May the Name of the G‑d of Jacob fortify you. May He send you help from the Sanctuary. … May He grant you your heart’s desire and fulfill your every counsel. (Psalms 20)

Making a move is hard. It is especially hard when old age frustrates your efforts with exhaustion. When my husband and I made a recent move from one state to another, we packed hundreds of boxes—our life of nearly 35 years together—and gave away big portions of what we collected over all those years so we could move into a home half the size of the one we left.

But being close to children and grandchildren was the goal that kept us moving, despite the exhaustion and the almost laughable realization that we would have to pare down our sizable collection of worldly goods a lot more to be comfortable in what was to us a rather small abode.

The work is not yet accomplished, though we are getting there. The house we bought is old and in need of work, and we must make ingenious use of space. My husband is handy, so the coat closet became a pantry, and the linen closet became a place to store items we use less often. Both those closets and the tiny kitchen pantry have expertly built shelves in them as do the extra bedroom closets.

While we have been trying to stuff our old life into our new home, my religious life has been limited. Before moving to Jacksonville, Fla., I spent time learning Torah with the help of the technology of Zoom, and the Chabad-Lubavitch emissary Rabbi Yosef Goldwasser from Mobile, Ala. But between my books being in some of those hundreds of boxes and some unhappy personal events, it was a month-and-a-half before we could start learning together again. This time it would be Tanya and include a friend who lives in rural Alabama.

Still, I longed to connect with a larger local community. Finally, the day came. I had chanced to meet a member of the local Chabad community in Walmart, so I knew it was nearby. Though it takes a little courage to walk into an unknown shul, I have never found Chabad Chassidim to be anything but welcoming, so I gathered myself together, was greeted by the rebbetzin and rabbi, and sat down with a siddur and a Chumash.

As the service began, I and another woman who sat next to me followed along in English, as neither of us read Hebrew. Fortunately, she was familiar enough with the service to keep us moving forward.

But I was entranced by listening to the praying and singing in Hebrew. Although the congregants’ numbers were small, their enthusiasm was enormous. The singing was soul-lifting, loud, beautiful and unmistakably centered in the joyful worship of a beloved G‑d. And above the deep voices of the men could be heard the voice of a youth whose high-pitched voice flowed over and above the men’s to create a gorgeous harmonious melding of voices. I was blessed and filled with joy by the river of Hebrew flowing over my thirsting neshamah.

And as G‑d is the epitome of perfection, it is not coincident that my first visit was the week of the Torah portion of Vayeitzei, the story of Jacob and Rachel and Leah. It was not lost on me that my own Hebrew name being Rachel Leah, this propitious first visit to the local Chabad House was surely no accident.

Just as my husband built shelves in our home to organize our lives, here was a place in which I could build inner shelves on which to organize my Jewish life. The first shelf would hold a Jewish community, something I have longed for and heretofore not had the opportunity to build. The next shelf would be a place to store mitzvahs I can add to the ones I currently do. Higher than that would be the shelf on which I store and share my gratitude to a G‑d, so loving and so understanding of each of His children’s needs that He would put me exactly where I needed to be at the most auspicious time and place, and during the reading of the perfect Torah portion.

When I left that place of worship, my heart was full to bursting. It was a new Jewish beginning to add to the joy of a new life in a new place with beloved family—a place G‑d knew I was meant to be and who orchestrated my being there.