Moshe Speiser Shaah Tovah 2010

Building through Chessed

Debbie Shapiro interviews Moshe Speiser

I first met Moshe and Shaindy Speiser close to thirty years ago, when the suburb of Ramot Polin in Yerushalayim was considered truly "remote." Shaindy and I, together with the other young women in the neighborhood, would spend our afternoons sitting in the shady areas behind the buildings watching our children play. Over the years, Rabbi Moshe Speiser gained recognition as a person who accomplishes – first with kids at risk, and later on, with families dealing with a sick child. As our children grew older and we became (gulp) parents of teens, we automatically gravitated to Reb Moshe and Shaindy for advice in dealing with this new and very perplexing stage of our lives. 

Reb Moshe, could you tell us a bit about your background?

Reb Moshe: I grew up in Lakewood, New Jersey. Back in the sixties it was very different from today; in those days there were only forty boys in the entire yeshivah! My parents moved there because they wanted us to have the benefits of living in the country, although we weren't yet part of the yeshivah community.

My parents are very special people. In their gentle way they taught their children the importance of caring for others. I grew up knowing that my tafkid in life is to help those around me.

After Shaindy and I got married, we moved to Monsey, where I learned in Rabbi Abba Berman ztz"l's kollel. When Rabbi Berman's yeshivah relocated to Eretz Yisrael in 1979, we joined them and I continued learning in the kollel.

In 1990, when my son was twelve, I realized that I needed something to keep him busy on Shabbos afternoons; he had outgrown the Israeli-style Tehillim groups. My wife suggested that I create a Shabbos group for the English speaking boys in the neighborhood. At first, I thought I would model it after the American Pirchei, but it ended up being very different. Every Shabbos I'd tell the boys something that would help them in their personal lives, such as how to get along with others, why we need the Beis Hamikdash or why it's important to daven. Then I'd give a short science lesson showing them the miracles of Hashem's creation. After that it was a game and nosh, and then a story. The group was really popular and I continued it for seven years, long after my son outgrew it.

I developed a very special rapport with the boys in my group, so it was natural that when they became teenagers, their parents came to me for advice. I felt that since people were coming to me for help with some pretty difficult problems, I should learn about the field and therefore took several counseling and psychology courses. Around that time I also began working with the kids hanging out on Ben Yehudah Street. They knew me, liked me, and baruch Hashem, many of them eventually came back.

Then, someone asked me to volunteer as a counselor on a Hebrew-speaking hotline dealing with problematic teens. Although that fell through, I liked the idea enough to open Kav Baruch, an English speaking hotline for teens and their parents. I  organized a counseling course for our volunteers, a handpicked group of men and women (we accepted 40 volunteers out of 200), and later on, I arranged parenting courses for our clients.

In 2002, one of the parents I had helped recommended me for a position as case manager at Chayeinu, the Israeli branch of Chai Lifeline. In one way, speaking with parents of ill children is similar to speaking with parents of troubled teens; they both need support and validation. On the other hand, whereas parents of troubled teens are begging for advice in dealing with their problem, parents of ill children are looking for someone to understand what they are going through. When I accepted the job, I naively thought that it just entailed going to the hospitals, meeting the families and finding out their needs, and that Chayeinu would take of the rest. I was wrong. Had I known then what I know now, I don't know if I would have had the nerve to take on such an awesome responsibility.

As case manager, I spent a lot of time on the road. I would travel to Rambam Hospital in Haifa, Schneider Hospital in Petach Tikva and Soroka Hospital in Beer Sheva, where the social workers would refer me to the families of ill children. After introducing myself and telling the families about the services we provide, I'd arrange a time for a home visit.

The home visits were really important. In addition to letting the families know that I was there to help them, I was able to assess their financial situation and see what they needed. One family who were among my first clients were Russian olim, and they were so poor that they didn’t even have a refrigerator. In addition to getting them one, we arranged for a soup kitchen to provide the family with a daily hot lunch. Another time, we installed air conditioning for a boy who lived in the Negev and suffered terribly from the heat.

That's amazing – such attention to individual needs. Can you give us any other examples?

Reb Moshe: Sure. One boy, from a very dysfunctional home, was hospitalized for extended periods. He literally drove the nurses crazy. After spending some time talking with him, I realized that he was jealous of the other children in the ward, because their parents always gave them money to buy drinks or candy, while his parents didn't. We gave him the equivalent of twenty dollars a month and he became like a completely different child!

Then there was Rena, who had lost a kidney to cancer. On one of my visits I found her mother in tears. She had received a letter from Bituach Leumi (Israeli Social Security) informing her that since Rena had officially recovered, she was no longer entitled to the disability compensation she had already received, and that if the full amount – approximately $7000 – was not returned, Bituach Leumi would take possession of the family's belongings.

