This is the third appearance of Shira Shatzberg. If she
weren't living practically next door, it would be hard put
to believe she is only thirteen. Her skill is a gift from
Hashem, granted, but her maturity goes far beyond her
chronological age. This is her CHAZOKA as a full fledged
writer with so much to give us! (The only thing her editor
could improve on is occasional spelling!)
My father, my two-year-old brother Yehuda and I were in the
car, on the way to visit my mother in the hospital. We were
all very excited. After all, my mother was due to have a
baby any day.
"Shira," my father asked me. "What do you think we should
name the new baby?" After thinking a second or two, I
answered cutely, "If it's a girl, we should name it Shira,
and if it's a boy, we should name it Yehuda."
I was only three and a half at the time, and my father
thought that was the most adorable thing he had ever heard.
I think I just said it to be cute and I really knew that you
can't give two children the same name. The problem is, I
can't get my father to believe that...
Either way, a few days later the baby was born. Right from
the start, the doctors suspected that the baby had Down's
Syndrome. "You see the extra skin on the back of his neck?"
they showed my father. "That's a sign of DS." "But my
mother's neck looks just like that and she's normal," my
father answered. "That's no proof."
"Well, then," the doctor continued, "look at the eyes. See
how slanted they are? Now that's proof!" "Not really," my
father answered evenly. "People are always commenting on my
daughter's Chinese eyes and believe me, she's not Chinese,
nor Down's, for that matter."
The next day a blood test was taken and what a stubborn baby
my brother proved to be! He was only a few days old but it
literally took three doctors to hold him down so that they
could take the blood, but take it they did. And the results?
The doctors were right - a Down's Syndrome baby had been
born to our family.
If you'd ask her today, my mother would tell you that she'd
happily take ten more like him. Unfortunately, at the time,
she didn't feel quite the same.
Although it never entered her mind to abandon the infant,
she appreciated all the chizuk she could get. There
were different kinds -- some helped, some didn't. Some made
my mother feel worse, like her good friend, Batya, who came
and sat next to my mother. "Sara," she said, "long ago, a
family I know had a child like this. They decided to give
him away. Believe it or not, he grew up to be a real mensch
at that other family's home. I suggest that you follow their
example." My mother simply ignored her. Batya didn't mean
any harm but her idea was so off...
On another occasion, a big rebbetzin called up my mother.
"Hi!" she said enthusiastically. "Listen, Sara. I envy you!
You'll grow so much from this experience..." This may sound
like a wonderful thing to say but it only made my mother
more upset. At that point her attitude was: sure, it's a
wonderful thing to grow higher and closer to Hashem. But you
don't necessarily need an abnormal child in order to do
so...
The truth is that you have to know exactly what to say to a
person who has undergone such a Heaven-test. Another friend
of my mother said something very similar, but this really
helped her. "You know, Sara, I am sure that all of the
community will be able to learn from you. You'll help all of
us grow. Our children will learn from your children. You
will strengthen all of us and we will turn to you for
chizuk." Another woman convinced my mother how our
family was hand-picked to raise a special child and that
there must be a good reason. That, too, was extremely
helpful and encouraging.
My parents hid the fact that the baby had DS from my
grandparents and relatives for six whole months; they were
afraid of what they would think of the idea. My grandparents
are from Europe and had never heard of the condition. When
they found out, their suggestion was simply to get him some
medication. They had absolutely no idea what it meant for a
person to be born with Down's Syndrome. My father's father,
on the other hand, did understand the matter to some extent.
"You will get much nachas from this little boy," he
assured my father. How right he turned out to be!
Besides the problems that my mother experienced because of
the baby, she was extremely ill. She had developed two
herniated disks and could barely walk. Even so, there was a
man who used to bring his only son to our house every
Shabbos so that his wife could get a rest. He happened to be
a doctor and kept insisting that my mother undergo surgery
as the only cure.
My mother worked hard caring for her three small children,
including the Down's, and certain friends who were also
under our wing, so to speak. Her condition got to the point
that my father was sure she would need a wheelchair. My
mother absolutely refused but feared that it was only a
matter of time until she would have no choice.
At that time we were living in California and my brother
Yehuda was going to a school which taught everything in
Hebrew. The school was located in the home of the school's
principal. It had originally been opened for his own
children and he had brought in teachers all the way from
Eretz Yisroel. One motzaei Shabbos, Morah Dina came
to visit us. "You know, Sara," she said to my mother, "a big
Rov has come in from Eretz Yisroel. Why don't you go to get
a brocha from him? I'm sure it will do you good." The
next day my mother dragged us all in the car with her last
ounce of strength.
