Sara (Wittler) Vital created a home — Bet Nechama — where struggling teens can discover who they are, without pressure, pretense, or fear

As told to Rivka Streicher

“S

urele, can we talk?” My father took me into his study just days after he’d gotten up from shivah for his father.

“How would you feel about going to live with Grandma for a bit?” His expression said it was a huge request, that he couldn’t really believe he was asking it of a 14-year-old.

“Me?”

“Yes, you’re the oldest grandchild. It’s hard for Grandma to be on her own in the house in Manchester. She won’t move in with any of the children. Not that she has to, she’s only in her sixties and values her independence, you know….”

I knew.

I closed my eyes and thanked my lucky stars.

“I’ll go,” I said.

He — everyone in the family — was so grateful, but they didn’t realize that for me this was a get out of jail free card. I’d always had a hard time conforming to societal rules — and in the small yeshivah town of Gateshead where we lived, there were many. I was the oldest of nine with a lot of responsibility and not much freedom, and with my curly red hair and free spirit, all the expectation on me led to a lot of internal angst and emotional struggle.

And school came with its own challenges.

I moved to Manchester, where I went from a place of struggle and lots of responsibility, to living with my grandmother, Mrs. Nechama Wittler, who unconditionally adored me. She was so grateful that I’d come to live with her and gave me a lot of healthy freedom. She was a tzadeikes and it flowed out of her, but her approach to Yiddishkeit wasn’t imposing or overbearing.

She was known as the “brachos lady” of Manchester. From her window we could see the goings-on of the town. Watching a woman pass by with a double stroller and more children hanging off the sides, she’d say, “There goes so-and-so. Hashem, please give her strength to take care of her kinderlach. May they be blessed….” Hashem was real to her. Right in front of her. Her blessings were a prayer to Him — and a joy to others.

I loved her positivity and caring. We had good times, lots of wit, and an easy camaraderie — except for when we didn’t. There were some challenges to our dynamic, she, a fresh widow, and me, an erratic teen. Both of us passionate people, we’d sometimes get into a tiff about something or other.

I remember calling my father one time and protesting, “I’m not even doing a mitzvah by being here, I’m just getting into a headlock with her.”

“Surele, just the fact that she’s got who to get into a fight with, that’s the mitzvah,” my father said.

It was wry and true. But there was more to it. I felt that because I was living with her, other people looked at me differently: I could only do right in their eyes. I was no longer seen as the too free-spirited student, I was lauded as a tzadeikes by my family and by people in school, as if it were mesirus nefesh for me to be with her.

My day-to-day life with my grandmother was a lot easier than it had been at home. At 14, I already knew that we live in an olam hasheker. People will praise you for certain external things, but the real struggles? Those, no one sees.

I ended up living with my grandmother for two full years, experiencing her love and acceptance, and the positive effect being taken out of your normative environment can have — when it’s necessary.

It was life-changing and life-molding. In a way, I was the very first “Bet Nechama” girl.