Category Archives: Acceptance

My Father

לעילוי נשמת אליהו בן שמואל יעקב
כ”ט ניסן תשס”ט

Remembering My Father
My father was a real family man. He loved when yom tov came around and his married children overran his home. The madness of everyone squished together gave him only pleasure. He especially loved giving each and every one of his children and grandchildren a berachah on Friday night. Each son-in-law became a son, and each child was a precious gem.
My father was a working man. He had a store and put many hours into his work. He was also a man who always had a joke to share. Wherever he went, whomever he spoke to, he always had something funny to say. He wasn’t a great rav or a rebbi. He wasn’t a rosh yeshivah or a rosh kollel. He wasn’t a big askan or a big leader. Yet, he could never be called simple. He wasn’t just a balabus. He was a simple person on the outside, and a person full of tochen on the inside. He was someone who constantly worked on himself and grew closer and closer to Hashem as a result. When a nisayon came his way, he took it and grew from it. He changed himself because of it. We could never praise him when we saw something great in him. He was too humble. He didn’t think there was anything to talk about and loathed the praise. He didn’t need people to see his growth. Everything about him was very low-key.
At one point when he was unemployed he spent his mornings learning. He loved finally having the time to do this and was hoping to finish all of Shas. Although he could have chosen to do this in a shul or bais medrash, he chose to learn at home. No one had to know that he spent all

