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December 11, 2006

Etta Israel Shabbos

"Are you going to be okay?"
"Uh-huh."
The mother hesitates.
"Do you want me to stay?"
"No."

Karen blanches, turns and flees the room.

It is Friday, an hour before Shabbos. Etta Israel are hosting a special Shabbaton at my shul the Young Israel of Century City.

Karen and I have been asked to host one young man and his counselor for Shabbos. The counselor has not yet arrived. The young man's mother has brought her son to our home and she is hesitant, so hesitant to leave her child in the hands of strangers.

Will we be patient with him? Will we be understanding? Can we be trusted?

Karen and I assure the mother that her son is welcome in our home. She pastes an awkward smile to her face. A central portion of me feels like telling her that we had a son who was sick for years and years, that we know what it is to take care of a child; we know heartache, and we really are responsible people -- especially Karen, she is the proverbial rock. But of course, I can say none of these things.

Our son is gone, and her son has special needs -- and there are worlds spinning within worlds.

"It will be fine," I say. "We have done this before."
"Really?"
"Don't worry, your son is very welcome in our home. We have your phone number and if anything happens we will call you, even if it's Shabbos."

She sighs with relief, hands me a sheet that explains her son's various physical needs and what medications he has to take. In fact, her son is is a lovely young man with a sense of irony, an easy laugh, a great vocabulary, and I wish that all our guests were as polite, thoughtful and as much fun.

Later, Karen tells me: "I thought my heart would explode in a million pieces. The scene looked just like so many replays of our partings with Ariel ZT'L, in the hospital, or even Ner Yisroel. The helplessness of leaving your son with strangers, the ambivalence of leaving them on their own, even knowing it's for their own good. I just wanted to melt and had to go into the kitchen and cry in disbelief at our loss."

Yes, I saw it too.

So many times we had to leave Ariel in the hospital, and so many times we said to him: "Are you okay? Is it okay for us to leave?"

Ariel always said, "yes."

Ariel's expression, like this young man's, betrayed his words, for it revealed anxiety, and dismay -- painted by huge reserves of unbelievable courage.

But really, deep in our gut we always felt that it was never okay to leave him.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at December 11, 2006 08:12 AM

Comments

Seraphic Secret is private property, that's right, it's an extension of our home, and as such, Karen and I have instituted two Seraphic Rules and we ask commentors to act respectfully.

1. No profanity.

2. No Israel bashing. We debate, we discuss, we are respectful. You know what Israel bashing is. The world is full of it. Seraphic Secret is one of the few places in the world that will not tolerate this form of anti-Semitism.

That's it. Break either of these rules and you will be banned.

Well, this is a very moving post. But I must tell you how happy it makes me to hear how you and Karen spend your time now that offspring #3 is out of the house. I've been working on a series at CNN lately called "Life After Work," featuring the lifestyles of retirees. And while some of our subjects are using their time quite nobly, most of the stories are a variation of the "he used to work, now he plays golf all day," theme.

I may be a young person, but it pains me to see so many retired and "empty nester" Americans basically bored out of their minds and looking for something to do or at least for a way to focus their affections. I guess most people get a dog or a cat, but I've always wished more retirees and empty nesters would go into teaching, or throw themselves into charity work.

I know you and Karen aren't retired, and you've hosted special needs kids many times even when you had an otherwise "full house," but this is exactly the kind of thing that I think more people at your age should do and WOULD do if they only knew there was a need and found out how to fill it. So for that reason alone, I appreciate this story.

Posted by: Jake at December 11, 2006 11:31 AM

I am so humbled by your and Karen's generosity.

Posted by: Tamara at December 11, 2006 11:42 AM

Of course its never okay to leave him: For about 10 minutes one time my mom couldn't find me in Grand Central Terminal and she was practically a ball of tears when she found me again.

Posted by: Jeremiah at December 11, 2006 01:01 PM

Jake:

Thanks so much for the kind words.

"Life After Work."

Hmmmm. Not retired, but let us step into our Time Machine, not a DeLorean, we prefer a more retro look, say a Bugatti? Anyway here's a brief bounce into the future.

1. Much to my father's everlasting confusion, chagrin and deep shame: I. Hate. Golf. There, I've said it. There, I've made it Official and Public and Irrevirsible.

2. I see neighbors walking their dogs and stooping to pick up the poo and always I say to myself: "Glad that's not me." As for cats: Karen says: "Ah-chooo!"

3. Teaching. Check. I'm taking the year off from teaching screenwriting at the local girl's yeshiva. Instead, I'm giving private screenwriting lessons to extremely gifted and ambitious high school yeshiva students.

4. Yes, we have hosted special needs children before. Each time we are left with a feeling that, in a small way, we have done something right on this wildly spinning planet.

