Last year, on the first night of Chol Hamoed Sukkos, an intense storm cast five bolts of lightning into the field behind my house. One of them traveled underground, under my neighbor’s house, and slammed through the solid metal cover of my fuse box, starting a fire in my basement. It sounded like a bomb had hit the house. People down the block told me later that they had felt their houses shake from the impact. I was home with my younger four children, while my husband was at shul with my older boys.
We all froze.
Recovering, I told my kids that it sounded like a transformer blew really close by. I didn’t realize at the time that a force of immense power and hotter than the surface of the sun had just penetrated my home.
Upon opening the door to the basement to check on the smell of smoke, I saw flames and immediately got everyone outside. We were out the door – some of us without shoes on our feet – before the smoke alarm even went off. Once outside, I called 911 and brought my children to my neighbor’s house. As thunder continued to growl overhead and countless lightning bolts still streaked across the sky, the fire consumed one room in my basement and then hungrily climbed the stairs to the main floor of the house. At that point, the firemen contained and then put out the fire, but the smoke and water damage had taken their toll. The entire house had to be gutted and its contents discarded, after recording them on a spreadsheet. With the exception of a few items that a restoration company was able to save, we had to start again from nothing.
* * *
It is now a full year since that harrowing evening. I have come full circle, and I reflect.
I have always liked cycles. I like completing a cycle and starting again. I enjoy traveling along a new road for the second time. The first time, I am so concentrated on my destination that I miss the view. The second time, I enjoy the scenery as it passes by the window. After the lightning strike, too, I am taking in every detail.
I also like to learn things over and over again. Regardless of how many years I have looked at the same words in the parsha, the same brachos, the same halachos, I see a new insight, a different view, each time. I know that it is because I, myself, am changing and growing. Each year, I have another year’s worth of experiences that have influenced me and shifted my perception ever so slightly, such that my angle of view is a little different than it was the year before.
* * *
And so, I consider the bracha for lightning with new eyes. It strikes me that the words are more true than I had previously realized. Lightning, a very powerful force of nature, carries the bracha “Oseh ma’aseh Breishis,” which alludes to the Creation. The power of lightning, though, is one of extreme destruction. So how could it merit a blessing of creation?
It is not by accident that the lightning struck on Sukkos. The very essence of this Yom Tov is that everything we have is temporary. On Sukkos, we leave the comfort of our houses to dwell in booths as we did when we left Mitzrayim. We often think, erroneously, that there is great value in our possessions: the newest cell phones, expensive clothing, sports equipment, etc. Yet Sukkos teaches us that the value of our possessions is illusory, that even the walls of our house do not provide us with protection and security. After 120 years, we can not take with us the items from our closets or the numbers of our bank accounts. We have only the person we built during our lifetime.
My family and I felt that sentiment clearly when we lost everything in one night. We understood that “things” are just “things” and can be replaced – or not replaced. We saw clearly the line between what we “want” and what we “need.” The next morning, we began to put our lives back together, and I understood the bracha for lightning on a new level: “Oseh ma’aseh Breishis” – to actively make a new beginning. The bracha does not focus on what was taken away; rather, it draws our attention to what we should do next: Make a new beginning.
The truth is that we should live every day as if it is a new beginning. Beginnings are powerful and appropriately associated with a force like lightning. Each morning, our most precious possession, our neshama, is returned to us, and we should ask ourselves: What will I do today? How will I make today a new beginning? Every conversation is a new beginning in a relationship, every tefila is a new opportunity to talk to Hashem, every moment of frustration is a new chance to develop our patience. “Oseh ma’aseh Breishis” – when everything else is taken away and we have to accept that our value is not what we have but what we build, we have to ask ourselves: What will I build today?
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Many people told me I shouldn’t worry because everything would turn out for the best. While this is true, it falls short of an important concept. It is not just that everything will be “for the best” in the end, after the reconstruction. It is that every day is itself “for the best.” The day after the fire was the best for us. The day after that, also the best. The following day, still the best. Each day is handcrafted to be the best day to help us grow to our true potential. It’s not just “for the best” 10 months later – once I have a new kitchen; it is “for the best” every day, because our goal with our 120 years is not to live a life free of all challenges. Rather, our goal is to use our challenges to free ourselves from the illusions of this temporary world and maximize each day to progress toward our potential.
The day after the fire, I began a list of all of the people who helped us and in what ways they offered us their assistance. Some brought food, clothes, toys, jackets, and bedding. Others brought hangers, lunch bags, rulers, sefarim, school supplies, and school uniforms. Still others offered their time: going through the contents of our basement, inventorying our sefarim, toiveling new silverare, driving carpools, and helping to prepare for my son’s bar mitzva, which occurred soon after the fire. I lost track after only a few days because there was such an outpouring of help that I couldn’t keep up with the flow from the fountain of chesed.
I am forever grateful to my family, friends, and community for their constant acts of kindness and support. I am grateful to Hashem for keeping my family safe and for giving us the opportunity to “actively make a new beginning.” This entire experience was handpicked for me and my family b’ahava (with love). Hashem, in His infinite wisdom, knows exactly what is best for each of us. After the fire, I was not at all upset or worried – just ready to begin rebuilding.
A year later, the construction is complete, yet we are still building. Each day, we are actively building who we are. Each day, we are actively making a new beginning. We have bought cell phones and clothing and sports equipment; but those are still only just “things.” We have dedicated our home to being a makom Shabbos, a place that honors Shabbos, such that the focus of our entire week is what can we do to enhance our Shabbos. We have opened our newly rebuilt home to be the meeting place of the Baltimore Shidduch Group, so that we can use our home to help others begin theirs. And we are constantly on the lookout for opportunities to give to others – even with just a few words of encouragement or a warm phone call. We have learned firsthand that a lightning strike holds tremendous power – the power of creation – the power to bring us full circle to a new beginning.
Debbie Glazer lives is Pikesville with her husband and seven children and teaches Language Arts in Bnos Yisroel High School. She can often be found either writing or reading and loves to share her passion for the written word with others.
