Efrat Barzel: Anonymous Diaries, When Is Rosh Chodesh Kislev?

A brief summary of the previous chapters: ---

What suddenly.

It's just one continuation, of one column, from one week, on one topic.

What chapters, and what previous ones?

And why speak in plurals?

Because it's true. Because to every moment in our lives we come with all our previous chapters and everything we have in our personality warehouse.

With the past, and experience, and trials, and those we succeeded and those less. So honestly? Every meeting between two people, whether face to face, on the phone, reading, listening, seeing, every such human combination brings together all life stories to a common drainage point, from which something new will soon be born, in each one of us.

Last week I wrote here about "Synchronicity" and "Serendipity." For our new readers, please catch up with the neighbors, or simply click here.

We talked about the power that comes only from 'Hashem,' about "There is none besides Him" controlling all stories, controlling every meeting between materials, between people, we are left to choose how we grow and make others grow through the sponge of accumulated information that we are.

Here is the story of the "coincidence," I wanted to share with you. Kislev. Time. Supervision. Gratitude, praise. And a fence. A good Jerusalem stone fence.

This Shabbat, we bless the month of Kislev.

This year, the last one.

The place, the Denya neighborhood in Jerusalem.

The house, of our friends.

The event, Bat Mitzvah for Mila, a daughter born after three boys. "Who is for Hashem is with me." That's how it is to be a child of returnees to faith. We are fortunate.

The weather, the nicest there is all year, a bit cool already, but a Shabbat morning sun, the kind that caresses in the winter in the art reserved only for it.

The table, set.

The men are at the synagogue.

I, awake.

Around, silence.

The girls are still sleeping, the flower bouquets stand in the corners, one grandmother of the celebrating granddaughter wanders in the living room with cinnamon tea.

"Do you know when Rosh Chodesh Kislev is?" I ask her. "No," she replies, "Do you need to know that now?"

"Yes. Now," I clarify for her the reason, pushing a little with some small Torah thought, trying not to press too hard, she's surviving here beautifully this Shabbat with all of us.

I notice another local girl from the house waking up, she's already Bat Yaakov who knows, so I naturally ask her, "Do you know when Rosh Chodesh Kislev is?"

"No," says the little one. "Do you have maybe a calendar here?"

"No," she says.

"What, no," I ask.

The grandmother suggests she take a look at her phone for a second, and I instinctively react with a calm, casual jump and say, "No, no, definitely not, forget it, I can manage."

I mentally smack myself for two seconds, because I knew that if I asked her such a question, she would want to help and desecrate for me in the answer, Shabbat. I hoped not, and she offered yes, I pulled her off of it. Enough, it ended peacefully.

I whisper to the barefoot little one in pajamas, "Do you have a student diary? An activities diary, something?"

She shrugs, and I decide that with the blessing of the month and with Mussaf, I'll just wait until the boys come home.

So I go out for a small Jerusalem stroll. These are magical hours to be in quiet alone.

I turn left onto the street, head down towards Denya Park or whatever they call this beautiful green place, my heart twinges again that I don't live in Jerusalem, debating whether when I get home for Kiddush, to moan again about "want to live in Jerusalem" to my husband, or if that's enough already. I head down a dirt path, searching the ground for which flowers from the family have bloomed or who announces they're about to emerge.

At the end of the street, before the path, there's a fence. Stone. Urban. I was looking for flowers, but my eyes stopped on it.

A small, crumpled journal, typical of older folks who buy one like this, with a brown plastic cover, fits well in the inner pocket of the jacket.

"A small journal?" I speak to myself, "Abandoned? Looks like it's been there a long time, no way it's from this year, it won't help me," but even that's a kindness from Hashem, I keep smiling to myself.

Something stops my feet, and I return to it. I peek carefully. I open it, it's a current diary!

I get excited. I see when Rosh Chodesh Kislev is, that's all I needed. To know.

At the meal, I told everyone about the providence I had. Some were concerned to judge me in front of my face with questions of Muktze and for what reason, and also regarding the laws of returning lost items. Anyway, my small and trusty diary, here. It made an aliyah to Bnei Brak.

I'll photograph it for you. We have developed excellent relationships since then. Today I will pluck it a pink oxalis, and later, I'll think.