Before I ever had to say kaddish as a mourner, I was entranced by its music.

In 1934 the British writer Dorothy Sayers published The Nine Tailors, a fairly unconvincing mystery that provided a framework for a pastoral idyll. The book centered around bell-ringers who climbed up a church tower to pull the massive ropes attached to the brass behemoths that hung there. They were ringing the changes, following mathematical formulas that permitted subtle variations, playing the huge bells with paradoxical delicacy.

Street signs in Jerusalem. From "Jerusalem: Step by Step"

I take little for granted when I walk the streets of Jerusalem. Despite frequent visits in years past, the opportunity I shared with my wife and three children a few years back had me regularly taking to the city's famed streets and alleyways. On those many occasions when I crossed the town by foot, I was easily taken in by my surroundings. I could easily find fault in the degree of debris and the sense of discard and wasteful abandon that the public visits upon the capital city's poor pavement. Writ large in the daily dust and dirt is a lack of concern given to environmental care and esthetic issues. Still, I would find a sea of new sights and delights that I navigated and explored with my children en route to their schools each day.

Getting pregnant was the easy part. Giving birth was simple, too, compared with the onerous task of choosing a name for my yet-to-be-born son.

Like many women, I had picked out my children’s names long before I even met the man I would marry. According to my plan I would have two children: Gabriel, a name I chose because nearly every Gabe I knew was attractive, and Neshama, which means “spirit” or “soul” in Hebrew, because I thought it was beautiful.