It was the first time in a long long time that fear had gripped her.

Mrs. Stockman was the kind who jumped into pools even when the water was a bit shallow. Later she’d pay the price the consequence if there was any at all because she had that kind of childlike fearlessness that angels protect. This time though the fear wasn’t for herself it was for her daughter.

Fears she’d never allowed herself or never allowed herself to see she now magnified in her daughter.

How could she move her to another city another school again?

How would she fend this time?

Had she moved too fast all the years not taking into account that maybe others couldn’t keep up? Had the waters become too shallow this time to dive? Or was her emunah ebbing?

She might say it was a little of each but in truth she was now faced with her fear of fears her child’s pain.

“Send me the pain instead” she wanted to shout.

But Hashem knows the heart and the places where it’s weakest He strengthens.

Mrs. Stockman had heard about two weeks earlier about a particular holy man a righteous man who was having fears about a diagnosis of his health. And she secretly questioned though ever so silently the question that must have been heard on High: If he’s a tzaddik a holy man then why is he afraid? Shouldn’t he be fearless? Totally and fully trusting in Hashem?

And now here she stands facing nothing even close to the holy man’s challenge yet completely petrified.

Even though their rebbe said move change schools absolutely no question she continued to weigh what she could see as the good against the bad. Her feelings. Her fears. Why this time was it weighing so heavy? Since when did a rebbe’s words need to be measured?

Butterflies filled her stomach but were they butterflies of healthy metamorphosis or flapping wings of warning?

Why couldn’t she make out the signs this time?

She goes to check out the new school. It’s warm and wonderful and kind.

But it’s different. Too different. She wasn’t going to argue with a tzaddik’s word. She knows every word that comes is with blessing. And this time she even heard the words herself so she couldn’t play the I didn’t hear it myself maybe it was said this way or that tape.

But fear was playing games with her natural reason. And no one had answers.

She called this friend and that but it was like playing tennis against a wall — the way she told it over was the way the answers came back.

Though it was clear as day to everyone else that everything about the move made sense she still panicked.

Nowhere left to turn like it says: “Ein Od Milvado — there is nothing but Hashem.” She davens.

She davens for humility. For the understanding that nothing is in her power but the power to believe in the One Who does have that power.

She remembers a story from her seminary. A girl of around 23 who had come back to Torah after being away for many years would lie in her bed for hours paralyzed by fears. Fears of doing something wrong and fears of doing “not right enough.” All kinds of fears. The only way she was able to move was to lie in bed and say morning brachos. She’d even apologize to Hashem for not being able to stand to say the brachos and to ask Him to help her to be able to stand.