Kindness is Eternal!

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers. 

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual. On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. "Really?" she heard whispered. "I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!" and, "I didn't know others liked me so much," were most of the comments.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another. That group of students moved on. Several years later, one of the students was killed in Viet Nam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature. The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin. As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her. "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. She nodded: "yes." Then he said: "Mark talked about you a lot."

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher. "We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket "They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it." Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him. "Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it."

All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put! his in our wedding album." "I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary" Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. "I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said and without batting an eyelash, she continued: "I think we all saved our lists" That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again. The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be. So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. 

The Shofar’s Eternal Call

From memories of Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis

... we suffered in Bergen-Belsen as Rosh Hashanah drew near and we had no shofar, no machzor. The rabbis held secret meetings. They tried to ascertain how they could possibly obtain a shofar and a machzor (prayer book). There was a black market in the camp and things could be acquired for the right price, especially if those “things” were Jewish ritual items. They were all in the junk pile waiting to be destroyed.

So it was through the heroic efforts of our people that 300 cigarettes were collected to buy a shofar and a machzor. But there was another problem. One shofar could be heard by multitudes but surely one machzor would not suffice. So once again our rabbis designed a plan. Everyone would learn at least one prayer to be recited from memory. But which prayer, which Psalm, whichberachah?  Surely all the supplications, all the Psalms, all the blessings in the machzor are holy.  So which one should it be? 

The decision was made: “Bochen levavos – let us pray to Him who searches and tests our hearts on that Day of Judgment.”  Yes, we invited G-d to come to Bergen-Belsen and examine our hearts in order to see for Himself that despite our pain and suffering we had not faltered one bit in our faith and love for Him.

Adjacent to our compound was a Polish camp (the Nazis often kept nationalities separate). Somehow our Polish brethren got wind of our treasure. So when Rosh Hashanah came and the piercing cry of the shofar was sounded, our Polish brethren crept close to the barbed wire fence separating us to hear the ancient call. The Nazis came running and beat them mercilessly. But even as the truncheons were falling on their heads they cried out, “Blessed is the Lord our G-d who has commanded us to listen to the sound of the shofar.” 

Many years later I was lecturing in Israel in a village in Samaria called Neve Aliza. It was late summer, just before Rosh Hashanah, and I felt a need to tell the story of the shofar of Bergen-Belsen. When I finished, a woman in the audience got up. “I know exactly what you are talking about,” she said, “because my father was the rabbi in the Polish compound.  You may not realize this, but your shofar was smuggled into our camp in the bottom of a large garbage can filled with soup and my father blew the shofar for us.”

I looked at her, momentarily speechless.

“And that’s not all,” she went on to say. “I have the shofar in my house, here in Neve Aliza. When we were liberated, we blew the shofar again and my father took it with him. Today I have it here in Eretz Yisrael.”

With that, she ran home and returned a few minutes later with the shofar in her hands. We wept and embraced. Here we were, two little girls from Belgen-Belsen holding that shofar in the hills of Israel. I invite you to think about that and then to think about it again – and again. 

The entire world had declared us dead. Millions of our people had been slaughtered but the shofar, the symbol of Jewish piety, triumphed over the flames. And G-d granted me the awesome privilege of rediscovering that shofar in the ancient hills of Samaria to which our people had returned after more than two thousand years of wandering, darkness, oppression and Holocaust – the miracle of our time.

Hospital Miracle

My daughter was born with a chronic illness, which was unfortunately transmitted through me during pregnancy. As a consequence, starting from the age of 6 months old, my husband and I became frequent visitors of specialists in Columbia and Cornell New York Presbyterian Hospital. Our precious daughter had to go through numerous blood tests, sonograms and biopsies. As a mother I carried unbearable pain, feeling guilty for ‘giving’ this condition to my child. I clearly remember that in the
beginning, when we first got the horrific news of the illness, I
turned to G-d and prayed to heal my child. I cried many sleepless
nights for a miracle. 

Meanwhile, a group of prominent doctors were working on our case. As we were running out of options, the team of specialists offered a treatment option, but it was not meant for
patients of such a young age. The team of specialists was convinced that we had to start the experimental procedures as soon as possible. They proposed a treatment that consisted of two different painful shots twice a day, which caused unbearable side effects. The doctors made it very clear to us that this treatment was an experimental drug and did not hold the FDA approval.

We felt hopeless yet pressured to make a decision. As a mother, I was so desperate to help my child that I was ready to sign the waiver, but my husband felt differently. He was evaluating all the risks and benefits. It upset me tremendously that he did not rush to make the final decision to proceed with the treatment. Doctors needed both parents’ consent. My husband managed to convince me to take some time and think things through.I was hoping that soon enough the treatment would be approved by FDA
for the use on small children, while my husband’s theory was not to take the risk but to trust that G-d will do wonders. He kept saying that what we needed to do was pray harder, go for regular doctor’s appointments, and focus on doing good deeds. As we took our child for semi-annual blood tests, yearly sonograms and biopsies, we kept researching new treatments that were available.

