Who Said "Easy Birth" and Didn't Receive?

Nine, ten, eleven, midnight... this continued until four-thirty in the morning as I watched the clock hand cough forward. My time had no time left. The world goes on as usual, so he was born on Shabbat Kodesh, when there is no worldly time nor clocks.

I was ready for anything. Like everything in my life, I managed this pregnancy with a strong hand, equipped with the finest books for every possible scenario, except for Hashem's scenario.

I had a flawless birth plan, one that even the Pentagon wouldn't be embarrassed by. Everything was precisely timed and divided—what was for the delivery room, the nursery, and the recovery room. And then, Hashem was there (again) to remind me that I am only a guest here, visiting his scenery. All the research on birth recommendations, vaccines, and nursery tests were sent "to update the trash," as my father and teacher loves to phrase it.

"And after that, it doesn't even matter," they said to me, and they were right. When your hands are full—all the anguish (however intense they were—thank God) are also sent to embrace the leftover Bamba in the trash.

As someone who makes a living from words, I became an orphan of letters in an instant.

He was born and immediately looked at me. Only blinking a pair of bright eyes. Fresh, fresh purity, warm from the angels' oven. There was no need for any introductions. I gathered strength and murmured every blessing I could remember. "What a reception..." he surely thought to himself, my little righteous man...

I don't think there's a woman in the world who experiences birth and doesn't understand on some human level that there is an answer, and consequently, there is no such thing as an easy birth. And they said it before, not that it matters.

Birth is the finest, most distant wisdom that Hashem granted us. Think about it: nestled in my lap is a small man. A real man. R-E-A-L! Not a toy doll you buy for your niece, who changes synthetic diapers, combs straw hair, and embraces a plastic body. My man (and of all mothers)—he has everything, every little bit of everything, by the grace of Joseph.

He holds within him Hashem, who breathed into him a pure and sweet Jewish soul. And I, creating in his world, cannot digest. I am unable to understand how this privilege fell to me to be called the most beautiful name in the world—mother.

So how can one even ask for an easy birth when I have in this world a partnership with Hashem on creating a man, a living, breathing, kicking creature?

You go through nine months, minute by minute, hour by hour, of ongoing torment, then you believe compensation will come, referred to as "easy birth" in street language. And there are no preparations for birth. It's just one long, exhausting, weary, unrelenting chase to the desired cry.

But how did I even dare to request it would come easily?

Think about it: bringing into the world an heir and a path continuer—is it like entering a store with a shopping list and leaving with a brand new baby from a bag, without all that's entailed??

And suppose we managed to list everything creation brings during birth; ten fingers, liver, kidneys, muscles, joints for proper bending, blood vessels, arteries, millions of capillaries, etc., would we also list and request the hardship? The three terrifying months of his colic without sleep, we'd request that too, so in the end, he shall drink and eat with a functioning digestive system without regurgitating what's swallowed? And that he sneezes to alert us he's cold? Even the annoying burp is crucial for him to know how to do. And what about all those components that result in a sweet sound of laughter? They require passing through developed lungs from crying and wailing.

All these are part of a finished product that cannot be understood at all on how it exists. Birth, for me, presented a renewed revelation in response. It's a miracle not from this world, which only Hashem can orchestrate and conduct simultaneously, and yet it'd come easily??!

I read what I wrote, and for a moment, the thought crosses my mind of how frightening it is that it is not obvious nor understood that both body and soul will merge and operate like the most well-oiled and complex machine. It's true we are thankful for all these, but is it really appropriate to ask for such a miracle to come to us easily?

Okay, fine, suppose we manage to list everything a man needs to function perfectly and healthily, please God, on that shopping list. Birth, after all, brings life! Complete lives. Someone in this world will admire a flower because of you. Someone will enter under the covenant of Isaac thanks to you, and his smile that will illuminate the world (due to your sleepless nights), and his Torah (before which people will be astonished) all due to the education you will give him... there will be a small man who will become larger than life and will perform all kinds of routine, frequent actions not taken for granted throughout his days—because you suffered during a not-so-easy birth and brought him life. He will cross the street alone and speak on the phone. He will examine posters in Geula (Jerusalem), wait in line, and pay at the counter, hug his sister, and sing in the bath. He will arrange the bed for Shabbat and honor his wife. Understand, there is a person in this world who will love Hashem—because of you! And that, ladies and gentlemen, cannot come easily. That is bought with blood, sweat, and many, many tears and prayers! Blessed be Hashem.

So I encounter another challenge dressed up as a brit, redemption, and first vaccination, and the days pass without rest. As my beloved and righteous grandmother, may her memory be a blessing, used to say: "Only that he may grow and flourish." I can't believe I am holding him and at the same time missing him. Love that compensates for everything.

I remembered how Liat, my closest friend, once told me in one of our talks that sometimes she wishes to bring him back to her womb when he was still an inseparable part of her physical body out of an overwhelming love. When I asked her what she meant, I got a clear answer, but all that was said wasn't understood until I held my own son, Binyamin David, in my hands.

I completed the essentials of my return path almost in parallel to hers. My treasure appeared four months after her little one, and just before I gave birth, I stopped by her home. I stopped for a moment to truly look at her. I hadn't seen her since I witnessed her birth. From being a woman, a wife, and a rare friend, she transformed before my eyes into a mother. M-O-T-H-E-R!

I found no words. Nor did I need them. I just stood over her prince, Shmueli's swing, and prayed. Inside, I was proud of her. I hoped my child would also delight in me when the time came...

At one of the turns, I saw the tomb of the righteous Shelah and remembered how I was here a year earlier and confessed to him about my anxieties and desires to be a good mother in the future. I called a mutual friend and asked her, "How does Liat survive? How does she know she is doing well by him, and he by her?" She explained with admirable clarity that happiness is a straight line, not anymore ups and downs. Given this situation, we should be grateful for every routine moment we were given to live within. A template of miracles interwoven with miracles.

After two months of not touching it, I close my journal at 5:20 to the sound of my righteous one, half asleep, seeking and wanting to grow and be satisfied while simultaneously seeking closeness to me. I begin to understand that the ease and naturalness with which I approach him is itself a birth. A daily easy birth. An easy birth of producing renewed strength. An easy birth leading to a perfect connection between mother and son, and this is the easiest and most beautiful birth Hashem gives every mother.

It is surprising how precisely this easy birth did not appear on my list.

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Dedicated to all mothers wherever they are, especially to my special mother—Dina bat Juliette and Jacob, without whom I wouldn't have received the greatest gift and privilege in the world: to live, bring life, and be called a mother myself.

For the complete recovery of the sweet child Uri ben Asnat.