I have spent many an hour with Chaim over the last 15 years, listening to his pain and hearing his sobs

When the bar mitzvah invitation arrived, I was surprised at the date. The seudas mitzvah would take place Thursday night, Erev Yom Kippur.

When I called the mother to wish her mazel tov, she explained that in her kehillah, having the seudah bo bayom was very important; therefore, the seudah would take place the night of Erev Yom Kippur.

I respected her adherence to her kehillah’s mesorah and informed her I would be coming. Sarah*, the proud bar mitzvah boy’s mother, had grown up in Passaic. I was involved when her parents divorced over 20 years ago and had done my best to make the separation as amicable as possible.

Her father, Chaim*, was advised at the time to allow Sarah to be primarily raised by her mother, and therefore, he limited his contact with Sarah.

Sarah resented her father’s decision and they became estranged despite his best intentions. Sarah refused to have her father walk her down to the chuppah or attend the chasunah.

Needless to say, Chaim was devasted.

I have spent many an hour with Chaim over the last 15 years, listening to his pain and hearing his sobs as he regretted his decision.

Although Sarah had moved away since marriage, and the seudah would be an hour’s drive from Passaic, I knew I had to attend.

When I arrived at the hall, I was shocked to see Chaim in a warm embrace with his daughter and grandson.

I danced with Chaim and his grandson while happily observing the reconciled relationship between the formerly estranged father and daughter, and wondering but not daring to ask the elephant-in-the-room question: What had changed?

The next morning, Friday, Erev Yom Kippur, Chaim and Sarah were waiting for me at my shul after Shacharis.

I invited them into my office.

Once there, Sarah wasted no time: “Rabbi, before Kol Nidrei, I must make my own Vidui. When I was fifteen, and my parents were divorcing, I told you how much I resented my father’s decision to ‘give me my space.’

“You urged me not to judge him by pointing out that he had not made the decision without consultation with others.

“Most of all, I remember your final words regarding reconciliation and forgiveness. ‘Sarah,’ you said, ‘I know you are upset with your father and his decision. And I respect that. However, please realize he did not make the decision lightly, and he still loves you very much.

“ ‘One day, you, too, will be a parent. And when that day arrives, you may look at things in a different light. You will realize that many of the precise things that seemed unfair will suddenly be understood and even embraced by you.’

“Back then, Rabbi,” Sarah continued, “I recoiled at your words. Then, my son became a bar mitzvah, and he wanted the bar mitzvah seudah pushed off so we could celebrate without the pressure of Erev Yom Kippur. I heard his point and felt his pain. However, we went to our rav, and he told us to observe the minhagim of our kehillah.

“When I told my son this, he was not receptive. I heard myself saying, ‘I have your best interests at heart, and one day, you, too, will be a parent and make difficult decisions that your children will resent.’

“And at that moment my mind flashed back twenty years. I now saw my father in a totally different light. I want to ask him mechilah before the Rav for unfairly judging him.”

Before Chaim could respond, Sarah added, “Abba, one more thing, I know it’s been twenty years, but please bentsh me today before Yom Kippur.”

Chaim began to tremble as he placed his hands on his daughter’s head.

Suddenly, 20 years of missed brachos were washed away in an ocean of tears filled with sadness, reconciliation, and immense joy.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1032)