Taanis Esther (the fast of Esther).
I was busy in the kitchen making the final preparations for our evening meal
when the phone rang. I glanced down at the caller ID. It was my daughter
calling from England.
“Hi, Sush,” I
began. “How’s…”
A child's voice
interrupted my monologue. “It’s Faigie,” began my eight-year-old granddaughter.
“Bubby, what are you going to dress up as on Purim?”
“Me?” I was
surprised at the question. I never get dressed up, at least not in a Purim
costume. “Oh, I’ll just be me. Bubby.”
And then I added under my breath, “Maybe I’ll even pretend to be a balabusta.”
“That’s what
I’m going to be. You. I’m dressing up like you.” I assumed she wasn’t referring
to a balabusta.
“Ah, so you’re
going to be dressed up as a bubby?” It was more of a statement than a
question.
“No,” she
responded. “I’m going to be a very, very old lady, just like you. And Chaim’s
going to be a very old man, just like Zeidy.”
For once, I was
speechless. But right after Purim my daughter sent me the pictures and they
really were an adorable couple, him with a long, grey beard leaning on his
wooden cane and her with a short grey sheitel and enormous plastic
glasses!
Children think
of their parents as being old and wise. (When my children were little, my
oldest daughter asked me, “Mommy, how old are you?” I blithely responded,
“Thirty.” She shook her head in wonderment that a person was anyone could
possibly reach such a ripe old age, as she repeated in an awe-filled voice, “k’neinah
hara, k’neinah hara.”) And they view their grandparents as being
ancient. But children are children, and young children, especially, have a very
strange understanding of the concept of time, as shown in the following story
(and yes, it’s a story about one of my grandchildren. But I’m a bubby,
and bubbies are allowed to shep nachas).
My four-and-a-half-year-old
very verbose grandson commented, “Bubby, when you were little, you must have had
so much fun."
"Why do
you say that, shefela?" I asked.
"Because
when you were a little girl, you got to ride horses. And camels. And
donkeys."
"I did?
What makes you think that?"
"Because
there were no cars then. Only horses, and camels, and donkeys."
I will let you
in on a little secret. Beneath my matronly appearance runs a dark, mischievous
streak. So I couldn't help but continue and say, "But shefela, it
really wasn't fun in Mitzrayim (Egypt). It was terrible, and I was miserable! The Mitzrim (Egyptians) made us work very, very hard!"
My grandson
laughed. "Oh, but Bubby," he countered. "You're not that old!
You were born in the Midbar (desert), after the Yidden left Mitzrayim!"
It’s
great to feel young! But the truth is, his words contained more than a kernel
of emes. After all, all of us, every single one of us, were present at
Har Sinai. We all accepted the Torah, unconditionally, as a moreshes
kehillos Yaakov. (inheritance to the Jewish people)
And that’s
really what being a bubby is about. It’s not just that we are (at least
in the eyes of our einiklach) very, very old, but we are a living bridge
to the past, creating a solid chain of mesorah leading back to even
before yetzias Mitzrayim, (the Exodus) he prevailing idolatry to proclaim the truth of One
Hashem.
When we tell our
grandchildren stories of parents, teachers or neighbors who learned under
prewar Gedolim, or were exiled to Shanghai, or were among the talmidos
of Frau Sarah Schneirer, a”h, we are creating a very personal connection
to the chain of kedushah extending all the way back to Har Sinai. We are
providing them with real models to emulate.
It’s not an
easy image to live up to. But like every other challenge that Hashem gives us,
we have within us the capability to become worthy of emulation.
Yup, even very,
very old ladies (and men) not only can, but must, continue to grow. After all,
we wouldn't want to disappoint the einiklach, would we?
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