I was sure I could force a yes from Hashem if I proved myself worthy

Chapter 1

I looked up for a second to stretch and to rub the tiredness out of my eyes. The masechta I was learning was delving into one aggadeta after another — Yechezkel’s vision of the Merkavah and malachim rising and falling came and went from my mind interchangeably. I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep my focus. I need a chavrusa for this, I thought to myself lazily. Yet I knew that was a long shot. Who would be willing to learn with me this early in the morning at a fertility clinic?

When my wife and I were first married, we — like most young couples — didn’t give a second thought to any fertility complications. Even as the early months passed with “no news,” we just assumed it would happen eventually. Soon enough, we thought, soon enough.

But as the years passed and every new month met with dashed hopes, our worries began to grow. Our quiet nights and mornings, our peaceful Friday afternoons, and our uninterrupted Sundays had become deafening. Still, we put off considering any fertility treatment. Both fear and faith kept us on the natural path. Fear of invasive and painful medical procedures, and faith that our yeshuah lay purely in the spiritual.

Eventually, as the years continued to turn, the fear of the alternative became an aggressively bigger monster. And as for faith, well, this type of faith felt reserved for those much more pious. Many people with kind hearts but indelicate minds would compare our struggle to that of our Avos and Imahos. But I was under no such delusion that I could stand where they stood. I was purging constant shortcomings every Elul, and the comparison of my situation with the Avos started and stopped at infertility. No, we knew that it was time we turn to the bleak world of hishtadlus.

I sat hunched over my Gemara in another waiting room. My wife had just texted me that she was called back to see the doctor. The past tests had showed nothing conclusive about our situation, so that left us with attempting to throw everything at the wall to see what sticks. I felt my mind begin to cloud as the text on the daf blurred.

Since we began treatment at the height of Covid, I was not allowed into the actual clinic. Instead, I had to wait in the lobby — a largely empty space with tall ceilings and windows and a few armchairs. The paint on the walls was bland, and the art wasn’t adding much warmth or security either. A perfect place for an overactive mind to jump between despair and hope. Knowing my time was limited before my wife would return, I forced myself back into the amud.

I took this learning more seriously than I ever had before. With treatments looming just around the corner, it seemed so unfair that all of it would fall on my wife. I figured that besides just being a support system for her, I could also attempt to beseech G-d through my learning while my wife was attempting to have Him abide by the rules of teva He created.

My wife loved the idea. Even though I was painfully aware of how little the actual burden of treatment was on me, the fact that she was inspired by my learning seder helped me believe I was giving more than I actually could.

I felt like we were synchronizing, like this was exactly what Hashem wanted from me. The belief of an earnest fool. I just knew that the siyum I would make for this masechta would coincide with wonderful news. So the seder became much more than a seder about the text on the page. It was a seder about faith. I was sure I could force a yes from Hashem if I proved myself worthy.