Babies

This morning, on the crowded train from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, I was guarding my husband’s seat when a younger woman approached me. I started telling her that the seat was taken, in my heavily accented Ivrit, when she addressed me by name. Of course these things happen in Israel all the time. I never meet anyone I know in the West Orange Fooderie, a two-minute drive from our NJ condo, but just take me to Israel and there on a packed train are Alise and Kenny. Uncanny.

This amazing couple, she a lawyer and he a physician, have just settled into their new pied a terre in Baka, and were deservedly proud to tell us that three of their four kids are now living right here in the Holiest Land, doing worthwhile things like IDF service and starting families, far from our neighborhood in Clark where Alise grew up. As we caught up I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice, although this scenario of unexpected meetups has been played over and over in my Israeli life. No doubt the whole train knows our stories.

But what struck me the most is that they are very recent grandparents of a sabra baby boy and their daughter-in-law is expected to deliver sabra twin boys at any moment. Wow indeed!

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Is this how Israel deals with the horrible and tragic events we hope are making their exit? I think so. I pray so!

Just yesterday morning we had breakfast with our own granddaughter-in-law, a wonderful nurse from Los Angeles, and our newest great-grandson, our own recently arrived sabra boy Nael Be’eri, whose name is in tribute to the many Jewish lives butchered at Kibbutz Be’eri.

Shosh chose the place for breakfast. It is in Old Katamon and called Cohen’s Deli. This is not a salami-hanging-from-the-wall, pastrami-smoking-away, mustard-on-every-table kind of deli. As a matter of fact, I cannot fathom why those many years ago, when the postage-stamp-sized eatery was first opened, they chose to call it a deli at all. I would have called it a fromagerie or breakfast bar since it’s all dairy, with a fabulous collection of remarkable, and kosher, cheese. All delicious! Of course we ate too much, but that is not why I’m telling you about it. Our Shosh has her favorite table (of the total of four), outside on a sunny day, where she has room to put Nael’s baby buggy and enjoy the incredible Jerusalem winter sun. She tells me it’s Nael’s favorite place, and I do believe her.

What I noticed in the hour plus that we were there is the preponderance of pregnant women and new babies that passed by or stopped by. Except for 85-year-old me, I believe every woman I saw was pregnant or had just recently given birth. I pointed this out to Shosh and she said she has noticed the same phenomenon. She had an explanation.

With so much tragic loss of young lives in Israel, starting last October, she feels those who can are attempting to mitigate those deaths by creating new life. We all know that those who were lost will never return and they will be remembered, cherished, and missed forever. But just the same, Jewish young women yearn to bolster the life cycle and fill some of the holes in our broken hearts. Kol ha kavod to them. May they and their babies flourish and live in peace!

Now let me tell you about Carmelle, a young woman who grew up in our shul in West Orange. Several years ago she made aliyah, and one day as I was stopped for a red light on a crazy busy intersection in Tel Aviv, who was crossing the street? Carmelle, the chayelet — that’s a female soldier. I started beeping my horn until she turned and saw me motion to her to hop into my car. Somehow we made it happen, and we drove for a few delightful minutes before she left for her military base.

Since then she married and delivered her first sabra baby, a boy, yesterday! What palpable excitement coursed through our shul. We all, every one of us, need, really really need, to hear happy news. Yesterday we got some. Lovely. Mazal tov, Carmelle.

Each of us strives for peace and normalcy with the complete knowledge that we can never undo what has been done and that the horrors foisted on our people will never be forgotten or forgiven. Yet it is our collective job to seek out the best for our own lives. And thus we shall. Each new baby born to our people belongs to each of us. We wish them health, joy, and blessings. And we pray for many many many more. We are the people of Israel, and we shall be fruitful and multiply.

Rosanne Skopp of West Orange is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of 14, and great-grandmother of eight. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and a dual citizen of the United States and Israel. She is a lifelong blogger, writing blogs before anyone knew what a blog was! She welcomes email at rosanne.skopp@gmail.com