I should be worried — but I’m not.

There was something about today that felt different.

It was Rosh Chodesh Nisan (the beginning of the Hebrew month of Nisan), and I found myself part of an online program where people were saying brachot on the trees and speaking about geula (redemption). I listened to two speakers whose words somehow went straight to my heart.

I don’t even remember everything that was said.

I just remember how it felt.

Overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

At the same time, other things were happening around me. A friend had written something about me that touched me so deeply I found myself in tears. I couldn’t even fully process it — just a sense of gratitude, of being seen, of being exactly where I was supposed to be.

And in the middle of all of this, I noticed something that didn’t make sense on paper.

I don’t have a job yet.

I haven’t sold my apartment.

I don’t know what the outcome will be.

There’s something else I’ve been thinking about.

I know a lot of people who, in this kind of situation, would feel overwhelming anxiety. When things don’t work out the way we expect — when the job isn’t lined up, when the details aren’t in place — it can stop people from stepping into the unknown.

And I remember thinking about that when I was making aliyah.

If I had waited until everything was perfectly in place — until my apartment was sold, until I had a job secured, until all my I’s were dotted and T’s were crossed — I would still be in Canada.

I left knowing none of those things were certain.

I didn’t know how I would land.

I didn’t know how it would feel.

The only thing I knew — without a doubt — was that I wanted to be in Israel.

And even now, being here, I notice the difference.

When people ask me what I do and I tell them I’m currently looking for a job, their response is almost always the same:

“Don’t worry. You’ll find something.”

There’s a calmness in it. A trust.

Whereas I think about how that same conversation might have gone in Toronto, and it would probably sound very different — more concern, more worry, more urgency.

And it makes me realize something.

There’s a different kind of emunah here.

A quiet understanding that if Hashem brought you somewhere, He will take care of you there.

But as something real.

And maybe part of what I’ve been feeling comes from something I’ve held onto over the past few years.

A pasuk that I find myself returning to again and again:

“הַשְׁלֵךְ עַל־ה׳ יְהָבְךָ וְהוּא יְכַלְכְּלֶךָ”

“Cast your burden upon Hashem, and He will sustain you.” (Tehillim 55:23)

Whenever I find myself in a difficult situation, I say something very simple.

Hashem, You brought this to me.

You gave me this challenge.

You need to help me get through it.

To find my way through whatever this moment is.

And somehow, some way…

Because if I’m being honest, I should feel worried.

I feel like Hashem brought me here, and I have no doubt that He will take care of me.

Maybe that’s what Rosh Chodesh Nisan is about.

The quiet sense that something is opening — even before you can fully see it.

And for the first time, instead of needing to understand exactly how everything will work out…

I feel held in the unknown.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)