Showing Up in the World
The shofar calls us to awaken, the apples and honey remind us of sweetness after struggle, and Hadassah reminds us of the power of showing up together. L’Shana Tova. May this year bring courage, sweetness, and hope.
There were mornings I wanted to vanish. Grief pressed so heavy on my chest I could hardly breathe. Silence felt safer than speaking. Disappearing felt easier than showing up. But even then, something in me, small, stubborn, unbroken, kept pushing. So I got out of bed. I found my voice and I showed up anyway. And now, with Rosh Hashana upon us, I am reminded that a new year can rise even when the old one felt unbearably heavy.
Each morning when I wake up now, I still have choices. I can show up small, silent, and hidden, or I can show up whole, raw, and true. And as the High Holy Days approach, those choices feel sharper. This is the season of reflection, of asking who we are, who we have been, and who we want to become. Just as the shofar awakens us from slumber, the choice to show up awakens us to life’s sweetness, like apples dipped in honey after a year of bitterness.
In Jewish mysticism, the soul is said to have five layers. I didn’t know it when I was younger, but I’ve been showing up with all five all along, even when I didn’t have words for them. Looking back, I can see how each layer shaped the way I lived, survived, and grew.
The nefesh, the basic soul, is the grounding force that keeps me moving. It’s what carried me out of bed on mornings when grief felt unbearable, when I wanted to stay hidden but somehow managed to stand up anyway. It’s the pulse that kept me alive when survival was all I knew.
The ruach, the emotional soul, is my spirit, my voice, my heart. I can still feel the tremor the first time I spoke my truth out loud, how my voice shook but didn’t break. It’s the fire that lights in me when I advocate, when I take the mic in a Hadassah space, when I refuse to stay silent in the face of antisemitism. And it’s the tears that fall when memory collides with the present, reminding me how close the past still lives.
The neshamah, the intellectual soul, is the wisdom that lifts me higher. It allows me to step back and see the bigger story: how chaos shaped me, how resilience carried me, how healing continues to be uneven but possible. It’s the clarity that rises from the fog, often while I’m at my desk, pen in hand, writing what once felt unspeakable.
The chayah, the living essence, is the spark that refuses to let me stay small. It’s what pushes me to lead, to write, to connect. It’s why I keep showing up for others—in community, in Hadassah, where we transform resilience into action, and in every space where voices matter. This part of me reminds me that my story isn’t just mine; it’s meant to reach beyond me, to let someone else feel less alone.
And then there’s the yechidah, the soul of oneness. This is my deepest connection to the Divine, the quiet knowing that even in my darkest moments a spark inside me never went out. Even when I felt fractured, something in me stayed whole. That ember kept me tethered to life, to faith, to hope.
When I show up in the world, I bring all of this: the grounded nefesh, the fiery ruach, the seeking neshamah, the purposeful chayah, the eternal yechidah. Some days I stumble. Some days I soar. But I always show up, with all five layers of my soul stitched together by survival, surrender, and strength.
And I’ve learned something: when I pay attention to these five layers, I don’t just endure. I grow. I notice where I’m ungrounded, where my emotions are steering me, where wisdom is guiding me, where purpose is pulling me, and where wholeness quietly holds me.
When I honor all five, I don’t just show up. I expand. I become a mirror, showing others they can too. And that is the work of the High Holy Days: to look inward, to choose again, to ask ourselves not just what we’ve done, but how we’ve shown up.
So I’ll ask you: How will you show up in the year ahead? Which part of your soul is leading, and which part is asking for more of your attention? Because showing up isn’t just about presence. It’s about wholeness. It’s about never again disappearing.
Hadassah has taught me that when we show up together, our voices rise stronger than any single one alone.
L’Shana Tova. May we all choose to show up this year in strength, in truth, in wholeness, and in hope.