WRITTEN BY SHMUEL T. ADLER

 

It is Erev Yom Kippur; the day before Yom Kippur – the culmination of Rosh Hashana and all the aseres yemei teshuva; the day that all the days of the month of Elul and even before, are leading towards.

I am standing in Yehoshua’s hospital room right near his bed, ready to give him that heartfelt, love-laden brocha that parents all over the world give to their children; which describes so clearly and beautifully our deepest aspirations, hopes, and desires which we have for our children.

In my thoughts, are still clearly lingering the deepest emotions which I had 10 days ago on Rosh Hashana – the day when mine, my wifes, and our beloved little Yehoshualehs entire year would be decided.

My davening and my thoughts on those two days of Rosh Hashana were filled beyond capacity – and this is what I was thinking about – during all of my shmoneh esreh’s, during ‘unesaneh tokef”, during all the “avinu malkeinu’s”, and during the rest of my davening.

My thoughts were filled of our dear zeeskeit son, Yehoshualeh; lying in his hospital bed, so beloved, so vulnerable, attached to so many machines, with so many medical issues, being there for so so many months and having gone through such torturous, difficult times. The memories flooded my head; the so many – way too often times over the past year when Yehoshua was sick – we stood in such fear and terror, not knowing if we would need to stop and drop everything because he needed once again to be rushed to the Emergency Room and would have to stay in the ICU for who knows how long. Then into my mind gushed the memories of those emergency hospitalizations; of our dear little Yehoshualeh lying there as if drowning amongst the frightening hustle and bustle of another stress and tense filled Emergency Room – with all the tubes and wiring surrounding his small, frail body; the fevers of up to 104 which racked through him, the pale, weak, tired, sick, look on his face, the pitiful, heart wrenching tears which would not stop forming at the corners of his eyes and the sound of his pure cry – which we seldom heard besides for in these moments when he was hurting so much – the pain filled expression on his face and then his little bottom lip curling downward into a sad frown that had the power to melt even the strongest of hearts. This entire vision combined into a totally terrible off-key harmony which joined in awful sync with the unending beeping of the machines that were monitoring his vitals; the scare which every loud, shrill alarm brought with it, the terrible fear of not knowing if the ER staff would be too busy or too negligent to respond in time to those alarms, and then the heavy unending pressure of responsibility we felt of having to ourselves respond to the alarm; the fear we had just to leave his room for a moment to use the restroom for we were scared something would happen to his weak, frail lungs and the nurses would delay in responding while we were gone . . .

And then, the small dim ray of sunshine which peered through the tiniest of cracks amidst all of this pain and heartache – in the form of the totally unexplained small smile which dear Yehoshualeh, despite everything, somehow, somehow, managed to display on his parched lips and pain filled face. These are the thoughts which passed through my mind during my tefillos on Rosh Hashana.

Throughout the many months since Yehoshua was born, I did my best as much as I was able to control my thoughts and emotions. I dared not let myself dream too much of the future; the pain and potential disappointment plus all the waiting for my dreams to come true would be too much for me to handle. I tried to focus only on the present, on survival, and to save the last vestiges of physical and emotional strength I had to be there for my dear wife and beloved son. I could not spare myself the liberty of thinking about the terrible difficulties we had been through in the past, or the fears or even the positive dreams of what the future may bring. It would have proved to be too overwhelming. I channeled my focus to remain only on what was right in front of me – surviving that day, that hour, and that minute. My coping mechanism was to make sure I did not think too much – or else I would get drowned in the pain of reliving the nightmares of what we had been through; as well as prematurely experiencing the pain of what we still did not know was yet to come; and the potential disappointments of not seeing my dreams come true at the time that I anticipated them.

That was during every other day of the year. But today was Rosh Hashana; when I was davening for the future of myself, my dear wife and my son who’s entire year lay spread out in front of my eyes and who’s entire destiny, ‘sifrei chaim’ and ‘sifrei maves’, lay spread out in front of the eyes of Hashem. Today was different. I removed the long-past reinforced barriers which hid everything – and then all the stress and pain, the nightmares and difficulties of the past and the fears and terror of the future came crashing down on me; and all of my hopes, dreams and aspirations for my wife and my son from the past tens of months, came pouring out from the depths of my heart and soul where they had been locked away for the entire rest of the year.

Today was the day. Today I knew that I wanted to channel all of that emotion, all of the pain and difficulty, all the stress and all of the tears, and all of our hopes and dreams of the past many months, into crying and pouring out all of the feelings which were overflowing from my heart to our dear Father in Heaven. Every last drop of sentiment and emotions from my heart and soul joined into a broken hearted orchestra screaming “Hashem, our Father, pplllleeeaaassseee save our beloved son; and pplllleeeaaassseee make the next year easier on my dear wife and on myself.

