Perfection is the enemy of growth.

That is a lesson I never expected to learn so deeply. For many years, I was too busy searching for myself to realize that growth often comes through imperfection.

When we are young, we often believe we can face the world with one fist raised and open arms ready to embrace every possibility. In youth, there seems to be no room for impossibilities. The future feels wide open. Motherhood feels distant, almost abstract—something that belongs to another stage of life.

We fill ourselves with the certainty that we can become everything we dream of, without truly imagining failure. And HaShem often remains only a distant concept as we move through the journey of life.

But as we grow, life presents situations that force us to confront our own fragility. Suddenly we realize that failure exists, and with that realization comes disappointment. Yet very few of us are taught to see life as a process of learning and refinement. Instead, we often see it simply as a road we must walk through.

To me, that is what a life with a dormant relationship with HaShem looks like.

For many years, that was my relationship with Him.

Mitzvot and davening were things I knew I was supposed to do. I did them, but they held little meaning for me at the time. My connection with HaShem was occasional and distant.

Then I met my husband, and slowly I began to glimpse how much HaShem truly loved me. But even then, I did not fully understand it. In truth, I did not yet have a real relationship with myself. I was a neshamah wandering lost in many ways within my inner world without even realizing it.

The only thing I knew was that I was searching for a kind of perfection that I believed the world expected from me—though I did not even fully understand what that perfection was.

Then my firstborn son, Eliel, was born.

Looking back, I believe that this was the moment when the real work of my neshamah began.

As I felt new life growing within me, I began to realize that I needed to care for myself in ways I never had before. I was carrying a neshamah entrusted to my husband and me by HaShem. The thought was both humbling and overwhelming.

Soon there would be a child completely dependent on me.

As the time of his birth approached and everything was prepared to welcome him home, I felt a new urgency to turn toward HaShem. But this time, my prayers were different. I was no longer asking for my own needs. I was asking for the well-being of the beautiful soul growing inside of me.

The day of his birth arrived in a way I did not expect, but I remember it as if it were yesterday.

Giving birth is perhaps one of the most beautiful—and most vulnerable—moments in a woman’s life. When a mother finally holds her child in her arms, a new journey begins. It is a journey filled with deep love, true selflessness, vulnerability, uncertainty, exhaustion, and constant reliance on HaShem.

No one is born knowing how to be a parent. Nurturing another soul is something we learn slowly, day by day.

“שלושה שותפין באדם: הקדוש ברוך הוא, אביו ואמו.” “There are three partners in the creation of a person: HaShem, the father, and the mother.” — ( Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Niddah 31a)

When one truly reflects on this teaching, parenting becomes a sacred partnership with HaShem.

At first, the challenges seem simple: learning how to change diapers, bathe a newborn, soothe a baby, and survive the exhaustion of sleepless nights. Yet even these simple tasks can feel overwhelming for a new mother.

But sometimes the challenges become something deeper.

There were moments when my son showed signs of distress—difficulty sleeping, intense tantrums, and unusual sensitivity to sound. As he grew, other signs appeared: sensory issues with food, sensitivity to noise, difficulty with social interaction, isolation, developmental delays, and repetitive patterns of behavior that seemed endless.

Deep inside, I felt that something was different. Something was telling me these were red flags. But I did not know what questions to ask or where to turn.

In those rare quiet moments that new mothers sometimes have, I would simply cry out to HaShem and ask the Healer of all healers:

“What do I do? I am scared.”

Sometimes a prayer that comes from the deepest part of the heart counts as if one has prayed for hours.

As King David writes:

“קָרוֹב ה׳ לְכָל־קֹרְאָיו לְכֹל אֲשֶׁר יִקְרָאֻהוּ בֶאֱמֶת.” “HaShem is close to all who call upon Him—to all who call upon Him in truth.” — (Tehillim 145:18)

It is precisely in those moments of raw honesty and vulnerability that we begin to find our way back to Him.

Eventually, the day came when my son’s pediatrician said words that would change my life:

“Your son is on the autism spectrum.”

