Lessons In Emunah

“Mum, you’ll never guess what happened.” My daughter Tammy’s tone of voice at the other end of the phone indicated that it wasn’t something pleasant. “Someone took my baby stroller from the bus. When I went to pick it up and get off the bus, it wasn’t there any more. I couldn’t believe it. Who would do such a thing?”

I stood up, lurching down the hall, and collided into an old man clutching a pole with in IV bag.

I learned to tone down my expectations. All too often, we’ve fallen in with poor buys, bad tenants (or no tenants), unpaid rent and financial losses. Over the years, there have been more complications than I could enumerate.

We were not familiar with the process of wiring money to Israel when I got engaged, so I was just waiting for the money to come by mail.

The fallen tree damaged the car’s roof and broke a window. My husband covered the window with plastic in the meantime. Accompanied by a car-knowledgeable friend, Menachem went to file his claim against the city a short time later.

We first met Shlomie (name and some details have been changed) over 20 years ago. He davens in our shul, and he and my husband share a love of photography. Over time, we got to know each other well.

What happened to Robert Najberg’s mother? I have no clue; I can’t find any information.

My husband and I were honored to attend a Hachnassas Sefer Torah celebration this summer at our upstate summer home in Elm Shade Estates. We have had a summer home for many years. We were always privileged to have a special, devoted friend take care of all the things that needed attention there - from ensuring that the grass was cut to keeping the shul spotless for Shabbos.

Ben Zion caught his breath and apologized to Rav Ahron for barging in on him at the airport.

When the askan heard this, he was devastated. After more than two and a half years of waiting for a kidney, the rabbi missed this opportunity because his 'helper' decided to go to sleep and call later. How would he break this to Rabbi Kerelenstein?!

It took a few months, but I finally summoned up what little koach I had to go to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, zt”l, for “Sunday Dollars.” I wanted to take my new baby to the Rebbe. Although he was about three months old at the time, I had not been strong enough until now to attempt a trip to 770 Eastern Parkway.

My team leader and quality control checkers lived overseas. They paid little attention to the dramatic events I had just undergone. But they did sense that I was feeling vulnerable, and it was showing in my work.

When my father died suddenly when I was newly married there was no one who had to say Kaddish for him. I am one of four daughters and he had no brothers.

So this is what she got herself into: serving chicken soup and getting bits of rent on random days. She couldn’t say it wasn’t worth it, as she was earning both a chesed and a little bit of cash.

Several months ago, I made a serious effort to find an apartment in the "better" area but, alas, the rents were too high. I felt that I was stuck where I was.

I insisted that one decoration, a dancing sevivon (dreidel) man, remain hanging in recognition of the chag. Some in my family questioned the appropriateness of this decision. Was it proper to have decorations hanging in what would soon become a house of shiva?

The woman closest to her smiled and said, "I'm not, but my great grandmother was, and I like Jewish people."

He had deposited Shlomo’s real, original check into his account, and when it had cleared he had made up this weird story to get an additional 3,600 shekels out of Shlomo!

Having lived in rented apartments myself for years long ago, I could picture myself in her situation and imagine how upset I would be. But later on, I was able to reflect that Hashem had given me this opportunity, not just to do chesed for my friend, but to see my own unpleasant experience in a new light.

She was the first-born and by all accounts, quite brilliant. In the early 1900's, her father, Choni (Papa) had preceded his family to the shores of America to find a better life for the family he left behind in Europe. As with so many of his landsmen, he planned to send for his family when he found a livelihood and a decent place to live. Yet his wife, Ita, (Mama) had other ideas.

She always had a smile, and put her best foot forward – as hard as that might have been.

As it turned out, the apartment had been a bit neglected and needed some work to clean it out and spruce it up. That had been the reason for its vacancy.

My parents knew so much but were never too proud to learn something from their children for whom they provided a proper Jewish education.

The incessant loud knocking on the door startled me from my brief reverie. My husband had left to attend a chassanah in Yerushalayim just moments earlier, the kids were comfortably tucked into bed, and I was spending a quiet evening at home tackling sundry neglected tasks. The sudden pounding and muffled voices soon interrupted my plans for the lonely hours that beckoned. I hurried to answer the door while drying my hands on a kitchen towel haphazardly draped over my shoulder.

Our son-in-law e-mailed tickets for us to print out and bring along to allow us admittance. Simple enough.

When we recall our deeds each year, there are many that we don’t remember, most whose ramifications we don’t know about and others that take on a life of their own after we have brought them into the world.

This story is testimony to what happened to some Jewish children during and after the Holocaust. It should be told for one purpose: to remember what the Christian convents did to our children, namely how they kidnapped them and converted them to Christianity.

My home is furnished simply. One notes the customary family photos and bric-a-brac that makes a house a home, but certain items are my priceless treasures.

I sat on the couch, surrounded by loved ones, so, so grateful for the beautiful Shabbos we would celebrate together, our first family gathering in many months, inspired by the upcoming occasion of one of our grandson’s upsherin on motzei Shabbos.

Her first tactic was tefillah; she immediately began to recite one perek after another of Tehillim.