for me this morning. I’m so appreciative for their kindness.)

After walking in, the door closed behind me and I physically prepared myself by taking out my contacts, off my jewelry, my nails and toes were bare of polish… all the boxes checked so that I could submerge “Just Jess”.

I placed a ceremony I had written for myself at the edge of the bath.

Slowly, I stepped into the water.

I stood there and dipped once. As I went under the water, my heart raced and tears fills my eyes. The water burned in my throat as I chased back the tears.

I spoke the words of blessing for mikveh, and dipped again.

This time, I spoke words straight from my heart… Honestly, I told God that I was angry, and I wasn’t giving up.

My voice was heard. I know it.

I dipped a third time and wanted to say shehecheyanu for my life and getting through surgery after the loss… but it was difficult to praise The Holy One for bringing me to this moment when I was supposed to be in this moment 12 weeks pregnant. Here I am alive, and this moment is real. This moment will lead to the next moment… one with hope and healing. So… shehecheyanu.

Feeling myself one with the water was special, meditative, emotional, and most importantly… cleansing.

As I walked out of the pool of water, I felt a sense of soul healing… a force nudging me to move forward.

Today, I emerge changed, filled with hope, and ready to begin again.

You will always be the life that lived in me. We will always remember you.

The Healing

/ Cantor Jessica Hutchings / 5 Comments

After a long Friday…

Waiting, being poked, staring at symbolic crosses (side effect of a St. Rose hospital), shedding some tears and being asked my name, birthday and drug allergies a minimum of six times…

I’m on the other side… a place where the closure and healing can finally take place.

First, a thank you to my OB, anesthesiologist, and nurses for getting me through a quick D&C procedure, easy waking, and the lemon italian ice.

I’m feeling punched in the gut, quite literally. It’s a scary thought when the urge to pee comes… just think millions of 🔥 knives poking you down there. I’m being brave, and not taking the narcotics because frankly I don’t like the way they make me feel.

But all in all, I’m counting my blessings, because I’m okay. We’re okay.

Propped up on the couch, next to my better half and our ridiculous rainbow eared dog, watching Netflix, and eating cinnamon sugar skinny pop puffs.

My emotions have surprisingly leveled out. I cried upon waking because I knew it was permanently gone.

Now, however, I’m looking towards the future and trying again. The chazzband is too.

SIDE-NOTE: A huge shoutout of love to my sister who took me to pre-op, and made sure I had painkillers and antibiotics when I arrived home, and is just always my person, to the moon and back. My parents for giving me the space I needed and always being great support. Mom, I know I pushed you away… I won’t do that again.

My sis-in-laws for understanding when I had to miss the bachelorette but still making sure I was distracted and shown the love of my nieces and nephew, at the exact right time.

My amazing orthodontist and wonderful congregants/friends who sent over gorgeous flowers that did put a huge smile on my face and brought scents of happiness back into our home.

My congregants, assistant, and clergy partner.. thanks for checking in and showing us your love.

The most sincere thanks to Lori, Sheryl, Karin and Glori for giving me the time to heal by filling in for services. It is literally the most beautiful gift, we are blessed at CNT for you and all of our lay leaders who fill in during our absence from the pulpit.

To my amazing tribe of friends who have carefully checked in and provided frozen yogurt, sushi, babka, honey cakes, challot, and anything else tasty that we’ve consumed in the last couple weeks or are yet to consume today… you know me well…I’m a super typical Jew when it comes to food=comfort.

Last, and most importantly, my chazzband, for holding my hand the whole way through… and making sure I knew we were going through this pain together…. I sure wish you could take the pain of peeing right now! 😂

This blog wasn’t meant to be a giant speech of thank yous… but as I wrote them out, I saw even more-so how very lucky I am to be surrounded by a cushion of love.

We need our community. It’s that simple.

Don’t feel the need to experience this alone. It is NOTHING to be ashamed of. It happens to too many of us. There are questions, concerns, and hugs that need reception.

My voice is not simply a journal for my thoughts alone, but also a platform to echo yours.

These are life’s waves. You’re not riding them alone.

After the sun sets into Shabbat tonight, we will begin to enter in the season of harvest and giving thanks to the Holy One.

The OG Thanksgiving.

Just a few days ago, the idea of Sukkot had no meaning to me. Why would I shake the lulav when I was missing the core, my etrog, my heart?

BUT. Isn’t it funny that a few days ago, while working through those feelings, it wasn’t Sukkot, it was Yom Kippur. As difficult as it was, also kind of perfect to plead so acutely with our Maker.

I opened up my entire self and not only chanted, but also cleaved, Avinu Malkeinu, HEAR OUR PRAYER, hear my prayer, answer me WHY?! Tears and all.

Today, closure, tonight, the rest that is Shabbat, and the day after, the holiday that opens the door for strength, hope, shelter, and gratitude. A Chag reminding us that life is a growing and flowing, and all situations temporary. Just as the Israelites lived in their Sukkot…. wandering… for a long time… it was all still temporary.

Life’s symmetry. The universe’s way of righting wrongs. For everything there is a season and a reason.

It hurts and doesn’t make sense now, but it will.

For this I pray.

May your Shabbat be beautiful, comforting, and peaceful. Bless your children, for they are a miracle. Take time to show gratitude for all that is miraculous and wonderful in your life.

