Part I
I smile as squeals of delight rise high from four of my
children as they play tag. They run faster and faster, back
and forth. The air is alive with excitement.
In the center of the playground is a teeter-totter. One of my
twins is up, the other down. There's a prayer for their
safety on my lips ever since last year when one of my sons
broke his leg. He's fine now, but the playground is always a
good place for a mother's prayers.
Yitzchok runs to me. He wants me to tie his shoes, even
though he's more than capable of doing it. Symptoms of being
the youngest of a family of seven. He's eight years old. I
tie his shoes and look into his dancing blue eyes. Something
looks strange to me. One eye is slightly larger than the
other. That's common, no?
Two neighbors are coming in our direction. I ask if they see
a difference between his eyes. Neither do.
"This overactive imagination of mine! I worry too much." I
shake my head and smile.
*
Summer begins. Camps, trips, guests. It's one of the busiest,
most wonderful summers I've ever had.
The 10th of Elul. Elisheva, a friend from America whom I
haven't seen in twenty-one years, comes to Safed. We talk all
day, half the night. Elisheva's never been to Eretz Hakodesh
before. Every second together with her is enthusiasm and
excitement. On Shabbos, I take her to the highest point in
Safed and we watch the sun setting slowly, fuscia beauty over
the Meron mountains.
Sunday, the 12th of Elul. We start with the grave of Chana
and her seven sons. It's a cave. Elisheva and I have to bend
while shuffling to go in. Once inside, I say Tehillim, moved
as always. She's by my side, eyes closed, swaying. Next, the
grave of the Alshich, then R' Yosef Caro's tomb. We spend
hours praying and saying Tehillim by different kivrei
tzaddikim. By the time we reach the burial place of the
Ari Hakodosh, I'm in tears. I pray, crying silently,
deeply.
On the way to R' Nachum Ish Gamzu's grave, I turn to
Elisheva. "I love davening like this. My heart feels
so open. But the truth is, Boruch Hashem, I don't really have
anything in particular to pray for."
She smiles. "Boruch Hashem! Boruch Hashem!"
Next the ancient shuls of the Ari Hakodosh, R' Yosef
Caro and Abuhav. I'm saturated with holiness. Overflowing
with emotion. Elisheva and I hug, smile, cry, and then she
has to leave. I'm so happy she came. I'm so incredibly
high.
*
Monday, Ruth calls. I talk incessantly of the past three days
with my friend from America and how uplifted I feel. We talk
about Ruth's classes, my writing, what she's making for
dinner, and I mention Yitzchok's eye. It still seems
misshapen to me.
"You see something wrong with his eye and you haven't done
anything about it?"
Ruth hasn't seen him, but her voice is crescending very
quickly.
"Rifca, do you want him to lose his eyesight, G-d forbid? You
should have made an appointment with an eye doctor the
minute you noticed!"
"Okay, okay. I'm sure it's nothing. No one else sees
anything. He's not complaining, but we'll make an
appointment. Calm down!"
When my husband comes home, he makes an appointment with an
eye specialist in another two weeks.
*
It's Wednesday morning. The 15th of Elul. After attending a
bris, I come home and lie down to rest. The two
youngest boys will be home in fifteen minutes. I close my
eyes. Soon the front door opens.
Kalman, my eleven-year-old, walks in. "Welcome home!" I
say.
He sits next to me. "Did you hear what happened to Yitzchok
Shneur?"
[to be continued]
