How Can it be?

The 15th yartzeit of my brother, Shalom ben Chaim Nosson, is tonight and tomorrow. It's hard to believe it's been so long, yet the emotions come back and we miss him so much. May all the actions we do for his neshama bring us comfort as his neshama continues to go higher and higher in gan eden.

Here's the poem I wrote this year.

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How can it be?

It's been 15 years since that fateful day,

When you climbed that tall tree that took your life away,

Our family was so shocked when we were told,

Shalom, you were too young to die, you weren't yet 16 years old!

How can it be?

You lived your life according to the way you were raised,

At your levaya, for all your special qualities you were praised,

You looked out for others, helping before you were asked,

And now, up in heaven, in the pleasure of the שכינה your soul does bask.

How can it be?

We continue to talk about your unique qualities,

Sharing stories with our friends and family,

How your sense of humor and love of animals is what made you you,

And now your nephew, with your name is so similar too!

How can it be?

He loves to climb trees, wishes he could live on a farm,

Is so gentle with animals, won't cause them any harm,

Chess is a game he loves to play,

And now for a label machine, with his own money he wants to pay.

How can it be?

I miss you more than words can express,

I became stronger and more sensitive through this huge test,

I wish I could see you one more time,

Give you a hug and share thoughts that are mine.

How can it be?

So many milestones in my life that you haven't shared,

Moments of joy and times I was scared,

I often wonder what my life would be like if you were still here,

Shalom, how much I treasure you - in your lifetime were you aware?

How can it be?

Near my shabbos candles stands your picture in a frame,

Your face so calm, your demeanor so tame,

I think about you so much, I never dreamed,

That your loss would affect me so strongly.

How can it be?

As Jews we live with אמונה that's constantly put to the test,

That Hashem has a plan for our נשמה and He knows what's best,

He puts us through challenges that refine our soul,

So through our time on this earth, we become better, more whole.

That's how it can be.

We accept that this too, was for our good,

Even when we feel weak and question how this could

Be for our benefit, we still know deep inside,

That Hashem put us on this journey and He is our guide.

That's how it should be. 

To make a donation in memory of my brother, you can go to my personal fundraising page here and help us continue to run programs that bring non-affiliated college students closer to Torah and Mitzvos!

To read more about Shalom and his story, click on the following links: 

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

The Pail-A Story

Someone shared this with me and the message is so perfect for now. 

I love this story and it seems very apt to share right now. Wishing everyone good health, strength and (yes) joy to get through this challenge. 

From Rabbi Yochanan Rivkin in New Orleans:

In light of everything that is being cancelled, including the prayers at Congregation Anshe Sfard of New Orleans, I want to share a Chasidic story.

The two brothers, the famed Rabbi Elimelech of Lizensk and Rabbi Zushe of Anipoli, often wandered about together, posing as simple beggars. They would mingle with the masses, listening, teaching, speaking, helping and guiding whomever and whenever they could.

Once, while they were traveling with a group of vagabonds, members of the group were accused of being thieves, resulting in the entire bunch being thrown into jail. Confident of their innocence and eventual release, the two brothers sat quietly. As the afternoon progressed, Rabbi Elimelech stood up to prepare himself to pray the afternoon service.
"What are you doing?" his brother asked.

"I'm getting ready for minchah," replied Rabbi Elimelech.
Rabbi Zushe pointed at the pail in the corner of the room. "It is forbidden," he said, "to pray in this cell, because the odor coming from that pail makes the room unfit for prayer."
Dejected, the holy Rabbi Elimelech sat down.

Soon after, Rabbi Elimelech began to cry. "Why are you crying?" said Rabbi Zushe. "Is it because you are unable to pray?" Reb Elimelech answered affirmatively.

"But why weep?" continued Rabbi Zushe. "Don't you know that the same G-d who commanded you to pray, also commanded you not to pray when the room is unfit for prayer? Be happy that G-d has afforded you the opportunity to obey His law at this time, no matter what it is."

"You are right, my brother!" exclaimed Rabbi Elimelech, suddenly smiling. The feelings of dejection banished from his heart and mind, Rabbi Elimelech took his brother's arm and began to dance from joy as a result of performing the mitzvah of not praying in an inappropriate place.

The guards heard the commotion and came running. Witnessing the two brothers dancing, the guards asked the other prisoners what had happened. "We have no idea!" they answered, mystified. "Those two Jews were discussing the pail in the corner, when all of a sudden they came to some happy conclusion and began to dance."

"Is that right?" sneered the guards. "They're happy because of the pail, are they? We'll show them!" 
They promptly removed the pail from the cell!

