The most anticipated date on the balabuste’s calendar isn’t the first day of school. It’s actually “Beis Noach” — the Monday after Succos ends,
“So, Ma,” my 17-year-old asked again that year. “Are you going to shul for the whole davening?”
Why can’t I feel a little more… more something? It’s not like I don’t care. It’s Rosh Hashanah, for goodness sake!
“The doctor does these procedures 20 times a day,” I mused. “It’s a big deal for us, but it’s no big deal for him. He could probably do it with his eyes closed.”
I’m the mother in the middle, orbiting between these contrasting worlds, trying to give each child what she needs while being sensitive to the other,
Next time I want to give up and say, this is too hard for me, I want out — I’ll think of Ahuva and keep going
