"In simple terms, when the air blows over the top of the
wing, it lowers the air pressure, causing the pressure under
the wing
to be greater, which then pushes the wing up. This pressure
from below
is what keeps an airplane up in the air."
This is what I learnt in my physics class many years ago, but
now the lesson was not in the classroom and the subject
matter was
not aeronautics.
The pressure I was feeling now had nothing to do with
airplanes.
It was from every which side, and instead of bouying me up,
it was
keeping me down. Still, I felt that Hashem would hold me up
with more
strength than any airplane wings.
I sank deeper into the 747 seat with my four-year-old
daughter
on one side and my two-year-old son squirming on my lap. It
was a
night flight, and if I didn't expect to get much sleep, at
least,
I could try to relax. I consciously commanded the tension of
the last
two months to ease out of my shoulders.
The call came in March, my father's voice filtering past the
overseas static.
"Rifca, I'd like you to come here as soon as possible.
Granny's
not doing so well."
"Is it that urgent, Dad? Pesach is in only six more
weeks!"
"Well, come as soon as you can. I'll cover the expenses.
I want you to see her while she can still recognize
you..."
The next two months were unbelieveably hectic. There were
passports
for myself and my two youngest, cleaning for Pesach,
arranging for
babysitters for the two staying home plus preparing food to
put in
the freezer for my husband and the kids not coming with me.
Meanwhile, my father and I spoke frequently on the phone.
Granny
was deteriorating quickly. One night at 2 a.m., my father was
woken
by a telephone call from a hospital in downtown L.A. "Someone
found your mother sitting on a park bench. She doesn't know
where
she lives. Could you please come and get her?" My father
drove
the hour to the hospital and took her home, but the next week
a bus
driver called him. "This old lady has been on my bus for
three
hours. She doesn't know where to get off and can't even
remember her
name! Luckily, I found your number in her purse. Come and get
'er,
mister, O.K.?"
With each phone call my pulse quickened.
"Rifca," my father's soft voice said, "I just don't
know what to do."
An idea flew into my mind. "How about finding someone to
Granny-sit, Dad? You know, take her shopping, take her for a
bus ride,
keep an eye on her in general."
"Rifca, that's a wonderful idea. I'll let YOU take care of
the details. I'm sure you can find someone, just come. We'll
talk
soon."
That left me with the task of cleaning for Pesach here in
Tsefat
with my mind wandering about L.A. My two little ones and me
wouldn't
be able to stay in my father's tiny apartment. Who could I
stay with,
along with two lively little children? And how in the world
would
I find someone to help with Granny? From ISRAEL, yet. Who
could I
turn to for information on Granny-sitters? What if I couldn't
find
someone to help us?
I lay awake at night praying. "Hashem, I'm counting on You!
I am so accustomed to being in charge. Planning every detail
to
a T and working to see it through. But this is absurd!
I can't
do it! But YOU can!" and I knew that I had to let go and let
Hashem
do it all. Every time the tension-filled fears would start to
overcome me, I reminded myself, "Only YOU can do it, Hashem.
Only
YOU!" And in the day, I continued with my housework, packing
and
praying.
One particularly difficult day of Pesach cleaning, I sat down
shakily and asked my husband, "How can I be SURE that I've
gotten
rid of all the chometz?" He reassured me, saying,
"You're
doing your best and Hashem will help you in every way." "But
maybe I overlooked something important?" My husband jokingly
asked,
"Did you check behind all the pictures on the walls?"
I stood up and tilted one of the pictures and a large hunk of
flattened challa dough fell to the floor! I sat down
and looked
at my husband unbelievingly. "You see," he said with a small
smile, "Hashem helped you find that!" We both burst
out in relieved laughter. The tension was broken and I felt
lighter
and more secure in the guidance Hashem was giving, and would
surely
continue to give.
Two weeks later, I landed in California, a child gripping
each
hand. In my pocket rested a few phone numbers that friends
had given
of their friends living in L.A. My Dad took us to dinner in a
kosher
restaurant and then I pulled the numbers out and started
calling from
a pay phone. The woman at the second number, Mrs. K.,
answered and
said we could stay with her. It turned out that Mrs. K. lived
a few
blocks from my grandmother, so I would be able to walk over
to visit
her whenever I wanted.
After my father had settled us in and gone back to his
apartment,
Mrs. K. and I settled down in the kitchen with some strudel
and coffee,
to chat. I told her why I had come, chuckling over the
craziness of
me finding someone to help out with my grandmother when I
hardly knew
a soul in all of L.A.
Suddenly, my hostess' eyes lit up. "I have a friend who is
wonderful with older people. That's her work, and her present
job
ends this very week!" I couldn't believe my ears. Could it be
jet lag or was this real?
What were the chances of this happening? What if the first
person
I had called would have let me stay by her, or if Mrs. K.
hadn't been
home at the moment I `happened' to call?
Well, you probably guessed already. It worked out so much
better than I could have imagined! Ahuva, a lovely Israeli
woman,
got along wonderfully with my grandmother and took excellent
care
of her.
All because of Hashem's masterful direction and HIM `doing it
all.'
