My third baby seems impatient to be born. According to my doctors, he is ready to come out of my womb anytime. "It's too early", I think. But I have no choice in the matter and must accept this overwhelming reality. I need to get ready to welcome this baby, although nothing is quite ready. My home isn't yet properly equipped, and my own mental readiness is lagging.

Behold! He is born. Such a loud cry coming from such a tiny body. My baby is ready to fight but doesn't know what's in store for him. The midwife snatches him away immediately on her way to the incubator.

Within a few minutes, he is again confined to lie in a sack, an artificial one, less warm and less human. Several wires are attached to his little, defenseless body, which cannot grasp what is happening. He was torn away from a comfortable and reassuring environment and housed in a cold and petrifying plastic box.

My baby is small and vulnerable. The weeks he "saved" by being born early were vital. A few limbs in his little body hadn't enough time to develop. I spend hours next to this plastic box, I do not take my eyes off him, I cry, I pray, and I reflect. In fact, when one spends entire days next to a baby's incubator, one's mind cannot stop thinking.

"My darling, what are you thinking of? You have no notion of day and night. The medical team come and go all the time, yelling instructions and orders in a tone that is noisy and unfriendly. You, who had been rocked in an obscure cocoon, find yourself bedazzled by a blinding light. I surprise myself sometimes, covering your incubator with my scarf, so you may taste the serenity of a dim atmosphere, but soon enough, they take it away. It's not in the norms. You don't hear me, you don't feel me, you who used to live with me in unison. You receive everything that your little body needs, you are nourished by a tube, you get medical treatment, the box's temperature is regulated according to your needs. But your heart is claiming its due.”

I can hear you scream at the top of your lungs: "Mom, where are you? Why did you abandon me? Mom, I am frightened without you, please come back! You told me we would be happy together and that you couldn't wait to be with me. I am here. But where are you? Mom, who are all these people who insert needles on my body and hurt me all day long? Tell them to go! I don't want to suffer. You seemed so happy when I was in your womb, you sang songs and lullabies.  I want to hear you sing again, I want to see you dance, mom. I just want to go home with you!”

I cannot take this any longer. These dreadful people are ordering you to leave me alone every night and I am scared. Mom, please take me home!"

"You cannot see me or hear my voice because it is suffocated by the noise of these machines. All this machinery with sophisticated names overpowers my voice, trying to reassure you. I can tell you that outside life is beautiful; that the world is colorful and scented, that you will soon come home and laugh with your two sisters who are patiently waiting for you; that our embraces and kisses will soon replace this rigid and cold plastic box. That I will soon feed you with the flowing milk of love".

"But I can see that your little eyes are taciturn. They don't understand why, your mom who said she loved you has ushered you into such a frightening world. I am telling you with tears in my eyes and a contrite heart that your present-day suffering is meant to spare you more painful afflictions in the future".

I understand. You don't understand. I know. You don't.

My reflections do not stop at this point. I am beginning to think that, in a way, I feel the same anxieties, the same uncertainty my baby feels, at a different level. In fact, this is what we, the people of Israel feel today, deprived of our Beit Hamikdash, the House of God. Hashem promised us a marvelous world and we face one tragedy after another. Our tears haven't had time to dry from one sorrow to the next. We try to believe in a better world, but a tough reality pokes its ugly head, propelling us into despair. We implore heaven, we would like the Shechinah (divine presence), the feminine aspect of our Creator to have pity on us and reveal itself to us so we can have a taste of perfect happiness.

We repeat our tearful supplications from the dark tunnel of life.

"Hashem, where are you? I am frightened when you leave my side. You promised me such beautiful things, where are they? Why don't you destroy all the enemies that terrorize me? Why do you allow them to hurt me?

Hashem, you told me about a welcoming home, a warm and secure home, why don't you take me there? Don't leave me in this frightening place which I abhor, and which keeps me away from you. I beg of you, please take me home!”

But despite our Father's profound sadness, as He witnesses our pain, He knows that this period of hardship is necessary and that it has been orchestrated for our ultimate benefit. Without it we would be unable to reach the stage of ultimate good and happiness awaiting us.

Today, these frightening moments are behind us. My baby has joined our family and he's understood that all the promises I made when he was in my womb were true and that each day spent among his loving family is better than the previous one and better than anything he could have ever imagined.

Let's hope that we, in turn, may remove the veil from our eyes and be able to witness the revelation of divine providence and bring about the total redemption speedily in our day! Amen V'Amen!