During most of the time that Rena was ill, both parents had been unemployed. Now she was in better shape, but her father had only found part time work. The mother had approached several lawyers, but they had all said that it was pointless to try to fight Bituach Leumi. We then asked one of the best lawyers in the country to take on this case pro bono. When Bituach Leumi found out that this particular lawyer was representing Rena’s family, they immediately withdrew their claim.

Another time, one of the volunteers, Shmulik, phoned to tell me that Asher, a nine-year-old boy with a brain tumor, was scheduled to have surgery the following Monday. The tumor was pressing on the nerves that control the lower half of his body. The doctors’ prognosis was grim; if – and it was a big if – Asher survived the surgery, he would be paralyzed from the waist down. Motzaei Shabbos before the operation, I went together with a group of volunteers to Asher's house, where we made a beautiful Melavah Malkah with lots of good food, singing and dancing. Asher's parents later told me that prior to our visit, their son had been so depressed that he constantly spoke about how he wanted to die, but after the Melavah Malkah he became so positive that he even smiled as they wheeled him into the operating room! Baruch Hashem the surgery was a huge success. To the doctors’ amazement, when they opened him up they discovered that the tumor had shrunk and was no longer pressing against the nerve. At a Shabbaton held just one week after the surgery, Asher was running up and down the hallways like any normal child. It goes without saying that when the family made a seudas hoda’ah to celebrate this miracle, a group of volunteers was sent to liven up the party. Later, when Shmulik, the volunteer who had phoned to tell me about the upcoming surgery, got married, Asher's parents insisted on making a sheva brachos.

And then there was Itzik, who was very sick with a brain tumor. He was so depressed that he had basically given up hope. We arranged for Avraham Fried to sing for him.  After that, he joined the fight for his life and today, baruch Hashem, he is completely recovered.

Tzvi was in a semi-coma and didn't have much longer to live. When I asked the mother if I could bring someone to sing for him, she replied that Yaakov Shwekey was the only singer that he likes. “But he lives in America,” I pointed out. “Maybe I could arrange for someone else to come?” But the answer was no.

Back in Yerushalayim, I told one of the other staff members about my conversation with Tzvi's mother. He had heard that Shwekey was planning on coming to Eretz Yisrael in the near future, and after a few inquiries, we discovered that Shwekey had arrived that same morning. Since he had to be in Yerushalayim for an important engagement, he was driven to Haifa and back in a speeding ambulance! When Shwekey sang, Tzvi opened his eyes, and although he could not talk, it was clear that he was enjoying the personal concert. He died a day or two later.

Together with the other volunteers at Chayeinu, I became a real part of these families. We shared each other's simchos and felt each other's pain. It was an awesome experience.

Several years ago I was invited to a private Melavah Malkah hosted by the well-known singer, Shwekey. The guests of honor were a group of children with cancer, and it was obvious that many of them were extremely sick. The joy was palpable, but it was a poignant, almost painful simchah. Even as my feet soared with the dancing, tears formed in my eyes. I was awed at the caring and devotion that I witnessed. The volunteers literally did cartwheels to bring a small smile to the face of a very, very sick teenager. I saw old men with canes dance with koichos that they probably never knew they had, to light up the face of a young child who was obviously in the last stages of her illness. The bonds tying the volunteers, staff, parents and patients together were so strong that I felt almost like a stranger intruding on a family simchah. 

After becoming so close to these families, how were you able to cope with the loss when someone didn’t recover?

Reb Moshe: It was, and still is, hard; really, really hard. I was blessed with the ability to be able to separate myself from tragedy and not get emotionally dragged down – it’s not that I don't feel, I just don't get bogged down in the feelings. In addition, I work at deepening my level of emunah. Hashem's Hand is so evident in all that happens to these children. There are so many amazing situations, so many miracles.

Although the following story borders on the surreal, it's completely true. It really happened to me. About a year after Svetlana passed away, I stopped in to see how her mother, Reva, was managing. “Moshe,” she began, “you're not going to believe what happened to me. A few weeks ago, Maya [a girl who had been sick with cancer at the same time as Svetlana] called to tell me that she had seen Svetlana in a dream. She told me that Svetlana was wearing a blue dress and asked her to let me know that she is all right and that I shouldn't worry about her. ‘It was so real,’ she told me. ‘It was as if Svetlana was standing right there before me.’

“Of course I shrugged the whole thing off.  After all, it was only a dream. But then, a few hours later, Batya, another girl who had been sick at the same time as Svetlana, called. ‘Reva,’ she said. ‘I'm on a trip now and I dozed off for a few minutes. I dreamt that Svetlana was standing in front of me. She was wearing a blue dress and asked me to tell you that she's all right and that you shouldn't worry about her.’