*    *    *    *
As Jews, we need to know that refraining from a Jewish practice such as attending synagogue because of a danger to life and health is as much a mitzvah as engaging in those practices under normal circumstances. We need to joyously thank G-d for allowing us to fulfill his Holy Will, whatever it is. And, perhaps, in merit of that joy, He might just take the pail away...

A Lesson in Parenting

There's always a first time, right?

But to me, this little encounter was surprising and upsetting at first; it was enlightening and empowering at the end.

I was in a toy store with my baby and I was bouncing him up the steps in the stroller. In the past, any time I was in a public place with a staircase and my baby, someone offered to help me.

When I went to shul for a kiddush and was bouncing the stroller down the steps to the simcha hall, someone offered to help me.

When I was walking up the steps to a friend's house and someone saw me with the stroller, he offered a helping hand.

And this time, this woman watched me bounce up the steps one by one and waited patiently as I slowly made my way up the steps. She followed along with me, but didn't gesture or offer a helping hand.

It was surprising, but I continued on my way as she conversed with her little girl about the toys in the shop. 

A few moments later, I watched as her daughter bumped into a box from a neatly stacked pile of toys and continued on, without turning back to pick up the box she knocked over. My own little girl rushed to straighten out the boxes.

Okay, it happens, I thought to myself.

But when that happened a second time, I wasn't so sure. When the same girl casually continued looking at the toys on display after knocking something down a second time, I knew this wasn't a coincidence.

And I thought about it.

I realized how much power and influence we parents have over our children.

Children learn more from what we do than from what we say.

When we model good behavior, they will follow in our ways.

And when we model carelessness and disregard for another's feelings, our children will do the same.

It's not her daughter's fault that no one ever taught her to look out for other people. She was just following what she saw from her own mother.

Now, I'm not judging this woman and there can be numerous reasons for why she didn't offer to help.

Maybe she has back problems and can't lift anything heavy.

Maybe she has other health issues that would prevent her from offering the specific type of help I could have used.

But after seeing this young girl exhibit the exact same carelessness as her mother, I took this very powerful and empowering message for myself as a parent.

We can tell our children all the right things.

We can lecture them about how to act in private and how to behave in public.

But the most profound way to teach them is by modeling the behavior we want them to emulate.

We can tell them not to yell at their siblings when they're upset, but if we yell at them when we are angry, what will they learn to do? We need to work on ourselves to maintain our own inner calm, even when we're stressed, annoyed or angry. 

We can speak about the importance of honesty, forgiveness, responsibility and all the other good virtues, but the best way for them to really internalize their importance is by modeling honesty, by being forgiving and taking responsibly for our actions.

They will learn to trust in Hashem and to believe that everything that happens is for the good if they see us responding to difficult situations with words of emunah and faith. With actions that show we believe Hashem runs the world and we have faith in Him. 

It's in our hands to help the next generation acquire the skills they need to navigate the complex world we live in. We can help them succeed by working on our own selves.

May we be able to do the hard work so we can be in the best place possible on an emotional level, on a spiritual level and on every level in between. And may our children follow in our positive ways.

Watching from the Window

Every morning, as I walk my daughter to the bus stop, I wave to the crossing guard who stands at her post across the street from my house.

“Have a great day!” I wish her as I walk back to my house to get my little boys ready for yeshiva. Since they have a direct ride to their school, they don’t have to be walked to a bus stop. They wait right outside my house until their ride comes.

I used to stand outside with them and wait together with my little baby, waving them off to school every morning. But now that the weather is colder, I don’t want to take my baby outside. So I stand inside my warm house while my boys don their coats and knapsacks and I watch them go from my post at the window.

I wave to them as they get into the car.

I blow kisses to them as they close the car door.

I send up a little prayer as they drive off, asking Hashem to give them a good day. They should learn well, have a good time with their friends and come home safely.

One day, as I watched them from my spot at the window, I saw a strange man walk over to them and start talking to them. My heart stopped and I ran to the door, opened it and yelled out, “Is everything okay?”

The man looked relieved. “I just saw two little boys standing outside by themselves so I got nervous.”

“I’m watching them from the window the whole time!” was my response.

Phew. That was a little scare.

And I thought to myself, No one else can see me watching my children as they wait for the car to come pick them up, but I am there. I don’t leave my spot at the window until they are safely in the car and on their way to school. Does the crossing guard who watches all the little children walk to school and wait for buses and car rides know this? Does she know that I don’t take my eyes off my boys for even a moment?