Years went by but nothing was changing. We were still dealing with fear for our daughter's life. On January 2007, we had an appointment in NY Presbyterian. Our daughter was six years old, attending 2nd grade at a private Jewish school. Before we left home, I told my husband to take $500 in cash with us, planning to drop it off at the school later that day to pay for tuition fees. I was always carefully putting money aside, dollar by dollar. We worked extremely hard to make ends meet in order to pay for school I had to put money away on a weekly basis.

We came to the hospital and waited for our turn to see the doctor. I saw in the waiting room one religious-looking woman with her son who was sitting in a stroller. The boy was around nine years old, bold and pale. Right away, I understood that he was a cancer patient. His mother was anxiously walking back and forth; from receptionists to the waiting room, asking people for something. Finally, she came up to us and said that she needed to borrow some money. My husband seemed patient and calm as he asked her how much she needed. She said that she needed $10 to go back home to Lakewood. My husband, to my surprise, suggested that $10 would not be enough. The lady seemed to agree and said that since she does not come to the city too often, it was a good idea to use time wisely and to apply for a Birth Certificate and Social Security for her son as well, since she never got a chance to apply before.

At this point, I thought to myself, what a nerve this lady had. Not only did she ask for money but she was sharing her plans for errands to run at our expense! I felt like we were part of some dramatic play. Everyone was looking at us. The entire waiting room knew what the woman was asking because that is what she requested from them as well.She came up to every one of them to ask for money but nobody offered to help. To my shock, my husband took out a $10 bill then from the other pocket he pulled a $100 bill that was intended for school. I was beyond angry. The lady thanked us and promised that she would send us the money via mail. The entire office watched this ‘transaction’ as my
husband said to her “I am happy to help. We are Jews and we need to help each other in hard times”.

She took the money, looked into my eyes and said “I know we are all here in this pediatric department of the hospital for a reason…. it is because our children are sick. I bless you that when you go to see the doctors, you will be given wonderful news about your daughter, since you just did a great deed”. Then she sat in her chair and started knitting. Meanwhile, the receptionist called our name and we went to the examination room to speak to the team of the doctors.

We were nervous wrecks. Even though I was still furious with my
husband, when we entered the examination room, I decided not to talk about the incident and to rather focus on our child instead. Every year the blood count and sonograms were hinting the approach of the most horrific diagnoses, an early stage of cancer. When the doctors came in and saw our daughter’s recent blood test, their faces changed. They couldn't believe what was happening. It took them about 20 minutes, the longest 20 minutes of our lives to finally tell us what was going on.

To our complete shock, the
doctors started congratulate us, explaining that our daughter’s blood count
went up and she was no longer sick! We were speechless as the doctors literally
applauded our family. They asked what we did between the visits. We were so confused and
shocked that we could not even speak. These were the same people who suggested the experimental treatment as the only means so save our daughter and now we were asked
from the same doctors about what we possibly did other than the original
treatment that we refused….
We walked out from the office speechless. The same lady was still
sitting in the chair. She saw us, got up, took the carriege and walked with us to the elevator. It seemed that she was waiting with us to leave. When we all arrived at the 1st floor, she looked at our happy and extremely shocked faces, smiled back and said nothing. She walked in front of us and we followed her to the exit door. Completely absorbed by our thoughts,I got out of the building just to realize that all of a sudden the
woman was nowhere in sight, as if she literary disappeared. We rushed outside looked both ways but never saw her again.

Five days later, we received a letter with the check for $110 and a 'thank you' note with the explanation of how she ended up in the city without money. This was a very sincere 3-page letter that made me feel so special for being able to help this woman. 

As I questioned if she was a stranger or a guardian angel that came save our child, I put this special letter in a safe place with all our important documents. Yet,I was faced with another surprise when after a year I couldn't find the letter. Interestingly, all the other documents were there at the exactly same place except that letter. How odd is that?

It has been four year since our daughter is ‘disease free’ with good blood results. We are still required to do the annual blood tests and sonograms, yet I know in my heart that her results will be good. The doctors still cannot understand and explain what exactly happened. They call her a ‘miracle baby’.

We Jews believe that kindness and charity are the pillars that a
change a person’s destiny. We witnessed that to be true!

I must admit that I probably would be skeptical if I read this story about someone else….but it happened to my family and my own daughter is a true example of such an awesome miracle.

by Leah Levy-Aulov