People often stumble upon my website, HealingPsalm.com, as they are searching a variety of topics. Over the years, a number of people have contacted me to whisper or to exclaim their religious quests: discovery of Jewish ancestors, the need to find spiritual comfort, a longing newly satisfied by study. But cyperspace is not enough. To all, I urge they seek a community to ground their explorations.

Because my husband bought a car from his colleague, Joel, I met Joel’s wife Laura, who came with him to drop off the car. Laura and I discovered a common love for poetry writing and spirituality: she had read my work. Had I found a new friend? Because the new car needed to be insured, I discovered that our carrier had erroneously deleted our other car from coverage when our daughter’s car’s policy was transferred to California. So if my husband hadn’t bought another car…

The daughter of a first cousin was killed last week in one of those terrible freak accidents that defy understanding. Walking with her two young daughters to their mailbox, a neighbor’s car slipped into gear, rolled down the slope and crushed her. She managed to push her daughters to safety. I feel unprepared to write or even to think about the death of a child. How can such a thing happen?

Ten years ago, my friend Beth became the school secretary at Beth Emet The Free Synagogue. We had first thought of sharing the position, but my physical realities got in the way. Beth did more than take a job. She created systems and customs that helped Hyma Levin, the Director of Education, build the Religious School into an outstanding program. Beth is leaving to pursue a master’s degree. She should be proud of what she helped to establish.

Seven weeks after his heart attack and coronary artery bypass graft surgery, my husband, Reid began the formal phase of cardiac rehabilitation. Three times a week, he will exercise at the hospital with monitors and supervision. The cliché says that a heart attack is a “wake up call;” Reid heard the summons and changed his eating habits and started taking daily walks. I am grateful for his determination and for his improving health.

A forwarded email from Jonathan Friendly, the editor at the Jewish Community newsletter, revealed a need of painfully increasing frequency. The correspondent wrote that newspapers had reported the destruction of her childhood synagogue, Derech Emunah in Rockaway Beach, New York. Arson was suspected; arson attempts had been made twice before. Were there appropriate prayers, she wondered, for the loss of a synagogue?

This year, Reid and I completed a journey on the day before Shavuot. We marked four weeks since his coronary artery bypass graft surgery. To me, this coincidental confluence had to have a deeper meaning. Perhaps as our people realized the new duties they accepted at Sinai, so we, too, have grown to understand the life changes that will provide the guidelines for Reid’s renewed health.

Our daughter, E.G., has been with us this week. She and her husband, Mario, returned from visiting his family in Naples, Italy last Friday. He continued on to their home in California; E.G. stayed to take care of Reid and me. Despite the reason for her presence, it has been a week that affirms my delight in her maturity and in the rightness of her marriage.

I am discovering the privilege of being the caretaker. I am finding my strength in the daily tasks that are enhancing my husband’s recovery from heart attack and coronary artery bypass surgery two weeks ago. Reid is doing well, taking longer and longer walks, paying attention to his diet. It feels good to care for him.

On the twenty-first day of the Omer, my husband’s heart attacked him. The following day, he underwent coronary bypass surgery. Reid is strong and is healing well; we expect him to come home before Shabbat. We count the hidden blessings: he realized he was ill while at work, Evanston Hospital. Without even a moment of delay, the situation was in hand. In a week, we would have been on an airplane to Italy to join E.G. and Mario. My years of illness have taught me that God’s hand is present in the details of mazal, the positive “what ifs” that soften the decree.