Whether a first is exhilarating or alarming, fabulous or fearsome, one thing is clear: Firsts remain fixed in our memory

First class. First in line. First day of first grade. First steps. Who’s on first?

There’s something extra special about firsts. The Jewish Nation is compared to Hashem’s firstborn, and we bring Him the first fruits of the Land.

But firsts can be difficult, as well. The first year of marriage, shanah rishonah, has its challenges as well as its charms. First drafts need revision. First responders can be in danger — but first aid saves lives!

Whether a first is exhilarating or alarming, fabulous or fearsome, one thing is clear: Firsts remain fixed in our memory.

A first siyum brings insight after a first year of mourning. A first meeting with baalei teshuvah teaches life lessons. A first view of Yerushalayim brings comfort decades later. Those are some of our Firsts.

Join us as, for the first time, we Sisters share those Firsts with you.

Emmy Leah celebrates…

My First Siyum

Siyum Season is over: What’s your strongest siyum memory? Thousands swaying to the strains of “Ashreichem talmidei chachamim” at MetLife? Divrei Torah at night-after-night siyumim in Yerushalayim? In smaller venues, a l’chayim; a moving story; men dancing at a house, a shul, a yeshivah?

My strongest siyum memory? That would have to be paying the bill for a meal at a Chinese restaurant some years ago….

Actually, it wasn’t my first siyum. After all, we made a siyum after every perek of Chumash and Navi in elementary school. (“Chazak, chazak, v’nischazek, my mother made a chocolate cake,” we’d chant….) But this was my first grown-up siyum on Sefer Yehoshua. It took place six years ago, when five women celebrated the end of months of learning — and the end of another first.

The end of our first year of aveilus for a parent.

It had been a tough year in our Beit Shemesh shul. It seemed like every few weeks there was another funeral for a parent, another shivah visit, more meals to bring to a house of mourning.

My sister Miriam suggested it. Five women in aveilus — let’s learn together in memory of the parents we’d lost. And so our weekly learning group, dubbed the Mourners’ Corner, began.

The decision to learn Sefer Yehoshua was, well, random. Let’s do a book in Neviim, someone said. How about starting at the beginning? another added.

Random? Far from it. Hashem told Yehoshua three times in the first chapter — chazak ve’ematz! Yehoshua needed encouragement: He was mourning the loss of his leader, his rebbi, the greatest navi our People would ever know. Now he had to command the children of a generation who received the Torah at Sinai, who ate the mahn, who drank from the miraculous waters of be’er Miriam.

And here we were, five women, reeling from the loss of a parent. We, too, were children following a generation of giants. Our parents’ generation had raised families in the shadow of the Shoah, built up communities in England, in America, in Israel.

Could the command to Yehoshua to be strong be meant for us, too?

Love for Eretz Yisrael is central to Sefer Yehoshua. Our parents shared that love. My mother lived in Israel for the last 21 years of her life. Rachel’s father also lived there — for a matter of weeks. Sadly, he died shortly after making aliyah. Tsvia’s mom, a Shoah survivor like mine, came to Israel after the war. She had to leave during the hardship days of food rationing in the ’50s, then returned to live out her years in the Land she loved.

As Sefer Yehoshua also makes clear — sometimes there’s a price to be paid for our beautiful Land. Yehudit’s mother never lived in Israel, but she certainly gave to it. Her only son was killed when fighting for the IDF in Lebanon.

The sefer was completed, and so was our year of mourning. We headed to a Chinese restaurant in Rechavia for a celebratory siyum. We ordered a variety of dishes to share. Lots of laughter, a few tears, some divrei Torah, along with loads of moo goo gai pan, wontons, Peking duck, fried rice.

And then — the bill. The shared dinner came out to be… 600 shekels. Divided by the five of us. I almost swallowed my chopsticks….

One hundred and twenty shekels each. Ad meah v’esrim. Biz hundred oon tzvantzig.

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 682)