And then I realized, Isn’t it the same with Hashem? He is always watching us. Always watching over each of us with the same love and care that I watch over my children. And although we can’t see Him, we know He is there. Peeking through the windows of the Heavens, coordinating events in our lives so everything happens with such precision and accuracy.

Sometimes, we are lucky enough to see Him so clearly, and it’s like we can wave back to Him and say, “Hashem, I know that was you! Only YOU could have made all this happen to me.”

But when we don’t see Him, we still know and believe that He is watching over us.

Just like I watch my children from the window.

May we be able to feel Hashem watching over us every day of our lives.

Elul - More Time

I'm posting this here again because it's such a good message.

I got a ticket.

For an expired meter.

I was frustrated and upset. 

I rushed out of a store after waiting on line for way too long and saw the two police officers...slowly walking away from my car. There was the familiar orange color of the ticket tucked into my windshield. I ran.

I ran after them. 

I begged and pleaded with them to please take the ticket back, do something, anything so I wouldn't have to pay the money.

"Buy a new one," one of the police officers said. "There's nothing I can do, but quick, buy a new meter card and I'll explain..."

"But..." I stammered

"Just buy it-if there are six minutes between the time on the ticket and the time on your new meter card, you..."

I didn't listen to the rest. 

I got a quarter, quickly put it into the machine and checked the time. It said 2:13pm.

I grabbed the orange ticket and compared the time. I was "caught" at 2:09pm. My new meter card showed four minutes after the time the ticket was issued.

I waited for the policeman to explain the rest, while trying to calm my pounding heart.

"Now you have a way out," he explained. "Since there are less than six minutes between the time you were ticketed and the time on your new card, you can now fight the ticket. There is a six minute grace period...and you can say that you were in middle of getting a new card and you had to get quarters from your car and during that time you got a ticket."

I'm not sure about the lying part and making up a story, but if there is a way for me to get out...if the judge will give me six minutes of time...I will not have to pay this ticket. I am grateful.

Rosh Hashana is almost here.

We feel so unprepared.

What?? Elul passed already?

It's been almost 30 days...what do we have to show for ourselves?

But Hashem is a Ba'al Rachamim.

He is not out to get us. He doesn't want us to trip...to fall...to have to pay for our mistakes, for our negligence, for our lateness.

And so we were give the gift of Teshuva. And the gift of time. And more time.

When we repent, show real, true regret for the things we may have done wrong, the good things we should have done but never did, the lost opportunities, the mistakes we made, Hashem listens.

He is aware of the circumstances that may have caused us to fall. And unlike the police officers who didn't care about the long line that caused me to be delayed by a few minutes, Hashem understands and takes all those "excuses" into account. 

When we are sincere about the kind of person we wish to become, Hashem hears.

When we ask Him to help us change, because it is just too hard for us to do it alone, Hashem listens...and He will help us.

But more than that, Hashem blessed us with time...and more time.

Yes, the meter is running out, but we can "buy another card." After Rosh Hashana, we are given ten days, the aseres yimei teshuva and after that we have Yom Kippur.

Look at how much rachmanus Hashem has!

He keeps giving us more and more time to do teshuva and come closer to Him!

That is not to say that we should push it off to the last minute (even though the last minute is almost here!). We should utilize the time we have now to think. Think about the past year...and the coming year...and the brachos we would like to see in our lives...and the changes we would like to see in ourselves...and start now. 

We may feel discouraged by the fact that so much time has passed and we haven't even made a dent in the changes we wish we could make, we didn't use Elul much...and we went through our daily routines without even thinking about teshuva. But we should not dispair! Just like when the meter was out, instead of slowly strolling back to my car, I RAN, we can all run now. Instead of sauntering through the next few days as if we don't have a care in the world, let's show Hashem how becoming the person we want to be is important to us. Let's show Hashem that we want to change, we want to become better, different, elevated, spiritual, growing people. 

Let's use the little time we have left to think about the past year...the things we did that we wish we would never have done, things we may have read, watched, listened to, spoken about...and let's think about ways we can put up safeguards so that we don't stumble every time. Yes, we may fall, but falling is part of the process of growing. And like a trampoline, realize that sometimes we can jump even higher because of our downs, because of our falls. It is all part of the beauty of spiritual growth.

Change isn't easy. But we are given another gift-the gift of tefillah. And we can ask Hashem to help us become the person we dream of becoming. It may seem far off...but with baby steps, we can get there.

Thank you, Hashem for the gift of teshuva. Please help all of us use whatever time we have left until the yom hadin to utilize that gift...to the fullest!

After Aleinu

I recently heard this story and was so inspired by the message. It was too good and I wanted to share it.

The men were standing around waiting while the shul slowly filled up with people who were gathering to daven mincha.

