THE BALTIMORE JEWISH HOME
DECEMBER 28, 2017
90
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ting go of. Ever since my accident, I struggled with allowing others to help me. I was forced to accept the fact that I couldn’t do a lot of things I’d previously been able to do. So whatever I could do, whatever was in my control, I desperately wanted to hold on to. How was I supposed to improve my bitachon if I wasn’t fully willing to give it in the first place? I sighed. “Ready for a bath, Yehuda?” An hour later, Raphael walked in to see a freshly-bathed baby playing happily on the floor and me dozing on the couch. “I think something’s burning,” my husband said, hanging the car keys on their hook. “That’ll be the kugel,” I yawned. Raphael hurried into the kitchen, and soon I smelled the delicious aroma of warm potato kugel. “Saved it!” Raphael called. “Thanks!” I began shifting from the couch to my wheelchair. “Shabbos wouldn’t be complete without potato kugel.” “Nah, as long as we’ve got cholent it’s fine,” Raphael said, coming back into the living room. I froze. “Cholent.” “Yeah, cholent.” “Raphael, the cholent.” “What, is it burning, too?” He sniffed. “It can’t be burning if I didn’t make it!” “Oh.” We looked at each other. “Do I have enough time for it all to be cooked before Shabbos?” I asked, looking at the clock on the wall. “It’s a small crockpot, and I can put it on high until Shabbos comes in.”
“Yeah, for sure,” said Raphael, also checking the time. “Need help?” “Just with watching Yehuda. Gosh, I can’t believe I forgot the cholent!” I started for the kitchen as Raphael sat down on the floor to play with Yehuda. I hurriedly put together the cholent, turning the crockpot on high. Then I showered and dressed and took over baby watch so Raphael could get ready. It was one of those best moments of the week. The house was filled with delicious aromas, everything was neat and orderly, and I felt calm and peaceful as Shabbos approached. I took a deep breath and let it out, wondering what life would be like if it was always this perfect. “I’m off to shul! Don’t forget the crockpot!” Raphael plunked his hat on his head and headed for the door. “Thanks!” I hollered after him. I placed Yehuda in his exersaucer, then hurried to turn the cholent on low. I made sure all the stove tops were off, just in case my scattered brain had overlooked this previously. Then I glanced around, making sure everything was under control. Control. “Hashem has it all under control.” I raised my arms to increase dramatic effect. “Hashem, it’s in Your hands!” Then I went to light candles. For Shabbos lunch, we were forced to eat only challah, deli roll, and salad. The crock pot had somehow ceased to work the night before. Raphael would have eaten the cholent anyway if I hadn’t been concerned about it being spoiled. But I got the message.