I was young and strong, and my life until now was picture-perfect. Taking help — needing a chesed lady for my toddler — made me want to disappear into thin air. Or turn back time and volunteer for more in high school/seminary. Or change the way I thought of people who needed help when I was that high school/seminary girl. And now, when I still couldn’t shake the idea that taking help is an awful, terrible, shameful thing.

The doorbell pealed again. I straightened my tichel and passed another quick look around my apartment before opening the door.

“Hello!” She walked right in, practically pulling me into a hug. “And this is Yossi!” She bent down to him, pulling out a snack bag of corn pops from her pocket. “This is for Yossi!”

She had a distinct Yerushalmi accent to her hesitant English, her headscarf gave her face a softness, and her entire being radiated wholesomeness. “Yossi wants to go bye-bye?! Let’s go!”

The formerly wailing toddler melted in the face of this warmth (and corn pops) and happily let himself be jacketed and carried out to his stroller downstairs.

She, this angel of a woman, waved me off with reassurances: he would be absolutely fine; he was so adorable; she’d be back in an hour; I should go rest!

I closed the door, and a calm settled across the house. Also, some sort of deep warmth. It was Thursday. This woman looked like she had a family at home and Shabbos to make. But she gave up her time to help me, and she made me feel so good about it.

When she returned, we schmoozed a little as she brought Yossi in and settled him down to play. I just wanted to talk to her, bask in some of her sunshine.

“I’m so grateful, honestly! You’ve helped me so much,” I told her earnestly.

“He’s adorable! We had such a good time together. We baked challos, we sang Lecha Dodi… Right, Yossi?” She stroked his cheek and looked into his eyes, singing the first few strains softly. “Lecha Dodi…”

My toddler smiled, his eyes lighting up.

“You’re amazing,” I blurted out. “How do you do it?! You have Shabbos to make! You’ve made me think I need to do more chesed.”

Her face turned serious; the warmth never left her voice. “This is life, you know. Sometimes you are down and I am up, and then I need to help you. And sometimes you are up and I am down, and you need to help me. Hashem made it this way so that we can all be there for each other.”

We parted ways with one more hug for Yossi before she left, and I was left marveling at her   kindness. And the kindest part of all was how she attributed it to the way Hashem designed His world.

Her words infused me with so much hope. Today, I was vulnerable and weak. Today, I needed to lean on others for some of my basic daily help. It didn’t mean I was less or lacking.

And one day, very soon, I would be stronger and less vulnerable. And then, it would be my turn.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 944)