It was a typical winter night in Bnei Brak. Sweater
weather, but nothing oppressive. Not really a fog, but a fine
mist. Compelling, but not overbearing. That is the allure of
Bnei Brak, reflected even in its winter nights.
I have just finished a long day at a medical conference,
and it's time to return home. Shuvy is with me. Shuvy is
twelve, and hasn't been the easiest of children. Shuvy is
smart and very personable with wonderful middos, but
getting him to do well in his studies or learn is like
pulling teeth. Yes, we have been to rebbeim for
brochos, we have tried our best to make things fun,
but progress is still slow.
I take Shuvy home every day and, as a special treat, I
let him come home with me this evening, despite it being much
later than usual. As we drive through the usual streets of
Bnei Brak, Shuvy knows I am hungry, as I wouldn't eat the
questionable food at the medical conference. "You know Abba,
that there is a bread factory on Shlomo Hamelech Street which
is open now. Aren't you hungry?"
It is hard to tell if Shuvy is thinking of me, which
wouldn't be unusual, or if he expects me to buy him something
too. But he is right. I am hungry. I stop in front of the
bakery, where the fresh rolls are cooling outside on a misty
night in Bnei Brak. The aroma captivates, the fresh bread is
bathed by a fluorescent light making an eerie buzzing around.
I choose what I want, and I am about to pay for it, when
Shuvy looks up at me.
"My Rebbe said I learned very well today." I am silent.
Sometimes you just can't push or pull. A minute passes. "I
cleaned my room for Ima." I can't tell him he cleaned his
room for himself.
I answer, "Shuvy, are you trying to tell me you want a
roll?" I wasn't entirely correct. He wasn't trying to tell
me, he was telling me.
Shuvy gets his roll. Shuvy doesn't always remember to
say his brochos, and this is a source of a lot of
consternation for us, as he is after all just short of his
bar mitzvah. This time he is so careful to say it
right. He doesn't want me to regret my decision. He also
doesn't always remember to bentch. This time he is
very careful.
I wrote in the past on fathers spending time with
children. It's great when it is learning with them, but this
doesn't always go for all children. Shuvy isn't dumb. He
knows how badly we want him to grow in the right way, how
fervently we daven that he find his path to true Torah
and mitzvos. But we can't push it, as all the
mashgichim have told us. In the meantime,
we just provide as much love and spend as much time as
we can with him.
We pull away. It is dark in the car, Shuvy can't see me.
Will he remember like I will this simple night that I
invested for the future with the purchase of a roll? Will he
see how much his father loves him in real terms? And what
will become of Shuvy ten years down the road?
It is quiet again. the fluorescent light at the bakery
still buzzes, the aroma of freshly baked bread fills an empty
parking lot. It's just another misty Bnei Brak
night.
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