As they were almost ready to begin, a young teenager ran into shul and started davening very quickly. He didn't look like he was having much concentration in his tefillos. Some of the congregants gave him a look, others snorted and some elderly men were vocal in their disdain for what they called "today's generation."

One man went so far as to approach this young boy and chastise him. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" The man asked. "Is this the way you walk in to shul and daven? You are an embarrassment to the whole kehillah who gathered to daven here!"

The rest of the shul was silent as they continued on with their prayers.

At the end of davening, after aleinu, all the congregants were shocked when they heard this young boy meekly raise his voice to recite kaddish yasom, a special kaddish only recited by an orphan during the first eleven months after the death of their parent.

So he's a yasom! This poor boy is an orphan!

The man who had approached him earlier with his rude comments was so embarrassed, he could barely raise his head to look at the boy. But he gathered his strength and went over to the boy to ask him for mechila.

"I just didn't know! I didn't know about your painful circumstance! I'm so very sorry..."

So many times we look at people and judge them. For their behavior, for their misbehavior or for the way they keep or don't keep certain parts of the Torah. We think they should act differently. Sometimes we keep these thoughts to ourselves and other times we actually yell at the person, all with good intentions. We want them to know that what they are doing is wrong. We want them to know we don't approve of their actions.

But so many times, we just don't know the full story.

So many times, we don't know the reason behind their behavior.

So many times, there is a very painful reason for why they are acting the way they are.

And so many times, we have to wait until "after aleinu" to be able to get a glimpse into the reason why.

It's only "after aleinu," when kaddish yasom is said that we are able to understand why. That we realize that there's pain behind the behavior.

May we be able to accept those who act differently, be understanding of their challenges and be able to give them strength and encouragement to get through the tough times so they can blossom, grow and shine.

Shmuly the Spring-A Story

Someone sent me this very inspiring, poignant and emotionally touching story and I want to share it with you. Although it is very long, it is worth the read.

Hi. My name is Shmuel, and I am 28 years old. 

Most of the people who know me simply call me “Shmuly.”

I am not used to telling stories. I’m the kind of guy who does better with action. That is why it took me some time to put together all the parts of my personal story and write it down so that I can share it with you.

My story began about eighteen years ago.
I was ten years old, a pretty regular kid, just like everyone else…except in one area. 
I had a really hard time sitting in one place for a prolonged period of time.

And when I say “time,” I don’t mean what you probably think. My concept of time is different than most people’s. “Too much time,” for me, means a few seconds.

Yeah, I’m a “spring,” if you will. 

If this would be today, I would surely get a diagnosis comprised of a string of initials (along with a pill or two), but in those days there weren’t that many interpretations, so the nickname given to me was short and friendly, “Shmuly the Spring.” 

Honestly, I didn’t mind. I knew that it was true, and I could actually relate to the imagery.

Baruch Hashem, I had no complaints. I had incredible rabbeim who didn’t make a big issue out of my hyperactivity. 

Everyone in my class was already used to the fact that Shmuly the Spring is the one who is sent to bring the rebbe coffee in middle of class, and other such jobs, basically keeping me busy. And truthfully, I liked the arrangement, too. 

I would sit in front of the rebbe and try hard to listen and understand what he was teaching. Then, when I couldn’t focus anymore (usually after a few minutes), I would look for something to do. At that point I would hear the rebbe’s voice calling to me, “Shmuly, please get us some more chalk.” I would happily get up and run to perform the chore.

That was basically what my life in school was like. 

One morning, as we waited for our rebbe to enter the classroom, the principal walked in instead. He stood behind the rebbe’s desk and asked for silence.

“I’m sorry to share this with you,” he said, “but your rebbe has suddenly fallen ill and had to undergo emergency surgery last night. He will not be coming back for the next few weeks.”

We were in shock. We loved our rebbe and were really worried about him.

The principal continued, “Now, boys, let’s say some Tehillim for his recovery.” We said some Tehillim with extra kavanah for our rebbe’s speedy recovery.

That day, the principal taught us, but the following day he walked into our classroom with a man we didn’t know. 

“Boys,” the principal said, “this is Rabbi Substitute. He is going to be your substitute rebbe until your regular rebbe gets better, be’ezras Hashem.”

Rabbi Substitute walked over to the rebbe’s desk, and the principal left the classroom.
I’m not sure what made me immediately realize that my life was not going to be easy with Rabbi Substitute. Maybe it was the stern look on his face, or the hoarse voice with which he addressed us, but something told me there was going to be trouble soon.
I was right. It was only a few minutes later when I sensed a heavy shadow over me. I looked up and found Rabbi Substitute staring angrily down at me through his somewhat-dirty glasses.

