I Never Asked to be Born

I never asked to be born. But I’m glad I was.

I never met my birthmother or father. But I’m glad they met one another. That’s why I can type this. Whew!

Their acquaintance was probably anonymous and brief. Sometimes humans need something from another at particular moments in their lives. Sometimes it’s a need to be loved, or validated, or justified. I think all of us have felt this way at some point in our lives.

And I am glad to have lived the life of an adoptee who spent my entire life searching for origins. Perhaps it is because of this I understand more fully the importance of biological origins and how I arrived on planet Earth.

I have a photo of my birthmother. I have a photo of her tombstone.

I have a photo of my birthfather. I have a photo of his tombstone.

This is far more than millions of adoptees could ever hope for. I am one of the lucky ones.

Today my Syrian Jewish brother commemorated our father’s death by placing a customary stone on his grave. He said he placed one stone in my name also. He also said he showed our father my picture so he would know what I looked like.

I am now a part of a bigger and more profound lesson unfolding before my eyes. As I learn this lesson I promise to teach it to you.
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My grandfather was Rabbi Matloub Abadi. Born 1889 in Halab (Aleppo), Syria. Died 1970. To this day, his sefarim and personal writings are kept safely in a special “Rabbi Matloub Abadi Library” in Shaare Zion. I am asking for anyone’s help to obtain an English copy of his scholarly book, Magen Ba’adi, in any form that I can read.

Thank you.