Inspirational

By honoring both father and mother, we learn to connect and develop a relationship with G‑d.

Motherhood is intense. It’s continuous. It evolves and adapts and changes all the time.

My eyes closed and focused within, and my breathing deep, I noticed myself in the midst of a family conversation.

How can a parent fully explain their love for their child?

A friend once smiled at my children and at me, then said, “You don’t have to have, like, a million kids.”

It blew my mind on this flight when five people went out of their way to help me on the airplane. Five strangers went out of their way to make my journey more comfortable—five humans who showed care and empathy and tried to make my full hands that little bit less full.

We’ll get there. That seems to be the motto of the day for me.

The emotion I felt surprised me; there in this small room so full of holiness was my little boy, not so little anymore.

I gather snacks and drinks, and we set out to discover the wildflower frenzy that has so many in their grip.

“I hate meat!” he wailed. Soon, his sister and younger brother were crying hysterically, too. “We don’t like meat! We won’t eat meat!” they wailed. Picture a room full of crying kids all under the age of 8, and you’ll get the picture.

The lightbulb went on, and it was blinding. For the first time, I had an inkling into my inability to express helplessness, which fueled my desire to armor up.

The radio stations had gotten fuzzy in a stretch of the road dotted with farmland and so to make conversation, I asked: “OK, everyone. What’s your favorite Jewish holiday and why?”

At the start of our marriage, my husband and I were optimistic that my hope to be blessed with a large family would be fulfilled.

Her left hand, abnormal in its growth of three fingers due to ABS (amniotic band syndrome), has come up in conversation now and then in the last two years.

I started questioning myself recently. I started questioning my purpose, my aspirations (or lack thereof) and where my life was headed.

A pregnant belly is always fodder for anyone and everyone’s input. Funny thing is, the comments are mostly predictable and almost always along the same lines.

I wanted to comfort her, to give her hope and let her know that this is how it starts sometimes.

I thought perfection was the goal. I was young and naive.

Was it less than a week ago that she made her appearance in our world? The world of laughter and tears, triumphs and fears?

Think for yourself; don’t rely on me; be aware of G-d; people are more important than things; don’t waste your precious energy on worry . . .

I knew that the way I was feeling was not the kind of parent I wanted to be. I wanted to rediscover the enjoyment in parenting.

For the first time since my marriage almost five years ago, I embarked on an airplane journey alone.

Gleeful, you’d pounce on the toothpaste, shampoo, shaving cream—somehow you’d inevitably find the food coloring, too.

I can relate to my daughter’s occasional all-or-nothing attitude.

I watched him as he danced, admiring his strong sense of self and sweet inhibition, appreciating his spirit.

The night I was driven to confront myself, I was standing in front of a room filled to capacity.

I was the first Jew that she ever met. She was the first German that I ever met.

“I have been searching for laughter and joy and happiness all day,” said the queen.

People constantly ask me about what happened, and how I reacted when I saw it.

There is a lot of pressure, from within and from without, to be the perfect mother, or an excellent mother, when being even just a good mom seems elusive and confounding.

How Israelis love kids, anyone’s kids. The country is a free-for-all for the youngest set, something I truly appreciated only once I started bringing my own children there.

Five to ten minutes of stopping what I am doing and refocusing. Five to ten minutes a day of sitting or walking and listening, really listening. Five to ten minutes a day of connecting. How sweet, how nice! Is the stutter a problem, or is it a gift?

How do I manage as the mother of a big family? You might think I ignore the little things, keep my composure, remain calm, overlook the small infractions, and always “let it go.” How else can a large family function?

I bought two baskets of the hard kiwis, thinking that within a few days they would be ripe and ready to eat. I was wrong.

I observe a mom next to me, looking over at her son caressing a dog. He is two; the dog is not his own.

How do I express gratitude? How do I feel the appropriate amount? How do I make sense of the fact that two years later I don’t hold her close often enough, or feel sufficient thanks in her presence?

Okay, so maybe I was looking a little harried that day . . .

As long as I’m rocking the cradle, Baby is serene. The moment I stop, though, he starts fussing and whimpering, and eventually hollering. And so, I continue to rock.

My sweet piece of heaven was born with a cleft lip palate and three short fingers on her left hand. She had a literal hole in her face.

Those demanding, precious, wonderful, sometimes incessant and annoying, beautiful young teens—they’re gone.

Who in the world isn’t suffering?

Messing up is part of life. You don’t always get everything right in any realm of life, and certainly not in something so complex and delicate as raising a child.

It's the first time I’ve left home, left my children, for a week-long course that will give me a tremendous amount of skills and tools to use in my practice.

As we began to ride we heard the sirens. First one, quickly followed by another, then another, until their wailing filled the streets and pierced the skies. As each ambulance passed, my contractions grew more intense

I find myself praying and talking to Him like never before, finding the great relief of putting all my fears in His hands. I want the birth of this baby to highlight my journey to know myself and G‑d's presence in me...