And then, on Rosh Hashana, all of these thoughts pouring through my head opened the floodgates of tears which I had tried valiantly to hold back throughout the year. Amidst these thoughts I said “zachreinu lachayim”, “U’chesov L’chayim” and “b’sefer chayim”. Each new tefilla reopened the floodgates again and again. When we reached “avinu malkeinu shelach refuah sheleima lecholei amecha”, “shema koleinu …” and “kabel brachamim …” my floodgates of tears burst each time anew; and when I reached “avinu malkeinu chamol aleinu v’al olaleinu vtapeinu” whatever tears were left in my eyes just totally emptied out. When I said these words, “chamol … al olaleinu” my entire body shook, racked with the accumulative pain of mine and my dear wifes and sons past two and a half years; my last tears gushed forth from my eyes, as I cried out at the top of my lungs with all the strength I could muster “Our dear Father, pllleeeaaasseee send a refua sheleima to our dear beloved son Yehoshualeh, let him get him out of the hospital already, in full health; listen to our cries and the tears which my wife and I shed, not only now but the tons of tears we poured out over the past so so many months; have mercy on our dear beloved so innocent Yehoshua together with all of the rest of Your dear beloved innocent young children …”.

And now, back to the present, I am standing in the hospital near Yehoshua’s bed on Erev Yom Kippur. We came to spend a few hours with Yehoshua before going home to have our seuda mafsekes and begin the holiest day of the year. I approached Yehoshua’s hospital crib with a machzor open, ready to give Yehoshua that same heartfelt, love-laden brocha that parents all over the world give to their children. I place my hand on Yehoshualeh’s head – and begin saying the bracha. “Yesimcha Elokim … Yevorechecha Hashem V’Yishmerecha” and then “Yehi ratzon…”; these beautiful heartfelt words describe the dreams and aspirations which we have for our beloved son so perfectly – those dreams which I fought so hard to hold at bay throughout the year, lest they overtake me; they are all expressed in this brocha the absolute exact same way which they were in my heart; and once again the floodgates opened. “Yehi ratzen mlifnei avinu shebashamayim sheyitein b’libcha … “. The tears slowly began forming at the corners of my eyes as I start saying the words of the brocha; and then as I continued, the tears grew and slowly started down my cheeks. Then I reached the words “raglecha yarutzu laasos retzon avicha shebashamayim” – the limitations which Yehoshua has had in his legs has been in the forefront of our minds throughout the year; and once again the floodgates began emptying out whatever tears remained. And all these tears joined together to cry out “Tatte en heaven, please, just please, make our son get better, let all the pain end, and enable to us to have some semblance of normalcy in our lives so that we can just simply begin breathing regularly once again.

And then I glanced over at little zeeskeit Yehoshualeh . . .

I look at Yehoshua, and I shake my head; I look again, trying to make sure I am seeing right, amidst my tears; and I am totally taken at what I am seeing – I SEE A HUGE SMILE HAS SPREAD ACROSS LITTLE YEHOSHUA’S LIPS, HIS EYES LIGHTEN UP DANCING WITH LAUGHTER, LOOKING SO HAPPILY RIGHT BACK AT ME INTO MY EYES!!!!

And all my tears and crying suddenly diminished.

I want to pick Yehoshua up, throw him into the air and dance with him; I love him so much and he just infused me with enough hope to last me the entire year.

Yehoshua’s message hit home – “Totty, you know we have a Tatte en heaven who has been watching over me and taking care of me all this time; you know that He does not stop watching over me and mommy for a second. Totty, let me tell you something – Hashem’s got this! You can really trust Him! He’s got everything under control! The same way He has miraculously sustained me for all this time, He will continue doing just that this coming year. C’mon Totty; everything will be just fine!”

Sometimes a parents role is to worry for their children so that their children can remain deservedly, innocently unaware of pain in their youth; yet sometimes it is our children’s innocence, and their pure, simple, natural happiness, which can show us that we really need not worry as much as our minds tell us to.

I finish the brocha, my tears considerably lessened from when I had started. My heart is lighter, much more secure in the knowledge that with G-ds constant help, everything will be Ok.

Yehoshualeh!, what a lesson!

Throughout everything we have been through, Hashem gave us such a great brocha – Yehoshua’s beautiful smile created such a bright ray of sunshine through my tears – and not just for me, at this moment. Everyone who meets Yehoshua, all they talk about is the beautiful smile he has despite all he has endured – which spreads brightness and sunshine to all who see it, on the most difficult days, in the most far reaching places.

That smile, in one moment, just unloaded so much heaviness which was laying in my heart.

My tears are dry. My hopes are refreshed; I feel rejuvenated.

I need not worry – this coming year will be a good year!