An invitation. A Diet Coke. An offer to babysit. The acts were small. Their impact enormous
We were making our first bar mitzvah. Our pre-1A yingele, Naphtoli, was privileged to be in Rabbi X’s class in Yeshiva Ktana of Passaic. Naphtoli proved to be a most delighted courier and happily handed his rebbi an invitation. But while the bar mitzvah was all anyone talked about at home, we were well aware that Rabbi X, having generations of talmidim, a family of his own, and running the local Pirchei, was most certainly not lacking in bar mitzvah invitations. In all honesty the invitation was a respectful formality, and I made sure to warn Naphtoli that his rebbi was unlikely to attend.
The night was, baruch Hashem, beautiful, busy, and fast, and I thought nothing more of it until Rabbi X came to the edge of the men’s section to wish me a personal mazel tov. Naphtoli positively lit up when he saw Rebbi. In total awe, he ran to put back on the suit jacket and tie he’d shed during the dancing.
Naphtoli is five years old. He doesn’t know the effort it takes to rearrange a schedule, carve out time, drive, park, and show up suitably attired at your five-year-old student’s older brother’s bar mitzvah. By the time he is old enough to appreciate this story, he may have forgotten about it. But I won’t. I don’t know exactly how I would have defined chesed before, but I have a deeper understanding after witnessing this.
As most mothers of special needs children can attest, it’s a full-time job. It gets a little hairy sometimes, as my husband and I also have full-time jobs outside the home, as well as other children, in addition to our son with special needs, Eliezer.
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