Sometime after the Mashiach was born, I returned to the nursery to see a child whose parent was a Palestinian, born so close to where I had once lived in northern Yerushalayim that we spent part of the visit comparing notes to see whether we had ever driven past each other’ s homes or eaten in the same cafes. We shared joy in the baby’ s birth and good health, and laughter over a favorite saying of mine, taught to me by an Iraqi friend and co-worker:“ When you take us out of the Middle East, we’ re all a little bit less crazy.” We even made a promise to seek peace for the sake of my children and that baby.
Two hours later, a heavily armed man not from the Middle East, but from Western Pennsylvania, proved us all wrong. He murdered eleven of my friends, neighbors, and co-workers, and injured several more, as they prayed and studied Torah. My sons and I huddled together on lockdown a few blocks away, wondering if we were next on his list.
During the agonizing year of mourning and recovery that followed, I lingered in the newborn nursery every chance I could. I held each baby longer and smiled at each new parent a few extra times. It was therapy, the only thing that worked during that time.
The Talmud refers in multiple places to hevlei Mashiach – the birthpangs of the mashiach. Unlike in Christianity, there is no miracle in this birth – our redeemer will be born the same way as every other human baby. The most famous of the kinot, mournful liturgical poems, for Tisha B’ Av, Eli Tzion, opens with the comparison“ Tzion and her cities, like a woman in labor.” Even at the height of a catastrophe, then, there is a baby on the way. In the words of Psalm 102:14,“ You will arise and comfort Tzion, for it is time to show her favor – the time has come( ki va mo’ ed).”
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