“What are you busy with over there?” he thundered. 

I dropped the beautiful paper airplane I had just completed. The stunning plane did not have a chance inside Rabbi Substitute’s clutched fist, and I felt my heart tearing inside me along with it. 

I found myself standing shamefacedly in the principal’s office.

After recess was over, I returned to the classroom. But this scenario repeated itself over and over again in different variations.
After a few days of mounting frustration on all sides, my parents were called to the school. “In my class, all students must learn,” Rabbi Substitute told them firmly. “What do you think he’s going to grow up to be like if he doesn’t use his brain?” He refused to allow me to perform the various tasks that had been my lifeline until then. 

Every day, I would be punished and sent out of the classroom in humiliation. I began to feel disappointed and disgusted with myself. I always knew that I was not exactly a typical child, I knew that I was better with my hands than with my head, but I always managed somehow, thanks the energy that Hashem endowed me with and the fact that I loved to help people.

For Rabbi Substitute, however, these qualities meant nothing.

One day, Rabbi Substitute decided to call an emergency meeting to discuss my problems. My parents and I were both called in for a long, painful lecture. I remember my father trying to say something like, “Our Shmuly has other qualities… Maybe his head is less at work but he has amazing hands…”, but Rabbi Substitute didn’t allow my father to say a word.

And here, I remember how Rabbi Substitute’s face reddened. He pointed a finger at me and shouted, “If you don’t start using your head, you’ll amount to nothing! Nothing!”

Then he added under his breath, “Good hands will make you a good plumber, nothing more.”

The days passed, somehow, and finally, finally, our regular rebbe recovered and returned to the classroom. I never saw Rabbi Substitute again.

With time, I even managed to forget his hurtful words. Most of the time. 

Sometimes, unexpectedly, I would hear his words playing in my head and shrink into myself with humiliation. When that happened, I would feel like an absolute nothing.

Is that all I could ever hope to amount to? A plumber? Could I really do nothing more? Was I truly worth nothing?!

I admit, though, that this did not happen often. Most of the time, I was busy performing the countless chores and tasks that my rabbeim came up with to keep me busy and confident. 

I grew up, finished cheder, and then yeshivah ketanah. I was accepted to a good yeshivah gedolah thanks to my many other talents. So maybe I was not the brightest boy in the class, but I had other things going for me. The many small jobs I did in yeshivah helped me tremendously. The yeshivah and summer camps were where I felt proud and happy.

When I started shidduchim, I knew more or less what kind of girl I wanted to marry. A short while later, I met my wife who wanted me just as I was.

We got married, and I began my married life in kollel. Of course, at the same time, I was searching for some action to fill up my day too; something that would keep me busy and allow me to feel good about myself. 

I found that in Israel’s medical emergency response team, a job that saves me from myself. I do many shifts, am always first at the scene and the last to leave it. 

Some people might make a face hearing that, but I love the drama and the action, and – more than anything else – the tremendous chessed that I can perform for people in the most critical moments of their lives. 

Slowly, I started climbing up the ranks. I did further training. At some point, MADA became my second home.

One night, I woke up to the sound of the dispatcher calling all nearby volunteers to rush to an emergency nearby. Apparently, someone had lost consciousness and needed help. 

The address was nowhere nearby, but for some reason I decided to rush to the scene anyway. I figured that there were not many volunteers in that area, and the late hour would make it even less likely that someone could get there quickly. MADA’s headquarters were also too far from the scene. 

I jumped into my car and quickly drove over to the address the dispatcher had announced. As soon as I arrived, I realized that I had indeed arrived first. I grabbed my first-aid kit and rushed up the stairs. The panicked voices and the light coming from the apartment led me directly to an elderly man lying on the living room floor. A woman stood next to him – his wife, I presumed – crying hysterically. 
I quickly began checking his vitals and performing CPR. Things were not looking good…

No pulse. No breathing. 

As I worked, a Hatzalah volunteer arrived at the scene and began working alongside me. 

“No pulse or breathing,” I reported to the station. “Send MICU urgently.” The Hatzalah volunteer and I continued working furiously. This guy doesn’t have much of a chance, I thought. Who knows how long he’s been lying like this, in this condition.
But I’m used to leaving my thoughts for my own pillow… for when I try to fall asleep at night. Right now, I had to focus on what I needed to do – and do it. 

The ambulance arrived and with it, more advanced equipment. The full team and I continued to do our best, but…nothing. The guy wouldn’t wake up. 

