Liminal Space is Holy Ground

It is a lazy Sunday afternoon a little after 4pm. I’m sitting on my couch with my cooing, baby boy bouncing on my knee. I steady Tal with one hand as the other interlocks fingers with my husband,Adam,resting beside me. There’s a sporting event on the TV that only Adam is invested in. It is a magically mundane moment until I find sweat beginning to pool at my brow. My pulse races as my mind starts writing a Monday morning to-do list faster than I can put pen to paper.

I am certain I am not alone here in experiencing the psychological phenomenon known as the Sunday Scaries. While it’s not a clinical diagnosis, the Cleveland Clinic describes the Sunday Scaries as the feeling of worry that routinely occur Sunday afternoons by anticipating the impending work week. Even when a person is passionate about their work and finds meaning in their role, like I do, the transition from weekend to weekday can result in anxiety. Yes, Sunday night is a fraught liminal space.

If you’re unfamiliar with the term, liminal space is an in-between state of being. In Latin, the word limen means threshold. When we are on the precipice of something new, it is often uncomfortable and sometimes painful. Liminality is the long drive to an unknown destination. It is the place that isn't really here and it's not quite there. It is often destabilizing in its ambiguity. It is space made holy by the growth it demands. It is sacred uncertainty.

Judaism encourages us to highlight moments of liminality. In our busy lives, it is all too easy for one moment to escape into the next. Before we know it, another one of life's chapters has faded into a new one without even noticing. Modern Jewish practice requires us to pause in transitional moments and hold the bittersweetness of change through ritual. We sanctify liminality and honor its struggle by marking it. Jewish ritual is the container in which we place the emotions we are bringing into the moment. When we take stock of where we are spiritually and emotionally, we allow ourselves the opportunity for crucial introspection. We stand together in saying, hineinu- here we are- we are here.

When day rolls into night, we light candles on holidays. Havdalah is a ceremony dedicated to separating Shabbat from the rest of the week. Each lifecycle milestone, from entering our people's covenant at birth, to BMitzvah, to weddings and funerals, are structured to help us find our spiritual and emotional footing in transition together. We are a people who are rooted in community rather than in physical space.

While we hang mezzuzot in doorways to bless the space between our homes and the outside world, we have far more rituals that mark liminal time rather than liminal physical space. Perhaps this is because throughout history, Jews have been without a home more often than not. We have always been wanderers who can't be defined by where we are, but rather by the strength of our community. We are not defined by where we reside, but where we are willing to go together.

When our biblical ancestors wandered the desert for forty years, the path felt aimless at best and terrifying at its worst. The way to the Promised Land was winding and arduous. The people were fearful of what lay ahead and at times felt disconnected from God. Desperate for familiarity, some even cried out longing for the days they were enslaved in Egypt. In being lost, they found themselves. It was in the wilderness Torah and mitzvot were received. The people established a way of life that formed collective identity and shaped them into a kehillah kedosha, a sacred community. We have always been a people who bloom in the wilderness and thrive in the liminality.

Sunday evenings don't have to be all that bad. Mental health professionals have two main recommendations for combating the Sunday Scaries. One is to slow down when the anxiety starts to set in. The second is to prepare for the week ahead in partnership with others. In our personal lives, we may meal prep with our partners or go over the carpool schedule. Professionally, we discuss upcoming meetings, events, and projects with our team at work. Getting on the same page as the people that make up our 'village'eases our worries and ensures personal and professional successes. The intention we put into Sunday evenings will directly influence the kind of week we have. By taking this approach, I have begun to reframe my Sunday Scaries as a Sunday Springboard; a platform from which I launch into the week ahead.

In the lifespan of our congregational story, it is Sunday night, Temple Emanu-El.

We have communally undergone tremendous transition through the last several years and continue to be in a time of great change. Some of us are yearning for what once was, while others may feel anxious about our communal future. Some of us may be feeling disconnected in the present. There is no 'You Are Here'printed on the map and it is unsettling. I want you to know that I see you and hear you. I want to acknowledge your concerns and your fears.

I want to assure you that the liminal space we occupy is holy ground. It is in this quest for stability where we are pushed out of our comfort zone and into soil rich with opportunity for growth and renewal. Like our ancestors in the desert, we are granted the gift of this time to focus on who we are rather than where we are. While we build our new home, may we build upon our identity. As a sacred community, may we be intentional in this liminal space. May we be blessed with the sacred struggle of our transformation. And together we say, Amen.

This sermon was presented at Temple Emanu-El of Edison, New Jersey.