By Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence
I get particularly nostalgic this time of year. While I’m sure many people share my sentiments, there’s no question that as we celebrate the Jewish new year, I believe it hits hardest on those who have suffered tremendous hardships in a significant way.
It’s a relative statement to make as I’m sure most of us can think back to times in our lives that were particularly difficult, but there’s nothing like recalling that feeling of desperation to get you to reflect on those moments and how you got through them.
For me, thinking about where I am now as opposed to where I have come from conjures up many feelings that I wanted to share with you as a means of encouragement, especially for those who are dealing with their own hardships and difficult life events.
For some reason, as we sat around our Shabbos table sharing stories from the past week, reading about the parashah, and eating our meal, I took a good long look at my oldest son, Dovid.
It’s hard to notice the changes in one’s kids when you see them on a daily basis, just like it’s difficult to understand how some people can think that your kids are clones of each other.
As parents, we just don’t see it as well as an outsider might.
But as I sat there, I saw my late husband so clearly in my oldest son.
I saw the same mannerisms, the same facial expressions as he laughed quietly and made a comment under his breath, just like his father used to do.
I saw aspects of him that he might never realize came from his father unless I pointed it out to him.
Truth is, I didn’t want to say anything because the scar is still healing and I don’t want to reopen old wounds.
My kids are fragile even though people always say how resilient kids are in general.
I think about Moshe seeing how much his children have grown since he’s been gone and how much I try to keep my promise to him that they will be okay with his help from a different place.
A more influential place, perhaps.
I still have conversations with him about the kids even though our lives have vastly improved in the last couple of years, thanks to some really positive changes.
I know he sees them and I’m sure he misses them greatly, yet I still want to fill him in on the details of their lives, like any parent would discuss with their spouse.
I talk about Dovid’s foray into adulthood, his various activities, and his newfound gig as the third driver in our family.
I talk about his need for independence and his bravery in taking on manhood without the man who helped give him life.
He’s on the cusp of becoming the person he was always meant to be, and although there were years of worrying that losing his father at such a young age would change him or make him bitter, thankfully, that has not been the case.
He’s more self-aware and more sensitive towards others when he sees them struggling because of his own situation.
Like his father, he’s quiet about it, but he still takes action to help.
That type of behavior is embedded in his DNA from his father, and it couldn’t make me prouder.
I talk about Nison becoming a physical clone of his father and how quick-witted he is.
How, despite it all, he’s held onto his ability to make people laugh, and how proud I am that he has not lost that essential happiness. He and his younger brother could not be more different if they tried, but their closeness and compatibility make up for it.
I talk about how sweet and sensitive Yosef is and that he’s Jeremy’s little protégé. Every Friday night, he stands by the bimah in our little Barnard Avenue house minyan and greets Shabbos the way it deserves to be greeted. He’s a natural when it comes to reciting prayers out loud, and I often joke about how he davens out loud with more natural ability and confidence than when he reads English. He’s a natural and I know that Moshe must love watching his middle child take command of a room at such a young age in his natural way.
I tell him about Gavi and how mature he’s become, and how much he’s loving our new family dynamic.
He became a new person after Jeremy’s arrival, with new life breathed into him. He’s self-assured, popular, and definitely inherited his mother’s facial expressions and inability to mask how he really feels, as if he ever had the chance with that red hair.
As a mother having to bear witness to her children’s heartbreak, there’s nothing like seeing them thrive the way they’ve been lately.
I tell him about Rosie, the baby he didn’t have much time to get to know.
How she’s grown into her own and she’s a little person now.
She’s in second grade and sometimes I like reverting back to old videos on my phone to remind myself of a time I thought I’d never get through in one piece. First when she was a baby, then a toddler, and then suddenly in a school uniform skirt that threatens to fall off her tiny waist as she runs off the bus with her giant knapsack holding G-d knows what.
She’s friendly and outgoing and sociable. She’s also sweet and kind and sensitive to all. She’s the girliest little girl any girl with four brothers can be.
She’s beloved by so many and loves people because it actually took a village to raise her.
She listens to Gavi telling her about a time when they had another daddy that passed away and then she repeats her findings to Jeremy, who listens patiently to her and lets her talk about it because it’s something important for her to articulate.
It’s a piece of her past that should never be forgotten.
She tells him that even though he feels like her daddy, she had another daddy once when she was too young to remember such a thing.
I tell Moshe about my life, too, and how I’m pretty sure I could write a movie script based on the (bestselling) book that’s definitely on my bucket list.
I tell him things he surely must know, such as, if ever there was a person whose loss was felt by so many, it was his.
That he was beloved by all who knew him and that I was honored to be the wife who got to spend the years he had left starting our family.
I tell him that Rosh Hashanah took on a whole new meaning after his passing, after I realized with horror that the worst things you never imagine happening can indeed happen.
But that something else happens too.
The places you never thought you would find gratitude are borne from the saddest of circumstances.
You start micromanaging your life events and become thankful for things you never thought were perks. But it’s those moments when you have lost so much that you start to see more clearly how much you truly have.
Eventually, this seedling that I can only describe as hope sprouts up from the depths, providing the nourishment you need to get through the day, the understanding that the hard times will eventually pass and it’s largely up to you to decide to change the trajectory of your life.
The seedling that gives you the courage to try again after things didn’t work out the way you anticipated.
The seedling that gives you the beauty of possibility even when you can’t imagine things working out.
Rosh Hashanah is a gift in itself because it forces us to reflect on the past year’s events and come to terms with where we are versus where we want to be.
It provides us with a springboard to make changes, and although this was something forced upon me during a time that wasn’t very opportune (What time is?) I knew that I wasn’t going to spend a lot of time in that space.
It might sound like what I’m saying isn’t achievable, but I know it is because I did it, with Hashem’s help.
With shock and grief and trauma and kids that needed caring for, along with a sprinkle of denial from time to time.
I spent a Rosh Hashanah or two desperate to get back to myself.
There was crying and begging for my old life back, and regret that I didn’t appreciate what I had until it was gone and not recoverable.
I spent one Rosh Hashanah in full acceptance, finally becoming acquainted with the person I had become, which was comprised of the person I used to be along with the added layers of life.
It was rebuilding a life that suffered somewhat of an identity crisis.
But with time and introspection and thought and writing and all the skills we’re given, I was gifted the opportunity to get a second chance.
A lot of that was based on action, much thought, and humor when what I really wanted was a good cry, but it was also based on a deep trust.
A trust that even though the kids and I lost a lot, I believed it wasn’t the final chapter in our book, just a cliffhanger between one chapter and the next.
This year’s Yomim Tovim are approaching rapidly, and I try to predict what I will be like once I stand before Hashem, calculating the sum total of all the past year’s happenings.
The happiness, the sadness, the frustration, the blueprint of life’s unpredictability that provided me with the strength to understand that even when things don’t work out the way we want, it’s not the end.
It might actually be a beautiful new beginning. n
Malkie Gordon Hirsch is a native of the Five Towns community, a mom of 5, a writer, and a social media influencer.
