And just like that, in one heart-stopping moment, I unloaded the burden I had been carrying since I had gotten married

As told to Tamar Farajian

I stood outside the security gate, letting the crowds jostle me as they hurried to utter heartfelt prayers. For me and my wife, the Kosel was aptly named the Wailing Wall, the one place we’d consistently flooded with tears for 17 years. Although after hundreds of trips, after caressing the ancient stones and squeezing our tear-stained notes into its cracks, after almost two decades of trying to have children and 15 failed IVF treatments, my tears had finally run dry.

I sighed, turning away from the Kosel without uttering a single prayer for the very first time in my life. Seeing all the people crying, shaking with grief or happiness and every emotion in between, mocked my heart of stone. Heading for the bus stop, I wondered how I would learn through the night on Shavuos. I had one day to snap out of this before Yom Tov, but my heart was lacking.

There was standing room only on the bus. A young boy, about three, stared up at me from his mother’s lap. I hastily glanced away. I couldn’t look at another child.

The next morning, I was awakened by a pigeon cooing outside my bedroom window. I glanced at my alarm clock: 4:15. I sighed, staring up at the ceiling. The next night would be Shavuos, the celebration of receiving the Torah. After 20 minutes of watching the numbers change on my digital clock, I decided to get up and begin my exhausting day.

I hardly remember that Erev Shavuos. I vaguely recall my wife cooking what I’m sure were delicious meals, all the while humming to herself. For all she had been through medically, and the toll it had taken on her mentally, physically, and emotionally, her incredible emunah had pulled her through. Unfortunately, even after innumerable discussions about it, I’d never been able to reach even half her level of belief that our salvation was right around the corner.