Last night, my daughter got off the bus 3.5 hours later than she normally does, from her school which is 7 miles away. You can imagine what was going on through my mind as I waited for her. I’m not the only one who had these thoughts last night. I know that many of you were concerned about the safe arrival of your friends and family after yesterday’s storm. It should not take 8 hours to get to northern New Jersey from the city! It’s one thing if we can contact our loved ones, as there is reassurance in knowing that they are okay. But my daughter is five. She does not (yet) have a cell phone. (Suffice it to say that now we are looking into other methods for communicating with her in instances like this). We knew she was on the road, but we had no idea where and no idea when she would return. It is unconscionable to me that the bus company was not answering the phone. Yes; they have and will hear about it again from me. In any case, to say that I felt unsettled and worried as the evening progressed is an understatement. I understood that the weather was bad, but to not even know where your child is. It is beyond.
At some point in the evening, I found myself shoveling snow to try to accomplish something while also getting out some of my emotional energy. I’ve always found the act of shoveling snow soothing, comforting, and it makes me feel accomplished when I look back and see a physical change in my driveway and sidewalk. As I shoveled more and more snow and sprinkled some salt on the ground – still without her return, I began relying on other measures to cope. I sent text messages to friends, asking them to pray for her, for us. Friends started trying to figure out how we could get in touch with the bus company, just for peace of mind. I began calling other parents whose children were on the bus.
But the most painful moment for me was when I was shoveling the sidewalk in front of our house. There was a patch of the sidewalk that was still covered in leaves underneath the snow. The combination of the heavy, wet leaves and the several inches of snow made it difficult for me to easily lift my shovel. It pushed me over the edge of my already vulnerable state. I immediately began to cry. Both the shoveling and my waiting were beyond my control.
As I cried, with my head hanging over my shovel, looking towards the ground, I felt guilty for not picking up my daughter from school. I should have known better than to have her take the bus. I had thought about it in the afternoon, but between my anticipated arrival time at her school – and the fact that I had my other daughter with me – I decided that it was best for her to take the bus. In hindsight, I will never do that again.
In our Torah portion this week, we read:
Jacob then made a vow saying, “If God remains with me, if He protects me on this journey that I am making, and gives me bread to eat and clothing to wear, and if I return safe to my father’s house – the Lord shall be my God.” (Gen. 28:20-21).
Wow. The timing of these verses after a night like last night is no coincidence.
There is something so powerful in calling upon God in moments of distress. It was comforting to me that other people were praying for us, waiting for her, just like Jacob, to return home safely. At the end of all our long journeys, we are so grateful to…just be home.
Many of us are returning “home” for Thanksgiving. For some, home is where we were raised. For others, home is where our family now is. To some, home is the Holy Land, the land of Israel. Tzeit’chem l’shalom. Go in peace. Bo’achem l’shalom. Return in peace.
But no matter where home is, we are reminded that home only is what it is because of who is with us while we are there.
I am beyond words grateful that my daughter was safe from all harm. Thank you, God, for protecting my child on her journey home to me.