My Muscle Memory

In 2021 I skied for the first time in 21 years. Arriving at Alta mountain in Utah with Eliyahu and Menny, I put on a confident show. In reality, my heart was thumping out fear. I could not imagine being back on the mountain as a grown woman with a large family where recklessness was not mine. People depend on me. I left the guys with their ski instructor while I went to get myself suited up.   I jimmied my feet into slick boots, clicked into shorter skis than I remember them being, and with my poles in place, I glided into the lift line. 

I learned how to ski at five years old when every winter Sunday in New Mexico, my mom schlepped us to the Sandia mountains. And then sporadically in California until I moved to Atlanta. My last ski trip was Big Bear mountain 2000. 

Some of my earliest memories of missing the tram seat or slipping beneath it and my ski instructor caught me in the nick of time came flooding back. 

My fear of just getting on was palpable. Once up there, how would I get off the mountain, I wondered? 

Left lane. Move poles to your right hand. Look over your left shoulder grab the vertical bar. Let your bottom slide on the bench. I made it onto the lift. 

Point skis slightly up. 

Arrange poles under-thigh to rearrange gloves. 

I could begin to relax and take in the panorama of white snow carpeting the mountains and glistening off trees like diamonds. 

I didn’t dare take out my phone from my pocket; I didn’t trust the steadiness of my hands yet. I was going to a green level mountain, beginner, and not too steep but far up. 

My brother Zvi, a proficient black diamond skier, would meet me there. He was going to give me some reminders and be my moral support. 

I slid off the lift, down the tiny mound. I even stopped without toppling. Smooth enough. 

I planted my poles in the snow, placed my gloves on each pole, and texted Zvi, Me: where are you? 

Zvi: Dena, take the next lift up, I’m there. 

Me: Are you kidding me?!

Panic formed a lump in my throat. I stood there frozen at the foot of the ski lift. 

I had come up the lift called Sunny Side and was supposed to meet Zvi at the top of a trail named Supreme. Maybe I should ask to be let down Sunnyside on the tram and be done for the day. 

I would have to go back up the mound to embarrass myself with a ride down. Either way, I was screwed. 

I started moving slowly in the direction the arrows were pointing toward Supreme. As verticals downward sloping works, within seconds, I was skiing.  Much to my astonishment, it was like I had never left the slopes. Effortless. 

I had heard that skiing is like riding a bike and the muscle memory never forgets but experiencing that level of ease was entirely different. 

In this week's Torah portion, When Moshe asks God, “why have you made it bad for this nation?!” 

Why is the Torah relating what Moses and god clarified for each other in the last week's reading? Why is it repeated this time with the Addition of mentioning our forefathers? 

Moses is not simply questioning God. Moses was at the level where he would not have had questions for God. 

Moses was role-playing with God. To teach us this:

 For the people to be redeemed— they needed to not rely on the inherent genetic belief they had—they needed the more profound confidence that comes with questioning and grappling with one's faith. 

This reading lets us know that Moshe was bookmarking a place (holding space) for future generations to grapple as well. 

And,  if we would like to see ourselves as a generation that will experience our exodus from modern-day Egypt, we need to do this work as well. 

Skiing as an adult was an entirely different experience from being a child. I could feel the rhythm of the ascent and descent, the movement of my body, and the relaxation of my mind in a way I never appreciated. I noticed the unshackling of my fears, confidence in my abilities, and how that empowered me.

I even saw the effort my parents made to give me this gift in childhood that came back to me in adulthood in a way I could never have appreciated had I not gone back to rediscover whether I could still do it. I could. I can. 

In 2022, go back to some piece of your childhood Jewish experience and try it through the lens of adulthood.

 It’s a gift.