Anat Brusilovsky
Yesterday my daughters brought home from school a calendar for the new year, 5782.
There was nothing unusual about that—every year they bring home a calendar and hang it on the wall.
And yet there is nothing more touching than a new calendar. I went over to look at it and was stunned: every square on the calendar had the name of one of the students written in it, with a balloon drawn next to her name.
This year, the school administration decided to mark the birthdays of all the girls at the school on the calendar. Seemingly nothing unusual—365 days, 200 names—but I stood there, studying those names, and experienced a sweet feeling I could not put a name to.
I carried that unidentified feeling with me all day, until the sun began to sink toward sunset. When it was time for the afternoon prayer, I opened my siddur and saw the additions for the 10 Days of Repentance. I saw them—and understood everything.
I understood that it was a feeling of belonging. Of being part of something large and whole. Of being written into a book. Preferably the Book of Life.
The open prayer book was still in my hands, the sun in the window across from me was sinking lower and lower, and there was only one thought in my head: "Almighty, write me in, please, write me in."
And, as always happens, after these lofty thoughts, another thought came to mind—a slightly mischievous one.
I remembered how, quite recently, someone had taught me a bit of "Moscow" slang: to "write someone in."
They told me then: "Anat, to write someone in means to let them stay."
I suddenly remembered that yesterday and turned to the Almighty again: "Creator, please write me in! Let me live! Fill my sails with wind! Show me the right path, please. Warm me with Your warmth. Paint the sky in shades of orange, yellow, and pink!"
I asked for this and felt my whole being fill with an unmistakable feeling—love. Love for Him and love for life...
And that is what I wish for all of you.