I’m trying. Very hard. But there’s a thick gray fog that makes me unsure of where I stand

I’ve heard the idea that the home is like the Beis Hamikdash and that a woman should see herself as the Kohein Gadol doing the Avodah.

It’s a beautiful concept, but for me, it takes a reaaal stretch of imagination. I’ve never seen the Beis Hamikdash, obviously, but even without having gone to the Western Wall Heritage Foundation’s 3D show, it’s hard to relate.

It’s more than the surface details. More than contrasting the majesty and beauty of the holiest place on earth with my living room floor cluttered with riding toys and strollers and laundry baskets on a good day. (I’ll spare you the details of a not-so-good day — most days of the week, when the cleaning lady doesn’t come.) It’s more than that.

It’s the purpose, the clarity.

The Kohanim had set jobs. They knew where they were meant to be and what they were meant to be doing at specific times. Presumably, they didn’t go to bed at night consumed with self-doubt, but rather with the satisfaction of knowing they’d served their Creator as He wished them to.

Over here, things are more ambiguous.

Am I a heroine for having brought another Jewish child into the world, this miracle in my arms a living testament to a Higher Power who grants life? Am I incredible for taking care of this helpless little being who relies on me for his every need, for providing him with the firm attachment that will one day help him form a secure relationship with his Father in Heaven?

Or am I neglecting the other children in the family when I burst out crying at the slightest provocation, tell them their fighting is giving me a headache, and that for any and every problem they should go to their father?