The second day of Shevat brought me to the harsh realization that I have not heard my father’s voice nor seen his brilliant smile for 25 years. 25 years! Could it be? The yahrzeit got me thinking. In these difficult days when fathers are under tremendous stress, grappling with providing for their families, often watching their families struggle, what is the definition of a father?
Many fathers who till now have measured much of their self worth based on their paycheck or financial portfolio wonder about their future. As this pandemic is still very much a part of our world, and chaos seems to envelope us, it’s important to think about the world being formed within our homes. Is there a way for a father to use this time now to build a child’s essence? Can moments of challenge give way to molding the precious ‘deyukno shel aviv’ that will sustain our children’s souls as they journey through life?
Greater than any financial wealth is the spiritual wealth our children inherit. This becomes our personal legacy.
My mind wanders to memories of growing up. No, we did not have lots of stuff growing up. We never went on exotic vacations. But till today my parents’ and grandparents’ love nourish me, melting the cold that fear can bring.
Though many stories pop into my mind, I’d like to share one that I’ve often shared with my children when speaking about parenting.
It had been a long hot summer. My husband had undergone delicate surgery for a dislocated shoulder and was warned to limit his movements. He was wearing a sling and any slight exertion brought pain. I was in the later months of pregnancy which did not help in dealing with the scorching sun.
I took my children outside to play in the yard and heard a loud cry. My 5-year-old daughter had fallen off the swing set. She lay on the ground, her hand hanging limply on her side.
I drove my daughter to the pediatrician hoping he would tell me it’s a bad strain. Instead he informed me that we would need to go for x-rays. This was probably a break and I would need a good orthopedist. My daughter needed an adult to lift her, accompany her into the x-ray room, and calm her while being positioned and casted. I also had a toddler who had to be watched in the doctor’s office while all this would be happening.
Being that I was expecting, I couldn’t be the one with my daughter while taking x-rays. My husband was completely incapacitated. I drove home thinking about my options. My mother was lecturing and I knew that just that morning my father had gone up to the country to visit my sister and spend a week with her family in their Catskill bungalow. I was completely overwhelmed.
As I entered my house, the phone rang. I heard my father’s voice on the line.
“Shayfelah, how are you?” my father asked.
I couldn’t say a word. I just started to cry.
“What’s the matter Slovelah? Why are you crying?”
I told my story amidst my tears. I described my husband unable to move, my seven-year-old getting off the camp bus in a few moments, my toddler running circles around me and my five-year-old in pain needing an x-ray. The orthopedist’s office was an hour away and I just didn’t know what to do.
“Don’t worry, sheyfalah. I’m coming to help you.”
“Abba, what do you mean? How can you help me? You sat on a bus this morning for three hours and now you’re in the country. You’re there for a week.”
“I’m going to take the next bus home. I am coming. I didn’t unpack yet. Wait for me and don’t worry.’
“Abba, how can you do that?”
I was incredulous. How could my father even imagine getting right back on that long, hot bus ride? I knew that my father had waited for this time all year. My parents never took a vacation. My father worked tirelessly day and night, constantly bearing other people’s burdens as the Rav with a heart of gold. His greatest pleasure was taking walks on the country roads with his children and grandchildren, showing them the beauty of Hashem’s wondrous world, talking to them and sharing laughter. I later learned from my sister that my father had arrived drenched in sweat from the heat of the trip.
But my father did not mention any of this to me.
Again, I asked my father, “Abba, are you sure? I can’t ask you to do this. It’s way too much!”
I heard my father’s wonderful laugh on the phone.
And then my father said something that I will never forget.
“Slovelah, of course I’m sure. What’s a father for?”
As we grapple with a world turned upside, this is the truth that we hold onto. Here is the message for us all, raising children in 2021.
What’s a father for?
Fathers are here to love, to inspire, to make us feel cherished, no matter what life brings. Here I am, B”H a bubby and still, I know I do not stand alone. My father’s words remain.
Leilluy nishmas Avi Mori HaRav Meshulem ben HaRav Asher Anschil, zt’l