It's 7:00 a.m.
Time to get up. Today is a very special day. It's a day of
life. And the first 20 seconds are crucial. Based on how you
slept, what you dreamt, how you were woken, based on all
those facts, it will take about 20 seconds for you to decide
what mood you are in.
Sometimes a word, song, or cup of coffee may change it,
and sometimes a bulldozer can't budge it.
Is there anything wrong with a bad or sad mood for the
day? Sitting back and feeling sorry for one's self for the
next 16 hours?
One of the better places to visit in Yerushalayim, in the
sense that Shlomo Hamelech writes in Koheles, "It's
better to visit a house of mourning . . . "
Is the Children's Hospital.
As I walk down the long corridor, I hear someone tooting as
he overtakes me.
Shalom, he says from his battery-operated wheelchair.
What's your name, I ask?
Gal, he says. His voice is unclear since he has a respirator
attached to his throat.
How long have you been here? I ask.
18 years. Since I was born.
Gal is one of the lucky ones. He's mobile.
So if you are not planning to use your day, Gal will be
glad to have it.
Let's say you decided today is a sad day. I challenge you
to see how long it takes to move you. Hold on tight. It's
dull outside, no weddings to go to, and lots of problems to
sort out. This equals a bad mood.
You are nail-biting as you enter the next room. They were
fine yesterday. They look OK. What's going to happen
today?
Yes, Boruch Hashem, one by one they open their eyes and sit
up. So sweet, it's a miracle.
Hamechadeish betuvo bechol yom tomid.
It's time to take them to school. As you are about to
leave the house, the day's worries start settling in.
The Mashgiach, HaRav Dan Segal, once met a talmid of
his that he had not seen for some time. The Mashgiach, seeing
that his talmid was distraught, asked him what the
problem was.
I have to run to the bank to sort out my mortgage. Then I
have to run to the hospital to pick up my wife and baby. And
my car has just broken down.
I only hear besoros tovos, said the Mashgiach.
Mazel Tov for your wedding, Mazel Tov for your
baby, Mazel Tov for your new house.
Just outside your building is the site of the bomb!
It was toward the end of another long and hot summer day when
there was that sudden thunder. The skies stayed clear, but
then the loudspeaker kept on thundering. The levaya of
Tehilla. And how many months later the crater is still there,
the hole in her parents' hearts.
Today technology is amazing. In the olden days if you took a
photo of a group of people, you would spend time trying to
work out who all the little faces are. Today on your digital
camera you can make the picture lighter or darker, and you
can also zoom in and enlarge any of those faces hidden in the
corner.
And so in life, if you want.
Tehilla's case was 1 in 200,000, and her family just happened
to live next door. Or you can zoom in and see the hidden
truth. That bomb landed three meters away from your
children's room.
As you walk the kids to school, look very carefully. Can
you see them? They're all over on the rooftops, behind the
trees, round the corners. It's frightening.
Look, they're taking aim at you. Here comes an arrow, another
and another. Each one with a label attached. Car crash,
illness, terror attack, infections, . . .
They're all heading towards you at the speed of light. At the
very last moment, some friendly Angels jump out and catch
them.
Miyemini Michoel, umismoli Gavriel, umilfonai . . .
"
It's only 7:30 a.m., and you've had so much good already
you should be jumping with joy by now.
But if you're not, I can hear someone tooting at the other
end of the corridor. He wants your day!
