I remember they ripped it from me.

My child was three years old. Sunday in kindergarten with thirty children. I remember how they tore him away from me.

I told myself, we have to cut this short. You have to get to work, for the first day of the first grade you accepted. I was taught, when you come to work, leave your troubles at home. Not everyone needs to know what you're going through, and you can't let what's happening to you affect the students. In short, work separately, life separately.

Now I'm riding my bike on the way to school on the kibbutz. A white shirt and long jeans. The children and their parents are arranging drawers. I write on the board what to leave in the drawer and how to arrange it. I walk between them. I feel like a robot. My torn child is still screaming in my head. We go to a ceremony in the yard. Welcoming the first-graders. The principal calls on each class to go through a gate they made from iron wire with leaves so that the iron won't be visible. Vine leaves and these flowers whose names I can't remember right now, and also colorful bougainvillea and such. The parents are taking pictures.

And in the background, they opened the gate, opened it wide, a gold chain will pass through it, and I have a stone in my throat and a smile stuck on my face.

The parents are leaving. Some of the children are still crying. Thirty-seven first-grade children with a teacher, the mother of a three-year-old who until today was in daycare with five children, and that's it.

"Kids… I want to share something with you..." This is how I am in front of the class. All eyes are on me.

Listen, today I left my three-year-old son on his first day of kindergarten. And he cried so much. I got on my bike and cried too. And when I entered the school gate, I ran to the bathroom and put on my makeup so they wouldn't see. I don't know if you felt anything, but when you arrived with your parents, it was so hard for me because I kept thinking about what my son was doing and how he was now. And the thought wouldn't leave my head... So now that your parents are gone and I have to take care of you, it's a little hard for me. And I kept quiet. And they kept quiet. Everyone kept quiet. So if you can help me, I'll do things together. I've planned games for you and for us to say hello to the 100th grade in the notebook... But forgive me because I'm not that happy.

And I didn't ask them how their first day at our school was. And I didn't ask if they were excited or scared. And I didn't say I was excited, like a teacher should be on the first day. Because I wasn't excited.

One tall girl said that her brother was also in my son's kindergarten. And one boy said that he was also in Nitza's daycare and then in Hadas kindergarten and that I shouldn't worry because he would eventually calm down. And another boy said that it was hard for him too today when mom and dad left. And that's how we talked. They were so mature and so interested and sharing and so at peace. It really was peace in the eleventh grade.

They rang for recess. Teachers usually stay in the classroom on the first day, if a child needs something. So I stayed. There were children who were afraid to go out for recess, so I asked them to call the kindergarten for a few minutes. They stood around me. Children with big eyes in silence, waiting to hear. And when I hung up, a girl asked, has he calmed down? And I said yes. Then a mother of twins, a boy and a girl who are also in kindergarten, burst into the classroom. I didn't ask anything and she said, listen, it took him a long time, and even when I left, an hour after you, he still had that choking feeling from crying. I sat on the chair and didn't say a word. She said, I'm sorry, I had to share it with you and left.

A girl with a chocolate bread asked if I wanted some of her bread. I said no. My mouth was completely dry. The boy playing with Lego in the corner said that I probably didn't have an appetite because of what had happened, and I was right. And one girl stood behind me and said, "Do you want me to make you a ponytail?" And her little hands fixed my hair. I told her that it was the most pleasant thing in the world and that it would make my heart feel lighter. And I really did.

They came back from recess and asked what happened. So the kid from Lego said that a mother came and made Pazit (me) sadder. And another girl said, It's not bad, you'll meet soon. And I told them that they help me get through the day so much because in the morning, at the gate, I was afraid of this day and now I feel like they are my family and I am theirs, and I'm sorry that their first day is with such a sad teacher, and one little one said, It's really not bad.

At the end of the day, I darkened the classroom, put candles and a guided imagery CD, the road to the mountain with the huge sequoia tree and the leaves that split and the palace with the rooms and the wizard with the purple fire that helps when it's hard. I sang them "Night, Night, the Moon Looks" and I also told them that I sing it to my son and will sing it to him tonight too, and now they are like my children and some who knew them joined in.

When I got home, I told him that the kids really helped me on my first day of first grade this year, but I didn't tell him that the kindergarten teacher and the nannies said he had a very difficult day in kindergarten.