of his time learning.
How typical of him to be niftar in Nissan when we couldn’t say hespedim. There was so much to say, but it all had to be toned down. But my father had a zechus that most niftarim don’t have. A few minutes after he was niftar, Radio Kol Berama in Lakewood played a speech by Rabbi Peysach Krohn; in his talk, he shared some divrei Torah from my father, as countless people tuned in. Could it be he was zoche to such a thing because of the high madreigah he was on? As R’ Dovid Goldberg, the Rosh Yeshiva from Telshe Cleveland said, “He didn’t just say the ani ma’amins; he was the ani ma’amins. He learned them and lived them.”
As a little girl, I loved waking up on Shabbos mornings to the sound of my father’s voice learning. As an adult I am really able to appreciate all the time he spent learning, especially the mishnayos he learned to make a siyum in time for my brother Chesky’s yahrtzeit.
As a little girl, I marveled at his kibbud av v’eim. When Zaydie called for him, he ran to pick up the phone, no matter how busy he was. As an adult I realize I never knew the true extent of his kibbud av v’eim. I only found out after his petirah how he drove Zaydie each morning to shul, how he decided whether the weather was good enough for him to go out or if he should encourage him to daven at home, and how he always showed up at his house on Friday afternoon to make sure everything was ready for Shabbos.
As a young child I didn’t appreciate how he always wanted us home for Shabbos seudos and would be upset if we ate at a friend’s house. As an adult I realize how lucky we are to have had such a strong, loving relationship.
As a young girl I didn’t appreciate the stability in our home. B”H, I had two parents and siblings. This meant we were a normal family. As an adult I can appreciate how lucky I am to have grown up in a healthy home permeated with love.
As a young girl I didn’t know to be happy that my parents didn’t fight with each other. As an adult I know how fortunate I am to have had parents who had shalom bayis and always displayed concern for one another.
As a young kallah, I thought it only natural for my father to accept my chassan as his son. As a married woman I understand how lucky we are that each son-in-law became a son and that they in turn looked at my father like another father. He never judged and always accepted each person despite his/her shortcomings. Maybe that is the reason he stayed so close to his children. Maybe that is why to so many people he was a favorite uncle, and why so many people gravitated to our house.
As a teenager I knew there was no way to understand my father’s pain at losing his only son. As a mother, I realize I could never begin to understand the searing pain that he experienced.
However, I think I was able to appreciate how he took such a painful experience and grew from it. He asked, he learned and he changed. Many people mentioned at the shivah that they remembered my father’s hesped for Chesky. They remembered how he took something so painful, and through his tears he was mechazeik and continued to be mechazeik his family for the next eleven years. Our family knew of the many different nisyanos that came his way. Our family also saw his pain and fear. But our family saw how he grew closer and closer to Hashem. It was like climbing a ladder. He started off on one of the lower rungs and climbed and climbed one step at a time, until he was on the highest step – so, so close to Hashem.
He didn’t bury his pain. He faced it, he grabbed it and he became better from it. Each Succos we saw his hurt as he relived Chesky’s last Succos, two weeks before he was niftar. But despite his pain he made coming home so enjoyable and fun. We laughed at his predictability. We rolled our eyes at his corny jokes, and we groaned at his idiosyncrasies, such as comments about the garbage can that filled up too quickly.
The children coined the name “Funny Zaydie” as soon as they learned how to talk. They called him this because that is what he was to them. He joked with them, he played with them and he laughed with them. Funny Zaydie had a place in their hearts that no other Zaidy can have.
On the other hand, we knew whom to call when we were down and in need of chizuk. We reached out to our father who had a depth to him that not many could match. With wisdom that only life’s experience can bring, my father was able to encourage us and countless others.
Before the levayah my husband asked me if there was anything in particular I wanted him to say in his speech. I responded, “Everyone knows my father as someone who is funny and always had a joke. But he was such an anav. Tell the world who he really was. Tell everyone about his unwavering trust through so many hardships because they don’t know.”
But I see how wrong I was!
The deep void of losing this special person is felt by so many people. Nephews we never knew he had a relationship with. Brothers and sisters-in-law who were so different from him. And friends who couldn’t walk into the house without crying. All these testify to the fact that many people did realize his tochen. Yes, wherever he went he brought laughter.
Yet, people realized he wasn’t just a man who loved a good piece of cake and a good joke. He was a man who always aspired to be more. People realized that his davening took longer than most because he really had the connection that we all crave. People realized that they could ask him for money from the Zichron Tzedakah Fund that was set up l’iluy nishmas my brother because he would help out quietly and discreetly. People realized that they could do business with him without any contracts because honesty would always come first. Yes, friends and relatives all over knew him and realized who he was. And the pain of losing him is so strong and so deep.
When my son Yecheskil was born, it brought some nechamah to my father for the loss of his son. Right from the beginning, my father introduced him to Chesky’s tefillin and Chesky’s bike. He talked to him about the day that he would be old enough to inherit Chesky’s prized possessions. But my father wasn’t here anymore to give my son his only son’s tefillin. He wouldn’t be there for any grandson’s bar mitzvah.
We always enjoyed a close relationship with my grandparents, and of course I thought our children were going to enjoy that type of relationship with my parents – forever. But during shivah, Yecheskil, then a third grader, started learning mishnayos, and he couldn’t share the news with his Zaydie. Moishy and Dovy had just started getting to really know their Zaydie over the Pesach that had just passed, and now that relationship is over – forever.
People trying to be menachem us said, “At least you have good memories to hold onto.” But I wanted to shake them. Didn’t they realize my father is too young to be a memory?! We – his children – were too young to be without a father and Mommy was too young to be a widow. Our children were babies. He couldn’t just be a memory. We needed him to be here as a proud father and grandfather.
No, we determined that he will not just be a memory to us. He kept Chesky alive for us in our hearts and our minds, and we will always keep my father alive in our hearts and minds. We talk about him, share his jokes and his divrei Torah. We comment on what he liked and disliked. We bring him into our homes and families’ lives by saying what Zaydie would have said and done.
As we talk more and more about my father, my children will get to know who Zaydie was. He was an easygoing person who was so, so close to Hashem. He was a tzaddik and someone to emulate for all posterity.
And as painful as this is for us, we must do what my father would have done. We have to take the pain and grow from it. We have to grab this hurt and become closer to Hashem from it. It seems almost impossible. But we have my father’s actions to lead us, and we will try to follow.

Do You Know Who You Are?

