Volunteer chesed opportunities in Lakewood, New Jersey.

Lev Rochel

Bikur Cholim

Special Children’s Center

Kol Habanim: Mentoring Teens

She paused. That one. Kol Habanim. Mentoring teens… Hmmm.

Dovid has always been involved with bikur cholim, since day one. But this… he could shine at this. He’d raised six incredible children, including some out-of-the-box sons, and had made it look easy.

Rabbi Wagschal, #732-555-0166

She didn’t know if Dovid would resent her interference, good-intentioned as it was, but she dialed anyway.

HE felt oddly nervous. It had occurred to him, during his treadmill run that morning, that Pinny’s sudden desire to have bro-time had nothing to do with hanging out, and a lot more to do with the fact that he was in actual pain. And that hurt.

Pinny was a brother to him; they’d grown up together. To listen to him, to witness his hurt that his wife didn’t appreciate him for who he was… he’d unconsciously begun running faster until he’d been panting out loud.

But now, watching Estee pack a picnic lunch for a little bein hazmanim outing, he realized she was the address he needed. She was friends with Pinny’s wife. Did she know, he wondered suddenly, how much they were struggling? Did Pinny’s wife discuss it with her?

He looked at his wife sideways; she was humming slightly as she cut their thick peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches into triangles. They’d both agreed, on their second date at the Marriott, that peanut butter and jelly was absolutely not overrated.

It was one of the first quirks they’d found in common, and it had become a running joke.

She looked up, saw him watching her. “Just the way you like it,” she said, smiling.

He smiled back warily. What information about his best friend’s marriage was she hiding?

IT was hot, but they found a cute little picnic table in the relative shade and then sat in companiable silence, watching kids run back and forth.

“Est,” he said, figuring he might as well just bite the bullet.

“M-hhm?”

“Uh, Pinny has been talking to me. About marriage and stuff. He seems… it’s hard. He feels that something’s bugging his wife. And he doesn’t know what. Has she mentioned anything?”

In their six months of marriage, he’d never seen Estee look that sad.

“Oy, Yons, everything bugs her.”

Ouch. Shots fired at poor Pinny.

“Ah. What does that mean, exactly?”

“I don’t know. I noticed it like five minutes after their wedding, from the way she spoke about him, and now it’s just getting worse and worse. I try to help, low-key, like taking her to marriage shiurim and all that, but honestly, I’m not sure she’s listening. She’s a really nice person… just not to Pinny.”

Yonah felt a rush of anger surge through him, and he had to remind himself that none of this was Estee’s fault.

“So what should we do about it?”

Estee sighed and tilted her head back to watch the kite a boy had just excitedly hoisted into the air.

“I think that’s beyond our pay grade. Can you ask your rebbi?”

Yonah felt his face turn red. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Was Estee thinking that the old Yonah would’ve reached out to a rebbi instinctively? She’d be right.

But he appreciated that it was her instinct. He was a lucky guy.

Wow. Poor Estee. What a horrible secret to be burdened with. He placed milk into the cart, then mozzarella cheese, and a loaf of sourdough bread. That was it. Three items. See, he didn’t need to write down a list, contrary to popular belief.

His phone rang as he was hopping back into the car.

“Hello,” he said, jabbing at the car screen until the blue tooth connected.

“Reb Yonah! How are you? How is bein hazmanim treating you?”

Yonah laughed. “Day two is going fine. How are you?”

“Fine, fine, baruch Hashem. Listen, Yonah, question for you: Do you know a Reb Dovid Rosen? Relative of yours? Apparently, he’s a huge baal chesed in Boston. He’s moving to Lakewood soon and is interested in volunteering for Kol Habanim. Any association?”

So. Many. Emotions.

In five seconds, Yonah ran through the gamut of surprise, annoyance, resignment, and at last, amusement. Of course. Of course, his tzaddik of a father would be interested in working with teens at risk. He’d spent the past four decades assisting the families of the sick and now he was ready to spread his wings, try new pastures and all that.

He turned onto his block, explained to Rav Wagschal that yes, he knew exactly who Reb Dovid Rosen was, and yes, the organization would greatly benefit from accepting his offer of volunteering his services.

But then, as he opened the door with his elbow and dropped the groceries onto the table, a new emotion swam to the surface.

Fear.

Because if his father was suddenly working for the same organization he was, his laissez-faire schedule was about to fall under tedious scrutiny. He was finally able to breathe, make his own choices, his own schedule, but if his father was working alongside him, that was all going to end.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1028)