When baby number two was born, and Yedidya was just 21 months old, I suddenly had to learn to play a whole new game. The game was called Who Needs Me More Right Now.
Infant Tzion is fussing in his chair, while Yedidya is trying to pour milk into a glass cup he somehow managed to get off the counter. Who wins?
Ding Ding. Yedidya wins. I walk over and gently hold the glass so he can learn independence – something I’m big on – without my having to deal with shattered glass all over the floor.
Next situation: Tzion just woke up from his nap and has a dirty diaper. Yedidya and I are in the middle of reading a book. Who wins?
Ding Ding. This time Tzion wins.
One more: We are at the park, and Yedidya wants to be pushed on the swing, but Tzion wants to be picked up? Who wins?
Ding Ding. This is why baby carriers were invented. Tzion gets strapped on, and my hands are free to push Yedidya high into the blue Jerusalem skies.
As a mother, when my children need something, whether that something is a thing or simply my presence, my current mission in life is to be there to fulfill their needs. As a Jew, when Israel needs something, whether that something is a thing, like money or bulletproof vests, or simply my presence, my mission at this point in history is to respond to her needs.
Hashem gave me, little me, the gift of living in the Land my ancestors turned towards every day in prayer, and could only dream of seeing. Today, countless people around the world are de-validating our claim – yours and mine, and that of our children and grand-children – to our homeland. Be it by their actions or their words, Israel is threatened.
When someone you love is in pain, you run to their side. Israel is in pain right now. So today, I’m going to the shuk to do my weekly produce shopping, taking my sons to Tipat Chalav for their vaccinations, and watching the kids laughing with glee on the jumping castles set up at the yeshiva next door. This is my part of the battle. Waking the kids up at midnight and running downstairs to the bomb shelter might be scary, but at least I feel like I am in the right place, along with all my brothers and sisters, refusing to let Hamas scare us out of our homeland.
The shopping in the shuk, the rainbow of Jewish skin colors on the train, the park, where an endless stream of Hebrew-speaking, kippa-of-all-sorts-wearing kids come to play, is part of history unfolding beneath our feet and right in front of our eyes. Walking, riding, shopping, playing; this is my way of saying I love this holy Land and I appreciate the gift. Here I am.
Yet, 10 days from now, I will be boarding a plane with my husband and our two little boys. We are traveling to the States to visit family we have not seen in over two years, and to introduce five great-grandparents to their new grandson, who is not coincidentally named Tzion.
This is a new twist on the game of Who Needs Me More Right Now. It’s gut-wrenching to feel with the deepest conviction in the world that my mission is to be in Israel, and yet get up and leave at this volatile moment. However, for now, I’ve decided that my grandparents – my children’s great-grandparents – need us more than the Land does. Am I making the right decision? Who knows? I hope I am, but just as I second guess myself when I have to attend to one child over the other, I am second guessing myself now.
That’s what happens when you have two loves.
Ditzah Apisdorf Kampf grew up in Baltimore and now lives in Kiryat Moshe, in Yerushalayim.
