Mamma

I don’t know why I never went. And now, as I step off the bus with my daughter on the day of her bas mitzvah, I wonder even more.

I search for the famed tree and domed roof, but all is gray and sterile. Then I walk into the tziyun, packed on this Rosh Chodesh, and emotion washes over me.

I break down crying.

Mamma!

I sob like I haven’t done in a long time. I’m so happy to be here.

Mother. The word means everything to me. It’s a relationship that was always a distant, elusive dream, because I grew up with an emotionally unavailable mother.