My Jewish Year. Abigail Pogrebin
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I print out the list and think about who will tackle it with me. My rabbi-guides told me to find a chevruta (study partner) to keep me on track and ensure a daily review. So I need someone who’s going to be game and won’t balk at the discipline, let alone the candor. My close friend Dr. Catherine Birndorf is the ideal candidate: an accomplished psychiatrist and a fellow stumbling Jew, her bracing directness and humor keep me on my toes. Over our staple breakfast of soft-boiled eggs and toast, she relishes excavating our obsessions and personal roadblocks. She’s helped me through more false-alarm crises than I want to name. I describe my proposal to her in our favorite diner, and Catherine doesn’t hesitate before saying yes, which makes me feel grateful because I didn’t really have a Plan B. It’s a lot to ask of someone—to do one penance per day—swapping confessions. Not everyone has the patience or the curiosity.
Our agreed protocol is this: we’ll mull the trait-of-the-day to ourselves privately during daylight hours, then, at night, email each other frank reflections. To give Catherine some context for this Elul assignment, I send Yitz’s quote to her—the one about “crash diets” in anticipation of the beach. She writes