I caught a glimpse.
Just a tiny little window into the soul of two brothers. A sight that covered an expanse of time and meaningful connection.
I almost missed it, yet the tug of aI almost missed it mother’s heart made me stop and soak up the scene.
It was Simchas Torah afternoon, our guests had left, and yet our dining-room shul still rung loud with the singing and clapping and celebratory chatter from the morning festivities. I must say that while I do prefer an organized neat home, there was something so fulfilling as I took in the scene of the remains of our Yom Tov winds, which blew in some incredulous piles of dishes and clutter.
Amid the disarray was a room that boasts all things “boy.” From baseballs to soccer balls, Yom Tov suits and jackets in hues of blue and gray linen, Jewish texts and religious items to the roof. And that is where I saw with my own eyes the feelings in my heart.
My oldest son, resting on his bed, hands under his head, probably catching his breath from all the dancing with the Torah and hoisting up onto his shoulders each sibling that still could be carried.
And there, next to him was Chaim Boruch, leaning against the side of his big brother’s bed in a proud kind of way, one foot planted on the hardwood floor and one foot crossed over with pointed toes down.
Maybe it was his “super-cool, show off to his big brother” look, or maybe it was simply a testimony to how much he’s grown.
Either way, these two brothers stole my heart.
While I was still unnoticed, passing by his door, I heard my oldest son speak to Chaim Boruch in that incredibly sensitive voice, sharing with him, that in only two days, he will need to return to yeshivah.
And my little Chaim Boruch’s face became serious. His feet were now set firmly on the ground, and his gaze seemed that much more pensive as he took in the message from his big brother. They shared a special moment together. Of love, of deep understanding, of a relationship few in the world are fortunate to have.
My eyes filled with tears as I continued down the hall, placing siddurim back on the shelf, where they belong yet in a blur, not knowing quite where I belonged...
I was thinking, maybe too deeply, as I pondered about life, siblings, relationships. Do our children know what impactDo our children know what impact they have on one another? they have on one another? Do they know how incredible they are as they tap into the meaningful deep reservoir of sensitivity?
Choked with emotion, I swallowed hard and with a prayer on my lips asked Hashem for strength. Strength for all of us—to overcome whatever challenges and hardships we may face, and strength to nurture and care for our relationships with the ones we hold so dear. Strength to know how we impact those around us and the sensitivity to nurture those connections.
And with just a glimpse, a tiny little window into the souls of two brothers, my heart sang.
The songs and melodies of that morning.
The songs and melodies of my children.
