It was one of those perfect-weather nights and a perfect wicker-chair moment. We were sitting in the garden and the minyan downstairs was singing loud.

Nomi opened up and poured out her entire life’s long journey that had brought her to this wonderful blessed moment — a beautiful family a beautifulJerusalemvilla surrounded by potted plants and outdoor garden lighting health and happiness … but one thing was still missing.

“I always dreamed I’d have a shul a beautiful marble-and-glass shul with high ceilings.” She shared her artistic architectural plans and described the spiritual heights the prayers would reach to.

And as she explained I smiled deep inside holding myself back till she got to the end of her dream so I could tell her.

“You have a shul” I say.

She looks around.

“Downstairs.” I point toward the steps leading to the ground floor. “There are almost 100 people davening downstairs.”

She shakes her head in half recognition. Then tears well in her eyes. “You’re right” she says hesitantly. “But I always envisioned it differently.”

“So you didn’t see it” I say.

“Right” she admits stunned for a moment over how blind she’d been.

“You even put up a fight about it” I remind her.

We didn’t say more. But as I walk home all I can think about is that it’s right there in her backyard — literally in this case — and it’s missed completely.

I start to get a little worried as I really process this. How many things am I not seeing?

I recall the guy pulling out of the parking spot the other day who almost hit someone. Did they say “Oh poor fellow he must’ve had a blind spot when he backed up.” Or did they scream “Are you crazy? Is this how you drive?” “Where did you buy your license in Vegas?”

Later this same week that theme still running through my head I’m visiting someone I recently met.

We sit across from each other at the gray-marble built-in table in the kitchen over a matching marble salt shaker filled with Himalayan pink salt crystals and a jar of jam.

We somehow get onto the subject of mothers-in-law. She says it hurts her that all her friends’ mothers-in-law bring fancy silver gifts when they come for Shabbosos and in the course of ten years her mother-in-law has brought her only “seven of these.” She holds up a thin jar of raspberry preserves.

Again I smile inside — first because she’s funny and second because I know why her mother-in-law gives her preserves. I know from other conversations that her mother-in-law is a Holocaust survivor.

“You know it could have been that to your mother-in-law preserves were the most amazing exotic fancy thing because in her childhood a crust of bread was a treat.”

“But she has money now” the friend says.

“She can’t see that.”

My new friend’s eyes begin to tear as she takes this in. “And I couldn’t see this ...” she says.

New meaning to the blessing “Who opens the eyes of the blind.” Maybe when someone backs up or collides with our desires our visions it’s not meant to hurt. Maybe they just hit a blind spot.