This year I watched the Kinus Hashluchim from afar.
The first year without those late Thursday nights talking with friends. The first year without jostling on the bleachers for a spot in the picture.
I think I’ve been photoshopped into a photo or two over the years. This year I feel like I was ripped out.
The Kinus means different things to different people. For me, one of the high points was always the “family picture.”
Sunday morning, usually cold, sometimes absolutely frigid, thousands of us would pile onto the bleachers. The media would gather. We would start humming niggunim. Pushing, balancing, squeezing another person into a row. An arm around a stranger who is also a brother.
Somewhere in that sea of black hats was my face. You might have to spend a while looking for it, but I was there.
I had a place in the family picture.
This year I watched through Instagram stories and Facebook posts. Familiar faces, friends together, the gathering carrying on.
I felt gutted.
A little after midnight, Jerusalem time, while I was feeling particularly low, a WhatsApp notification came through. A friend, a shliach.
I was surprised to hear from him. The Kinus banquet was still happening. But it turned out he wasn’t there this year either. He had a family simcha.
He wanted to check in, say hi, and ask my advice. He’s starting a Tanya class and wanted my thoughts on how to prepare and how best to teach it.
We spoke for about half an hour.
How do you prepare yourself to teach Tanya? How do you help the people in the room understand it and take something into their lives? We spent those thirty minutes thinking through a class together.
I know this work. I care about it deeply. It felt good that my friend wanted to talk it through with me.
Afterward, I felt a little better.
I also miss shlichus like crazy.
Reading about Eliezer, the ultimate shliach, brought that feeling even closer. Avraham gives him a mission and entrusts him with the freedom to carry it out. Eliezer has to assess the situation, make decisions, find the best way forward.
I was a shliach.
I had that autonomy. I could think, create, try things, figure out how best to reach the people in front of me. Through it all, every moment of my existence had deep purpose. The mission gave shape to my days, even when the work was difficult.
Then I fumbled. I failed.
There is still plenty of meaning in my life. I know that. But sometimes it feels awfully hard to tap into it.
I think that is part of what I saw in the family picture this year. All those people with their communities, their responsibilities, each carrying their own pekel. After the Kinus, they would go home to the work they had been entrusted to do. For years, I stood among them with my own work to return to.
I miss that feeling.
I’m grateful my friend reached out. Talking about Tanya and a class he’s going to teach brought me some solace at a moment when I needed it.
When we finished, I wished I had a Tanya class of my own to prepare for.
Instead, I went back to bed, feeling a little empty.