The Short Vort
Good Morning!
Today is Thursday the 8
th
of Nissan 5780 and April 2, 2020
The Chaperone
Tonight I have Yahrtzeit for my mother, A”H.
I will not be saying Kaddish for my mother.
My mother passed away five years ago on the ninth of Nissan.
I never missed a day of saying Kaddish for her for eleven months.
However, tonight I will not be saying Kaddish for her.
One of the earliest memories I have of my mother is from 54 years ago.
That’s a long time ago.
However, I can still feel the event in my bones.
The emotions are as fresh as they were 54 years ago, as if it occurred yesterday.
My mother, who worked full time as a teacher in the New York City Public School City system, once offered to take a day off from teaching to chaperone my class trip.
This was big stuff.
I was always jealous of those kids whose mothers could chaperone a trip.
Finally, my mother- who knew how much I wanted her to come- took a day off and was all set to chaperone my class to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden.
The bus was scheduled to leave the Yeshiva in Brooklyn at 9:30 AM.
As the clock hit 9:30, my mother was nowhere to be seen.
Finally, at 9:40, the teacher looked at me and my forlorn face and said, “I’m sorry. However, we cannot wait any longer. We have to leave now ”.
The words, “we
have to leave now
,” hung in the air like a black cloud.
I pleaded, “Can we please wait five more minutes, I know she is coming. Maybe the subway got stuck?”
My beseeching was in vain.
The teacher ordered all of the students to proceed to the buses, and one seven-year-old boy had tears streaming down his face.
I was going to be the star.
My mother was going to be the chaperone.
It would be so special.
Most of all, we would spend time together.
Alas, it was not to be.
My mother was not coming on the trip, and I was left alone, bereft and heartbroken.
I sat on the bus as tears streamed down my cheeks.
No one sat next to me.
I could hear the other kids saying, “Don’t sit next to Ronny; he’s a crybaby.”
Through my not so muffled crying, I began to daven to Hashem.
“Please, Hashem, please, let me mother somehow appear at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden when we arrive.”
I knew this prayer was near impossible to come true.
My mother did not know how to drive, and unless she took a taxi, there was no way she could ever meet us there.
A taxi nowadays from Flatbush to the Botanical Gardens costs $30.
Whatever the equivalent amount was back then, it was too much for my family’s budget.
There was no way in the world my mother could or would spend that type of money to take a taxi to meet us at the Botanical Gardens.
Money was tight.
My father worked 13 hours a day.
My mother worked full time, as well.
We never took taxis.
All of their hard work was well worth the time and effort as it paid yeshiva tuition for my brother and me.
Through my tears, I heard the teacher say, “Everyone off the bus.”
I heard one big kid say as he passed me, “Hey crybaby, you have to get off too!”
I was the last person off the bus.
My legs were weighted with lead as I dreaded walking around the park as each step reminded me of the fact that my mother was not here.
Suddenly, I heard a voice.
It was unmistakable; it was her voice.
I looked up and standing in front of me was my mother.
“How did you get here?” I asked through my tears.
“I took a taxi. I knew how important the trip was for you and when I arrived at the yeshiva, and they told me you had left, I grabbed a taxi and came here.”
I don’t know what amount she paid the taxi driver back then.
Yet, I am sure that it cost her a pretty penny.
“Ma, do you mean to say, you took a taxi just to go on my trip?”
My mother looked up at me, wiped my tears away, and said, ”No, I did not take a taxi to be on your trip.”
“Then what did you take the taxi for?” I asked.
My mother smiled as she said, “I took a taxi to spend the day with you.”
I leaped into my mother’s arms, and I hugged her unabashedly until the teacher announced it was time to proceed.
I have not one memory of any flower or any flora which we saw that day.
Indeed, I have no memory of anything else from that entire day.
However, I will never forget the feeling of sheer joy and unadulterated love, which enveloped my entire being as I saw her standing there with a smile on her face.
That smile still gives me comfort.
It picks me up when I am down and lifts my spirits in hard times.
It will help me tonight as reality sets in that I will not be saying Kaddish for her.
The comfort I take in knowing that she is still smiling at me, cushions the pain I will feel tonight.
“Thank you, Ma, for coming on that trip.
Who could have known that the generous investment you made when you took that taxi ride would still be paying
dividends
54 years later?
Ma, one more thing, I miss you.”
“If Not Now, Then When?”- Hillel
Ron Yitzchok Eisenman
Rabbi, Congregation Ahavas Israel
Passaic, NJ