Exhausted and breathless, I couldn’t sing anymore. But I didn’t have to; the first cry of the baby as he emerged into the world was a beautiful song in itself...

I couldn’t help wondering: what if the siren goes off while we’re on the way to the hospital, or during the birth?

I am ready to fall into a new dimension of birthing—the spiritual one, rather then the medical--physical model. For myself, I know that means a natural birth, one where I experience and feel every single part of it...

G‑d is not petty. He is not telling Eve that she will be stressed out by the incessant whining and fighting of her children. The curse of raising children is deeper.The curse of Eve is teng ai, pain and love – her mother love. G‑d is telling Eve that she will spend the rest of her days worrying about the fruits of her womb...

It is painful, exciting, scary, unbelievable. There is no turning back. We were created to create, and it is time...

I trudged through those first three months, and transformed from someone who felt truly blessed into a hormonal wreck who questioned whether or not she was ready for another child...

If past experiences are correct, these feelings will accompany me for a number of months. Nine, in total, to be precise...

The creation of the cosmos can be seen in the allegorical context of G‑d giving birth to the world...

Everyone can become a “mother.” What comes naturally to the female half of creation can be learned and assimilated by all, and not only in giving birth to children, but in every one of life’s endeavors.

This time I was hoping for a painless birth. I know this sounds impossible, but I had been reading about a way of birthing in which the mom is so relaxed that she has no concept of time, of anything...

Childbirth, perhaps more than any other life event, is an experience that demands a strong dose of faith and surrender. No matter how well planned or organized we may be, the inevitable moment will arise...

I am constricted, I am uncomfortable, I am in pain. I am in exile from my body, my emotions and my true state of being. I am anxious and annoyed and annoying. I am actually experiencing galut for the first time

I have come so far. I have not enjoyed the suffering, or the unrest, yet I have accepted that it will come to an end, a glorious end that will create a beautiful new beginning.

It may be a truism that no person has ever declared on their deathbed, "I wish I'd spent more time at the office," but I guarantee neither has anyone ever said, "I wish I'd had fewer children.

“I have a friend called Sarah,” said the woman on the other end of the line. “She’s pregnant and says she can’t afford another child, so she decided to have an abortion . . .”

Plucking a child out of his or her native environment is very traumatizing for the child. But sometimes the child's very life depends on it. Here's what you can do to ease the transition...

Less than ten minutes elapsed from the time my waters broke to when the baby was born, so there was no time to panic, no time to be afraid or think about anything other than what was happening in the moment. But a few hours later, as I was relaxing and reliving the experience, I could not help but be amazed at the power that G‑d has given us women . . .

After I dropped off the 5 full garbage bags of 'give-aways' at a local charity this morning, I cleaned out, wiped down, sorted out, and re-stocked our 3 door-bathroom chest. I'm in my 9th month of pregnancy and I've got the nesting instinct big time...

It is not only the mother that physically houses the fetus, nourishing it, caring for it and helping it develop, but just as the mother brings forth this life from within her, so too, she spiritually gives her baby life and identity. This is why the baby's Jewishness can come from no one other than his or her mother.

It's been two years. Two years of holding my son close to my heart and feeding him from the milk that flowed forth from my body. Two years of sleepless nights and exhausted days...

My nausea often renders me incapacitated for hours, even days on end, to which vomiting provides no lasting relief. My days are stained by actual or anticipated smells, and opening the refrigerator has become an act of bravery...

What I encounter is a matter of life and death. Not death as an end, but as non-life, a state of dormancy. The potential for life is unexpressed. It is curled up, head lying lifeless between its knees. Complete in formation, but inactive and unthinking...

I gaze at you adoringly, my beautiful baby, and I wonder if I was ever this loved, this cherished. I’m sure that I wasn’t.

No doctor or healer can tell you when you will become pregnant or when a treatment will work—it is purely in G-d’s hands.

I did go to graduate school, got married, had children, and accomplished many important things. But I came to realize that, indeed, my own worth was determined by G‑d and not by letters after my name, or anything else.

Watching my tiny baby receive high doses of oxygen just to keep him breathing definitely gave me a true appreciation for every breath.

The pregnancy flew by and I found myself in labor. Frida Tamar, my daughter, was born, another blessing, another miracle. Why then did I find myself crying every night?

I have made a communion with my body and my soul. They are functioning as one whole. Every movement I make and sound I emit comes from a place so deep and innate, so primal, I know I have crossed worlds...

I listened, said goodbye, and then thought about it. Was I trying to control the situation because of my strong views and adamant stance towards natural childbirth?

Although I had never had a child, I had a sense that birth was supposed to be more than just a medical procedure, but the threshold through which women are refined into mothers...