They say that man plans and G-d laughs. Sometimes we have to learn to laugh along with Him. Even when we think we would rather cry.
The plan was to fly out on September 15, a few days before Rosh Hashana. It was perfect. My parents needed help, and I was the one who could provide it. I was going to fly to Miami with my youngest child, Tamar, and stay through Sukkot. After all, I’m the one without a husband, and with older children who have other places to go. The rest of my siblings would not be able to fly at this time – certainly not for longer than a few days.
The first hitch in the plan was when it became clear that my daughter, Yafi, would need surgery, and it was planned for the very day I was supposed to fly. I understood immediately that I needed to stay and help her. She would need help with the baby, help with Rosh Hashana (whether still in the hospital or not – which we were told would only be decided last minute), and also some TLC of course. I understood that I needed to be home for Rosh Hashana. So now I was torn between the need to help my parents and the need to help my daughter, but it really wasn’t even a question that I would push off my trip. I rescheduled for a week later, thinking that I would wait and see how she was feeling a week after surgery, and if she was OK, I would still fly. I could still change or cancel the ticket if I had to, so that was enough of a decision for now. Good plan.
On Monday before the surgery (and before Rosh Hashana), I was feeling worried and distressed that both my daughter and my mother had medical issues that needed to be taken care of. More distressing was that both had aspects that reminded me of what I went through with Ely. Different, to be sure. But small similarities or reminders put me into a very troubled state of mind. I felt that I was being tested in some way, but I did not understand what G-d wanted from me.
With the help of my Rav and a very targeted article that he sent me by Rav Haim Sabato, I realized that my job at the moment was to show up. To be there. Not necessarily to understand why or even exactly what, but to be prepared for whatever He was calling me to do. To answer the call with: Hineni. I am here.
Exactly at the time that I was grappling with this, I got the next call.
My son Eitan called from Yeshiva and I asked him how he was doing? He said, “Not good.” I said, “Why, what’s wrong?” He said, “Ema, you don’t understand.” Now I was starting to worry a bit, but I thought he was going to tell me that he was upset about something that happened or maybe that he didn’t like his chavruta. Before I really had a chance to think about it, he blurted out, “I had a terrible headache and I have fever and they’re sending me home to quarantine and I have to get a corona test today.” Whoa. OK. Deep breath. What to do? I have a daughter going into surgery tomorrow, and I certainly can’t risk getting corona myself and/or spreading it to her or the baby. I assured him that we would figure something out, and told him to hang in there until we had a plan.
I won’t go into details about the decision making, but what eventually happened is that he was picked up from Yeshiva, brought to the testing center and then brought directly to my house. During those few hours, I cleared out my bedroom, trying to anticipate what I would need for the next two weeks. You see, my bedroom is the only room in the house with an en-suite bathroom, and the only safe place for him to isolate would be there. I packed up clothing, toiletries, and as much of the paperwork on my desk as I thought I would need. I made the bed, brought in a supply of toilet paper, tissues, gloves and masks, checked that there was adequate medicine in the medicine cabinet for him, and moved myself into his room. When he arrived, only Tamar and I were home. We went into a separate room, closed the door, and waited until he was in my room and closed the door before we came out. I didn’t get to see him, and of course didn’t get to hug him, although that was what I wanted to do more than anything. As I am writing this, it is hard to believe that he is still in that room, 11 days later.
At this point, I debated changing my travel plans again, but I knew that I could change them after the chag and maybe there would still be a small chance of going. If both Yafi and Eitan were recovering nicely, it might still be possible. In fact, it would probably be helpful for Eitan as long as he was feeling better because then he could have the whole apartment to himself instead of being stuck in one room – at least for a few days. I decided to wait and see what developed.
The good news was that although I had an active corona patient in my house, we were informed that as long as he stayed in his room and we were careful not to interact at all, the rest of the household did not require quarantine, and the medical people we consulted with did not think there was a risk of the other household members catching it.
The next few days were a blur. I had already decided the previous week that I would not be sending my daughter Tamar to school, because there were many corona cases all over the country, including quite a few in her school. Although she was technically not in quarantine because nobody in her immediate capsule was diagnosed, I thought it was too risky to send her, especially given the fact that I was concerned about the surgery. I will leave it to your imagination to picture what the week was like – preparing for chag, going to the hospital, taking care of the baby, having my daughter home from school, tending to the needs of my son locked in a room, and trying to juggle work at the same time. Let me just say that once again I was overwhelmed by the kindness of my friends, who insisted on helping with some of the cooking. It was a challenging week, but thank G-d, most importantly, the surgery went well, my mother was doing OK, and my son’s symptoms were improving. By the time Rosh Hashana came, things were starting to look a little better. Yafi and her husband Amiad would be with us after all, as she was released from the hospital just hours before chag. Of course the baby, Yoav, was already at my house, as were my son Avishai and of course Tamar and Eitan. It would be a strange Rosh Hashana, but at least everyone seemed to be doing better.
