Today I got a taste of the next phase of pregnancy, the one they tell you is coming after the first trimester, when the ungodly exhaustion and the nausea finally dissipate and are replaced with a burst of renewed energy. While I wasn’t scaling mountains or anything, I felt inspired after I picked up Yonah to trek up Mount Heart Attack to the park, where we played on the slide, the seesaw (his favorite), a spinny ride and this giant truck thing that doesn’t do much but somehow manages to make kids insane. It was nice to be out in the fresh air, especially since we’re enjoying a semi-warm spell, something akin to mid-fall in the States, and I was glad to give Yonah a chance to run around. He’s still getting used to trekking downhill; he took a little tumble on the pavement and bumped his head. He cried for about 30 seconds before deciding a bush was much more interesting. After our brief moment of drama, we headed over to the Mercaz Meschari to buy some groceries and check out the cute girls in their strollers. When we finally got home, I looked at the clock and was amazed to find I had pulled off a two-hour outing. Maybe there’s hope for me yet…

I find it ironic that it’s when we’re leaving that the light starts peeking over the horizon, but I believe that there must be a reason for that. I’m going to need my energy to build a life wherever we end up, be it in Cape Cod or in Sharon, MA or in Boston. In the past, I’ve had a habit of resisting investing myself in various communities in which I’ve lived, feeling that since it wasn’t where I was going to end up “forever” it wasn’t worth me expending the effort. After being here, I see the folly in that thinking; life is made up of the present moment and I will miss it if I hold off until some imaginary time when all will be exactly as I think it should. I did some thinking today I about the fact that Shuie and I don’t have a home of our own (yet). Like it or not, there is a lot of pressure in the States to be established and settled and quickly (i.e., you’re a failure if you don’t have mortgage by 21). I’ll admit that I have bought into that thinking and I’ve struggled with the fact that my life has not ended up fitting the mold. But this morning, in a moment of real clarity, this thought came to mind: “Home is with your family. Love your family and wherever you are is home”. It gave me so much peace. I am inspired now to dive in and really invest in the time and place that I’m in, temporary, not temporary, whatever. There is so much to learn and, I’m sure, lots of great people to meet. It’s amazing to me that an adventure on the other side of the world has given me the appreciation to have a quiet and happy and (dare I say it?) ordinary life with my family.

My teacher Leah gave an amazing class yesterday about this week’s parsha, Vayigash, in which the sons of Jacob learn that the vizier of Pharaoh to whom they are appealing for help from famine is in fact their long-lost brother, Joseph, whom they had sold into slavery 22 years before. The moment when Joseph reveals his identity to his brothers is truly a touching one, as is the happy reunion they share afterward. Leah gave particular attention to Joseph’s reconnection with his brother Benyamin (his only full brother, both being sons of Rachel), whom he had last seen when Benyamin was 9. The list of Benyamin’s sons later in the parsha (he had 10) are names that all suggest how deeply he missed his brother, and how he tried to fill the hole inside with the love he had for his own children. Leah illustrated this point by describing the loss of her own father when she was just a teenager, and how the 40-year hole has never completely filled, no matter how much she loves her husband and six children. The she told an incredible story:

A few years ago, Leah’s friend Zahava lost her son Aish Kodesh in a terrorist attack during the Intifada. Along with his parents, Kodesh left behind a wife, Inbal, and a little girl, Talia. While Kodesh was in the army, all of the men in his elite unit paired off into deep friend/partnerships. Kodesh’s partner was a man named Ofer, who was also his best friend. Ofer and Kodesh promised each other that if something should happen to one, the other would take care of the other’s family. Ofer was not married and when Kodesh was killed he devoted himself to Inbal and Talia. After a time, he fell in love with her and asked her to marry him. At first she was wary, telling him, “But Kodesh is waiting for me in Shamayim (heaven)”. “Well,” Ofer replied, “Someone must be waiting for me in Shamayim, too. While we’re here we might as well be together”. So they married. As a wedding gift, Leah bought them a tree. She chose a tree because in order for a tree to grow, you have to dig a hole. The holes we have inside after losing people we love, while a source a pain, can also be a place where new life can grow. Leah blessed them that from their loss they should grow and build together.

For obvious reasons, I was crying by the time Leah finished her story. As I looked around the room, I saw that everyone else was crying, too. The losses we experience can be devastating, but they also provide all of us with opportunities to reach out, to comfort each other, to connect, and eventually, Gd willing, to grow. I believe that each day I survive the pain of losing my mother is not only making me stronger, but also a more open and compassionate person. I am not afraid of other people’s pain now, and I believe what I’m going through will enable me to help someone else one day. I also know that my mother’s memory is honored in the family that I’m creating, every time I give love to my husband and my child(ren, Gd willing), and in the whole person I’m becoming, day by day. I pray that all of us out there with holes inside merit to use them to create a more loving and beautiful world.