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fter the two sons of Aharon died…”

 (Vayikra 16:1)

  Rashi brings the parable of a sick person who goes to two doctors. The first doctor cautions: “Don’t eat cold foods or sleep in a cold place.” The second doctor advises him: “Don’t eat cold food or sleep in a cold place so that you don’t die like Ploni.” The second doctor’s advice is more effective than that of the first.

 Even for Aharon HaKohein, the pasuk didn’t suffice merely to say, “Don’t go into the Kodesh, so you won’t die.” Rather, it added a warning reminding him of his sons’ deaths. This teaches us that what one can visualize makes a bigger impression than what one only hears. (Rav Yaakov Neiman, Sefer Darchei Mussar)

 I squirmed on the little kindergarten chair wondering why preschoolers need PTA.

“The problem is”—and here the teacher looked seriously concerned—“that Yitzi doesn’t have any imagination.”

I almost laughed out loud. Obviously this woman had gotten my last name wrong. My children invented imagination. They live their lives in magical kingdoms that involve dancing through sunrays and digging for treasures. Often, I find myself drawn toward their fantasy worlds, remembering the days when I too lived in a universe spun of the gossamer threads of my thoughts.

Now I can only stand at the threshold, recognizing the magic, but entrenched in details like bills and appointments that bar my entry.

I wished this teacher could be privy to the conversations Yitzi shares about his day in her gan.

“Mendy threw rocks out the window. So Morah threw Mendy out the window.”

No imagination indeed.

 Shlomo Hamelech says in Koheles (9:12): “For a person does not even know his time, like the fish that are caught in a trap and the birds in the snare.”

 Every person knows that death is his end, yet Shlomo didn’t suffice with this knowledge. Instead, he used imagery and pictures to express this concept to awaken a person from his stupor.

 When Yitzi was a baby, he went by the nickname Tweety. (Don’t ask! It’s a long story.) One of the benefits of this nickname was all the paraphernalia he owned — caps, knapsacks, and pillows, all emblazoned with the cheery-yellow cheeky grin of Tweety Bird.

Not long before his fourth birthday, I spotted a huge helium Tweety Bird balloon in a store. Impulsively, I splurged, heading home with my new friend towering above me. For Yitzi, it was love at first sight. For the next two days wherever he went, his Tweety balloon followed tugging on the string in his hand.

 It’s brought down in Sefer Derachav Nimukav V’sichosav of the Chofetz Chaim that Rav Mordechai Dov once observed the Chofetz Chaim during Aseres Yemei Teshuvah. The Chofetz Chaim ascended to an upper section of the beis knesses to meditate. Rav Mordechai Dov stood outside the door and heard how the Chofetz Chaim detailed to himself exactly how he would stand before the Beis Din shel Maalah and elaborating on exactly how the malachim would bring out his mitzvos and aveiros. He described the scene with great detail, then began shouting at himself, sobbing, “Do teshuvah while you’re still alive!”

 Then Yitzi did what every three-year-old does: He ignored his mother. He took Tweety balloon outside, “Just to show him something.” But the wind did what wind has always done and tugged Tweety’s string out of Yitzi’s small fist. And up went Tweety, a fast-dwindling spot of yellow, fading against a bright blue sky.

I held Yitzi and tried to comfort him.

“Will he come back one day?” he sobbed.

“Probably not. But maybe he’ll land in a different boy’s backyard and he’ll love him too.”

“Not like I love him.”

That afternoon I pondered love and loss and wondered how to explain such weighty topics to a three-year-old boy. But I neglected to take into account a three-year-old’s clear perspective. Bedtime, I came into his room to tuck him in and found him leaning almost halfway out the window.

“Careful! What are you doing?”

“I’m saying good night to Tweety balloon.” He turned to me, eyes shining. “Don’t you see him? He’s all the way up in Shamayim. He told me he liked living in our house, but it’s way nicer up there next to Hashem’s throne.”

And with that he snuggled under his blanket to sleep.

I went outside and looked up at the star-studded sky and longed for the days when I was able to see so clearly

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 589)