The team gave up, but I refused to. I continued to put in every bit of strength I could muster, without thinking. 

Yair, a fellow paramedic, placed his hand on my shoulder. His eyes were telling me, Forget it, this is a lost cause.

But I kept going. 

The other guys knew me already. They weren’t going to try explaining to me for the umpteenth time that I was too naïve.
I pushed. I pushed again.

And then suddenly I felt something change.
I checked carefully and began screaming like a madman, “There’s a pulse! There’s a pulse!”

The paramedics looked at the patient and immediately realized that I was right. They all began working feverishly again. 

Somehow, they managed to stabilize him and rushed him to the nearest hospital together with his tearful wife.

Honestly, I was very emotional as I watched them go. I’ve been in this field for years, but it is still rare to succeed in performing a successful resuscitation -  especially in such a case, where the man had been lying unconscious for so long.

I gathered my things and headed back home.

A month passed, and I nearly forgot the incident. One morning, my phone rang. 

“Hi, is this Shmuly, from MADA?”

“Yes, who am I speaking with?”

The young man on the other end of the line told me that he was this elderly man’s grandson. My thoughts went back to that fateful night, and I asked him with some hesitation, “How is he?” I wasn’t sure what I was going to hear. I knew that not many people survive after being deprived of oxygen for so long, and even those who do survive are generally badly crippled as a result. 

“You have no idea,” the grandson told me with obvious emotion. “You gave us our grandfather back!”

I was so moved that I could hardly get any words out of my mouth. 

The young man told me that they had been searching all week long for the phone number of the “angel who saved their grandfather” – that was how he described me. He told me that his grandfather had been discharged and is completely back to his usual self. “We would love to have you join us at the seudas hodaya that we are making in honor of this miracle!”

I could not refuse. I still remembered the address, so I just asked him for the date and time. 

On the day of the seudah, I came to the house again. The apartment was filled with family members and tables laden with cakes and candy. 

They all welcomed me with hugs and joyful greetings. I have never met these people before, but it seemed that to them I was like family. I was given a seat at the head of the table, next to a dignified-looking man with a white beard.

His face looked familiar…but now I was seeing his face with a healthy coloring.

When he saw me, he stood up and enveloped me in a warm hug. I felt his tears wetting my shoulder, and then my own tears coursing down my cheeks.

He murmured words of thanks, and it was obvious that he was very, very emotional. 
I myself was feeling my own storm of emotions – and not only because of the opportunity I had been given to save another man’s life. 

With shocking clarity, I suddenly realized that this man who was now looking at me with such gratitude-filled eyes was none other than my childhood teacher, Rabbi Substitute. It must have been his voice that made all the memories surface, but I had no doubt about it. I gently asked him about his life and where he was from. Yes, it was him…

He did not seem to recognize me, but that was understandable. Unlike him, my own appearance had changed drastically since I was ten years old… 

I was difficult for me to contain myself. I felt an unexplainable urge to tell him who I was.

I asked one of his sons, who was sitting next to me, to allow me to speak to his father privately. He looked at me in surprise, but apparently, my status as the “savior” helped ward off questions. He stood up and whispered into his father’s ear. 

I saw Rabbi Substitute’s eyes looking at me, and then his head nodding in agreement.
We were led to a side room. After we both settled on the day bed in the room and the door closed behind us, I burst into uncontrollable tears.

I had planned to talk to him, but the wave of emotions was stronger than me. I myself had not realized, until that moment, just how deeply he had hurt me. 

I felt his hands on my head, and then heard his soothing words trying to calm me. He obviously could not understand what was happening to me.

After I calmed down somewhat, I raised red-rimmed eyes and began to tell him who I was. It took a few moments for him to recall. “You’re Shmuly?” he pointed a shaking finger at me. I saw understanding dawn, and his face suddenly became very white. 

I felt a pang of panic. I had already seen his face looking like that. Slowly, however, his color returned. And then it was his turn to cry.

We did not exchange more than a few words, but to me it seemed like we had spent hours in deep conversation. 
We simply didn’t need any words. The tears said everything. The deep hurt…the frustration and the pain…the insidious effect of his behavior toward me in the classroom… and also, his regret, his remorse…

He hugged me again, and I returned the hug, feeling forgiveness wash over me. A huge rock was lifted from my chest.

“And I told you that you’ll amount to nothing,” he whispered, his voice filled with indescribable regret.

He asked for my forgiveness again and again, and I told him I was fully mochel. 

We walked back into the living room, both of us with red-rimmed eyes and blotchy faces. People looked at us in bewilderment. 
When Rabbi Substitute reached his seat, he motioned for me to sit on the adjacent chair, but he himself remained standing. He told everyone that he wanted to say a few words. Within seconds, everyone fell silent. It was clear that they all wanted to know what had happened.

