Why now?

By Chaya Tavin

The perplexed staff at Targum Press is wondering why I started writing now. Now that my large family, bli ayin harah, is even larger, and includes a child with special needs, teenagers, and a slew of active kids, now that I’m back to work after an extended maternity leave, why now of all times did I start to write?

Part of the answer is simple. Last year my father visited. His frustrating attempts to access his e-mail on our dinosaur of a computer resulted in a very generous gift of a new computer. This is no small matter for a woman with illegible handwriting and fourth grade spelling skills. The number of times I started to write something, put it aside, and couldn’t read it when I tried to get back to it, is only slightly smaller than the number of times I’ve misspelled the most basic of words. Microsoft Word, with spell check, enabled me to read, edit, and find, what I write.

Now, not only can my writing be easily typed and edited, but also with the flick of a button, it can be sent off to most anywhere.

That part of the answer is simple. The other part required some honest introspection. Why didn’t I write, or if I did, why did those pieces languish in the bottom of a drawer half finished? Why do many writers-to-be, not be? We tell ourselves that we don’t have time, we have to prioritize, we are busy with family obligations, work related obligations, and community obligations. That may be accurate, but the fact that we do find time for an amazing array of activities indicates that we probably could write if it we didn’t have some writers block stopping us from starting. The block is our thoughts. We think, “Maybe it’s not good enough, maybe it’s not interesting, maybe it’s not of real value to anyone else but me, maybe I’m baring my soul to strangers who will cringe at my poor syntax, or shrug off my insights.”

The birth of a child with mental and physical handicaps forced me to focus on something I perhaps knew, but had failed to truly internalize. You don’t have to be amazing to be worthwhile. My son is not amazing; he is as valuable a human being as Hashem has ever created. If my syntax is awkward to some and my message inspires others to yawn, so be it. My writing may not be amazing, but it is valuable just the same.