13 Jan LESSONS MY FATHER TAUGHT ME

This Shabbos, Shabbos Mevorchim, we
bless the oncoming month of Shevat. Shevat,
spelled Shin-Beis-Tes, is often read as an
acronym for “She’nishma Besoros Tovos,
May we hear good news.
A much needed bracha during these
unsettling, even turbulent times. We daven
that all should be good in the world. Good in
Eretz Yisroel. Good for the Jewish people.
Good for our families, good for us. At the
end of the day, after all is said and done, we
just want to hear good things.
Shevat heralds in Tu B’Shevat, the turning
point of winter. In Eretz Yisroel, the trees are
awakening, getting ready to blossom. It is a
time of new beginnings, of besoros tovos,
good news. Shevat is a time of change. A
change not discernible to the human eye,
reminding us that with some patience, we
will see the blessing of besoros tovos.
Shevat is also the month of the yahrtzeit of
my beloved father, HaRav Meshulem ben
HaRav Asher Anshil HaLevi zt”l. 2 Shevat,
thirty years ago, yet the wonderful memories
created, and the life lessons learned remain.

After the Holocaust, my father arrived to
this country alone. He lost his father, he lost
his mother. He lost all his siblings, except an
older brother who made it to Eretz Yisroel.
For my father, it was a new world.
As a child, I didn’t realize what my father’s
journey entailed. As I got older, I would
often wonder – how did Abba do it? How
did he start all over again? Would I have had
the courage, the inner strength and fortitude
to do so?
Fast forward. When my daughter packed her
son Meshulem’s (named after my father)
camp trunk, she shared with me that she got
him “extras”. Extra sports pants, extra white
shirts, extra socks, and, of course, extra
nosh. It hit me hard in my heart… who
packed Abba’s bag? Forget about the extras
– did he even have a bag?
Yet, Abba always wore a smile on his face. I
never heard a harsh word, a complaint, a
raised voice. Abba never saw problems, in
his eyes all was good. There was never
sadness or despair. To Abba, every day was
a day of bracha.
There are no coincidences, even when it
comes to one’s yahrtzeit. Abba lived the

message of Shevat. Like the
blossoming that we cannot yet see,
but is starting to stir within the tree,
Abba not only believed it will be
good, but that it was already good.
My Uncle Yanky shared a story
with me about my father. My
parents were newly engaged, and
my father, the chosson, was coming
for a visit. My two uncles decided
that they would cheer my father up.
After all, their immediate family
miraculously remained intact after
the war, while my father was alone.
How ironic, Uncle Yanky told me – it was
my father who cheered them up. He came
with a smile, a good word, a funny story. He
made them laugh.
My father lived with a fundamental teaching
of Rav Nachman of Breslov. “Smile even if
you have nothing to smile about, and
HaShem will give you something to smile
about”.
A lesson to believe that it is all good. To be
happy with what you have.
How lucky we children were. We were
gifted a most loving father. While we didn’t
have trips to Disney, or any ‘destination’
vacations, we treasured our outings to the
local fire station, the park, the zoo, the
duck pond, and exploring HaShem’s
beautiful world with nature hikes in the
mountains. It wasn’t where we went, it was
the love and full attention Abba gave us
wherever he took us.
When the grandchildren came around,
Abba enveloped them with the same love,
and found the strength and time to take
them on outings as well.
Often, I, as well as my brothers and sister,
would “go home” to our parents for
Shabbos and Yom Tov. Abba would stand
by the front door and call out, “Check-in
time at the hotel”, with the biggest, happiest
smile on his face. He would pick up the
babies, put them on his broad shoulders,
where they would magically fall asleep.
Abba was always up Friday night learning.
If he saw any of us up with a baby, he
would tell us to go to sleep while he would
gently rock the little one. He sat at the
kitchen table, Gemara opened in front of
him. With a chuckle, Abba would say, “The
reason babies cry at night, is so that their
fathers would stay up learning”.
As the babies grew, my father found new
activities for them. He would sit and make
arts-and-crafts projects with them. He
would share with them stories from the
parsha, and teachings from our gedolim.
He would always be available to help with

homework (even I would ask him for a good
vort to use in my classes).
My son, Yosef Dov, the oldest grandchild,
coined the name “Abba Zeide”, for that was
my father, a loving abba and zeide, all rolled
up in one. A name that stuck with all the
grandchildren that followed.
My father’s love and devotion wasn’t only
reserved for us children and grandchildren,
but he had a special place in his heart for my
mother, a”h. They were a team, rabbi and
rebbetzin of the shul, working together to be
mekarev and teach Torah to the broader
community.
Every morning, my father would prepare
sliced grapefruit for my mother. If there
would be any articles about Eretz Yisroel, or
of Jewish interest, in the paper, my father
would cut them out and place them alongside
the grapefruit. Little acts that mean so much.
A lesson in unconditional love and devotion
to family.
My father was the rov of a growing shul.
Every Erev Shabbos, He would bring
challahs and cakes to the single mothers and
widows in the community. Not because they
couldn’t afford to buy it, but because he
wanted them to know that they were not
forgotten about.
As a rabbi, he reached out to the local high
school boys, asking them to be part of the
morning minyan. They were public school
kids, so Abba would pick them up, drive
them to shul, and then take them to school.
The love he gave each of these boys paid off
– they all became shomrei Torah u’mitzvos.
A lesson in reaching out and being there for
others.
I could write volumes about my father. At
his levaya, my husband said, “Abba was a
gentle giant”. Indeed, he was a tall man,
whose presence commanded a room, but at
the same time, was the gentlest person ever.
Abba’s life was one that embodied quiet
faith, kindness, and unwavering goodness
Yehi zichro boruch.