Leah stood there with empty arms. As usual, everyone else seemed to get what they wanted

“V’yekarei shemo b’Yisrael…” Pause. “Nechemia Baruch.”

Leah felt her grip on her daughter slacken. The energy left faster than a newborn’s cry. Faigy looked at her expectantly.

Leah recovered quickly. “What a beautiful name,” she said as her throat gave a mini retch.

She squeezed Faigy’s hand, avoided looking at her daughter’s glistening eyes; brissim are harder on the mother than the baby, she knew. The words of the siddur wiggled, waved, and danced across the page, yet Leah pretended to focus. Deep breath: It would be over in a few moments.

It was over.

“Mazel tov, Mommy!” she enthused, giving Faigy a proper hug.  She turned to her mechuteneste and wished her the requisite mazel tov.

In the background were the usual murmurs.

“What was the name? I missed it.”

“Who’s he named after?”

Leah bit her lip and let others answer the question. Her first grandson, her first grandchild, wasn’t named for her father, but her husband’s father.

Many taps on the shoulder, lean in, kiss, mazel tovs all around. Disconnected was not what she expected to feel. Not today.

Someone was trying to get her attention from the men’s side. Her husband with the mohel.

“Get Faigy,” Binyomin said. “The mohel has the baby, he needs to give you instructions.”

Faigy’s eyes went wide. “Come with me, Ma?”

Leah nodded. But no, right now she wanted to hide in the bathroom, maybe cry. Or not, because what would it help — you can’t change a baby’s name once it’s given.

They followed the mohel to the rav’s office, where he started rattling off instructions that Leah could see overwhelmed Faigy. Leah nodded. She knew the routine already — she had mostly boys,  Faigy was her one girl — and she wasn’t the squeamish type, anyway.

She patted Faigy’s shoulder.  “Don’t worry, mammele, I’ll be there.”

She felt Faigy’s shoulders relax under her hand. Why couldn’t someone do that for her? But what could they even say?

There was a knock on the door. Binyomin popped his head in.

“Where’s my Nechemia Baruch?” He was beaming. So happy. That should have been me, Leah thought.

Her father-in-law hadn’t been a bad person; it was more that Leah barely knew him. She and Binyomin had lived in Israel when they first married, and then Tatty passed away two years later. They moved back to America after that. Binyomin didn’t talk that much about him; to Leah he was just a name.

“All done here,” the mohel said. He closed his kit, promised to check on the baby in two days, and left.

Binyomin entered the office. He wanted the baby, like it was a prize won, to show off. Leah stood there with empty arms. As usual, everyone else seemed to get what they wanted.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1081)