A mother always knows...

I think my mother is more intuitive than most. She has this way of reading people, of sensing things, somehow, she just…knows. A few posts ago I wrote about my little day of near-misses—the truck barreling down the street, the sherut slamming on its breaks, etc. I found out the night before that happened my mom had a dream that I’d stepped out onto the street and almost got hit by a car, and in her dream she grounded me for a week. But she was so shaken from the dream she woke up and said prayers for me at dawn, and that was the day I had all my brushes with danger.

So last weekend on Naw-Ruz, the whole bomb thing happened. Even though I blogged about it, my parents don’t read my blog, and I opted not to tell them about it so as not to worry them. So a few nights ago I was talking to my mom on the phone and she very casually brought it up. How did you know, I asked? She said someone in Puerto Rico sent her the article about the car full of explosives at the mall in Haifa and somehow she knew that I had been there. (Someone else later confirmed this, though she won’t tell me who). She said that day, that Naw-Ruz, all day she was sad, and she kept telling my dad, “I miss Nava. I miss her so much today.” And after they left their Naw-Ruz celebration at the Jardin Botanico she said she had this awful feeling in her gut and she said several protection prayers for me, for God to protect me. And that was the day the bomb did not detonate, did not kill or injure me or my friends or the thousands of other Israelis at the mall. Was it because of my mom’s prayers? I don’t know; who knows. But it’s weird how interconnected we are; how strong our bonds are; and how somehow, a mother always knows. Or, at least, my mother always knows.

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Even though you don't read this, I love you Momma jan.