She was now Chedva, my amazing friend. Also my therapist, confidante, advisor, mentor, technician, plumber, and doctor

IT

was one of those weeks where I’d heard too much. Too many people needed me, too many voices played in my head when I would finally get to sleep. I know, voices in the head are not a good sign, but these weren’t hallucinations, just snippets of conversations I’d had throughout the day. These voices had faces and names, and they all held heavy bags that they wanted help shouldering. But it was all too much. I wanted to create capsules, reminiscent of Covid days, and stay within mine until everyone else’s concerns had solutions. Solutions that I was not involved in.

Then I turned my oven on and the fuse blew, and as I do so often these days, I thought of Chedva.

We called her the Mommy of Maalot Dafna. It was a joke, but it wasn’t.

I first met Chedva the day after we moved to Eretz Yisrael. I was standing in the hallway with my husband, trying to figure out which electric box was ours, when a sprightly woman danced by, a gaggle of little blonde girls holding onto her skirt.

“Hi, how are you? What’s your names? Your box is up there, to the right. Do you need anything?” We stammered our thanks. She laughed and waved a hand, and that was our first time experiencing something that all members of Maalot Dafna grew to learn in time: Chedva Raskin had all the answers.