After our three-month stint ended, however, we dutifully returned to our suburban Maryland life. But three years later, when I turned 45, I decided I needed to do something radically different with my life. I often thought about Hillel’s aphorism, "If not now, when?" Neither my husband nor I had living parents, so we no longer felt bound to elder care-giving. On the contrary, we felt increasingly engulfed by an American materialistic culture that made it difficult to live out our family’s values of tzedakah and tikkun olam (repairing the world). "What really counts," my mother had always said, "is to make a difference in the world. To contribute something positive." And where else could this be more dramatically felt than in Africa?

We tendered our resignations, and after an extensive search, found positions in Namibia (formerly Southwest Africa). When we arrived in Namibia, all of our initial fears evaporated quickly. One year rapidly became two, and now we are entering our fourth year in this beautiful but troubled country.

There are down-sides to the risk that we took. We miss friends and relatives, and increasingly feel cut off from trends in the U.S.—professional and otherwise. We recognize that it will be very difficult to make the transition back to American life, whenever that point comes. Our Jewish life in Namibia is also lacking. The one small and dwindling Orthodox congregation (affiliated with neighboring South Africa) is very old-fashioned and insular, despite the secularism of most members. We attend services almost weekly, even though we held our daughter’s bat mitzvah last year in Israel (as the congregation hadn’t accepted her initial conversion to Judaism after an international adoption).

On the bright side, we do not lack for interesting activities and cross-cultural friendships. While the suffering is immense in this poor and AIDS-scourged land, you can find just as many stories of courage and goodness. Thus, in many ways, these last three years have been the most fulfilling of our lives. We have nurtured new endeavors, built new connections, and helped to ease the lives of hundreds, maybe thousands, of people. I’d like to think that we even helped to save a few lives.

There is an African belief, similar to Jewish tradition, which says that a person isn’t really dead until the last individual who remembers that person is also gone. So, within that context, I think of my mother as very much alive, living deep within our hearts, here in Africa. And similarly, every night, I am reminded of her ethical will: to make a difference in the world, contributing something positive. And then I like to think that somehow, somewhere, she must be looking down at us and smiling.

This article was reprinted with permission from Sh’ma, which serves as a gathering place for independent dialogue. It showcases differing positions presented in an honest, respectful, and sacred conversation. Our authors are intellectually sharp, seeking, concerned and literate. Visit us at www.shma.com and sign up for the free e-letter.