It was important for me that my kids know where they come from and have a healthy relationship with that, so when I got married I put a picture of their mother up on the wall. Some people were surprised by that, but I didn’t believe that loving her and appreciating who she was and what she meant to them would take away from the love my kids have for me.

I tell my kids all the time that we have enough room in our hearts to deeply love many people. I don’t think feeling love for one needs to compromise feeling love for another. Being open and comfortable with Elana’s presence has always been helpful for our family.

Of course, as with all family dynamics, there were ups and downs and challenges. But I’m fully aware that we have the most incredible children; it always amazes me how much of Elana’s input is imbedded in her kids. So much of who they are is because of what she put in to them in their early years. Despite the short amount of time she had with them, and her being so unwell towards the end, the impact she had will last them for life.

Once, when my oldest son was eleven, I asked him to do something, and he refused.

“Listen to your mother,” I told him.

“You’re not my mother,” he said.

“I am very much your mother,” I responded.

I said that with no disrespect to his mother, Elana. It’s just that I have a different definition of mother. To me, a mother is not only the person who gave birth to you. A mother is the person who loves and cares for you. Elana was the mother who gave birth to them and cared for them through their early years. Sadly, she was not able to continue playing that role for them. I am here, now, to try to complement what Elana did, not to take away from it.

“Call me whatever name you like,” I told him, “but for me, the role I play as a mom is that commitment I made to open my heart to love you and care for you as a mother would. And I will continue to do that no matter what.”

One of the hardest moments for me was at a joyous time—when my son got engaged. I couldn’t get comfortable with the idea of walking him down the aisle. I felt I was standing in Elana’s place. After much thought, I went to my son and said “Maybe someone else should walk you down? Maybe your grandparents?”

He was as clear as a blue sky. “Absolutely not. If you don’t walk me down I won’t walk down. My whole life you tried to give me the feeling that I was just like everyone else, that I had a mother—and now on my wedding day you want to take that away from me?! That doesn’t make sense.”

I heard him and felt humbled. I realized that we human beings make up ideas that then get in our way – like the perception that only a birth mother should walk her son down the aisle. My firmly pre-conceived ideas were blocking me from doing what I had to do. That helped me get more comfortable with it and I was able to be there for him.

Over the years, I’ve had to learn to get more comfortable with being uncomfortable. Being uncomfortable isn’t truly a problem. It may not feel good, but it’s a human experience. The more I learn to understand that, the more comfortable I have become, despite discomfort.

A Growing Family

Less than ten months after we married, we were blessed with a baby girl. We called her Tzila Elana, after Shaul’s first wife. I always felt she brought the family the gift of knitting us all together; she still plays that special role. We had another thee boys after that.

Neither we, nor our kids, believe in “half” brothers and sisters. My husband reminds the family, every so often, that the shevatim, Yaakov Avinu’s sons, are never referred to as “half-brothers.” Our family is very close and united.

Shortly after having my baby girl, someone challenged me. “It must be impossible for you to love Elana’s kids the same way you love your baby,” she said. I realized that this person was stuck on her experience of love for her children being the ultimate experience of love. I told her that I love all of my kids, yet none of them the same. For each child I feel a deep sense of love and care which fills my heart with so much gratitude. That doesn’t mean to say I don’t get upset or annoyed or sometimes move away from the feeling of love. But I see the potential to love is there just the same, whether I gave birth to a child or not.

Seeing all of my children together, connected, loving, bonded and kind, is always very special for me. Little things— just chatting to my kids, connecting to them, spending time with all of them as a family or with any of them alone is such a treat for me. We feel very blessed.

My daughter’s teen years were challenging. My older daughter went through a stage of trying to work out her sense of loyalty; she gave me a rough time for a little while. People love to look at kids who lost a parent or went through challenge and say “It’s because of the hardship they went through that they’re struggling.” It was clear to me from the outset that that isn’t necessarily true. I come from a very loving and caring family and still went through my ups and downs as a teenager.

At one point I told a good family friend that I couldn’t deal with my daughter and I just don’t see how I will get through this. I remember him saying, “One day she’ll be your best friend and we’ll laugh about this.” I thought, Impossible. It could never happen! But it did. My daughter today is my very best friend; I love her more than I could even imagine. She is the most incredible human being, kind and good hearted just like her mother and my feeling of love and respect for her just keeps growing.

I’ve come to learn that feeling guilty or bad is not a good ingredient for making happy children; guilt took me down a very unhappy road for a little while. When I began to see that children, particularly teenagers, live in their own realities and have to figure things out for themselves and their angst is not always reflective of those around them, I found that I could be a lot more helpful and productive. I helped my kids more when I didn’t take things personally and let them go through whatever they had to go through while supporting them in any way I could.

I often tell my older kids that I do the best I can with the little understanding that I have. In the back of my mind, I tell myself that if Elana were ever to come back to collect her kids, I simply hope that she would be proud of them.

My four younger children were born by Caesarean. After my fourth, an ultrasound showed that I only have a half-developed womb, something that the doctor’s hadn’t pick up on until then. The obstetrician was astounded by this discovery. “By rights,” he told me, “you should not have been able to have children. I don’t know how you managed it four times. It’s something of a miracle!”

After this happened, my sister shared her perspective with me.  Hashem gave you four miracle children – perhaps one gift for each of Elana’s children that you took into your heart. I smiled.

Yet I personally don’t see it that way, because my first four children were just as much a gift as my second four. I see every child as a “pikadon” –a G-dly deposit which Hashem gives us. We get the opportunity to love, care, give, and share His world with these beautiful people.

They were not a sacrifice for me—they were, and still are, simply a gift. All eight of my children are miracles for me and I thank Hashem every moment for the incredible kindness that He has blessed me with in my life. His love simply knows no bounds.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 519)