“I was positive that the two girls were playing a rotten joke on me and got really angry. But later I found out that although Batya and Maya had both been sick at the same time, they had never met and didn’t know each other.”

Not long afterwards, I visited Maya and asked her if she had really had that dream about Svetlana. She told me, “Moshe, when I had that dream, I didn’t know that Svetlana had already passed away.”

Can you give our readers some tips on what they should or should not say to parents of a very sick child, or, chas v'shalom, parents who are mourning a child?

Reb Moshe: First of all, don't avoid them. Don't disappear from their lives because their situation makes you feel uncomfortable or you don't know what to say. If there's a sick child in the house, ask how the family is managing and let them know that you're davening for their child's recovery. Talk less and listen to them more.  Empathize and let them know that you're there for them, that you are concerned about them.

The same applies when dealing with parents who are mourning their child’s death. Never say something like, “At least you have other children.” Each child is unique; a deceased child can never be replaced. Parents also get very upset when they hear things like, “You'll get over it.” Contrary to popular opinion, people don’t get over losing a child. I've dealt with seventy cases, and in almost all of them, the parents said that the pain only grows worse over the years. Shabbos, Yom Tov and family simchos are especially difficult times.

During Operation Cast Lead, you traveled to hospitals throughout the country (including those within range of the falling missiles) several times a week to visit the injured soldiers.

Reb Moshe: The first time I went to visit the injured soldiers, I was sent to a soldier by the name of Li'el. He had suffered a head injury and his condition was critical. Although I couldn't enter the ICU to visit him, I did spend time outside talking with his wife and parents. Li'el's father was a wellspring of emunah and bitachon. He asked me to daven for his son.

One time I took my son and some of his friends along with me. They brought their guitars and went from soldier to soldier, singing and dancing and giving them words of chizuk. Since they couldn't enter the ICU, they sang and danced right on the other side of the wall next to Li'el's bed. While we were still singing and dancing, Li'el's wife came outside, gave us a thumbs-up and said, “My husband is crying. It's so beautiful!”

About six months later, Li'el's father called me to let me know that in a few days, Li'el would be making a bris for his first-born son. Of course I came. It was a poignantly beautiful bittersweet simchah. Although by then Li'el was able to walk, it was obvious that he still needed rehabilitation. The baby was named after one of Li'el's friends who had been killed in action. The friend's mother, who had also lost her husband the previous year, was present and visibly moved when she heard the baby's name.

During Operation Cast Lead, lots of different organizations as well as private individuals came to the hospitals to cheer up the injured soldiers. Despite the very different hashkafos and levels of religious observance, there was a tremendous feeling of achdus. People were there for the soldiers, not for their private agendas. It was Am Yisrael at its best. 

After I leave here, I'm traveling to Tel Aviv to visit the last of the injured soldiers still in hospital. He was hit in the leg – it wasn't even a severe injury – but he had lots of complications afterwards and is having a really hard time dealing with it all.

How has the work you do impacted your life?

Reb Moshe: I'll answer your question with two short stories.

Several years ago someone slammed a car door on my finger. Although the finger, thank G-d, was not broken, the injury was extremely painful. I was just about to vent my anger on the person who had carelessly slammed the door without looking when I suddenly recalled my clients’ suffering. How could a banged finger possibly compare with that?

Another time, the bus driver forgot to close the door. I fell out and broke my arm in three different places. Thinking about all the sick children that I work with helped me to put my own pain in perspective. That's really the answer; I've learned to see the world from a different angle.

Rabbi Speiser is available for public speaking engagements and consultations. He can be contacted either at kavbaruch@hotmail.com or at 972-54-845-1715.

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During Operation Cast Lead, a seven-year-old boy, Orel Alazarov, was severely injured in a rocket attack. When the sirens sounded, Angela, Orel's mother, followed Home Front procedures and left the car. When a Grad rocket landed just a few meters away, Angela tried to shield her son with her own body. Somehow, the shrapnel missed her and penetrated Orel's skull.

Orel attended the religious Shuvu Elementary School in Beer Sheva. Although only in second grade, he was slowly drawing his family closer to Yiddishkeit. “When he was in first grade, he asked his mother to buy him tzitzis. Since then, he hasn't missed a day wearing them,” said Rabbi Weitman, Orel’s principal.

“Initially, the prognosis was grim,” Reb Moshe explains. “A large part of Orel's skull had been blown out and the doctors predicted that he wouldn’t survive. When my son and I came to visit, Orel was in a coma and, according to the doctors, completely unaware of his surroundings. My son, however, was not discouraged and began singing while playing his guitar. That's when the miracle occurred. Little Orel opened his eyes… and kept them open until my son finished singing. Today, Orel is a walking – and talking – miracle!”

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