“Reb Avraham, the zechus of supporting bereaved parents was promised to your Srulik’s neshamah. From the Six Days of Creation, this mitzvah has been waiting for you”
It was eight years ago, the Friday before Shivah Asar B’Tammuz, and several of my married children decided to join us for Shabbos. Everyone crowded in, but what greater nachas is there for a parent? Especially as we were also being joined by our ben zekunim, Yisrael Chaim — Srulik, who came home from yeshivah for the family Shabbos.
Srulik was truly gifted — when he was nine years old, I started a chavrusa with him in daf yomi, and by the time he was 17, he’d been tested on 600 pages of Gemara by heart. He was also musically gifted, having mastered the clarinet without ever taking lessons, and that Friday, which would be the last time we could hear music before the Three Weeks leading to Tishah B’Av, his nieces and nephews begged him to play. After half an hour, he told them, “This is going to be the last niggun.” We didn’t attribute anything to that comment, but later that night, after Srulik sang “Ahavah Rabah” over and over with his eyes closed, he was pale and started feeling weak. Shabbos morning he had difficulty breathing, and we rushed him to the nearby Mayanei Hayeshua Medical Center in Bnei Brak. When they couldn’t help him, they immediately transferred him to another hospital. As he was hooked up to machines, we barely understood all the numbers, but we did understand the grim faces. We davened desperately at the bedside, but Srulik was unresponsive, slipping away from us.
By Monday, he was gone. Srulik, my beloved son, so young and full of promise… gone. Numbly, I tore my rekel and followed the chevra kaddisha vehicle down our street. Srulik, Srulik, Srulik… I sobbed in bitter spasms of loss and pain.
My world had crashed to a halt. People came to the shivah with words of comfort and words of Torah, but nothing reached me. I was on the floor, and no one could get me up. For half a year, I couldn’t get back to myself. I could barely speak to my wife and my children. Even my sweet, innocent grandchildren who always brought me such joy couldn’t elicit a smile from me.
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