When she entered the room where the Rov was receiving people
and was asked what was wrong, she mentioned that the little
boy sitting on her lap had Down's Syndrome, which was
obvious. She mentioned casually that her leg hurt a
little.
"Just a little?" the Rov asked. "Just a little," she
answered.
"Do you remember such-and-such a thing that happened in your
sixth month of pregnancy? Well, that was when your baby
became Down's. Here is a kamea for the baby and
here's one for your leg. And this is what you must do on the
upcoming Shabbos Rosh Chodesh, which should help you,
too."
The following Shabbos, Dr. Klein came as usual to deposit
his son at our home. My mother came to the door all dressed
in her Shabbos clothes, looking pretty, healthy and strong.
Dr. Klein smiled. "I see you took my advice and had an
operation. How wonderful! What a quick recovery!"
"Well, actually, I didn't," my mother replied. He nearly
fainted. "What do you mean? What did you do?" he nearly
shrieked. "Ummm, I got a blessing from a Rov." "Who is he?
I'm going over there right now!" Before she finished giving
him directions, he had burst out the door, determined to get
his blessing from this miracle worker.
*
Yisroel was the cutest baby, but he was still a lot of work.
He was taken from occupational therapy to speech therapy and
back again. Boruch Hashem, he was quite high functioning and
at three, was accepted in our community's nursery school. He
has an amazing ability to charm all those about him.
After two years of nursery, Yisroel went into Mora Chani's
kindergarten. Mora Zahava, an Israeli woman, was the aide in
his class. In the beginning, she was afraid of Yisroel and
was very annoyed that the school had accepted him, as she
later admitted to us. She was the type who would cross the
street whenever she saw a child like him approaching. She
shunned Yisroel and kept her distance, but with time,
Yisroel managed to charm even her. She warmed up to him and
became friends with our family. She got to love him more and
more by the day. She would visit our home and do things
together with us.
Once, when she went on a visit to Israel, she spent a whole
day going from godol to godol getting
blessings for Yisroel. Today, we both live in Eretz Yisrael
and are still close friends. She loves Yisroel very much. In
fact, photos of him hang on her dining room wall next to
pictures of Gedolim. When people ask her what a little boy's
picture is doing there, she replies, "Yisroel is also a
tzaddik."
*
Rebbi Avi was a young man who had come all the way from
Israel to teach in the Hebrew- speaking school Yehuda
attended. But the very week he came the school closed down
and he found himself in America with nobody and nothing.
This was not the middle of the year and he was afraid to
call his parents to tell them that after leaving yeshiva in
Eretz Yisroel, he was left high and dry.
My parents offered Avi a job tutoring Yehuda in Hebrew to
supplement his studies at the regular day school. In
addition, we gave him a room in the back of our house.
During the day he tutored children, worked as a mashgiach
kashrus and soon he found a job as a full fledged rebbi
at a day school. He never ate at restaurants and conducted
himself very modestly. Whenever he entered our back yard, he
would whistle to let my mother know he was around. On
Shabbos he would tell my brother and me stories from Tanach.
He bought us small presents and was very good to us.
Avi became very close to our family. One time, a
shidduch was suggested from another state. He met the
girl and they became engaged. Avi's kalla showed him
pictures of her extended family and he liked what he saw. A
few weeks later, she showed him some more pictures. Avi
commented how wonderful they looked.
A few weeks later, there was a family simcha and Avi
went to meet the kalla's whole family. He was very
impressed. Meanwhile, the wedding date was growing closer
and the kalla was getting nervous that Avi hadn't
noticed one of her sister's children. Finally, about a week
before the wedding, she sat down and showed him some more
pictures. "Avi," she said, "this is my niece." She seemed to
be waiting for something. "Nu?" he asked.
"Well, she has Down's Syndrome."
Avi looked at her for a second. Then he took out his own
photo album. "This," he pointed to a picture, "is my family
in Israel. And this," he pointed to a picture of us, with
Yisroel standing in the center, "is my family in California.
And do you know what? I love them both the same."
*
Today Yisroel follows in the footsteps of the Ovos. He
climbs aboard his school bus every morning at seven and sets
off for his normal school, Betzel Kenofecha, his
second home. He speaks two languages, coherently if not
perfect. He has an amazing measure of self confidence. He
visits everyone's houses, talks to strangers and makes
friends with everyone.
He is a truly beloved and proud member of the Jewish
nation.
