Mom
This column started over 10 years ago as a way for me to tell tales of motherhood and other assorted mindless stories. Motherhood, for me, began when Dara, the sonogram technician at my dad’s office, informed me that I was having a son.
That is just how she said it. Not “it’s a boy.” Instead, she said, “You are having a son.” It sounded so warm and personal. Maybe it is just me who feels that way.
A son is a little boy who wears a baseball hat that is too big for his head. A son is a cute little human who pretends to pray with his father by shuckling back and forth.
And the definition of being a mom? It is endless. We try to teach, to feed, to heal, to make life a little easier. We try. Even when our little boys (or girls) grow up, we are still supposed to try. Even though we sometimes make it about us (because, really, it is all about me), it is supposed to be about them. We try. That is all we can do. Some are better at it than others.
Rachel Goldberg-Polin put every single other mother to shame. This mom physically went to the ends of the earth to try to save her son. To bring him home. And all the others. The ends of the earth.
I am sure that you have all read many things about Rachel and her family. The endless WhatsApp and Facebook and Instagram groups saying prayers, writing letters to the government. Pleading for help. Pleading for something, anything. Save them.
This woman, who we all watched wither away physically, but whose voice grew stronger and louder and more desperate. She put every other mother in her place.
When the worst possible outcome was revealed to the world this week, a cry went out from mothers everywhere. If Rachel could not save her son Hersh, what does that mean for the rest of us? What does that mean for the other sons and daughters who are being held against their will by an entity so evil it’s hard to fathom?
And what has all of this taught us? What have we learned by those unspeakable acts committed on October 7? Have we learned to be kinder? To be more generous of heart? Have we learned to be nicer to others? To pray harder? To believe stronger?
I just don’t know.
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck simply has no more words this week.
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