Write To Life     by Elana Horwitz

It Happened At Midnight

Elana Horwitz


"Mommy."

I groan, half asleep, and shift my infant who is nursing in my arms.

"What is it, Shani?" My husband inquires groggily.

"Shevi's crying."

"Can you do anything for her?"

"I already gave her a drink. I changed her diaper. I gave her a cookie. She wants Mommy!"

"I'll go to her," my devoted husband offers.

"No. You don't sleep at all during the day. You've been incredibly busy. I'll go."

He vascilates, exhausted. "I wish that Shani could keep all the kids quiet."

"She's only a child herself. She has school in the morning. It's okay, I'm going."



Elisheva does not want more water. I grope for the box of tea bisquits and give her one that isn't broken. She hurls it to the floor, smashing it into bits. All the while she screams.

The tiny baby in my arms absorbs his sister's tension. He squirms, and cries.

I sink down to the tiled kitchen floor and cuddle them both. I have to do something, I tell myself. But I'm too fatigued. I sit. The babies bawl. My six older children protest restlessly from their beds. "Get up," I tell myself firmly. It's so hard. Somehow I manage to stand up, pull on some clothes, stumble out the door. I buckle my babies safely into their double carriage. I push forward in the darkness.

How crucial it is to move on in the darkness. Life has taught me this, I think. I am experienced, I tell myself. I chose this. I can do this.

This time with my babies is fleeting. It will pass, and it's precious. This terribly exhausting night is incredibly precious.

But I walk and walk. I am alone. My babies scream on.

No, I can't take this, I think. I've been doing this for too long. My body is too worn out. I need sleep. I need quiet. I need to focus on my davening, my writing, my husband, my community here in Raanana, my friends. I need to eat a hot, fresh meal without any disruptions.

But today...today was so full of joy! My older kids blasted loud music from our new Shalsheles CD and we danced, we whirled, teens to tots giddy with pleasure at our being home together, being a family. My babies roared with laughter as I skipped to the beat around the living room, a child balanced on each hip. My overly stretched ligaments throbbed but my heart went on dancing.

Maybe I should take better care of those ligaments, I admonish myself now in the blackness of the night. Maybe I'm damaging my body beyond repair. Maybe so many months of sleep deprivation are putting me at risk for some terrible disease, chas v'shalom.

But each child is a world! my optimistic spirit protests.

What makes you think you can run the world? my doubting heart retorts.

"Doggy."

I'm startled out of my gruelling reverie. "Where, Elishevaleh?"

She points a dainty finger in the direction of the park that has sprung up surprisingly right in front of us. I focus my sleepy eyes on the vast dark space ahead. At first I see nothing. Then I see. And I gasp.

"No doggy, Shevi. Those are rabbits," I breathe, my voice low and filled with awe.

Wild rabbits? Right here in the city? My eyes must be deceiving me.But they're real. Luxurious fur, innocent wide eyes, small quivering mouths. There is a white cotton candy one, and a light cappucino one, and a Dalmation one spotted black and white. They nibble patches of grassand scamper about playfully, oblivious to our silent stares.

How can this be? I reflect, astounded. This can't be the place I know. Normally this park is bustling, with children shouting, swinging, sliding, climbing, muddying the sand with water from the splashing fountain.

When did the quiet sneak in?

What made the wild rabbits come alive now?

Who adorned my hectic world with sudden slow-motion soul-tugging beauty?

My infant son is mesmerised by this brand new vision. I imagine this scene imprinting itself onto his tiny, uncharted brain. My baby daughter smiles gently. I am transformed into yet another child of the Creator of us all. My soul knows only wonder at this exquisite moment - wonder, and aching longing to meet the understanding gaze of Hashem, Whose presence I feel right here with me in the blackness of the night.

Many heartbeats pass in silence.

Clouds lazily drift past the moon and my babies both nod off to sleep. Weary, at peace, I push the heavy double carriage through the desolate streets. Soft breezes kiss my face. I really am too tired to go on alone. So Hashem meets me, encourages me, walks me all the way home.