Learning to Breathe

Since starting my Jewish mindfulness coaching program, I have come to appreciate that developing true mindfulness involves a fusion of physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual tools. As our teacher, Rabbi Dov Ber Cohen has said, no one can master these in only eight weeks. This is the work of months, if not years.

But can we really change ourselves from the inside out? Can we reprogram the deeply ingrained soundtrack of our minds, how we react to people and circumstances? Rabbi Dr. Laibl Wolf, an Australian psychologist, author, and teacher of Hasidic thought, agrees that we can learn to change our nature (shinui hateva), including our mind’s perception of things and our emotions. However, this is possible only if we believe it is possible. “If you don’t believe it’s possible, no workshop or program will help,” Rabbi Wolf said. “Our default reactions are the result of repetition and practice. To change it, we also need repetition and practice.”

One reason that developing that sense of inner calm, or menuchat hanefesh, is so difficult is because “99% of our thoughts are past- or future-oriented, and our minds jump around nonstop,” Rabbi Dov Ber says. Not only are we assaulted by an endless salvo of information, demands, advertisements, and messages, but we often catastrophize, even though most of the worst-case scenarios we imagine never end up happening.  

After our first Zoom sessions, Rabbi Dov Ber gave us the gentlest of homework: to keep a chart of our target activities: mindful breathing (hashkata), for three minutes a day; nonjudgmental observation of our thoughts before they morph into harmful emotions (habata); engaging in nurturing actions; prayer to Hashem to help us achieve our goals; weekly check-ins with our accountability partners; and journaling our successes and challenges. 

We weren’t expected to do each thing each day, and when a few people admitted after the first few weeks that they hadn’t even started any of the practices, Rabbi Dov Ber reassured everyone it was all fine. Whatever we could achieve and whenever we began was a victory. No matter how small, our practice would lead to major results. My own log had a lot of empty spaces where check marks could have appeared, but I never skimped on the self-nurturing activities, if I say so myself. 

I struggled with the most elemental ingredient of the program, which was hashkata, stopping to breathe deeply for three minutes a day. Unless I’m out in nature for a hike or on vacation, I get antsy sitting still without doing something at the same time: working, reading, eating, talking, or watching something. I want to retrain my thinking because I understand that stopping for mindful breathing is doing something, and something important at that. Close to bedtime, when my husband, Jeff, plays meditation music (the kind that makes me feel like I’m going under heavy sedation), I can enjoy the breathing exercise, but by then I’m ready to surrender after a long day.  

I want to retrain my thinking because I understand that stopping for mindful breathing is doing something, and something important at that. 

In any case, I discovered that simply being a member of the group had its own power. After all, I had chosen this goal and became more conscious of my thoughts and actions throughout the day, including body language. Out of sheer habit I frequently start holding my breath and tightening my stomach muscles and shoulders. I began to catch this and relax those overtaxed muscles. Though I resisted sitting down for formal breathing meditations, I chose several micro-mini meditative breathing sessions, even when standing up.  

To my surprise, I felt motivated to examine other aspects of my daily life and incorporate mindfulness in them. I’d ask myself: do you really need a second helping of that? (No.) Why not stop and recite some Tehillim for the people in my WhatsApp groups who need healing? (Yes.) Can you visualize letting go of that resentment over the way X treated you? (Not yet.) When I wrote in my gratitude journal and saw how cramped my script had become, I loosened the grip of my pen. I used to have nice penmanship; with practice I would try to reclaim it. 

It didn’t take long to feel very small yet perceptible changes that led to a calmer me. And while in general things were easygoing during these first few weeks of the program, giving me more time and psychic space to focus on the lessons, my newbie tools were still tested. Out of the blue my husband and I were faced with a situation that could easily balloon into a legal and financial threat. We needed to process our shock and disbelief over the situation, but we applied the mindful philosophy of not jumping to extreme or worst possible outcomes, and our faith that Hashem had sent us this test for a reason.   

It didn’t take long to feel very small yet perceptible changes that led to a calmer me. 

On a Sunday afternoon, when I could not reach Jeff for several hours, I really had to fight my fears. He had gone out with a friend on only his second bike ride since his serious accident last November, when he separated his shoulder and fractured a few ribs. What wife wouldn’t have been scared? I davened to Hashem to make sure he and his friend were safe and to please help me stay calm. Within an hour, after several more texts pleading, “Where are you?” he called. The two of them had unexpectedly been on a trail out of cell phone range.

Finally, on the Fourth of July we were on Mulholland Drive — the road I refused to travel since my brother’s fatal car accident there. Months ago I wrote a column about finally agreeing to be driven on Mulholland with my friend Mollie to attend a party. We only needed to be on that road for a half a block before reaching our destination, and with that success, I felt ready to drive there with Jeff for another social event at the same location. But I had forgotten which route Mollie had taken, and therefore was alarmed to discover — too late — that my route kept us on Mulholland not for a half a block but for three miles. I clutched the steering wheel and glanced to the right at those low, lousy guardrails and wondered, “Is this where it happened?” before forcing myself to redirect my thoughts. This was also a mindfulness lesson: acknowledge my anxiety, don’t judge it, and then actively shove that thought away. Jeff talked me through the short but seemingly interminable drive, guiding my breathing and reassuring me that we were really almost there.

When we arrived, I explained to our friends why we were a bit frazzled. But taking some moments for deep breathing cleared the path for a beautiful evening.

Judy Gruen is the author of several books, including “The Skeptic and the Rabbi: Falling in Love With Faith.” Her next book, “Bylines and Blessings,” will be published in February 2024.