Today, as on most Shabbat mornings, we found ourselves at the park. There I was, cradling the baby in my arms, pushing the 2 year old on the swing, and keeping an eye on the crazy 4 and 6 year olds so they didn’t get in too much trouble. I could faintly here the davening (praying) from the park, but was certainly not going to be part of it today (as I haven’t been for the last 10 years and 11 months, for that matter).
One of my friends walked by who has all older children. She stopped to “ooh” and “aah” over the baby and then she declared, “Ok, I’m heading into shul (synagogue).”
“Ok,” I said. “Say hi to Hashem for both of us, since I’m obviously not following after you.”
“Romi,” she said, “You’re saying hi to Hashem on your own right now.”
She stopped me in my tracks.
And, as she walked away, I looked down at little Yakir’s face and at Zeli grinning in the swing, and thought: how true, how very very true.
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