Shabbos was over, and I went around the house putting
everything away. I folded the tablecloth, put the dining room table pads away,
cleaned the Shabbos leichter, and then
started the dishwasher. I glanced over at the fridge and couldn’t help but
notice the readout lights on the front panel, a glaring reminder that the
Shabbos mode was indeed broken. It was fun having a light in my fridge for the
short time that the Shabbos mode was working, but what can you do? It was just
plain broken. The bells and whistles are officially gone, and it isn’t worth
the time or money to bring them back. Broken. Now my fridge will always remain
in the dark.
My thoughts turn to other dark and broken things. Like broken
engagements or broken women who would like to remarry. I watch the process of
my single women friends who so want to remarry but aren’t finding it to be an
easy process. A shadchan calls them
with an idea. They go out on a date or talk on Zoom. Oh, how they want it to
work out and how they try making different personalities and lifestyles fit
together. So often, they are unsuccessful.
I give these women a lot of credit for their tenacity and
bravery. They paste smiles on their faces and keep trying while time marches on,
and they march alone. How lonely it must be for them and so difficult to have
to constantly invite themselves to friends for Shabbos, wishing they would be
asked instead – wishing more that they didn’t have to ask. Wanting to sit at
their own table with a husband who’s making kiddush and singing Eishes Chayil. Oh, to be an eishes chayil, to have a companion to
share in simchas – someone to talk to, to lean on during hard times, and to
share in the joys and burdens of life.
My friend tells me how busy she keeps herself at the gym, at
work, and at single women’s events. She’s involved in chesed projects, is wrapped up in her children’s lives, says Tehilim, and davens. Oh, how she davens.
One day she cries during her tefilos,
and on other days she accepts what Hashem sends her way.
Occasionally, my friend gets off her merry-go-round and calls
me to chat. She doesn’t waste time on pleasantries and gets to the heart of the
matter quickly. Whether it’s her most recent dating experience or her feelings
of loneliness, I am her companion for the brief time we spend on the phone
listening, advising, and sharing her burdens.
When the call ends and I hang up the phone, I wonder how my
friend does it day after day, month after month, and year after year. One thing
I know about her is that she is not a quitter. She’s a fighter who gets knocked
down but stands right back up, no matter what.
I know a lot of people like my friend who deal with
adversity. I think of the girls who are longing for a shidduch while dressing
themselves up for yet another chasana
that isn’t theirs. Or older women whose husbands had a stroke and aren’t who
they used to be. The wife becomes the caregiver. How hard it must be to watch
one’s husband deteriorate. The once strong man who was her companion can now
barely talk and uses a walker or is in a wheelchair.
Then I think of my friends who are really elderly, whose
minds are still strong and whose husbands have been gone for decades. I don’t
want to imagine how they live without their helpmate; the person who was by
their side for forty or more years. And yet, all these women, whether young or
old, aren’t broken. They’ve learned to make the most of what Hashem has sent
them. They’ve taken the seemingly bad with the good and enjoy their lives to
the fullest.
When compared to all the pain and suffering that happens in
the world, my broken Shabbos mode is but a pesky fly, a bit of annoyance and
maybe even less than that. It gets a ‘who cares’ rating on the scale of
problems, an insignificant blip that becomes easily forgotten.
The problems of my friends and family along with the
situation in Eretz Yisroel puts my life into perspective and brings my
awareness to appreciating all that I have. Maybe that was the purpose of my
broken Shabbos mode which is abbreviated Sb. The Sb readout on my refrigerator
is a permanent fixture in my kitchen now which has become a beacon of light and
a personal reminder to be grateful for all the brachos in my life. It continuously tells me that I’m not in charge
and don’t know what Hashem’s grand plan is. The bright and clear Sb indicates
that I can only do my part. A yeshuah
can come when I least expect it, in the blink of an eye or maybe by a single
shining light on my refrigerator door.
Zahava Hochberg created the weekly
column Musings Through a Bifocal Lens. She can be reached at zahava.hochberg17@gmail.com.
