From Nightmares to Dreams
My Unconscious Gave Me a Metaphor. I Want to Share it With All of You.
My husband and I barely slept in the weeks following October 7th. The nightmares started immediately. I’d hear him scream, which would wake me from my own terror, and in relief, I’d rub my husband’s shoulder to comfort him. It’s only a dream.
Except it wasn’t a dream. The massacre had already happened. And though we weren’t there in person, we were terrorized by intrusive thoughts and images. Even during daylight hours.
Within weeks, I felt compelled to convert to Judaism, and by November, I’d reached out to the Rebbetzin at a nearby Chabad. This decision to choose a Jewish life felt like a relief. My night terrors stopped, but my dream activity continued to surge. For three consecutive nights, I dreamed of the desert. It looked like I’d traveled through the Negev and crossed the border into the Sinai Peninsula.
In the first dream, I was alone in the hot sand, and though I maintained awareness of the sky overhead, my gaze was cast down as I focused on shoveling sand with a tiny golden spoon. I understood that this was my long and painstaking task: to keep digging with this tiny instrument. I knew it would take thousands of years.
When I woke the next morning, I told my husband how the dream had seemed so real. So vivid.
“I don’t know what I was digging for,” I said, “but in the dream, I somehow knew it was what I needed to do. But why was the spoon gold? Aren’t Jewish things made of silver? Why would my unconscious mind manifest a golden spoon?”
My husband is quite secular and knows less about the Jewish canon than I do. He shrugged and said, “You’re the one with the therapy background. Dream analysis is more your thing than mine.”
This was true, but I wanted to know if my unconscious had summoned some real detail from Jewish history. I asked the Rebbetzin. I asked a Rabbi. I asked a bunch of Jewish family members and friends. Nobody had ever heard of a golden spoon in Judaism. Then, I went far outside of Jewish tradition and consulted AI. Specifically, I consulted the AI app called Perplexity.
Perplexity offered two answers related to golden spoons in Judaism and even cited its sources.
The golden spoon has several symbolic meanings in Judaism:
1. In the Tabernacle, there were two golden spoons filled with frankincense placed on the golden table (shulchan). These spoons symbolized the receptacles for receiving divine blessings and abundance[1].
2. The golden spoon weighing ten shekels, mentioned in the Torah, is said to represent the Ten Commandments. Some interpretations suggest it symbolizes the two tablets on which God inscribed the commandments[4].Sources
[1] The Inner Meaning and Message of the Shulchan (Golden Table) https://www.chabad.org/parshah/article_cdo/aid/3579540/jewish/The-Inner-Meaning-and-Message-of-the-Shulchan-Golden-Table.htm
[4] Legends of the Jews 3:3 - Sefaria https://www.sefaria.org/Legends_of_the_Jews.3.3
If Perplexity is right, then golden spoons are indeed a part of Jewish history; however, it’s unlikely that I’d have known this before having said dream. What, given this, might my mind have been communicating?
While dreaming, I understood that my task was to uncover something beneath the sand. While awake, I analyzed my dream, seeking to understand whatever meaning I could make from my unconscious mind’s nocturnal performance.
Since I possessed nothing but a tiny golden spoon with which to excavate the desert, I took this to mean that one’s spiritual journey is arduous, even if one possesses something fancy, whether it be a golden spoon or a clever mind. Or maybe it’s different for other people. Perhaps other persons age through life with a strong and ever-present belief in G-d. This has not been my experience. I’m a lifelong sufferer of doubt and uncertainty.
On the second night, I dreamed I was back in the desert, all alone with nothing but the golden spoon again. I wondered what I was looking for. Why was I digging there?
And in my dream’s version of a miracle, Moses appeared. He lent a hand, pulling me up from the ground. He then parted the desert—not the sea!—and when he did this, it was as if he’d lifted a triangular chunk of land out from the ground so that we suddenly stood beside the edge of a cliff. Moses pointed across the open air, and I could see the other side, meaning I could see the earth beneath the top layer of sand across the way, and what I saw was layer upon layer of Jewish history. These infinite layers were saturated with color, and while beholding the brilliant scene, I suddenly understood why I needed to keep digging. I was digging to uncover this sacred Jewish history.
In the morning, I told my husband how my dream had advanced into an archeological endeavor.
“Too bad Moses didn’t supply you with better equipment for this mission,” he said.
“No, it wasn’t just a dream about archeology,” I said. “It felt spiritual too. I’m pretty sure the dream meant that there’s no easy way through the desert. Through being Jewish. Or becoming Jewish. At least, that’s what I think my unconscious was telling me.”
My husband smiled. “It is definitely not boring.”
“What’s not boring?”
“Being married to you is not boring. Even your dreams are interesting.”
I agreed that our lives are anything but boring. I wished I could bring him into my dream itself. It seemed so realistic, beyond anything I could describe with words.
On the third night, I visited my desert dream one last time. Once again, I was busy digging with that tiny golden spoon, but this time, when I looked up, I saw that I was not alone at all and never had been. I was surrounded by every Jewish soul, and all of us were there together in the desert, working collectively to uncover our shared history. Our shared land. Maybe even our shared covenant with G-d.
