Once, when my youngest was about 2 or 3, just beginning to put her sentences together and express the magic of her world with the sweetest voice, I was driving in my minivan with my three kids. I often found myself looking at her in the rearview mirror when, out of nowhere, she screamed, ‘Don’t look at me, I’m hideous!’ I can’t tell you how much we all laughed at that unexpected sentence. Did she even know what she was saying? Today, when I look at myself in the mirror, I’m reminded of her raw expression, which I hope was something she heard on TV and didn’t fully understand. Because she was, and still is, incredibly stunning.

I have struggled with my body image since my teen years, disconnected from what I think about my own body, unsure whether my body or face is attractive, and using your eyes and thoughts as the measure for how I judge myself. Do you see the problem in that? Not the obvious one—the fact that I don’t see it with my own eyes—but the less obvious one, which is that what you see is so elusive to me that it becomes guesswork. I have no idea what you think of the way I look, just as I have no idea, in all honesty, how I feel about it either. People tell me they love my smile, and I love smiling. I can see that when I smile at you, your smile and your eyes light up. But when I look at my smile in the mirror or in pictures, I want to press delete. I see my… well, I don’t even want to share how hard it is to face what I see in the mirror. That’s how bad it is. I see both nothing—because I don’t know what I’m looking at—and everything that I perceive as ‘imperfect’ about myself. The gap between my not-so-white teeth, the fact that my eyes don’t seem the same, the few very stubborn white hairs invading my head… and so much more that I can’t even bring myself to share.

I can’t imagine what it is you see in my smile that makes you smile back at me. I have to remind myself every time I look in the mirror: it’s not my flesh that is making you smile, it’s my spirit. And so I’ve resigned for years to separate my flesh from my spirit.

In the past few months, through meditation and hikes, without realizing it, I’ve started integrating my body, mind, and spirit. I don’t know how; it wasn’t intentional, but now it’s becoming more intentional. John Ruiz Miguel, the author who made the biggest impact on my life to date, starting with The Four Agreements, speaks about honoring your body. I don’t know the first thing about honoring my body, so I started by thanking my body: Thank you for being healthy enough to hike 8-10 miles every weekend to Eagle Peak and back, to allow me to connect with myself. That was my first gratitude toward my body.

This conversation with my body led me to listen to it more intently. And what do you know? My body is talking to me. Maybe it’s been talking all along and I was just ignoring it, or maybe it started when I began listening. I honestly don’t know, but as soon as I started paying attention, I noticed my back and shoulders hurting. I noticed that I was thirsty. I noticed that often, I wake up with a stomach ache. I started noticing all sorts of things. And even though my body is at a weight that, by your judgment (which is, for now, also mine), is too large, it still wants to eat. So, I decided to experiment with a diet. I’ve done Weight Watchers in the past; it’s a super successful program. I lost 35 pounds and made great friends, eating whatever I wanted. But for me, logging points and thinking about food, pulling out my phone at dinner with friends or family, felt awkward and interrupted the flow of conversation, which is difficult for me to handle. So, for now, I’m not using that tool. For now, here’s what I’m anchoring myself in: I try to eat healthy. I’ve learned a lot about healthy eating from Weight Watchers, and from all of you who generously share your habits with me. I’m going to live my life doing what I can to listen to my body. When it wants to get up and walk, I walk. When it wants to stretch, I stretch. I sleep pretty much eight hours each night, or try to at least. I’m listening to my body and trying to eat healthy. If that results in a body that looks good, great. If not, maybe I’ll learn to love my body for the gifts it gives me—like my three kids, for one (or three, take your pick).

Earlier this month, we had a three-day weekend, and I was looking forward to resting because my back had been hurting so badly and I have a hard time sleeping. I don’t know if it’s from the stress of my life, or the long commute (I spend 4-5 hours in the car three times a week), but I was so ready for this long weekend. I was reminded in no uncertain terms that I had to show up to a board retreat in the middle of it. So, I said to my body with compassion, “Okay, you won’t get to rest on Sunday, but on Monday, I will give you a treat.” For the first time, I booked a deep tissue massage for an hour and a half, and I promised not to fight it. I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable; I’d just let my body enjoy it to the fullest.

On Monday, I found a place called Greenleaf, booked an appointment with Lucy, and tried to explain what was hurting. But between Lucy’s not being a native English speaker (and, yes, I know I’m not either) and the fact that I had to remain quiet because others were in adjacent rooms, I decided to trust her and the experience. For the next hour and a half, this deceptively small woman pressed so hard on parts of my body that through the pain, I could feel the release—it was both painful and joyful at the same time. The next day, I couldn’t move, but my body finally got my attention, forcing me to allow not just my body, but my spirit and my mind to take a break. I needed rest in a way I hadn’t allowed myself in months—since my trip to Yosemite after the High Holidays, my busiest time of year.

