I don’t know what it is about Shabbat here, but every week, without fail, I find myself homesick. It’s the most ironic thing because Shabbat is at its peak here in Israel, especially in Jerusalem. Even the air is infused with a holy energy. You’d think I’d want to stick around and drink it up. But, no. In the spiritual capital of the world, on the highest day of the week, all I want to do is go home. Shuie says that in such a loaded environment it’s to be expected that emotions will get stirred up. I suppose that’s true. In my case I’ve got a few extra balls going than your average juggler, between the pregnancy and dealing with all the grief stuff.

I had a moment today that I have not had in a long time, but before I describe it I should probably give a little background. Many of you know I am in Overeaters Anonymous, a twelve-step program for people with eating disorders. I am a compulsive overeater (which means I binge and graze throughout the day) and a bulimic (which means I purge after I eat). I used weigh about 250 pounds, but thankfully, as a result of OA, I have dropped the weight and have been living in a normal-sized body for over four years. Part of the way I recovered physically was by letting go of my drugs of choice, namely flour and sugar. Experience has shown that if I take even one bite I am not able to stop eating them, so today I don’t eat them.

The thing about being an addict, though, is that you can take the drug away, get into a program and recover, but you will never, ever be CURED. That means that each day you have to struggle not to pick up your drug, no matter what happens. Some days are easier, some harder. For me, it’s ironic that throughout everything with my mother, I never once considered eating anything I shouldn’t, because today, when there was no crisis going on, I let my brain go into a fifteen-minute fantasy binge-fest. In my mind, I visited all the stores in the Mercaz that sell my favorite foods, brought them all home and went to town. As I said, this is not something I have done in a very long time. Normally, if a thought like that surfaces, I swat it away like a mosquito. But today, I gave myself permission to go there, knowing full well I wanted to check out of reality for a while, even if it was just in my mind.

Thought patterns like these are usually a red flag: something is going on. Well, we all know what’s going on so there’s no big surprise here. But I did realize something last night that seems obvious now but I didn’t quite get until it fully crystallized: I’m afraid to have the baby here. There’s the aspect of giving birth in a foreign country that is overwhelming, especially dealing with insurance and doctors and hospital protocol and all that, but I’d have to deal with that in the States, too. There’s also the idea of my family being thousands of miles away while I’m giving birth, but my mother-in-law, my aunt and possibly my father will be coming at some point. What’s really scaring me is that my Mom won’t be there. A mother has an innate gift of making everything feel instantly safer just by being there. But my mother won’t be there, and I’m scared of going through this without her.

I told my friend Chaya the other day that going through a loss like this is kind of like having your life turned over and everything shaken out. You have to pick everything up and arrange it so that it sort of resembles your old life, but in reality your old life is gone and you have to start from scratch in this new one. Every experience is like learning all over again: “Okay, this is getting my eyebrows done without calling Mom after”; “This is buying clothes without showing them to Mom”; “This is cooking a five-course dinner and figuring out how to do it myself”. In many ways you’re figuring out how to be a different version of yourself. And this version has never had a baby without a mother to support her. It’s a very scary thing.

So can you blame me for indulging in a brief flight from reality? I am fully aware that there is a big difference between fantasy and reality, so no, I will not be bingeing on a dozen bagels, a pie of pizza and the requisite tub of Ben and Jerry’s, because I know it won’t stop there. What I will do is make myself a nice cup of tea, curl up with my book and try to shoulder through these feelings as presently and soberly as possible.

Tomorrow, bright and early, I am heading over to the Misrad HaPnim, the Passport and Visa office downtown to apply for Bituach Leumi, or National Insurance, which pays for all hospital bills for new immigrants to Israel. This means that, Gd willing, the birth will be covered. Now, before you get excited, no, we DID NOT make aliyah (immigrate to Israel). Bituach Leumi is also available to those with student visas or those who have been “added” to the list of new immigrants (for a fee). Note that I am not telling you which category we fit into. I’m a little nervous because from the initial meeting it takes 183 days for the BL to kick in, so we’re going to be cutting it pretty close to the birth. The good thing is, if it hasn’t come through yet, our representative gives a check for the hospital that will be paid back to him later by the insurance company. So here’s hoping everything works out.

I’ve taken on a new phrase: “Kol Bidei Shamayim” (Everything comes from Heaven). I’m using it kind of like push-ups, only I’m building my faith muscles. For example, if I miss the bus, I remind myself, “Kol Bidei Shamayim”; there must be a reason I was delayed. If Yonah wakes up in the middle of the night, I can say, “Kol Bidei Shamayim” and remember that I am being given opportunities to grow as a mother. I figure if I make it enough of a standard practice, it will be easier to say when things get tough. I’ve never been good at sticking with workouts, but I figure I have a better shot with this one because I can do it sitting on the couch.