On the second day of chag, I remember thinking to myself, “OK, so maybe I can fly after all.” Things seemed to be stable, both Yafi and Eitan were encouraging me to go and assuring me that they were really ok, and I had an overall good feeling about the plan. I had stayed back when I was needed more at home, and now I could go and help my parents as well. I must confess that I also was looking forward to getting away a bit, and a trip to Miami, where things were not locked down, sounded great.
Later that same day, late afternoon of the second day of Rosh Hashana, Tamar started to not feel well. She had complained the night before of a stomachache, but she was OK during the day. Now she had a headache and she was chilled. Uh oh. I took her temperature, and lo and behold, it was above 38 degrees Celsius. I told everyone that I am going to go with her into a separate room until after chag and that I would wait until everyone else left before coming out. So I spent the next two hours or so in a room with Tamar. We played cards for a while, but she wasn’t feeling well, so eventually she fell asleep as it started getting dark. At that point, I was left with just me and my thoughts in a dark room until the end of chag. After chag, my kids made havdala, packed up and left. I emerged from the room, made havdala for myself, made sure Eitan was taken care of, and promptly made doctors appointments (telephone appointments) for Tamar and myself for the next day so that we could get tested. I also got online, and pushed off my trip for another two weeks.
On Monday she was already feeling much better, but we got tested, and we stayed in isolation until we got our results. The results came in on Tuesday evening: Negative!
There was talk of a closure of the airports, and I thought to myself, “Maybe we should just leave now. We don’t have corona, everyone seems to be pretty settled, and this could be our chance to get out before they shut down the airport.” I called the airline, and it seemed that the only flight that would be available before Yom Kippur was that very night, just a few hours later. I actually considered it. Seriously. But while I was on hold waiting for the airline representative to get back to me, I simultaneously started to fill in an online declaration that needs to be filed with the Israeli government in order to get approval to leave the country. There I was, checking off the boxes, and then I hit a brick wall. “I have not had any symptoms of corona, such as fever, cough, etc., in the last 14 days.” Well, Tamar did have symptoms just a few days earlier, but we had negative tests, so wasn’t that enough? There was no option for that in the declaration though. So I thought that maybe I could call misrad habriyut and ask them if that was good enough – get the ishur from them. But I realized that this would not be resolved in time for a flight that was just a few hours from then. Of course, I could have just checked the box anyway, right? Wrong. You can’t lie and certainly not on a declaration, and certainly not with a matter as serious as disease. I came to the conclusion that we would not be able to fly before Yom Kippur. As if I needed clarification, the airline representative came back on the line and apologetically informed me that she had been mistaken – that the flight for that evening would only be available at a much higher price. I thanked her, canceled my trip for booking credit, and hung up.
You would think that by now my plans would be over. But I still made one last effort. On Wednesday, I rebooked on a flight for chol hamoed sukkot. My parents would still need help then, and we could fly b’nachat after this was all behind us. We would still have some time, and I would even stay for an extra two weeks after the chag because most likely school would not be back in session by then anyway.
It is now Thursday morning. Here we are, the day after I rebooked my flight, and it seems almost certain that the airports will be closed to outbound flights until after Sukkot. The door has slammed shut once again.
I really did want to go. I wanted to be there for my parents, and I wanted to give Tamar and myself a break from the lockdown. I wanted to get away from all of the misery that has taken over our country at the moment, and I wanted to be comforted by my Ema and Aba. I wanted to escape.
So now I must go back to that article that the Rav sent me. Hashem is calling me. I don’t know what He wants from me, and I don’t necessarily even want to know. I don’t know why my parents have to be left alone at a time when they could really benefit from us being around. I don’t have any answers.
Man cries and G-d laughs. Actually, I don’t think that’s right. I think He is crying along with me, along with all of us.
But I also think there may just be, along with the Divine tears, a loving smile bearing down on us as well.
G-d is calling us, and we must respond, without having all the answers.
Hineni.