Do you remember that girl in your class who was really pretty, whose hair was always perfect? Did you compare yourself to her and feel ugly? How about the girl who always had a witty response? Did being around her make you feel as if you were just so dull?  Do you still find yourself thinking like that? Does your super-clean sister-in-law make you feel like an incompetent housekeeper or your stay-at-home neighbor make you feel like an incompetent mother? Do you ever feel that you are boring, that you always mess things up, that you’re not so smart or talented or just a complete failure?
Guess what? You are normal. Probably many of the people you think are better than you look at others and also feel inferior in some way. It’s almost as if this is a mandatory qualification for being a woman.
I know a tenth grader who is on top of her class academically. She has a wonderful personality and lots of friends, and her middos are extolled by many of her teachers. Yet when I asked her why a teen who has everything going for her would have low self-esteem, she looked at me as if I was crazy and answered, “Isn’t it obvious why?”
Low self-esteem doesn’t stay behind in a classroom. If it isn’t worked on, it follows us straight into the workforce, marriage and motherhood.  But no matter our stage in life, it’s never too late to work on improving the way we feel about ourselves.
In פרקי אבות, פרק ב: משנה ו, it says, “.ולא הבישן לומד” What does this mean? One can’t learn because of embarrassment? Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski writes that if a person has a question in learning but won’t ask because he feels that he should know it, or he must not be smart because no one else has this question, then he loses out on very important learning opportunities. How can a person learn if he always feels embarrassed? This is not a good embarrassment, nor is it humbleness. It comes from feeling bad about one’s self and the repercussions are not positive.
With these kinds of feelings it is hard to achieve anything. How can you accomplish if you always feel that if your ideas had merit someone else would have come up with them or that you’re just not capable of carrying them out? Nowhere in the Torah does it say that you should feel incompetent or unqualified. And as the Mishnah says, your shame will stop you from understanding, learning and accomplishing.
There is one kind of embarrassment that is praiseworthy. This comes from anivus, true humbleness, like Moshe Rabbeinu displayed. We all know that Moshe Rabbeinu was an ענו מכל אדם. Yet, Moshe was the leader of Klal Yisrael. He knew his strengths and used them for עבודת השם.
We are all mirrors reflecting tiny pieces of Hashem’s various middos. Therefore, we must be careful to acknowledge when a talent exists within us. It is not egotistical to know that you are a great organizer, a wonderful listener, a talented party planner or a very patient, loving mother. Rather, realize that you are a reflection of Hashem’s attributes. When we can acknowledge that the strengths we have are from Hashem and we are ready to use them for our own growth or for the sake of those around us, then we are acting in a G-dly way. This is a positive kind of “embarrassment.”
So let’s say you are the typical mother and wife fighting those nasty voices in your head telling you that you aren’t good, that you are inferior to others. You don’t know how to handle this child’s issue. You aren’t sure that you are showing enough support to your husband. And maybe in general you are doing something wrong because your children almost never show responsibility. What are practical applications to help you like yourself?
You can know that like every living person, you are perfectly imperfect. Your flaws were given to you by Hashem, Who wrapped them all up together in a box for your life’s journey. (You can imagine what color your box is, the size of the box and whether it has a bow or not.)
Accept your limitations – they are from Hashem. But don’t become complacent about them. Work on them with Hashem. Ask Him to help you make changes to turn your negatives into positives. And don’t forget to recognize your strengths. Find them. Remind yourself every day about the qualities that are specific to you.
Talk back to your negative voices. You can tell them, “Listen here, Voice, I know you are trying to making me feel bad about my flaws. But guess what?  Everyone has flaws. I also have strengths. That’s what I am trying to focus on. So you can keep telling me that I am not good enough, but I will keep telling you about all my strong points.”
Consider the following quote: “It’s not what you are that is holding you back, but rather, what you think you are not.”
Learn what you are so that you can use your kochos fully.
This article originally appeared in Links magazine and appears here in revised form, with permission.

Regular Me

 

One day I stopped and said, “I was always plain ordinary me. I am just so regular. What happened? My life is not regular anymore.”

Regular is a very broad word. What is regular for me may not be regular for someone else. But I think that most people will agree that their vison of regular does not include sitting at the bedside of three family members, watching them die. My vision of regular did not include losing parents at such a young age. My vision of regular did not include going to a cemetery on a fairly regular basis.

My vision of regular was having my parents around for many years. My vison of regular was having my parents around as I raised my own children. My vison of regular was for all my siblings to get married and raise their own families. My vision of regular was to grow together even as we build our own families.

But regular seemed to forget about my family. At the young age of fourteen, my brother died from leukemia. At the time I thought this was our family’s big tragedy. From here on, it would be smooth sailing. I got married shortly afterward, and things were good. But one fine day my sister received a diagnosis of cancer. Three days later, my mother also did.

Over the next few years, I lived with constant fear. We were always waiting. Waiting for my mother’s scans and waiting for my sister’s test results. If one of their tests came back looking good, it didn’t mean that the other’s would. There were ups, there were downs. There was hope, and there was despair. There was anticipation, and there was dejection. There was courage, and there was faith.

