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Home
and Family
Chosen Child
by Zehava B. Fleishman
Being the oldest child in the family, I bore, and continue to
bear, the yoke of responsibility for my actions and the
effect they have on my siblings. Moreover, as the oldest
child of the `rabbi,' I was always watched. In my earliest
memories of going to shul with my father z'l, I
remember having to behave on a different level than my
friends. As I grew older, it wasn't just that I was told, but
that I felt and knew that the congregants were looking
at me, watching how I stood, sat, kept place and pace in the
Chumash, davened, coached my sister next to me. They
followed me with their eyes if I walked between the aisles to
leave for a moment, giving me the `once-over,' up and down,
approving or disapproving of what I was wearing and how.
Yet it was very much out of shul that I had to
be careful. At the Shabbos table, and many times other than
on Shabbos, my father would instruct and remind us about our
responsibility in being fine, shining examples of good
character traits, courtesy, decency and so on.
Ehrlichkeit and derech eretz were his bywords.
In short, he expected us to be on our best behavior
everywhere, because anywhere and everywhere we had to make a
kiddush Hashem. In fact, I wasn't allowed to go to a
certain place where friends would go to eat kosher ice cream
because non- kosher food was also served there.
Even on trips far away from home, where no one would know who
we were, my father would always be careful not to step into
places where someone might say, "Oh, a religious Jew went
there."
His expectations of himself were high, and he expected no
less from me. Being the oldest child in his family, and my
mother in hers, my father understood what he was expecting of
me, and it only seemed to spur him on to being the example
for us, a role model par excellence. He had faith in me and
was proud of me. Recently, in my adult years, he would share
with me how fortunate he had felt and how much satisfaction
he had in having such wonderful children, and yet, or perhaps
because of it, I sometimes feel a sense of inadequacy and
fear that I might do or say something that would not reflect
well on Abba.
Believe me, it happened not infrequently, that in the most
unexpected places, thousands of miles away from home, someone
would ask me who I was, and when they heard my name, would
respond with respect and esteem, "Oh! You're Rabbi Ben
Nattan's daughter!"
*
Being the oldest child among the child of nations, "My
firstborn son, Yisroel," I bore, and continue to bear, the
yoke of responsibility for my actions and the effect they
have on the nations of the world, and of course, on my
brothers and sisters. Moreover, as the oldest child of the
Ribono Shel Olom, I was always watched.
In my earliest memories, even in Egypt, later in the desert
and in Eretz Yisroel, I remember having to behave on a
different level than the Egyptians and all other pagan
nations. After Mt. Sinai, I was more than a light unto the
nations: I felt and knew that they were all looking at me,
watching how I stood, sat, studied, prayed, spoke even within
my own camp. And they were forever looking me up and down to
see what I was wearing -- and how.
Abba would continually exhort me about my responsibility in
being a shining example of good character, honest, courtesy
to every human being. He expected me to be on my best
behavior everywhere. We children weren't allowed to go to
certain places, eat certain things, do anything that might
raise an eyebrow. Even in the distant exile, so far away from
home, where we thought no one would know who we were, we had
to be on the constant alert not to do anything that might
cause someone to comment, "Oh! A Jew did that?"
My Father has faith in me; He understands what He can expect
from me and knows that I can do it. He is proud of me. But
sometimes I get sidetracked; I run around and get involved in
foolish things and then I get an uncomfortable feeling of
inadequacy. Or is it shame? He loves me so; I am His precious
one, His favorite. I am ashamed when I let Him down.
It can have been an incident with a non-Jew or with a
neighbor, a bus driver, cashier... Did I live up to my
privileged status? Have I made Him proud of me?
But my Father gives me a chance to make amends, ten days to
come back to my real self. My self-less, my concern for
others. These days are a gift, a golden opportunity, with a
time slot in which to do it!
OVINU -- He is our Father Who really, really loves us.
MALKEINU -- our King Who really, really has the power to do
what we ask, if that is what is best for us.
Let us run after Him, up to Him, and yell like a three-year-
old, "Tatte, wait for me! I'm c-o-m-i-n-g!"
"I'M COMING!"
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