I remember back when cassette tapes were something everybody knew about. Our glove compartment was full of all the latest tunes, and my children sang Uncle Moishy songs so much that I can still sing them to this very day.
It was in those long-ago days that
I discovered Rav Avigdor Miller, zt”l. What a treasure trove of wisdom
there was to be found in what he taught. I borrowed his tapes from the little kollel
in Pittsburgh, in the neighborhood called Squirrel Hill, and if I think about
it, I can still hear his voice in my head. It was through Rav Avigdor that I
first learned about how to appreciate an apple, among other things. His style
was easy to understand, and he helped me to see Hashem in my everyday life.
Over the years, I learned to feel
gratitude for what I’ve been given. A bright sunny day, another healthy year, kein
ayin hora, or the joys of being a grandmother helped tune me in to Who gave
me these gifts. I have Rav Avigdor to thank for setting me on this path.
The awareness that Rav Avigdor
taught me paired nicely with my early awareness of nature. I learned in my
younger years to stop and take notice of the subtleties of springtime. I
enjoyed seeing the bare branches of the trees start to bud in the early spring
and made sure to watch each new day as those buds turned into blossoms and then
into tiny green leaves. Seeing was believing, and I didn’t need any convincing
as to Who had planned it all.
I learned to see the world as a
symphony with its Master Conductor. I understood and appreciated Who caused the
rains to fall, the winds to blow, and the sun to shine. Joys as well as sorrows
were tailor-made and planned to perfection.
I could grasp Hashem’s plans on a
grand scale; it was when things were closer to home that I found myself on
shaky ground. Davening was something I took on faithfully once my children were
grown and gone, but it was something I did because I was supposed to. I said
the words while mentally organizing my upcoming day. I bentched after
meals with my mind far away from the kitchen table. When people greeted me and
asked about my welfare, I of course answered, “Baruch Hashem,” but I
could have just as easily have said, “Fine, thank you.”
I performed all those acts, day in
and day out like some robot. Where were my heartfelt feelings, and why didn’t I
realize to Whom I was talking? Oh, of course I could tell you or anyone else that
I believed in Hashem, because, after all, I’m a frum Yid, so what’s the
question?
I tried concentrating when I davened
and made brachas, to no avail. I’d gotten inspiration from plenty of shiurim
and from the scores of biographies about great tzadikim, but nothing really
helped in my daily avoda. But of course, when it came to asking for help
with the big-league stuff like health, shidduchim, and parnassa,
I felt very connected to Hashem when I stood before Him crying and pleading. I
knew only too well how to ask for what I needed. However, introspection and
awareness helped me to realize that I was not as connected to Hashem as I would
have liked to be.
Today was one of those days when I
decided to ask Hashem for something, and it wasn’t your garden variety request
either. I’m a speech therapist, and much of what I do is teach cute and
delicious children how to produce their speech sounds correctly. I love what I
do and thankfully have had a lot of practice. Sometimes it takes a child a long
time to learn how to produce their sounds, and I look for techniques that work
best for each of them. But they don’t always work. This morning, during
davening, Hashem gave me the idea that I should ask Him to give me daas
to teach the children in a way that would really and truly help them.
All the way to work I kept asking
Hashem for daas. If I tell you my therapy sessions were nothing short of
miraculous, would you believe me? Well, wonder of wonders, it is unbelievable
but true that there were more correct sounds produced today from those precious
children who had previously had so much difficulty. It was at that moment, for
the first time perhaps, that I felt that Hashem was really with me.
When I came home for lunch and made
a bracha, I said it with concentration and feeling this time because I knew
full well that Hashem was right there beside me just as He was in my speech
therapy room. Intellectually, I can say that He has been with me all along, but
this morning was proof that it wasn’t just knowledge; it was a feeling that I now
know to be true. And, chasdei Hashem, feeling is believing.
