Shabbat is... I lack words. Perhaps it’s best just to say Shabbat is. Mom is napping when I going to minyan Friday night. I leave dinner in the oven. We eat quietly. It’s calm and nice. Mom’s not feeling well in the morning. She says she wants to go with me, and I’m sure she believes it. But minyan was never her thing, and I believe she doesn’t really want to be there. There I’m accepted as part of the minyan now. Everyone looks for me to arrive. I think they will miss me when I leave.
I wrote in an earlier post about the waves of emotion that ebb and flow, at times cresting like a tidal wave. The trip home is like that. While away our Permanent Resident cards expire. I need to enter through immigration instead of passport control. The guard asks me about why I left before my new card arrived. As I explain, I begin crying again. Then I try to explain how these moments come and go. Now I'm laughing while crying. The poor guard lets me leave quickly.
The first minyan at home. I sort of dread entering our shul, Pride of Israel. Everyone wants to talk to me, though some hold back, seeming to realize I'm somewhat overwhelmed. Tears come, but do not escape my eyes. Monday morning I'm at Beth Emeth. Only a few people know me. It's a little easier. Tears still threaten, but it's getting easier.