Dear Mrs. Bluth,
This letter is six and a half years late in getting to you and there’s a good possibility you don’t even remember the first letter I sent you when I was so troubled and confused at what I should do. Your response to me was to stay on the path I had chosen, follow my heart and Hashem would help me find true happiness in my life. I listened to you and everything you told me would happen happened, but not exactly as anyone could have foreseen. Let me refresh your memory.
My name is Ori* and six and a half years ago I escaped a tormented and abusive home life in the States by going to yeshiva in Eretz Yisrael. My father, who always told me I was a nothing and would never amount to anything, who beat me and my siblings when he felt we were not respectful, did not do his bidding just as he wanted it done, had a bad day at the office or when I stood between my mother and him so she wouldn’t get punched, was furious that I was going away to learn. Maybe because he was losing his first born punching bag, but I just couldn’t take it anymore.
My mother helped me apply and encouraged me to get away and when I almost changed my mind she said she would be heartbroken if I didn’t go and prove to myself that I could become anything I chose to be because I was a good person. She assured me she would be okay and that she would report him to the authorities if he hurt anyone in my absence.
A few days before I left I got your phone number through your office and we spoke. It took me almost and hour to tell you my story because I had to stop often to hold back tears and you listened until I was done. For this alone I must thank you so much because you said everything I needed to hear. First, you assured me that you would speak to my mom and help her in whatever way she needed to stay safe along with my siblings. Then you told me I was an exceptional young man, courageous, wise and worthy of the wonderful life that is ahead of me. You knew the rosh yeshiva of the yeshiva where I was going and you told me you would speak to him on my behalf. For this, too, I am eternally grateful to you.
When I entered the yeshiva, I was warmly welcomed by the hanhala and felt for the first time, like a normal young man of nineteen, even though I felt much older. The rosh yeshiva was particularly kind to me and as I grew in my learning and drank in the atmosphere of limud Torah, his interest in me grew as well. I was often invited to his Shabbos table and I saw how beautiful his home life was, so much love for his wife and children, something I had never seen or been exposed to in my home. After the Shabbos meal the Rebbe asked me to accompany him to the beis medrash and on the way we spoke about what I aspired to be. I stopped for a moment because I felt the tears welling up in my eyes and he waited for me to answer. Haltingly, I told him I wanted to be like him. To be able to be mikarev anyone who was questioning his reason for being, who was confused and in pain or just simply lost their way. I didn’t think much of my answer and felt foolish having diminished myself in front of the rosh yeshiva who was probably waiting to hear that I wanted to be a elui in learning or, at the very least a talmid chacham. But it was too late to retrieve my words and the conversation ended as we arrived to the beis medrash.
When I heard from home, my mother sounded so much better and she said she was being helped by the local Nishei. I was overjoyed, even though my father was still home, he barely paid my mother and siblings any mind. The zman for shanah rishona was almost at an end and I really did not want to go home, so I asked to stay in the yeshiva and do odd jobs until the new zman began. The rosh yeshiva had me move into his home and I became his ben bayis. Over the summer, with his yeshiva duties curtailed, we spent many hours of the day together, learning Gemara, which I enjoyed immensely. I helped him with his office work writing letters to other rabbayim and I realized how much I had come to look up to him as a father figure.
Two years ago, the Rebbe took me aside after the Shabbos meal and said it was time for me to make a life for myself, it was time for me to find a wife. I looked up at him, the terror clearly evident on my face and told him I didn’t know how to go about that, that I was happy in the yeshiva and wanted to stay and teach, or do anything to be able to remain there. The Rebbe took me by the shoulders and said he had seen me looking at his eldest daughter Tziporah and how she looked back at me. Then he said the words I never thought I’d hear, that he would be honored to have me as a son-in-law since I already was like a son to him. And that is when I broke down and wept. I was finally someone worthy enough, good enough and honorable enough to marry the Rebbe’s daughter, whom I truly loved from a distance over the past few years. We got engaged, and sadly, my mother could not come to the wedding because my father forbade it, but the Rebbe flew to the States to meet them. He told my mother that she could be proud to have raised such a son, since my father did not have the derech eretz or decency to attend the visit. But he brought back the message from my mother that at the first opportunity, she would come to visit.
After the summer yeshiva life started anew and I was given the kavod of being a rebbe for the new arrivals while still being in shana rishona of my marriage. Many of the boys were spreading their wings for the first time away from home on there own, but there was always the one or two boys who came with emotional baggage that was very familiar to me. To those boys, I set aside special time to build them up, reassure them that they are in a good place where they can learn to achieve any heights they chose and succeed because I myself was an example.
I was just so happy finally in my life that I simply floated through the days. The days became years and then, on that horrible day of October 7 of last year ,my calling pulled me in a new direction. With the yeshiva on lockdown, I asked the Rebbe, my father-in-law, for permission to tend to the morale of the soldiers and he gave me his bracha to keep their neshamos strong and their faith in HaKodosh Boruch Hu stronger. So I volunteered for chaplain duties and for three months I ministered to the young men and women who were fighting for our Eretz HaKedosha and our lives. On the last day before I would be returning home, our truck was hit by enemy fire and I was wounded. Still I managed to comfort several of the chayalim who were in shock and in pain until we got to the hospital. I spent a few day undergoing treatment and then was released to go home.
Upon arriving home, my wonderful wife heightened my joy of life by telling me she was four months pregnant and kept it a secret from me so as not to deter me from offering solace and comfort to the soldiers. She knew me better than I knew myself and I thanked HaKodosh Boruch Hu for blessing me with my aishes chayil. Our little Elimelech Ezrie was born five months later as the sirens wailed overhead, taking shelter in the safe room a week after his bris. So here I sit beside my sleeping wife and newborn son and my entire life flashing in front of me. I went back all the way to my own childhood and my painful and sad youth and remembered the few people who gave me solace, comfort and hope. Whoever I am and whatever I will yet become is due to the kindness of others and the love and inspiration of a particular few. I will remember your kind words always and hope to be a loving, supportive and demonstrative husband and father to my little son. Thank you for yesterday, today and always.
Ori
Dear Reb Ori,
I had to go deep into my memory banks to recall your situation, but recall it I did. I am glad to say I still hear from your mother from time to time, and sad for her to have missed the amazing transformation of your life and now, to have a little grandson to visit. I hope you called her with the news and encouraged her to come visit you on the first plane flying to Eretz Yisrael. Now that your father, a”h, is nifter, she is free to live the life she always longed for. Reconnect with your siblings and invite them along to get to know your new family and become whole again. Hashem works in mysterious ways and He affords us the miracles we pray for at the right time. Your story is unique and painfully beautiful in that sometimes we have to go through fire in order to reach Nirvana on this earth, and it makes the joy, love and healing so much greater. You did grow into the exceptional, worthy, and great human being you never believed you could be. Go forth and prosper and be to others the good and generous person you always were.
May you, your wife and your entire families see much Yiddish nachas from little Elimelech Ezrie and all your future children and may we soon be able to share in each others simchas in Yerushalayim Habnuya, Amen!
