This morning, I changed my daughter's diaper just after 4:00AM. She was in a happy mood, making her little noises of contentment (she had just been at the breast). After she was freshly attired, I scooped her back up into my arms. Until this morning, it had taken her newborn eyes a few seconds to find me -- when first picked up, her gaze would wander before gradually settling on the adult who held her. My girl found me instantly, and looked up at her papa with what seemed like open-mouthed wonder, and, what I would like to hope, was love. I melted, of course, and teared up with the intensity of loving this little eight-pound bundle of perfection. But even at that moment, four hours or so ago, I knew that she was not mine forever. I love her more than I thought it possible to love anything; she and her mother are at the center of my emotional universe. But I am only with her for a little while (a few happy decades please) on this earth. This morning there was just a "me" and a "her" in perfect happy unity. But in a few short years, she'll be off to school, to camp, to college, to other countries and other commitments and other's embraces. My job is to give her a foundation of devotion so strong so that wherever she goes, however she does her task of Tikkun Olam, however and with whomever she finds delight, she remembers that at the very beginning -- and at the very end -- there is love, there is love, there is love. That she will know that is my most fervent prayer today.