As a rabbi it seems that every tzedakah organization in the world has me on their mailing list. The mail never stops coming and never stops piling up. I wade through attempting to decide who to give to and how much to give. Prominent organizations that are proven? Or individual requests which are almost impossible to authenticate?
As I opened one letter from Eretz Yisrael I saw the letter was handwritten in Hebrew. I glanced at the signature and since I neither recognized the name nor noticed any rabbinic endorsements I deposited the letter in the wastepaper bin.
The next letter I picked up caused my eyes to tear. It was from a well-known established institution and it brought back 50-year-old memories.
For decades my parents shared a Motzaei Shabbos ritual in which my father would produce a pile of letters and announce to my mother “It’s time to write checks!”
Watching them in their weekly ritual was a delight. They each had their parts down pat and their choreography was perfect. My father would open the letters and read each and every one. Back then in the 1960s and 1970s many of the letters were still written in Yiddish or Lashon Kodesh. My father who was fluent in five languages was the reader and my mother who possessed perfect penmanship was the check writer.
When I was no more than six I asked them why they had to read every letter. Why not just give a small amount to all?
My mother calmly answered “If someone took the time to write the letter it’s only right that we take the time to read the letter.”
Now 50 years later I instinctively reached back into the wastebasket and extracted the recently deposited letter as my mother’s words echoed in my mind.
As I began to read I realized this was not a letter requesting help rather it was a personal letter to me. It was a letter from one of my many cousins in Eretz Yisrael — about my mother! He was writing to share one of his memories of her and this is what he wrote:
I just heard about the passing of your beloved mother. I wanted to share with you the following memory.
In 1964 when you were a little boy your family visited with us in Petach Tikvah. I was 11 years old at the time.
I can still remember how your mother came over to me and gave me and my sister each a chocolate bar. Besides the fact that at that point in my life I had never had my very own chocolate bar I fondly recall how your mother who was not fluent in Hebrew gave me the chocolate and then pointed to the hechsher as she said in her halting Hebrew “Zeh kasher!”
She knew we children would be bored while our parents were talking to your parents and she wanted us not to feel left out so she gave us the chocolate.
I want to tell you that now over 50 years later every time I visit my grandchildren I bring them each a chocolate bar. When they ask “Why are we getting chocolate?” I tell them the story of your mother and me in Petach Tikvah over half a century ago.
Your mother’s thoughtfulness and kindness is still remembered and always will be.
I almost picked up the phone to call my mother to share with her both the letter and my wonderful memory of her and my father.
To think I almost tossed away this precious treasure.