Thoughts After Having a Daughter

Spending Shabbos at a hospital. Not the most ideal place to spend the weekend.

But it turned out to be oddly enjoyable. Calming. Comforting.

We were there with our new baby daughter.

As I wrote earlier, we experienced an emergency at birth. Turns out, it was more of an emergency than I’d thought.

“The tightest cord around a neck I’d ever seen” isn’t a comforting thing to hear coming from your midwife.

Where do we go with that info?

Thanks to hashem that all is ok. That’s all I got.

So I proceed to walk on Shabbos morning to the happening minyan at Chabad of Evanston with Rabbi Meir Hecht.

All planned out. Alcohol bought.

I walk from hospital to downtown Evanston.

And I’m cruising.

I name my baby Naomi Eliana. For Pleasantness. Beauty. And for the God that has answered our prayers.

We dance. We smile.

A few minutes later, I notice a lady on the other side of the mechitza who’d congratuled me.

She looked familiar. I knew that face.

Shalom, is it her?

That’s Judith Raanan, the first hostage to be released after October 7.

Literally a walking miracle.

She later wished me and my growing family brachos.

I get up to speak, stutter and all. I stutter good!

But I’m determined.

I share that here we are, in the heart of Anti-Israel land, celebrating Judaism. Celebrating life.

(I must be honest. I paused this writing to comfort Naomi, who woke up my son Elisha. It’s the big leagues, Goodman. Batter up)

My son Elisha, named for the IDF warrior and father of six, who died in battle.

Us celebrating our birth amongst a walking miracle in Judith.

We live on. Literally.

As I go back to the hospital, I debate internally: wear the talis out or hide it?

I choose the former.

Heckuva wise choice.

As I walk down the hall, an elderly woman being carted down looks up and smiles and goes: “good shabbos”.

Bam. Goodman. Stay proud. Don’t you dare hide.

We ain’t going anywhere.