Tova stood at the threshold of the narrow stone alleyway, her hands trembling in the folds of her skirt. The path led uphill into the unknown, twisting out of sight beyond the worn Jerusalem walls she knew so well. Behind her was everything familiar—her family's home, her father's laughter, the smell of Friday night candles. Before her was the first step toward her new life: a marriage arranged with a man she barely knew, in a village she had never seen.
Her mother had packed her a satchel this morning with quiet hands and tear-glossed eyes. "G-d goes with you," she whispered. "You will not go alone."
Still, fear rooted Tova to the cracked stones. She couldn’t move. Her heart beat loud and erratic, drowning out even the birdsong. What if this was a mistake? What if the unknown beyond that winding alley was too much for her?
A child's laugh startled her. She turned to see a boy—barefoot, no more than six—chasing a battered olive-green ball down the alley. As he neared her, the ball escaped his hands, rolling to rest against her foot.
Tova picked it up, cradling its scuffed surface for a moment. The boy tilted his head up at her, grinning widely, waiting.
Without thinking, she laughed—a sound trembling on the edge of tears—and gently tossed the ball back. He caught it with a clumsy hug and beamed at her like she had given him the world.
In the split second after, something loosened inside Tova: like a tightly drawn thread in her chest finally snapped free. She watched the boy run off, disappearing without hesitation around the same bend she had been afraid to face.
Children didn’t stop to fear what they didn’t know. They simply ran forward, trusting the world to meet them.
Tova pressed the satchel’s strap more firmly onto her shoulder. She looked up at the sun spilling shy gold-light over the alley's curve. She thought suddenly of the verse her grandmother used to hum as she tucked her into bed: "At the time I am afraid, I trust in You" (Tehillim 56:4). She could almost hear Savta’s voice now, folding around her like a prayer shawl.
Tova smiled through wet lashes. She wasn’t alone. She never had been. G-d was beside her—around the corner, down the alley, on the train to the village—before she even arrived. He held her hand in His own.
The fear didn’t vanish, not completely. But it shifted, made softer by trust. Tova set one foot forward. Then another. The world didn’t fall apart. The stones remained firm beneath her slippers. The sky remained blue.
Beyond the curve, the alley opened into a bright new courtyard she had never seen, full of bustling market sounds and laughter and scents of fresh bread. She could almost taste the sweetness of it.
Hope—small and bright and stubborn—sparked to life in the quiet space inside her heart.
Tova adjusted her satchel and straightened her shoulders. She walked forward into the unknown—not without fear, but with faith strong enough to carry her through.
And G-d walked with her, all the way.
—
Supporting Torah and Tanakh Verses:
Tova stood at the threshold of the narrow stone alleyway, her hands trembling in the folds of her skirt. The path led uphill into the unknown, twisting out of sight beyond the worn Jerusalem walls she knew so well. Behind her was everything familiar—her family's home, her father's laughter, the smell of Friday night candles. Before her was the first step toward her new life: a marriage arranged with a man she barely knew, in a village she had never seen.
Her mother had packed her a satchel this morning with quiet hands and tear-glossed eyes. "G-d goes with you," she whispered. "You will not go alone."
Still, fear rooted Tova to the cracked stones. She couldn’t move. Her heart beat loud and erratic, drowning out even the birdsong. What if this was a mistake? What if the unknown beyond that winding alley was too much for her?
A child's laugh startled her. She turned to see a boy—barefoot, no more than six—chasing a battered olive-green ball down the alley. As he neared her, the ball escaped his hands, rolling to rest against her foot.
Tova picked it up, cradling its scuffed surface for a moment. The boy tilted his head up at her, grinning widely, waiting.
Without thinking, she laughed—a sound trembling on the edge of tears—and gently tossed the ball back. He caught it with a clumsy hug and beamed at her like she had given him the world.
In the split second after, something loosened inside Tova: like a tightly drawn thread in her chest finally snapped free. She watched the boy run off, disappearing without hesitation around the same bend she had been afraid to face.
Children didn’t stop to fear what they didn’t know. They simply ran forward, trusting the world to meet them.
Tova pressed the satchel’s strap more firmly onto her shoulder. She looked up at the sun spilling shy gold-light over the alley's curve. She thought suddenly of the verse her grandmother used to hum as she tucked her into bed: "At the time I am afraid, I trust in You" (Tehillim 56:4). She could almost hear Savta’s voice now, folding around her like a prayer shawl.
Tova smiled through wet lashes. She wasn’t alone. She never had been. G-d was beside her—around the corner, down the alley, on the train to the village—before she even arrived. He held her hand in His own.
The fear didn’t vanish, not completely. But it shifted, made softer by trust. Tova set one foot forward. Then another. The world didn’t fall apart. The stones remained firm beneath her slippers. The sky remained blue.
Beyond the curve, the alley opened into a bright new courtyard she had never seen, full of bustling market sounds and laughter and scents of fresh bread. She could almost taste the sweetness of it.
Hope—small and bright and stubborn—sparked to life in the quiet space inside her heart.
Tova adjusted her satchel and straightened her shoulders. She walked forward into the unknown—not without fear, but with faith strong enough to carry her through.
And G-d walked with her, all the way.
—
Supporting Torah and Tanakh Verses:
