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s a rav I know too well that as joyous as Pesach is, it can also be a time of stress as families who normally have their own space are crowded together.

When my son Tuvia and his wife, Nechama, arrived in Passaic before Pesach with their three rambunctious, energetic daughters, my initial reaction was one of total joy.

However, at five the very next morning, when I heard little hands knocking on my door, and voices saying, “Zeidy, wake up! We’re hungry!” my love for my granddaughters was stretched to the limit.

When I came downstairs at seven to go to shul, I matter-of-factly asked seven-year-old Huvi if she’d seen my hat. She gave me a mischievous smile as she pointed to her 15-month-old sister, Leah, sitting on top of my hat eating a leben and using my hat as both a stool and a hand towel.

Later that day, when I sat down to eat dinner, I suddenly slipped off my chair. Some little hands had spread olive oil all over the seat.

And I heard the crunch-crunch of potato chips wherever I walked.

Yet when the Seder night came and my four-year-old granddaughter Dini recited the first of the four questions in perfect Hebrew, my heart was bursting with pride.

When Huvi sang Mah Nishtanah and understood every word, I reached a state of euphoric bliss.

The realization that my grandchildren were being raised in the land of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov, know Hebrew better than English — and that Nissan is a month and not a car — made sitting in olive oil and wearing a hat filled with leben a pittance to endure in order to experience such nachas.

The sheer elation of having Dini on my lap while Huvi was completely mesmerized by my telling of Yetzias Mitzrayim is the stuff no amount of money can ever buy.

When little Dini came to me and said, “I love you, Zeidy,” without being prompted, I realized that I would gladly wake up every morning at five just to hear those words.

As the Yom Tov progressed and the children began to warm up to their Zeidy and wanted to spend time with me, the feeling of serenity and tranquility that enveloped me was delightfully delectable.

And then it happened.

I knew it would.

I was hoping that perhaps, somehow, it could be avoided just this one time.

Alas, it was not to be and once again, Yom Tov came to an end.

On Sunday morning, Tuvia, his wife Nechama, Huvi, Dini, and Leah all packed up and flew off, leaving a physical void in my home and emotional emptiness in my heart. I pined for them as I yearned to be with them again.

Then it happened.

At first, we thought it was a one-time occurrence, but soon we realized it was a planned act of chesed. My daughter-in-law, Nechama, had awoken before dawn on Sunday and secretly placed small sticky notes in various drawers and cabinets.

When my wife opened the cutlery drawer, there was a note: “We miss you so much!”

When I opened a cabinet, another note said: “Thank you for a beautiful Yom Tov!”

In the fridge was a note: “You no longer need to buy 16 chocolate lebens.”

With each note, the emptiness in my heart started to heal. Each and every sticky note helped soothe my pain.

A few days later, I came upon one final little note.

It simply said: “Hi, Zeidy, you’re my best friend! Love, Dini.”

Who could ever imagine that a small yellow Post-it could bring me to true tears of simchah?

 (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 765)