Our Hearts Are with You

Faigy Sterner

When our son first started spiraling downhill and missing more and more school, it was devastating. When he started hanging out without a yarmulke, in torn jeans, and started growing his hair long, it only broke our hearts even more. When he started being mechallel Shabbos, the same week he officially dropped out of school, the fact he was off the derech became public knowledge. We were embarrassed and heartbroken, and didn’t know who would be there for us at this point or if our neighbors and friends would even look at us again. Their silence was deafening. It was more painful at times than the whole ordeal.

Then, just a few short hours before Shabbos, one of the neighbor’s children knocked at our door. He handed a bouquet of flowers to the child who answered the door. Not sure if this was a mistake or not, we opened the card that was attached. It said, “Although we don’t know what you’re going through, our hearts are broken and with you. We are here for you.”

I broke down crying. As soon as I lit candles for Shabbos, I went over to my neighbor’s house, and we embraced. No words were needed.

This was probably the most meaningful act that anyone has done for us since we began this parshah.

Set by an Angel

R.Z.

The last four years of my mother’s life were a relentless storm. When she was diagnosed with grade 4 melanoma, the prognosis was bleak — she was given just months to live. But my mother refused to give in. She endured grueling treatments, the side effects that seemed worse than the disease itself, and choked down bitter potions that promised a chance at more time. All she wanted was to live long enough to see her children married, to leave us with memories of her joy, not her suffering.

But it wasn’t to be. Hashem had other plans, and just three days before Shavuos, my mother returned her beautiful soul to her Creator. We were shattered, not just by the loss itself, but by the years that preceded it. We were exhausted, physically and emotionally, our hearts broken.

As Shavuos approached, being festive felt like an impossible burden. How could we celebrate when every corner of the house reminded us of her absence? How could we find the strength to carry on when the weight of grief pressed so heavily on our shoulders?

I came home just hours before Yom Tov began, bracing myself for the emptiness that awaited. Instead, I walked into a scene that took my breath away. The table was set as if by an angel’s hand — beautifully arranged, with a bouquet of vibrant flowers bringing life to the room. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of warm food simmering on the hotplate, and the fridge overflowed with cheesecakes, miniatures, and treats lovingly prepared.

It was all the work of our neighbor, Ruchi, a woman whose quiet kindness spoke volumes. She had seen our brokenness and stepped in to hold us up when we couldn’t do it ourselves. In that moment, as tears blurred my vision, I felt something I hadn’t in weeks: hope.

Mile in My Shoes

Malki G.

After years of being cloaked in so many protective layers of denial, my facade crumbled in one swift go. My vision sharpened and my reality, which I now saw clearly for the very first time, was ugly. I realized the effects that years of living with a spouse in active addiction had on every aspect of my life. I saw how I’d been blamed, shamed, gaslit, and manipulated and how I accepted all that was thrown my way.

The raw pain and anger borne from those realizations clawed at my insides relentlessly. Decades of suppressed emotions rushed upon me like a shoreless ocean; I couldn’t keep my head above water. Staying oxygenated became a struggle as every breath had to be pushed through my constricted chest and panic attacks were my new, steady companion.

One sister watched my world implode and graciously lent me her listening ear. I unraveled miles of hurt, anger, and fear and she reciprocated with kindness and validation without a shred of judgement. Her support, along with my weekly therapy sessions, were the buoys that kept me afloat in this stormy, vicious sea.

And then I needed to schedule a therapeutic intervention with my husband, myself, and each of our therapists. Although I knew it would be rocky and fraught with pain, it was the next right step in this harrowing nightmare if I was to continue on in this marriage. I armed myself with extra therapy sessions, tefillah, self-care, and Xanax. My insides quivered, yet I soldiered on, hoping for positive change, however subtle.

Several days before the scheduled intervention, I got a meme from my sister while I was at work. There was an image of cozy, fur-lined moccasins and beneath it, “If I would walk a mile in your shoes, I’d need these.” I smiled. I felt supported and understood.

When I got home from work, I was surprised to find a J.Crew package addressed to me at my front door. I ripped it open in anticipation to find those very same moccasins that were on the meme.

Throughout the arduous ordeal, whenever I felt alone or in too much pain to bear, I slipped my feet into those luxurious moccasins and knew I was not treading this path on my own.

A Whiff of Fresh Roses

N.F.

After nearly five years of waiting, my husband and I finally received the miraculous news — I was expecting! As family members found out, they were over the moon with joy.

One Friday morning, in the early months, when I was struggling with morning sickness, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find a delivery man with a stunning bouquet of white long-stem roses and a delicate lace-trimmed card. The message read: I’m so happy to hear the wonderful news. It should all go well. A warm wish of Gut Shabbos! That whiff of fresh roses… I still smell it today; it took all the nausea away.

The flowers were sent by Mrs. Baila Atlas a”h, my in-laws’ mechuteneste, who’d only recently entered our lives. What’s more remarkable is that she also sent roses to the “Bubbies to be” — a magnanimous gesture that few would think of. Mrs. Atlas was a refined woman, with a unique ability to understand the needs of others. Her generous nature knew no bounds, as she freely gave of herself and resources, touching the lives of all who knew her.

