This is the story of the birth of a very special baby.
Two days before Purim I brought shalach monos to the
owner of our shoe store, Sam. The shoe store was far away and
I knew I wouldn't have time to go there on Purim, which was
erev Shabbos. As I drove over the highways to the shoe
store, I thought about Sam's family.
A couple of years ago, as Sam was fitting us with shoes, he
told us how his sister-in-law Beth was in despair. Years had
gone by and she was still without children. I offered to put
her on our Tehillim list.
Months later, I found out that Beth was expecting. Wonderful!
We put her on the list for a healthy pregnancy. She delivered
but the baby was stillborn. This was devastating for Beth.
Our Tehillim group cried with her and sent her our
sympathies. Then we put her back on the list of the
childless. When I brought my kids in for shoes last January,
I found out that Beth was expecting again, and due in a
couple of months.
We put Beth back on the list for a healthy pregnancy. And
last Purim, I drove over to the shoe store with shalach
monos. I felt funny. What if they thought it was strange
for me to bring it? Then I told myself: It's my job to be
the messenger and not to determine the outcome. I wanted
to give this lady who had been through so much and who was so
apprehensive about this pregnancy something special to show
that we were with her in prayer and spirit.
I handed over the beautifully wrapped package to Sam with a
special request to `share' it with Beth. Big smiles radiated
all around the store and I was promised that it would be
delivered.
A month passed. When I came back from Pesach, I found two
messages. Two longstanding women on our Tehillim list had
delivered -- one had had a boy and the other, a girl. A week
later, I found out about a third delivery. Beth had given
birth to a girl on erev Pesach. And a fourth person
from our list had had a baby on Rosh Chodesh Iyar.
I called Beth to wish `Mazel Tov.' What a wonderful miracle
that this baby was born healthy and fine. She had named the
baby Anna Melissa.
"Are you going to give the baby a Hebrew name?" I asked,
explaining why a Hebrew name was important: for identity, for
blessings, for a marriage kesuba one day and so on.
Beth was interested in giving her daughter a Jewish name; the
first name should start with an alef because Anna was
named after a grandfather named Abraham.
"O.K. Let's look at some names," I said, pulling out our shul
directory and the kids' class lists. We went through name
after name and nothing sounded right to Beth. I was beginning
to wonder if any name would be found. Finally, I said,
"Ayelet."
"Ayelet," she exclaimed. "There's something very special
about that one! I think that's it! What does it mean?"
I explained what kind of animal an ayelet was and how
gentle, and Beth said, "That's exactly my baby."
I also started to explain to her about Ayelet
Hashachar, how just before dawn, the stars recede and the
darkness seems its blackest. At exactly that point, the
Ayelet Hashachar, the morning star, appears, to bring
light at the darkest point. The darkness represents our
exile, and at one very dark point of our exile, the Ayelet
Hashachar was represented by Queen Esther, a bright point
of light, giving us hope.
"Oh, that is exactly my baby, too," Beth said with tears.
"She is the bright light of hope after all the darkness I've
been through."
"In fact," I continued, "one of the chapters of Tehillim
mentions the Ayelet Hashachar; it was recited by Queen
Esther as she approached the king to try to save her people.
That's Psalm 22." Suddenly, I stopped. I realized how I knew
that information. On erev Pesach, my friend, a
distinguished lady living in Yerusholayim, and I were
devastated by all the very difficult news from Israel. We
wanted to say extra chapters in addition to our usual
Tehillim but we were so busy getting ready for Pesach that we
didn't have time.
"How about your picking two chapters for us to say and we'll
both say the same ones, as a form of solidarity," I suggested
to my friend.
She picked numbers 22 and 33, the first as a statement of
hope, because we seemed to be at such a dark point in the
golus.
"So you see," I told Beth, "that's how we came to be saying
Tehillim #22 on erev Pesach while you were in labor!
And it's because of our saying it then that I read the
commentaries on Ayelet Hashachar, the name you want to
give your baby."
We marveled at that and then I said, "Now how about a middle
name for her?"
Beth wanted a name that started with mem because the
baby's middle name was Melissa. "I heard of a nice Jewish
name that I've always liked for some reason," she said. "It's
Malka."
"That means `queen'," I explained. "Let's see, then. Her name
would be `Ayelet Malka'. Ayelet for Queen Esther and Malka
for Queen! What a perfect name!"
*
Our tradition teaches that a degree of prophecy descends to
parents when naming their child, and I believe this was true
for Beth, who has no background whatsoever, but still knows
she's Jewish. Now I saw that it was really hashgocha
that I brought shalach monos to Sam and Beth that
Purim. It helped maintain a special connection, probably in
ways I don't even completely understand.
Ayelet Malka was given her beautiful Hebrew name shortly
after that. And that is the story of the second special event
from last Purim. [Readers may recall the first story by this
anonymous writer about the Chinese Purim seuda that
was the turning point in the life of an entire Russian
immigrant family that made its way back to YIddishkeit due
specifically to glatt kosher Chinese cuisine! How now Chin
chow!]
So, please, next year, give shalach monos to those who
are not yet frum and invite them to your seuda.
Better yet! Invite them for Pesach! You never know what can
happen with Hashem's help.