5. In fact, religiously speaking, we have performed the mitzva of hachnasat orchim, the hosting of guests. And doing it on Shabbos puts this incredibly important mitzva on an even higher madrega, on an even more elevated level.

5. Mitzvas beget mitzvas. Offspring #3, attending Seminary in Jerusalem now, is furiously filling out applications (incredibly long and freighted with scary, college-like essays) to be a counselor this coming summer at a camp for special needs children, both physical and mental. It will be grueling work, and she will be saddled with alarming responsibilities. Yet Offspring #3 is determined to follow this path, resolute to be hired. "It will," she says with shocking self-confidence and wall-like fortitude,(where did this come from?) "be more meaningful and rewarding to be a special needs counselor."

And then, as only an 18-year old can, Offspring #3 smiles, she flips her hair and adds: "It'll be awesome."

Posted by: Robert J. Avrech [TypeKey Profile Page] at December 11, 2006 01:19 PM

Tamara:

Thanks so much. It's odd, we don't really think of ourselves as generous. We think of Etta Israel as the generous ones: allowing us to be hosts.

Posted by: Robert J. Avrech [TypeKey Profile Page] at December 11, 2006 01:21 PM

Jeremiah:

Oh yes, being lost and found in a frightening, outer-space, public-space such as Grand Central Station can reduce most anyone to a "ball of tears."

Posted by: Robert J. Avrech [TypeKey Profile Page] at December 11, 2006 01:27 PM

I'm sure the answer is yes, but was it "all's well that ends well"?

Were the guest and counselor occupied at the shul for all of Shabbos, or did you entertain, as well?

Listen, from your other wonderful hosting, evolved a forthcoming, entertaining and insightful book for Seraphic Press...

Posted by: Pearl at December 11, 2006 02:11 PM

Each time I used to leave one of my kids (especially Bobby with his 2 Epi-pens) I would hate it so. Yes, you are right, it's not OK. But what a gift to you and Karen for the mom to leave her son despite her apprehension. The inherent goodness of your family and your home shines through.

Posted by: Lisa at December 11, 2006 02:36 PM

As a few readers have already noted, hesitation, and the push and pull of letting go vs holding on is built into every parent child relationship. It is just prolonged and magnified when a child is in a precarious circumstance. And, yes, it is never 100% OK, but nothing in this world ever is, and you have to let go in order for your child to grow. We always had a safety net, and there were times we used it, and there were times I had to go back, but we could not let fear paralyze Ariel's life.

Posted by: Karen Avrech at December 11, 2006 04:50 PM

I was very moved by this post, and am somewhat at a loss for words. I'm so very sorry for your loss.

Posted by: Joannah at December 11, 2006 05:24 PM

Pearl:

The counselor arrived a few minutes later and we all walked to shul together. Karen and I joined the Etta Israel group for lunch on Shabbos and had a wonderful time. The ruach, atmosphere, of friendship and support was so warm and true that Karen and I were continually stunned. The counselors, all orthodox local high school and college kids are just outstanding in their devotion to these special needs young people.

Our guest made a wonderful speech at Shabbos lunch and I felt myself bursting with pride. After Shabbbos, we called the parents and told them what a joy it was to have their son as an overnight guest. They greatly appreciated the call and we have already made plans to get together with the family.

Oh yes, I took a picture of our guest posing with my Emmy and his parents just adore it.

So yes, I suppose one can say that all has ended well.

Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at December 11, 2006 08:54 PM

Lisa"

Yes, we know about the Epi-pens. Allergies are scary and leaving a child when you know that only you can take care of them and NO ONE ELSE CAN DO AS GOOD A JOB, well, we all have to let go at some point don't we? We all need some time off. We all need to trust someone else.

Thanks so much for the kind words.

Posted by: Robert J. Avrech at December 11, 2006 09:04 PM

Joannah:

We too were at a loss for words... and more, that's why we started Seraphic Secret. Thanks so much for all your empathy.

Posted by: Robert J. Avrech [TypeKey Profile Page] at December 11, 2006 09:09 PM

Karen, what you said is so true about "the push and pull of letting go vs holding on is built into every parent child relationship. It is just prolonged and magnified when a child is in a precarious circumstance..."

Posted by: Anita Susan Brenner at December 11, 2006 09:14 PM

Susan, I just read about your courageous son, Andrew. Why are the best and brightest taken from us in the midst of their glory? There are no words, just shoulders to offer, and ears to listen.

Posted by: Karen Avrech at December 11, 2006 09:35 PM

Robert, a sweet, sad post. Be well.

Posted by: kishke at December 12, 2006 06:00 AM

Kishke:

Thanks so much.

Posted by: Robert J. Avrech [TypeKey Profile Page] at December 12, 2006 08:02 AM

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