A Story From The Mouth Of A Child

From Rabbi Yikhat Rozen - Shabbat Bi-Shabatto Chaye Sarah 5773

Our house was in an uproar. I was going on a field trip the next day, and I still had so much to organize. Imma shouted to me, "Naomi, don't forget your towel!" while she was folding a whole pile of laundry for me. I was busy in the kitchen – choosing snacks, canned goods, and all sorts of food, trying to organize everything so that it would fit into my knapsack. Netanel helped me roll up my sleeping bag, and Uri gave me advice all the time: "Don’t forget to take spray against mosquitoes. And don't be afraid if you hear sounds at night, it's only the jackals. They don't cause any harm, and they stay away from people. And if you get a muscle cramp in the middle of a climb..."     In the next room Yehuda sat with Abba, working on his term project. This was a large project that was assigned to him a long time ago, but – as always – he was left with huge chunks to complete at the last minute, which is tonight. After he was granted several extensions, he absolutely must hand the work in tomorrow! Not one day later! It is no surprise that Abba and Yehuda closed the door tightly behind them, so that they can concentrate on the work in peace and quiet.     Between running around to help me get ready for the field trip and her preparing our supper, Imma also managed to hang the laundry to dry, to put some more clothing into the machine for the next wash, and to speak to a few people on the phone.     Then, suddenly, we heard a knock on the door. Actually, it was more of a loud banging. Right away I knew who it was. Such banging on the door – it could only be Avraham.   Avraham is a grown man, but he is lonely. He lives alone in a dilapidated apartment. He does not have a wife or children. He does not know how to read or write, he can't do arithmetic or study Torah. His understanding is at the level of a young child. It is no surprise that he never found any work and that he lives off the kindness of the people around him.     And when I say "people" I mean my Abba and Imma too. They always invite Avraham to eat with us, to sit in our home, or to have a cup of tea. We never know in advance when he will turn up, but when he does come all the attention is focused on him. We have to stay with him all the time, to bring him food and something to drink, and to listen to him talk about things that interest him (it's always the same subjects – why is he never bored?). In short: from the moment that he comes in, everything revolves around Avraham.     So you can understand that the last guest that I hoped to see at that time was Avraham. Who could take care of him just then? What about preparing for my trip? What about Yehuda's report?   Oh, boy!   Avraham came in and sat down on the couch. In a moment, Imma had made him a glass of tea, and she offered him some cake and a plate of hot soup. Abba came and sat next to him, and the usual talk started again – about how his parents had neglected him, about the wife that had left him, about his irritating neighbors... How many times could we listen to the same thing? I thought, Abba, what about us, your own children? Maybe one time you should tell this man that this is not his home, and that for once, with all due respect, we do not have the time or the inclination to have him as a guest right now?   But of course Avraham could not hear my thoughts, and I did not dare to say them out loud. And then, suddenly, I caught a little bit of what he was saying, in his quiet and raspy voice: "Nobody at all. There is nobody in the whole world who loves me. But it is so good that I have you. There is always a place for me here. Nobody makes tea like your wife does. I never get this anyplace else. And it is wonderful to see how your children make a guest feel so welcome. And you, sir, you always listen to me and say good things. It is such a pity that there are no other people like you!" Avraham opened his mouth with its missing teeth in a happy grin, and sat back on the couch happily.   My heart was filled with satisfaction and pride. At that moment I truly felt what is called "the joy of giving."   And then I realized that I was very happy to be part of this family. What difference did it make if it would take an extra half an hour until my backpack would be ready? And Yehuda would manage without Abba's help for a while. But Avraham was different. If we would ever tell him to leave, who would welcome him? Who else was there?     I really appreciate what my Abba and my Imma do! I hope that when I grow up I will be just like them!