Okay, I’ll admit it: I take cabs way too often. It’s not that I don’t like the bus, but there are moments when the prospect of extensive walking threatens to keep me housebound, especially now that I am getting pregnant-er. At this point, I would rather shell out the extra cash for door-to-door service than stay wedged into my living room like cork in a bottle.

That said, I get the biggest kick out of Israeli cab drivers; every single one of them is some kind of interesting character. One, for example, asked me how long I had been in Israel; when I told him two months, he proceeded to quote me a price for the ride that will probably equal the first year of my son’s college education. “I may be new,” I told him, “But I’m not stupid”. Another went through a whole song and dance with me about the exact location I was going, did I know how to get there, and then when we finally worked it out, told me he couldn’t take me because he was waiting for someone else. Go figure. Last night, I was driven by a gentleman who spent the ride dancing in his seat to the radio and yelled out, “There is no place like Jerusalem! There is no place like Israel!”. He asked me which way I wanted him to take to Katamon, I told him, “Whichever way is fastest”. He pointed up to the sky and said, “Only HaKadosh Baruch Hu (Gd) knows…”.

His comment made me chuckle, but then it got me thinking. Lately I have been praying to Gd to give me some sort of sign that He’s really there. After all, if He’s the One I’m meant to turn to for comfort in all of this, it would be nice to get some kind of feedback. I have heard it said that Gd talks to us through other people. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this music-loving cabbie wasn’t a messenger of some sort.

Later on, I got a ride home from Katamon with J, an American Jew from New York with 24 years of sobriety and some awe-inspiring wisdom. We chatted about reconciling being “religious” versus “spiritual”, something I struggle with constantly. Out of nowehere J looked at me and said, “How did your mother die?”

“Cancer,” I told him. “She was diagnosed March 2008 and died May 2009″.

His face broke into a wide smile. “Cancer’s great isn’t it?”

I was dumbfounded.

“You got all the time you needed to say goodbye. You got more than a year with her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. An amazing year. I lived fifteen minutes away when I was pregnant, she was at the hospital when Yonah was born and for the last two months of her life we got to live together.”

“So what are you so sad and angry about?”

“I miss her. I want to call her, talk to her…”

“So call her. She just might answer and scare the crap out of you,” J laughed.

“I’m angry at Gd for taking her away.”

“Are you kidding? He gave you all that time to be with her, to make amends to her, to give her nachas (joy) from you and your baby. She was done. Gd gave you everything.”

When he said that, I felt something click on inside. I couldn’t help but smile when I realized how right he was. Still, I couldn’t let it go just yet. “What about when the new baby comes? I want her here for that.”

J gave me a big grin. “She’ll be there. She’s here now, watching out for you, rooting for you, making sure you’re alright. The rabbis teach that when you get married the ten generations that came before you are there. Reb Shlomo (Carlebach) teaches that the ten generations that come after you are there, too. Where do you think she’s gonna be when her next grandchild is born?”

He said it all so frankly, which such humor and conviction, that I couldn’t help but believe him. In a flash, I felt my mind open and the darkness lift. Gd did give me everything: an amazing mother, time to build my relationship with her, to make her proud of me, and the opportunity to take care of her, so that I could pay back a decimal of a fraction of what she did for me. I got to have her with me when my baby was born, and I got to share him with her for the last few months of her life. I got to say goodbye to her, many times over. In truth, Gd made losing her as easy and beautiful as it could have possibly been. So who am I to complain about it?

J sensed that I was catching on. “Don’t go around sad and angry. It’s not productive.” It’s also, I realized, a spit in the face of all the gifts I’ve been given. I walked into my apartment a thousand pounds lighter, calmer and more serene than I’ve been in months. I guess that’s what happens when you get messages from two angels in one night.