I looked at my husband. “Let’s just wait another few minutes.”
I looked at the clock. It was 10 minutes before the Jerusalem siren signaling the oncoming Shabbat. My daughter’s sisters and sister-in-law would now be lighting their Shabbat candles. But it was still 20 minutes before shekiyah, and 40 minutes before Shabbat would officially begin.
“OK,” my husband agreed. “Just a few more minutes. I’ll daven Minchah here.”
I went back into the labor room, as the midwife’s encouraging words accompanied the birth’s final stage.
The minutes ticked by. There was a fraction of a second blackout, as the hospital’s electricity system changed to the Shabbat mode. I knew we couldn’t wait any longer.
I kissed my daughter and, trying hard to hide my emotions, wished her a safe birth and a healthy baby. My husband and I rushed to the elevators. They too were already on the slow Shabbat mode, so my husband ran down the stairs to meet me with the car at the hospital’s entrance.
As I entered the elevator my cell phone rang. “Mazel Tov, Bubbie, you have a beautiful grandson.” My son-in-law’s voice was almost a whisper.
My daughter came on the line and said “Mazel Tov, Mummy. I’m so sorry you missed it.”
“I’m not,” I answered her through my tears. “What is there to be sorry for? We’ve just become billionaires and I’m just so very grateful to Hashem for your baby’s safe arrival.”
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