Though she’s no longer with us, her memory lives on, and her kindness continues to inspire me.

May this be a zechus for Baila bas Reb Chaim Yitzchak Isaac Yehuda Atlas.

See Something Say Something

Sara Brejt, Baltimore

Many years ago, I gave a Shabbos afternoon shiur in our community in honor of my father’s first yahrtzeit. Afterward, a high school teacher in the audience complimented me, telling me it was a great talk. “Just like a teacher,” she said.

I wasn’t a teacher at the time. But I can’t tell you how many times those words have resonated in my head… as I became a teacher.

When you see something that warrants a compliment, say something.

Cup of Love

Sarah Azoulay

It had been a year since I’d become a single mother. A year of pain, a year of confusion. A year of muddling through feelings, thoughts, and emotions. I was trying so hard. To show up. To be there for my kids. To ride the waves of unpredictability even when they felt so huge.

There was gratitude. My family were unwavering in their support, and I saw Hashem’s guiding Hand many times.

Also, there was coffee. There was something both magical and soothing about it; the warmth, the heavy aroma. On most days I drank my own instant coffee, but on days that I needed an extra bit of pampering, I’d go to a coffee shop and buy the real thing. Sitting quietly with a warm brew took the edge off my pain, helped me to pause, reminded me to breathe.

A few months into my separation, my daughter began attending an after-school program. While the girls were having fun, the moms would often hang around and chat. As the weeks went by, I began looking forward to seeing familiar faces.

One week at the after-school club, I saw Adina. She was holding a cup of coffee. It had been a rough few days, and I was feeling the aloneness more acutely than ever. I was so desperate not only to know that Hashem was there, but to feel Him.

“Hey, Adina!” I sat down next to her. “Mmm,” I inhaled. “Coffee!”

“Do you have a coffee machine?” another mom asked her.

“I do!” Adina answered. “I actually just bought a new one.”

“I totally need to get a coffee machine!” I declared, even though I knew that buying one was the least of my priorities.

While the ladies went on to discuss coffee, Adina turned to me.

“Sarah,” she whispered, “would you like my old coffee machine? It works beautifully. I was waiting to give it to the right person.”

If this wasn’t an actual hug from Hashem, I don’t know what was.

The next day, I drove to Adina’s house. The coffee machine was waiting for me on her porch together with a bag of chocolate chip cookies.

Now, when I stand at my Nespresso, watching the brown liquid fill my mug, my heart swells with gratitude toward a casual acquaintance whose thoughtful gesture reminded me of my Father’s infinite love.

Part of the Family

B. Loebenstein, Manchester, England

B’chasdei Hashem, I just married off my fifth child, the third one since I lost my husband almost five years ago. It was a beautiful simchah, and baruch Hashem, I managed to keep it together. I did have a few tiny wobbles before and during the chuppah, but mostly managed to keep my tears in check.

Until I didn’t.

At the last sheva brachos, my son’s new sister-in-law, who happens to be a friend of mine, told me that her parents-in-law (the parents of the kallah) had been to the beis olam to visit the kever of the Manchester Rosh Yeshivah, Rav Yehuda Zev Segal ztz”l. Before going, they had made it their business to find out where my husband was buried and stopped at his kever to daven there.

This was when my tears finally flowed. I was so touched. The respect my new mechutanim showed by doing that was so very beautiful.

We Did It

Sara (Blumberg) Hojda, Oak Park, Michigan

Yom Kippur is one of the most significant days on the Jewish calendar.

Twenty-one years ago, the day took on a whole new level of significance.

It was the first time my siblings and I would be reciting Yizkor for my mother a”h who had passed away a few months before. During davening, my sister and I sat in the same seats we had sat in the year before, but instead of going outside for those mysterious few minutes of davening, we stayed in. No one had prepared us for what to say, or what the significance of Yizkor was.

We turned the page in our Machzor to the right place and said the few paragraphs written there, and then we waited, unsure if we were supposed to do anything else.

Mrs. Susan Methal came over to us then and whispered, “That’s it. You did it. That’s all you had to say. I know that Yizkor seems like this big moment and we all expected some grand thing to happen, but you did exactly what you needed to.”

It was just a few sentences, not a grandiose speech, but I can still feel the sense of relief that washed over us.

Over the years, I’ve said Yizkor in many different shuls and circumstances, and every time I do, I thank Hashem for sending us Mrs. Methal right when we needed her.

The Offer Always Stands

Faigy S., Europe

I’d been in a difficult marriage for seven years and tried everything to save it for my children’s sake. But then it got too much, and I couldn’t live with my husband’s severe issues anymore.

Leaving the marriage was a difficult decision to make. But with the help of therapists and the blessing of daas Torah, I was back in my hometown, alone, with three little children.

I walked around on that first Shabbos back home, on the one hand relieved, but also very scared about how I’d manage alone. I was also worried that people would judge me, even though I was confident that I did the best I could to save my marriage, but that it wasn’t meant to be.

At that very difficult juncture in my life, I won’t forget the chesed of one lady.

