What is,
That everyone continues to behave as usual, and you have gone through something, which is not normal at all.
You speak normally, and look normal, and go back and forth to seven blessings, normal, and as if functioning, and know that thousands of people have gone through it before you. We married, we married children, do not see you,
But you do not understand how everyone continues to behave the world as usual. People go to work, and bring children to kindergarten, buy milk, pay property taxes.
People cross roads and walk on sidewalks, pick up packages from the post office, buy nuts.
And with you,
The mirrors look different, with you the time is currently working differently.
The sky is different in their azure color, the plants, the cars, the seller in the store, everything moves differently, the pace is different, the wind moves different leaves.
Your children are talking to you and you do not understand what they want from you, what they want to say.
Everything seems strange.
The dresses of the event are tossed on some hanger, the ones you kept a week ago like a fancy etrog in a hard bag with Rich Rich, so they don’t get dirty and wrinkle.
On the side are thrown the shoes of joy, the ones you went with at the event, the ones you fell off and got hit, real what I write, a painful hit. They are gathered there in the corner of the room, you probably have a little desire for revenge in them. Again they threw at you, looking beautiful and matching in color but lying in their comfort and hurting in painful places.
What are these days, that “flashbacks” of photos come to you from the event.
Pictures that come, each from its own angle.
What is it, these strange days, that all the other arrangements are being pushed aside. See a doctor you must, but also not terrible if you do not go, a plumber you have arranged with, but for both of you it is not really urgent, and really not comfortable.
and you?
You have to get back to being you, to function, to work, to write, to talk.
But you are a person in shock.
You need to clean for Passover, but do not recognize what a rag looks like.
You are supposed to work in your usual cleaning order, the one that starts every year in the completely chametz-free closet under the sink in the bathroom, there is no more edge than it for Passover, it smells of cosmetics, but you always start and announce, usually, especially yourself, that Passover cleaning ceremonies have begun this. You are supposed to work in your order of cleanliness, the one that drains you at the end, from all the fringe places, at the end to the kitchen, you are not at your own pace, because you are only married, nor at the pace you have forgave yourself in advance. No pace.
And you know all the phrases, of “close closets and sell,” of “always at the end of a clean mountain,” and they don’t sound convincing at all.
What are these days, that you try to remember if you said nice enough goodbye to everyone who made the effort and came, if you did not forget anyone in the invitations, and what luck that could still be said Corona wedding.
What is it that you have to go back to being a mom with less than one girl.
The one that helps you the most at home.
The one that collects the written words for you.
The one you have done the most hours with in the last few months of errands and wigs, clothes, bags, towels, measurements and soaps.
The one that exploded with laughter when you were already really tired of the tedious shopping trips leading up to the wedding.
The one who asked her a hundred times why nothing should be left after that, and why everything should be ready before the wedding, what would happen if you went together to buy, precisely after, that spoon that you were missing.
The one whose bed was empty when you came back the night after the wedding.
What are these moments, in which the whole world continues, and you remain.
It happens after birth or after hospitalization, or after 7 blessings of a week, or after a powerful Sabbath, or after landing from another country.
And on the one hand you want these moments to last forever, and on the other hand you ask what is happening to you.
On the one hand, she is a blessed lover of routine, the one who finally made it possible, and on the other hand, she is close to adventure. Not every wedding day.
What is this roller coaster, where you have to responsibly supervise so many areas.
What is it that I have so much to do, and I sit and write columns?