I ended up needing to take the rest of the week off. The week before, I had listened to a class about letting go, where it was suggested to try releasing things and trust that the world wouldn’t fall apart. Of course, when I heard that, I thought, “Surely that can’t be true for me—after all, I’m an EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR.” As I woke up on Tuesday, unable to get out of bed, I opened my work calendar and emails to assess how much I could do from bed—probably about three to five hours. Listening to my own thoughts and recognizing my inability to let go, my mind kept negotiating, “Just a bit more.” But I said, “No, not this time. This time, I’m going to let go and allow my body, mind, and spirit to rest.” Letting go—let’s see if the world falls apart without me.

As I let go that entire week, surrendering to my body’s need to heal and rest (or is it rest and heal?), I noticed my spirit rising and my mind quieting. The biggest surprise came from my partner in a special program for women, Rabbi Ilana. Before I dive into why she gave me the biggest gift I received in a long time, I should share a little about the relationship between me and Ilana.

Rabbi Ilana and I work together in ways that often rub us the wrong way, yet we love each other deeply. There’s a kindness in her—a tender kindness—that, despite how much she can drive me crazy, always brings me back to her. We’ve created a safe space where we can look each other in the eye and speak from a softer place to find our way back to each other. Rabbi Ilana and I had an idea for Rosh Chodesh—well, it was my idea because, during the same ride in which Ilana gave me the tip about the mikvah and releasing, I said, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to create a space for women to just be women at CBJ?” She wasn’t sure if she could swing a launch of a new program in her busy schedule, but little by little, as we started to talk about it more, she was in! By the time we started working on it, we were both so excited that we were co-creating what ended up being one of the most spectacular evenings of my life.

In the four months that Ilana and I worked together, I held on to the hope of this evening, knowing that Ilana and I share something deeply connected inside of us. Even though we clashed many times, I trusted that I should lean into it, almost running away from it at times. I’m grateful to Rabbi Ilana for not running away from me when my fiery side took over. The gift she gave me that week is one of surprise, care, and giving. As I lay in bed, trying to let go and rest—something I’ve never done for a week, not even when I came down with covid a few years ago—there I was, still working from bed. I thought to myself, “How will I get ready for this evening?” I had one part to do and a volunteer I wanted to connect with, but I didn’t want to do any work. I decided to trust myself and my programs and figure it out later.

When I reconnected with Rabbi Ilana the Friday before our event, she told me she had reached out to the volunteer and taken care of everything for my part—not from a place of superiority, but from a place of care and completion, so I could step in and run with it. That level of being cared for, without words or expectations, nourished my soul.

The next time I saw Ilana, just before our Rosh Hodesh event, we sat together in her office. She had a blue blanket, and we wrapped ourselves in it, creating a warm, safe environment. In that moment, I shared with her that, in this new chapter we’re about to begin, I want to introduce myself as KerenOr, presenting a more authentic version of myself to the world. But I was scared, unsure if I had the courage to do that. Ilana didn’t offer advice or say, “You can do it.” She simply said, “I hear you. I’m here.” That was all I needed—her profound Hineni. No judgment. No expectation. Just her presence, her ability to see me, and her love.

As the evening began, women from our community, some I knew and some I didn’t, started to arrive. Each woman brought her own positive energy, and by the time all 37 were in a circle, I felt alive in a way I can’t fully describe. I invited everyone to open our space, to be with each other without the pressure of time or expectations—just to trust the experience and be present. It felt so good.

Ilana then led a discussion about love from a Jewish perspective. The women in the group were insightful, deep, and light. There was no anger, despite the diversity of perspectives. There was no age, despite our differences in time spent on this planet. It was just pure presence, and it was beautiful. I woke up the next day feeling a glow from that experience.

As the evening came to an end, and I was saying the long Jewish goodbyes, I made a mistake – a mortal sin, that is.  I said something unintentionally offensive about someone’s body image. It felt terrible. You know, that type of boomerang, where you inflict pain and it comes back to you double, because you realize that you harmed someone and you cannot take it back, no matter what you do. I had made a beautiful woman feel bad about herself. Why? Because I’ve internalized what a body is supposed to look like—my own body image issues clouded my judgment. How can I honor others’ bodies when I don’t even honor my own? I apologized, of course, and shared with her that when she entered the room, I thought, “She’s so beautiful.” I hope my apology was some comfort, but I know my words will echo in her mind for some time, just as hurtful comments have echoed in mine.

This moment made me realize it’s time for me to look more closely in the mirror, to confront my own body image issues. I don’t know how this journey will unfold, but I trust the process. I trust that, as I shed judgment, I will embrace a softer, more courageous version of myself.

I hope and pray that by looking in my own mirror I can bow my head in deep apology to this beautiful woman that I made feel imperfect. Which woman – me? Or her? That’s the point. Both, and all.

If you’re a woman in the Bay Area and would like to join us for the next Rosh Chodesh event with Rabbi Ilana, where we anchor ourselves in love, support, and deep discussion, feel free to reach out. You’re all invited. Just step through the door, and you’ll experience something so real it feels unreal.