Slice of Life

The beginning of the school year was always an exciting time. There was always a slight letdown when vacation ended, but the air was filled with anticipation. School supplies. Markers. Bic pens. Colorful notebooks. New shoes. The thrill of moving up a grade. I was no longer a lowly (fill-in-the-blank)th grader. I was someone big, someone who deserved respect.

Labor is supposed to move forward, but for us, it felt like going in circles. Contractions. Hospital drive. Intake nurse. Examination. Verdict: “You’re not in labor. Come back when you are.” Repeat. Over and over again, this was the exhausting loop my daughter, son-in-law, and I were caught in for days.

The crowd stood up, clapped, and cheered. It was a dream come true. But now the dream had more meaning than ever before.

Part II

In Part I, we followed Hannah’s early life in Nazi Germany: her suffering at the hands of an abusive Nazi father and the traumatic events of wartime Europe.

When eight-year-old Hannah, daughter of a Nazi officer, crouched in the snow as German fighter planes fired on civilian trains, she could never have imagined that 80 years later, she would stand at the Kosel, surrounded by generations of Torah-observant descendants, celebrating her great-grandson’s bar mitzvah. Born into a home ruled by cruelty and darkness, Hannah’s story is one of spiritual resistance and hashgachah pratis.

It had been a heartwarming Shabbos. When my daughter and son-in-law got married last year, the final Sheva Brachos took place over Shabbos. It was an uplifting weekend that allowed us to connect more personally with my son-in-law’s extended family. We shared the first two meals at shul, but Shalosh S’udos was held in the more intimate setting of our home. After Havdalah, joyful singing broke out. But then, suddenly, it stopped. The celebration turned to tears.