Upon hearing footsteps behind me I turned around. I asked the family coming up the steps – several young men and their father – if they’d like to go ahead of me. Without a word they ran up the stairs, leaving me behind as if I were an afterthought.
I was taken aback. I said “Good Shabbos” as they raced by and they mumbled something under their breath in response but they were running too fast to stop and say a good word.
A few minutes later I heard footsteps once again. I stopped and invited the people behind me to go ahead. “Rebbetzin,” came the response, “it’s our zechus to follow you. And please take your time. We are in no rush. If you need some help, just let us know.”
The adults in this family appeared to be middle aged. Their children probably ranged in age from eight to fourteen. Quietly they walked behind me. There wasn’t a sound. There were no complaints. Only chesed and respect.
Two frum families going up the same staircase – but what different staircases they created.
How do you teach chesed? I believe it is something that must be given priority in all our schools – not necessarily as a subject like dikduk or math but through example and reinforcement. It’s the best preparation for life.
I concluded my previous column with a story about my three-year-old great-granddaughter. This summer she spent much time in her bubbie’s (my daughter’s) bungalow. Every morning after davening my daughter would call me to find out how I was, even as I used to call my mommy years ago. One morning my great-granddaughter woke up late and by the time she came into the kitchen my daughter had already davened and made her morning call to me. The little three year old asked my daughter, “Bubbie, did you call your mother yet?”
I firmly believe a story like this bears repeating not one time but a hundred and one times, for this is an area in which our generation has failed. There are those of us who hardly ever call our mommies or our bubbies – let alone our great-grandmothers. And here is a three year old who already knows and understands.
Shouldn’t we understand? How did she learn this? Isn’t it embarrassing that so many of us don’t? But the story about my great-granddaughter doesn’t end there, as those who read last week’s column will recall.
A few hours later the Hatzolah ambulance parked in the bungalow colony received an emergency call.The sirens sounded as the terrific Hatzolah volunteers raced to help someone in need.
“Bubbie,” my great-granddaughter said as she ran over to my daughter, “call up your mother right away and find out if she’s all right.”
It’s the month of Elul. Hashem, our Father, is waiting for us to call. But arewecalling? How wonderful it would be if we internalized the question of my three-year-old great-granddaughter.
It’s Elul and your Father is waiting for you. Have you called?