Upon waking from this dream, I told my husband, “I think the dream is teaching me that to be Jewish is to be part of a community. That no Jew can be Jewish alone.”
Several weeks later, when I started attending conversion classes at a conservative temple, the Rabbi explained that the Jewish people existed prior to their covenant with G-d. In other religions, one becomes a part of the community only after they’ve accepted the religion’s theology; in contrast, Jews were in community with each other before entering into a covenant with G-d. Rabbi Baum also shared that even us converts are understood as having Jewish souls, and that all Jewish souls were present at Sinai for Revelation.
I liked this. It reminded me of my triptych dream sequence. But also, it paralleled my conversion experience thus far. I have been loved and surrounded by a Jewish husband, family, and friends for three decades. That my conversion comes only after being part of this community feels even more appropriate now.
As for other religious communities, I would never be the sort of person to dive blindly into a faith, coming to know its people only after accepting a divine being first. I’m not trying to degrade anyone else’s religious beliefs—it’s simply the case that the primacy of shared community resonates with me. In other words, my potential awareness of the divine is contingent upon relational love with other people first.
Would a person born into total isolation ever come to wonder about the nature of G-d? To question such a possibility? I don’t know. But for me, if G-d does exist, it seems that one’s potential for sensing a divine presence, of even being able to recognize G-d once revealed—I suspect this ability might depend upon the prerequisite experience of being in relationship with other humans first.
If this line of thought is common in philosophy of religion, I haven’t studied it yet. Of course, I will now need to discover what has been said on the theological implications of Revelation and whether such an event, by definition, could ever occur outside of a collective consciousness. Sure, Moses received the Ten Commandments and so forth, but if every Jewish soul was present at Sinai, then Moses did not meet G-d alone.
And now, I want to address why I’m even sharing this dream sequence right now. I had a number of other drafts I could’ve posted today, but I want to emphasize the importance of Jewish community at this moment.
We are all suffering tremendous trauma at this time. Some of us live in Israel or have family and friends there. Many of us know victims of the massacre, their bereaved families, and some of the hostages. We are fearful for Israel’s very existence.
Moreover, those of us living in the diaspora are witnessing antisemitism spike quickly through stages from exclusion to outright violence. We are scared and shaken. And many of us, myself included, have learned that some of our friends are actually not our friends. Antisemitism has revealed itself abruptly. I could argue how it’s the very opposite of a long excavation in the desert with a tiny golden spoon.
Perhaps that’s the difference between what is sacred versus what is profane. Goodness takes time and intentional community built upon trust, commitment, and shared survival. Evil, on the other hand, spikes without warning. It happens in groups that are not driven by shared history or culture. Evil finds a home in a split second of conformity and mob mentality.
The current time feels like a struggle between good and evil, and despite my anxiety, I’m taking comfort in the lesson provided by my unconscious mind: Jews are never alone. We are each a spark of light, and when joined together, we survive evil. What’s more: We do it with joy, integrity, and innovation. I can think of no other community that has given more to humanity, including but not limited to literature, art, medicine, law, psychoanalysis, science and technology. From my literal brain surgeon to my psychotherapists to my clinical supervisors—all have been Jewish.
The devastation of October 7th has changed us. Having witnessed the global response to barbarism, we will never be the same. Even so, I urge everyone to consider what has been gained despite our losses. Easier said than done, especially for those of us like me who didn’t lose a loved one that day, but for those of us who were spared the worst, we must be radical in our gratitude. First, we must acknowledge what has been gained despite the unbearable suffering.
For myself:
I’ve lost some antisemitic friends, but I’ve gained countless new relationships. I’m now a member of a conservative temple and I also participate in classes at the Chabad. My friend, Wendy, has invited me to join classes at a third congregation as well.
As a writer, I cannot overstate the chilling impact of seeing Zionists and Jews/Israelis get excluded from literary spaces. But that’s what compelled me to join Substack in the first place, along with some other writing spaces for Jews. Already, I am connected to so many of you. Your words uplift me. I feel like the luckiest of converts—I have so many teachers guiding me through this journey.
As a member of the Jewish writing community, I am inspired by everyone who is organizing and creating new spaces. In case you haven’t already heard, three fellow writers—Elissa Wald, Sarah Einstein, and Howard Lovy—have announced the launch of a Jewish publishing house. One of them, Elissa Wald, has already established a Jewish book club which drew a membership of over 1,500 readers and writers in one week’s time. It was nourishing and empowering to meet over Zoom together. Elissa is also launching a Jewish literary magazine.
In summary: As we navigate through these hard times, I share my desert dream as a metaphor. We are not alone. We are a collective people. And our mission is not only to survive, but to thrive and make the world a better place while doing so.
This post is dedicated to Elissa Wald, Sarah Einstein, and Howard Lovy. Please subscribe to their newsletters if you don’t do so already:
This is a spectacular post. I am sharing with some friends who are converts. I also love dream interpretation, metaphor, and symbology. I also personally know one of the hostage’s parents from my hometown, Chicago. This is illuminating!
Really love this