May we all be able to see our many gifts in this life.

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sukkot Sameach, Z’man Simchateinu.

Broken

/ Cantor Jessica Hutchings / 12 Comments

Disclaimer: If you’re not in for something upsetting, don’t continue to read on. If you’re ready to read a raw reality, forge ahead.

I was pregnant.

I am pregnant.

But…

The fetus is not growing.

Next week, I have to undergo a D&C (dilation and curettage) and have it removed from my body.

Until then, I have to carry around hopelessness, grief, anger, and lost potential inside my physical and emotional self for 8 days.

Why the wait?

Well, I’m busy serving God, as the klay kodesh (holy vessel) of my people during these Holy Days… Can’t think of anything more messed up than this reality. Never did I ever think this could be my reality. I knew it was possible, but I didn’t want to believe that while I’m serving the Holy One, I’m also getting punched in the gut, repeatedly.

My right mind knows that bad things happen to good people. You, the Creator, are not responsible for this. You are our strength, comfort, and surrender in these times… but I can’t help and be pissed and disappointed… and You, the Master of the Universe, while I don’t blame You, You are not exempt from my feelings.

We’ve been through enough. It took almost 3 years to conceive this baby. We did everything and more that was asked of us. We prayed. We dreamed. We hoped. We also injected thousands of dollars in drugs, underwent multiple tests and procedures, and put every emotion and aspiration into it.

I thought, I’ve been given the gift of infertility to help better comfort others who are struggling.

A miscarriage too? Really? I couldn’t have been empathetic without losing my own baby?

It’s going to take me a while.

It’s insanely unfathomable to have to serve in my role at this, the holiest, most heart opening time of the year. Somehow, I’ll stand tall and be there for my community. It’s not just my job, it’s my life.

So is life… it’s not perfect. It’s not always sunny. This is the dark side. This is where you see the human side of your clergy. We can understand where you are coming from because, as you can see, we are just like you.

Many of you have been and continue to be sensitive and understanding. You have asked what you can do. Please know how much we appreciate your love and concern.

While we cannot say Kaddish for an unborn child, what we do need is time to process, reflect, and navigate a different reality.

What I need is space.

Please don’t ask how I am, try to hug me, or call (I’m not answering). I’m terrible, and I don’t want to cry anymore. I appreciate your concern, please don’t pity me. I’m not going to ask for anything, but please know how much I appreciate the sustenance and support that my family and friends have offered and brought over.

Please understand that emails are not being answered for the next few days and your needs may need to be met by my clergy partner.

Please realize this is a loss for my family. My chazzband is also struggling and needs some space.

Please know, this is not a misdiagnosis, we’ve seen the same scans for two weeks. So, please don’t suggest it. It actually makes it worse.

This is real, not harsh. This is how we cope.

We will survive this. We will move forward. We will try again. We will be parents… soon.

As for the Days of Atonement… let this be the worst one we ever have to experience, and let it soon be in the rear view mirror.

For my transgressions, I sincerely apologize. Truly.

May we all be sealed for a wonderful year.

May our fast not be easy, but instead, meaningful.

May we all have a fruitful 5779.

Broken but not alone.

The Wonder of Elul

/ Cantor Jessica Hutchings / 1 Comment

I’ve wanted to pee on a stick ALL DAY.

TMI? I know, but may I remind you that you asked for the unapologetic tell-ALL?

That’s what I thought. 🙂

Today was not only physically and emotionally challenging, it also felt like a tug-o-war with my own brain and heart.

The day started with a funeral at 9am, teacher orientation at 10, hospital visit at noon, work on the Holy days and Beatles Shabbat at 1… and because we were definitely missing a life cycle… a shiva memorial (not the same from the funeral) at 5. A poetically juxtaposed day, reminding me… so is life.

By the time I got home to be stabbed in the rear with the daily progesterone, it was just past 8PM… I was nauseous (yeah yeah) and felt utterly full.

Full? Yes. Filled to the brim.

I was honored to spend the day facing life head on. The sad, the broken, the hopeful… and all filled with love. The month of Elul made a grand entrance into the day… (Its presence helped me to stop thinking about the stick.)

Elul began last night. The month in our Hebrew calendar that helps prepare us for the High Holy Days, the Days of Awe. It’s spelling is said to be an acronym for Ani L’dodi v’dodi Li, I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.

What does this verse from Song of Songs mean for us? At least for me… in this moment…

We have been calling out to our Beloved (The Creator), and the response is so far in the distance, we can’t really hear it, but we trust that God is there. The future is uncertain… But if we slow down, face our own heart, and walk into this time of Elul with grace, gratitude, and intention. Then, as the Holy Days arrive, we will stand face to face with our Beloved… the response, our b’sheret (meant to be), will be clear.

When I asked the son-in-law, at shiva, how he was holding up… he said, “This is life. It was time.” He was totally at peace with his loss.

It made me pause… “If he can find peace with this loss, you can certainly be at peace with the unknown a few more days. THIS IS LIFE. If it’s time, we’ll know in due time. Stop rushing what you’ve waited a lifetime for.”

The wonder of Elul inspires us if we allow it. May we all focus our hearts this Elul and may the quiet reflection elevate us to holiness in these days ahead.

BTW… Wishing a happy first day of school to all the teachers and their students!