Rabbi Substitute first began by praising me for saving his life. He especially emphasized the illogical efforts I had put in despite the fact that realistically, there was no longer any hope. He focused on the main point, in his opinion, which was that I worked against all odds and used my heart, not my head. 

Then he told everyone who I was and where we had first met. 

He told them everything. He repeated the words he had used then, at the fateful meeting with my parents, and the things he said about me in front of the entire class. At this point, people were crying unabashedly. In a broken voice he turned to me and asked for my forgiveness again. 

I could not speak. I only nodded my consent, my own throat choked with tears. 

Then, Rabbi Substitute ended in a heartfelt statement. “Twenty years ago, I told you that you do not use your head. Yet what saved me now was precisely the fact that you did not follow your head – but your heart. Years ago, I thought you had a problem and were not thinking enough. Now I know that what you have is actually a huge heart.”

He hugged me again, and I returned the hug.

That is my story. 

It was not easy for me to write it all. You must have realized by now that I am not the sort of person who can easily sit and write things down. But I did it anyway, because I want you to always remember:

There are some kids who have a great head.

There are kids who have a great heart.

And they are all Hashem’s children.

A Headache

A headache

Pounding
Deep
Heavy
Penetrating
Made me
Incapacitated
Sent me
To bed
My poor head!
Closed my eyes
Looked inside
To what's inside
That head of mine
Thoughts
Not always good
Maybe I should
Be less
Judgemental?
Be more
Positive?
Look at things
At people
With a favorable
Eye
With a giving eye
Instead of begrudging
Instead of
Judging
My eyesight
Has been
So superficial
So skin-deep
Am I not one to know
That there's so much more
Beyond
The external?
Can I allow judgement to pass?
Can I clear
My head
And heart
And start
To look
With positivity?

Can I look
At God
Without judging
Every move
Every story
Every headline
With questions
With accusations
More limitations
In my belief
Can I just believe
That He knows
What He is doing
And that my small brain
Cannot comprehend
His big plan?

No.
I cannot.
I cannot accept
All the stories
All the headlines
All the pain.
Because that would mean
It wouldn't hurt
I would stop
Praying
Asking
For it to stop
Because I'd accept
His plan
And as long as
I'm alive
I cannot
Accept
The pain
The hardships
The difficulties
The challenges
Of life.
I will keep asking
I will keep questioning
I will keep judging you,
God.
Because as long as
I see pain
As long as
I see suffering
I can not
Accept it.

So my head can hurt
It can throb
Pound
Ache
Shake
And still
I will not stop
Pounding down the doors
Pounding at your throne
Asking you
To change
To stop
The pain
To end
The suffering
And bring the day
When you will do away
With the aches
And pains
Of heads
And hearts
And families
Will be
Whole
Once more.

The Present

The following was written by Sarala, a very unique and special individual. She shared it with me and gave me permission to post it so you can also be inspired.

The Present is a Present

A young couple was eating out in a restaurant. After a few moments of pleasant chatting, their food arrived. Starving, they each dived in but abruptly stopped in their tracks when they noticed a piece of paper neatly folded into 4 sections. They each opened it up and read it. It read: “The Present Moment is a Present. Use it Wisely.”

The couple looked at each other questioningly. They didn’t have to comment. The look on their faces verbalized their thoughts. “What in the world?? What is this??” They slowly recovered and regained their composure and read the note a couple of more times. They remembered that their food was waiting for them and quickly dived in. But this time it was done a bit differently: They recited a bracha slowly and carefully while trying to understand its meaning.

While this story is made up, the message is very clear and relevant to us. How many times do we lose sight of precious moments and squander many opportunities? How many of us fall into the trap of boredom when we can easily channel the moment into something elevated?

I would like to share a personal example to bring this point home:

I take the city bus to work. The bus ride is not long at all; it’s about 10 minutes. All too often, I find myself thinking about what I can/should do and therefore, lose the moment. When I catch myself, I shift my attention to the present moment and try to experience it as much as I can. For example, I take note of the cold air on my face. I challenge myself to observe my surroundings – the trees, flowers, cars and people passing by. Although this sounds simple and elementary, it is extremely important. It’s vital that we observe, take note and enjoy each moment. Because, The Present is a Present.

Food For Thought: Hashem gave us all the same amount of seconds. The difference lies in how we choose to use them.

The equation below is copied and pasted from: https://www.rapidtables.com/calc/time/seconds-in-day.html

1 day = 24 hours/day × 60 minutes/hour × 60 seconds/minute = 86400 seconds/day. 

