By the time they pulled into the parking lot of a motel, everyone was exhausted. It was inexpensive, but clean, and they were given the keys to a large suite with a kitchen and two bedrooms, one of which had a crib.

“Let’s just feed the kids and bathe them and put them to bed. I’m falling off my feet,” Leah admitted.

“But I thought you picked this place because it had a kosher restaurant?” He was disappointed.

“It does, but I’m more tired than hungry, and we still have some sandwiches in the cooler. We’ll try it tomorrow for breakfast?”

“All right. If you want,” he answered, realizing he, too, was exhausted.

By the time everyone had eaten and bathed, they sank into the clean, cool sheets and comfortable mattresses, sleep coming as soon as their heads touched their pillows.

The next time Leah opened her eyes, the sun was streaming through the edges of the blackout curtains. She turned over luxuriantly, closing her eyes and listening to the riot of birds singing outside their windows.

“Yaakov,” she whispered, reaching out for him, but he was already gone, probably to find a synagogue where he could say his morning prayers with a minyan. She sat up, moving slowly out of bed, careful to protect her bandages. First she checked on the children, who were still sleeping soundly. We’re in no big rush, she thought grimly, not looking forward to having those conversations with her mother or baking under the relentless Florida sun.

She went into the bathroom, performing her morning ablutions. She longed for a shower but couldn’t risk wetting her bandages. Instead, she used a washcloth to do the best she could. When she was done, she tucked her voluminous hair inside a headscarf and put on her clothes. Then she picked up her prayer book. She looked around for a place to say her morning prayers. There was a small terrace, so she stepped outside. Oh, how lovely, she thought, leaning over the balcony as she breathed in the clean, sweet smell of cut grass and the heady perfume of a flower she could not name. They were in a residential neighborhood of neat houses on wide lawns. Everywhere she looked, the lush tops of old trees danced in the gentle spring breezes. To the right, she glimpsed a harbor with small sailing craft and the sun glinting off the sea. She said her morning prayers with a calm she had not experienced in some time.

Afterward, she leaned back in the lounge chair, putting up her feet and closing her eyes. She felt happy and peaceful, united with God and her fellow man. She luxuriated in the feeling, refusing to think about the past or the future. This now, this moment, it was a gift. She would not throw it away.