If Life Were a Book

If life were a book, the inciting incident in our little story would be the earthquake. Then something life changing would occurr as a result. It might be something dreadful, or something heart-warming and ultimately redemptive. But definitely all sorts of interesting sequela and complications would happen. Unfortunately, (or perhaps fortunately), life is not a book. So, nothing much has happened to us since Friday. We have had quite a number of aftershocks. (One just occurred as I was writing this opening sentence. The walls shook a bit. Nothing fell. ) They seem to happen mostly at night, and I wonder if it has to do with the cooling of the earth.

(Okay, another just happened and that one was really big. Some stuff fell over in the kitchen and the hanging light in the middle of the ceiling is swaying. I was just about to write that I was getting kind of use to them, but now my heart is pumping. GeoNet says it was a 3.7 on the Richter scale. Here is a link to see all the aftershocks.
http://www.geonet.org.nz/earthquake/quakes/recent_quakes.html)

Well, my original premise is a bit knocked around with that big aftershock, but it still holds globally. While the city is in crisis, we are not. At least not on the outside.

On the outside, we have met the Jewish community. It is very small. (Portland, you are a thriving Jewish metropolis). We went to a cheder on Sunday morning and they had group of about seven 4-7 year olds there to learn. No older kids. (Of course the city center was blocked off and 3/4 of the city was without power, so I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt). They were a very hamisha crowd, and like our small community, the Chabad, the orthodox, the conservative and the reform are all one family that works together. I am looking forward to Rosh HaShana in two days and meeting the bulk of the community at large.

On the outside, we are still limping toward setting up house here. We are suppose to move in to our new rental on September 11, but the new carpet may be delayed, because it is supposed to arrive by train (so says the carpet place to the landlords) and the train has been shut down while the tracks are inspected. And the power company line is busy whenever I call to set up new service and the message at the phone company says unless it is an emergency, call back on Wedsnday. So, who knows. It ain't about us.

On the outside, we are the same loud, unruly family struggling to find our way with each other as parents and children that has both love, discipline and respect as the underpinnings of our interactions. This is even more obvious a struggle now that we are living in a country of quiet, reserved, respectful individuals. The pressure is on.

On the inside, we are, pardon the pun, a bit shaken. The continued aftershocks are taking their toll, and the clinician in me can't help but see a "wee bit" (as they like to say here) of traumatic response. We startle easily. Our sleep is disrupted. We're hypervigilant to any kind of perceived shaking. G-d forbid someone shakes the chair someone else is sitting in. We're anxious and irritable. (Though that is me all the time, so it is hard to tell if it has anything to do with the earthquake or if it is just a convienent excuse.) Of course none of this is inappropriate. The ground moved. It hasn't stopped. Buildings have fallen down. School is closed. We have to boil our water.

But all in all, nothing very story-like has happened. I suppose I should be grateful for that. It means that in spite of my childlike naivete (read stupidity) of standing in the middle of the room during the earthquake, right next to the brick chimney (which is mainly what fell over in Christchurch, chimnies) telling my children, "It's going to be all right." It was. It was all right, and we will have to find our redemption some other way, through small acts of our own rather than a great big act of G-d. And isn't that how redemption comes anyway, in the end?