With a certain innocence—and perhaps a bit of misunderstanding—he added that my son might “grow out of it.” But autism is not something one simply grows out of. It is a lifelong neurodevelopmental condition that involves differences in communication, social interaction, and patterns of behavior, with varying levels of support needs.

Looking back, I understand that the doctor was trying to comfort me. Yet that moment became the beginning of my commitment to autism awareness.

My son Eliel possesses tremendous intellectual abilities. But his autistic traits sometimes made the world around him overwhelming. With HaShem’s help, he has grown in extraordinary ways—from avoiding interaction with others and avoiding eye contact to speaking with people and engaging with them in meaningful ways.

For many people, social interaction may seem simple. But for many autistic children, it can feel like living in a world whose language they do not understand.

Imagine living in a place where the rules make no sense. Where sounds are magnified many times over. Where ordinary noises feel overwhelming.

Would that not be terrifying?

During the early years of my son’s life, I rarely left the house. Even the sound of our car’s motor—or the air conditioning—was overwhelming for him. The sound of ice being placed into a cup could feel to him as if it were amplified through a loudspeaker.

Those years were incredibly difficult.

And yet, I would not trade them for anything.

Because every small milestone in my son’s life felt like a miracle. In those moments, I discovered a connection with HaShem that I had never experienced before. I learned gratitude on a deeper level.

And in moments of grief, I learned what it truly means to surrender to HaShem.

Sometimes that surrender comes with questions. Sometimes with uncertainty. But over time, one learns to find peace even when the end of the tunnel is not yet visible.

“לְפוּם צַעֲרָא אַגְרָא.” “According to the effort is the reward.” — (Pirkei Avot 5:23)

Every step, even the smallest one, becomes part of the soul’s journey back to its Creator.

Through this journey, I began to understand something profound: sometimes our children are placed in our lives not only so we can guide them—but so they can guide us.

The love a parent feels for a child is perhaps the closest human reflection of the love HaShem feels for His creations.

Later, the birth of my second son, Yaron, brought a period of quiet joy. Yet in hindsight, I see that it was also preparing me for the deeper work ahead.

Five years later, HaShem blessed me with another pregnancy. My third son, Yonadav, entered my life through a pregnancy filled with fear, uncertainty, and constant prayer. But most importantly, I understood that a soul never stops learning and refining itself. That thought gives me peace until this day.

When he was born, I experienced one of the most vulnerable moments of my life. I found myself standing between life and death, pleading with HaShem for another chance. I reminded Him that I was the mother of a special needs child and two beautiful boys who needed me deeply.

At that moment, I made a promise.

If HaShem allowed me to live—to continue being a wife and mother—I would dedicate myself to helping others understand how precious life truly is and how important it is to return to Him.

That promise eventually gave birth to Jewish Posh Living Magazine.

Through it, I hoped to share a message: that it is never too late to reconnect with HaShem. That every soul matters. And that even if only one person is touched by that message, it is enough.

“כל המקיים נפש אחת מישראל כאילו קיים עולם מלא.” “Whoever sustains one soul of Israel is considered as if he sustained an entire world.” — (Sanhedrin 37a)

One action can create a chain reaction through which HaShem fulfills His purpose in the world.

Every child’s soul journey is unique and unrepeatable.

Walking alongside my son Yonadav has taught me what true compassion means. He has taught me patience, surrender, and respect for each person’s individual path.

Each person has their own pace of healing and growth.

Sometimes what appears to be weakness is actually hidden strength.

Through my children, HaShem continues to guide me on my own journey back to Him—with all its ups and downs. And I have come to realize that even the difficult moments are reminders of how beautifully dependent we are on Him.

And I would not want it any other way.

Today, my son Yonadav gives me the strength to help other families who are walking similar paths. My hope is that perhaps I can offer them something simple but meaningful:

A place of understanding.

And the reassurance that they are not alone.

Sometimes the most powerful words we can offer another parent are simply:

“I see you. I understand. And you are not alone.”

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)