Remembering Earlier Chapters
Akiva had been given this siddur by his rebbi in fifth grade, and he’d carried it in his tefillin bag
Although my sons graduated from their yeshivah several years ago and it’s been many years since my husband davened there, I opted to remain on the mailing list to “stay in the loop” that once occupied my life. I like seeing the simchahs and the events that are still happening, though often, it is the grandparents whose names I recognize on the upcoming simchah announcements. Sadly, it also keeps me aware of Tehillim updates for cholim and, chas v’shalom, levayah or shivah information.
One day, I glanced at the announcement that the Brailofsky family was sitting shivah for their father, who had served as a rebbi for many years in the elementary school.
“Wait, that name… I’ve seen it before!”
I made a beeline for my bookcase and took out the siddur I use every day for Shacharis. Yes! The inscription to my son Akiva a”h was signed by Yaacov Kopel HaLevi Brailofsky.
Akiva had been given this siddur by his rebbi in fifth grade, and he’d carried it in his tefillin bag. When Akiva was niftar, I began using the siddur for my morning davening.
This past summer, I noticed that, after all these years, it was falling apart. The original binding was broken and the pages had begun to fray. My daughter has a friend whose father takes old seforim and refurbishes and repairs them, and he transformed the siddur into a piece worthy of heirloom status. It had a brand-new deep-blue leather cover, and the pages looked new. The precious inscription remained in all its special glory on the inside cover, signed by the rebbi who had impacted my son so much that Akiva had used the siddur for the remainder of his life.
I wondered if the family would like to see this siddur. On impulse, I looked up the family name in my Jewish phone book (Yes! An actual phone book, distributed many years ago to cover the Jewish neighborhoods in the New York metropolitan area). There it was, the rebbi’s name. Though his home wasn’t precisely in my neighborhood, it was but a short ride away. That very day, not knowing when the shivah would end, I took my precious treasure and drove to the address listed.
I walked through the entrance marked “For Ladies,” and went up the stairs. Several young women, clearly the daughters sitting shivah for their father, looked blankly at me, wondering who I might be.
I opened the exchange. “You don’t know me, but your father a”h was my son’s rebbi in the yeshivah. He made a great impact on my son and I wanted to share this with you.” I took the siddur out of the bag I was carrying. Their faces grew even more mystified. “Your father gave this to my son, and he always used it,” I said.
Silently, almost reverently, they read the inscription.
“Yes, that is our father’s handwriting!” Their wonderment was centered on the writing. Each daughter opened it and fingered the inscription. One of them even asked if she could take a picture of the siddur and their father’s inscription.
I was so happy to have brought them this testament to their father’s lasting impression on one young boy. Perhaps it gave them a small measure of nechamah. They asked if they could take it into the next room, where their brothers were sitting. Though I could not see them, I heard their exclamations of amazement. I took my leave, my heart full.
What we do for others gives us far greater joy, and in this case, nechamah, than what we do for ourselves.
As we move through the chapters of our lives, it is never too late to look back to earlier chapters: to think of that teacher, neighbor, or friend who inspired you, helped you get through a difficult time, encouraged you, or befriended you when you needed it.
It’s never too late to look them up, give them a call, or send a note or a Yom Tov greeting to say, “I remember you, and I thank you!”
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 918)
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