But with all the faith we had, we couldn’t have ever possibly imagined that one night, in the middle of a relative’s chasunah, my father would have a massive heart attack and die. We were confused. We were davening so much for our mother and sister. So my father died? There wasn’t time to dwell on it. My sister was sick and withering away. We had to put all of our kochos into her refuah. Eight months later, she was nifteres, and eighteen months after that, we sat shivah for my mother.

After that shivah I realized I had no emergency to focus on anymore. There was no one sick and no distractions. It was time to look at myself – definitely something I didn’t want to do. It is so much easier to keep on running. I didn’t like who I had become. I was distracted and unfocused. I was sad and impatient.

And so began my own healing process. I had to learn that emotions are real. When I feel sad it is okay to feel it. I feel better when I accept my pain and don’t push it away.

I had to realize that guilt was harming me. I know I did what I could for both my mother and my sister. Guilt was telling me that I had lost out on opportunities. I had to make sure this guilt would not disrupt my wellbeing.

I had to learn how to open up more to my friends. They wanted to support me; I just needed to let them. I was very emotionally closed. To open up and let someone deep in to the most painful places was so scary. But to remain alone in my pain was even worse.

I had to work very hard on accepting that everything that happened was exactly the way Hashem wanted it to happen. I wasn’t in charge. I couldn’t have done things differently for a different outcome.

At times I still feel sad and lonely. I still wonder what it would be like if my whole family would be alive. I still feel the need to turn to my parents for so many different reasons. I miss my sister so, so much. I wonder what my brother’s wife would have been like and how many children they might have had.

My challenges have made it necessary to work on myself consistently and constantly.

It isn’t easy because I just want to be regular – normal. By now I have learned that I am normal, but my normal is different than the way I thought it would be. I am learning acceptance over and over again. The more I accept, the calmer I feel.

The pain of losing a parent at any age is very difficult. Because of my experiences I am able to help out others going through similar experiences. This is part of my regular. I always thought that I would have a different regular. But my life is just as it is supposed to be. Regular custom-made for me

My Bad Mood

My Bad Mood

It was simple. I was in a bad mood. I felt overwhelmed with too many things that had to be done. I was upset at some new challenges that had been placed before me. I felt incapable and incompetent. It all felt like too much for me. I wasn’t interested in new situations I’d have to deal with right now.

I wanted mundane. I wanted boring. Because I know that my mundane and boring isn’t mundane or boring. Exhaustion can definitely put me in that negative frame of mind, so I went to sleep, hoping I would wake up feeling better. But I didn’t. I woke up sunk in self-pity. I woke up in a rebellious mood. So do you know what I did? I rebelled. I thought, “Today I am angry. Today I am wondering why Hashem is giving me these challenges. Today I feel like I am not in the mood of today. You know what? I will be in a bad mood. I will feel angry. And I don’t even want to daven.

The next day, still in a slump, I called a friend. She actually was able to put a positive spin on all my distress. But I didn’t want to hear it. I was not ready to feel less pity for myself. So I called the next friend. We spoke it out. I told her all my anxieties and concerns. The more I talked, the better I felt. My friend totally got me. She related to my rebelliousness. She related to my anger. And she told me how she helps herself when she feels that way.

As the conversation was winding down I recapped how I can help myself. And then she said to me, “Don’t think you can do it by yourself. You need to ask Hashem to help you get out of this mood.” And I started laughing. Of course. What had I been I thinking? I got so caught up in the anger and negativity that I was feeling toward Hashem that I was pushing away the very One I needed to get me where I needed to go.   I forgot that Hashem is an all-encompassing, inescapable part of every area of my life. This includes my moods.

He has given me challenges, but He has given me the tools to deal with them. He has given me challenges, but He wants to help me. He hasn’t forsaken me. He gave me these challenges not to feel sorry for myself, but to reach out to him.

My circumstances didn’t change. There are situations in my life that are causing me a lot of anxiety and a lot of fear. But self-pity is futile.

Life is happening. There are stressors and pressures. There are anxieties and tensions. But sinking into self-pity is a choice I don’t want to make. I would rather choose to tell Hashem how I feel and to ask him to take away any feelings that are more harmful than good.

I think I needed that day or two to feel sorry for myself. I needed time to mope before tackling all this negativity inside of me. But now, with Hashem’s help, I am ready to get out of my slump and to keep on moving forward in a peaceful frame of mind.