Yesterday, on Erev Succot, while taking a walk throughout the neighborhood, Raphaela almost got run over by a silver car, right before my eyes. 

Our street, infamous for being impossibly narrow, is hardly fit to take cars in both directions and almost impossible to negotiate by sidewalk, upon which many of the neighbors regularly park said cars.  Drivers take the curve near our house at a dangerous speed, without necessarily paying attention to pedestrians.

I stood there, paralyzed, screaming "No! No! No!" from the deepest part of my soul, experiencing every parent's worse scenario.  Thank God, the driver saw Raphaela and swerved to the side, almost crashing into the man selling flowers for the holiday on the corner of our street.

In between my tears, I held Raphaela tight to my chest, explaining the dangers of cars and trucks, that she must never cross the street without Mommy, and that I love her so much and never want to see her get hurt.

My daughter seemed less traumatized by the event than her mother.  I must remember these feelings of terror and relief in those moments when Raphaela drives me toward insanity.

And so particularly on this day, when Raphaela turns three officially according to both the lunar and solar calendar, I want to thank God for sparing my daughter's life, and for bringing this light-filled joyous child into my life, thus saving me as well.