15 readers share moments of connection

When you’re hurt

when you’re defeated

when you’re grieving

it feels like you stand alone

Then someone reaches out

with warm words

an empathetic ear

a nourishing meal

And the pain diminishes,

kindness softening the edges

of a sometimes harsh reality

The Timeless Letter

T. Cohen, Baltimore

In 1995, I was in tenth grade at Bais Yaakov of Baltimore. It was a tumultuous time for me due to an emotionally charged and complex family situation. I trudged through the year as best as I could.

A few weeks after the end of the school year, our report cards came in the mail. I was surprised to see another paper in the envelope. I opened it. It was a personal letter to me from the assistant principal, Rabbi Yehoshua Shapiro.

The letter said that he’d been reviewing all the report cards and had taken notice of my strong academic performance. He acknowledged that the year had been very challenging for me due my family situation. He was impressed that despite all the challenges, I’d performed well. He gave me chizuk and a brachah that I should continue to stay strong and be successful.

I read the letter again and again. When times were hard, I read the letter. When things improved, I read it too. One letter that took a few minutes to write held me up for years. Whenever I felt sad or lost, I’d take out the letter and remind myself that I was strong and could get through hard things.

Nine years ago, we moved to a new house. I made sure to pack the letter. But I couldn’t find it in our new home. I searched for days and finally concluded that the box with the letter had gotten lost on moving day and had probably ended up in a landfill.

A few months ago, we started a small construction project in our basement. In the course of moving things around for the renovation, the box resurfaced! I opened it and found that letter sitting there. I read it again. It still applied to me. Life has had its many ups and downs since 1995, but the message was timeless.

Thank you, Rabbi Shapiro, for taking five minutes to write a letter that still gives me chizuk, even 25-plus years later.

Welcome Home

Anonymous

Returning home just a few weeks after my wedding wasn’t easy. I was so young, overwhelmed, and in pain. I was relieved the marriage was over, but I knew there was a really hard chapter ahead of me: the challenge of going out on the street knowing that people were talking about me. Pitying me. Wondering why it happened, and if I did the right thing. Judging without knowing the painful details I wasn’t going to share to spare his family any more pain than what they already have to deal with.

Hashem sent me some special people to show me He was still with me. I remember the day vividly in my mind. I’d just unpacked my belongings and felt a need to go on a walk. My mother offered to be my walking partner. As we went down the stairs, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the next-door neighbor. I started to cringe inside, and my cheeks became red. I didn’t want to meet anyone and have to answer their questions or comments.

But I didn’t have a choice. The neighbor noticed me, and I braced myself for the worst. But no questions were forthcoming. Only the warmest “welcome home” and words of deep understanding and care. She made me feel so supported and strong. There was no criticism or judgment, just real kindness.

It gave me the strength to have the courage to face others. When really uncomfortable situations came my way, like someone asking me what my married name is, how many children I have, or where I live, I was able to just smile and reply honestly. Sometimes I even shocked the questioner with my confident answer. My ability to be okay with meeting people is because of this neighbor. I don’t think she even realized what an enormous impact her kind actions had on me. I’m forever grateful.

Top This

R.G.

It was the first day after our sheva brachos.

It was a warm day, and we drove for eight hours to New Jersey for a wedding. The trees swayed in dance for us, the wind sang our happy song. Everything seemed blissful.

After arriving in New Jersey, we got ready for the wedding. The hall was close by to where we were staying. We should have gotten there five minutes after leaving the house. But Hashem had other plans.

Just a few seconds after getting into the car, a car coming from the opposite direction came crashing into our car. I can still hear the screech ringing in my ear. The front window shattered, there was glass everywhere, and the car filled with smoke. I felt a hard bang on my face, which I later learned were the airbags deploying. I was sure everything was all over.

I reached for the door, and by miracle it was unlocked. I pushed through, under the airbags. I got out, and my brand-new wig slipped off my head and under the car. In that frazzled moment, I didn’t realize, and just ran for my life.

Once I was safely across the street, where I was able to take in the scene, I realized I wasn’t wearing my wig. As the realization hit, Hashem sent a messenger. A man came out of nowhere, and in a calm voice said, “Rebbetzin, take my hat.” In those traumatic moments, his kindness warmed my heart.

Moments later, my husband found my wig, and we were rushed to the hospital by ambulance. Baruch Hashem, we only had minor injuries.

I never got to thank that man, and I never got to return his hat to him. But what he did that night, I’ll remember forever.