She came up to me that first Shabbos and said, “I know you’re now alone. I have a few big girls. It’s important for you to go out at night from time to time. Don’t hesitate to call for a babysitter whenever you need!”

True to her promise, for the next years, she sent me a daughter every time I needed or wanted to go out at night, free of charge. (If her daughters weren’t available that evening, her friend would send her daughter.) Not only that, but she also made me feel like I was doing her daughters a favor by letting them come. If for some reason I didn’t call them for a while, she’d call me and insist that it has been too long since I last called them and that the offer was still on.

Besides being a huge help, it made me feel so good.

Passport to Kindness

R. Singer, Lawrence, NY

My heart nearly stopped when I couldn’t find our passports in their usual spot. It was early Friday morning and we were supposed to fly to Eretz Yisrael on Motzaei Shabbos. Panicking, I searched frantically, looking in every cabinet and drawer, hoping desperately to find them, until I realized we must have left them in our apartment in Florida when we were there last.

I called my dear friend Debbie, who was in Florida for Shabbos, and told her our dilemma. She ran to our apartment and found the missing passports tucked away in my night table. Debbie’s husband Dovid sprang into action and drove to Fort Lauderdale airport, a 45-minute drive away. He approached a frum couple going to JFK and asked them to take our passports with them.

I wouldn’t call this a small kindness, as it had a huge impact. The chesed and zerizus that propelled Debbie and Dovid to go to great lengths to help us when we were in need made a deep impression on me and taught me a powerful lesson in the beauty of selfless giving.

Compassion and Caring

Chany Obstfeld, Brooklyn, NY

I was waiting for a city bus on 13th Avenue in Boro Park and wanted to check if the bus was coming. As I stepped down from the curb, I didn’t realize there was a pothole, and I tumbled over it and fell. As I lay sprawled on the street, unable to move, I was aware of a crowd of people staring in shock.

Then I heard a car stop alongside me, and a woman jumped out and crouched down beside me. She called to her husband to close the vehicle door and stay with their kids so she could stay with me.

She gently took my head and cradled it in her lap and somehow produced a bottle of water and gave me some to drink. She then asked me if I had a cell phone so she could call someone from my family. I managed to tell her there was a phone in my purse with my husband’s contact name. She called and told him what happened. (It turned out that I’d broken my right foot and a left toe.)

She stayed with me, speaking soothingly and calmly while my head was on her lap. Someone called Hatzolah, and when my husband came, she waited until the ambulance arrived and helped my husband lift me up. As I stood up with their support, my knees buckled and I fainted.

When I came to in the ambulance, I realized I never even saw this woman’s face and I never got to thank her!

It pains me immensely that I never conveyed my gratitude to her. She was an angel, and I’ll never forget her compassion and caring.

The Warmest Hug

L. Greenblatt

I never imagined I’d be an older single. Popular, well-rounded me, most beloved sibling, successful, connected girl that I was, I didn’t ever dream that I’d watch my younger siblings get married while I waited. But, deep, strong woman that I am, I accepted that Hashem chose me to serve Him from this place.

Growing up, I was a solid girl always seeking to grow, but I didn’t have any major challenges. And so my growth was limited. Through this challenge, Hashem channeled me to connect to the most amazing people, to myself, and ultimately to Him. I learned and am still learning just how strong I really am and just how kind His children are.

When my younger sister got engaged, I was nervous about how I would deal with the wedding. I knew it would be beautiful and painful at the same time. I davened for the strength to be present and happy for her.

At noon on the wedding day, I sat in my bedroom saying Tehillim for my sister the kallah, when the doorbell rang. A delivery man from a café dropped off a package with my name on it. There was a note that said, I’m thinking about you on this day. Take care of yourself. Rina.

Tears sprang to my eyes. Such simple words. From Rina, my best friend from seminary who is married and has a family of her own. She couldn’t possibly understand exactly what I felt, but her drink and muffin felt like the warmest hug.

Drive It Forward

T.S., Cleveland

One year, my friend and I arranged to carpool together to transport our preschoolers to school. All went smoothly until we learned that we were both expecting new babies the very same week. My husband worked long hours and I had no extended family in town.

How were we going to manage carpool when our babies were born?

I put it aside in my head. We still had a few months to go.

Our babies were born within days of each other. Who would drive the adorable preschoolers? Mrs. Block, my friend’s mother, lived 30 minutes away, but was committed to helping her daughter and drive her carpools. Mrs. Block said to me cheerily, “Why don’t I drive carpool for you, too?”

I was reluctant to take her up on the offer. How could I repay the favor?

“Pay it forward,” she responded. “Help someone else in need when you’re back to yourself and feeling up to it.”

She proceeded to drive her granddaughter and my preschooler to school every day for three to four weeks, to give both tired mothers a chance to rest.

And the following year, in another carpool with another child, a friend temporarily couldn’t drive her carpool for some reason. I enthusiastically offered to drive for her as long as she needed. When she hesitated to accept this large gift, I explained that I had a favor to repay, and could she please pay the favor forward.

I like to think this chesed is still alive, eternally being paid forward.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 931)