Let's use the many seconds in our day to enjoy the presents we've been given, by living in the present!

Let Go and Let God

This was written by Blimie Israel. She gave my permission to share it with you.

A man decided it is high time he teach his young son how to play bow and arrow. He takes the young boy to a large forest where a dartboard was nailed on a huge oak tree. Setting the boy down on a trunk, the father picks up his well worn bow and arrow. With practiced hands, he gently pulls back the string.

"Father!" the child cried, "That will hurt you! Don't do that! This game is not meant to be played like that!".

The father gently placed the set on the ground and put his arms around his dear son. "My beloved child, quite the contrary. In this game the string is meant to be pulled back. The strength and power when you release the string will  push the arrow with such strength, hitting the target with exact precision. My son, I have been around longer than you. My practiced hands have sent forth millions of arrows, each one hitting its mark. Trust me. Allow me to teach you".

​Many times in life, we are tested with challenges. With sufferings. With pain. Oh how we cry out to Hashem! "Hashem, it hurts!!!! Don't do this to me! Life is not meant to be this way!!" and Hashem through his presence, comforts us, soothing our pain and tells his beloved children "My children, just the opposite. Life down here is not meant to be comfortable. The pain, the anguish you experience is for a reason. The force of such pain, the tears, the broken heart, the challenges we don't understand..all combined with such force, will capitulate you to soar to great heights. Yes, it might seem like you are being pulled back, dragged down but it is those struggles who will shape you to become the greatest you can possibly be".

It is time to let go and let God.

The Story Behind the Picture

The shabbos before my brother Shalom a"h was niftar was shabbos nachamu. That year, my sister and her husband were planning to go with their little daughter to Los Angeles, California for shabbos. They tried to make arrangements but in the end, it did not work out. They still wanted to go away for shabbos, so instead, they went upstate.

That year, Visiting Day came out on Tisha B'av. Some camps scheduled their Visiting Day for the Sunday before Tisha B'av and other camps pushed it off to the Sunday after Tisha B'av. Shalom's camp, Camp Stolin, pushed it off a week. Since the boys were scheduled to come home a week and a few days later, my mother did not go visit him. Our family did not have a car and it was hard to find a ride to his camp; it was further out than most other camps. "I'll see him in another week," she thought to herself. 

That Sunday, my sister and her husband went along with their baby and visited Shalom. They met up with my other brother and went out for pizza. While they were there, my sister decided that she wanted to take pictures. However, she left the camera in her car and it was parked quite far away. After all, it was Visiting Day and even when only half the camps have Visiting Day, the small lot gets full quickly. At first, her husband didn't want to hike to the car just to get the camera. But after nudging him a bit, he took the trip.

He came back with the camera and they took some pictures. Pictures of Shalom holding their little gorgeous baby. 

You can see Shalom's gentle touch in the way my niece has her little fingers wrapped around his. You can see the serenity in Shalom's face. You just see it. 

They also took some pictures together. My sister, her husband, her baby and my two brothers.

The last picture was one of Shalom with a huge laughing smile on his face, his lips spread so wide from the joke he had just made. The person taking the pictures was a friend of Chaya Sara. When she said that Shalom looks like Chaya Sara, he chuckled and said, "Which part? The beard?" And everyone burst into a fresh round of laughter while she quickly took that shot. That's the last picture taken of him on that camera.

He passed away the following day.

We didn't know these would be the last pictures we'd have of him. We didn't even know about them until after he passed away. That's when my brother in law ran to develop those pictures. We had them during the shiva and were able to show them to people who came to be menachem avel.

Those pictures were so comforting for us. They still are. Those pictures showed us how happy he was on the day before his neshama was taken from us. There is a certain calm on his face. An inner calm. A happiness and contentment that you could see on his face. It is visible in his smile. It is there.

If my sister had gone to California for that shabbos, we would not have those pictures. We would not have that comfort. Additionally, she would have missed his levaya. We know this because another relative of ours who was in California was unable to make it to New York in time for the levaya. 

So we see that there was a plan. There is comfort in the pain. Even though it was time for my brother's neshama to leave this world, Hashem did it with gentleness to our family. He left us with these pictures and they give us some measure of comfort. Seeing his picture is like a soft cream upon a delicate wound. The wound hurts from time to time, but the cream makes it easier to bear.

We know he left this world happy and at peace with where he was in his life. We can see it on his face. In the last pictures we have of him.

You can read more about Shalom a"h and the story behind his sudden death. Click here for Part 1, here for Part 2 and here for Part 3.