by her Children
The gemara relates that when Reb Shimon Bar Yochai hid in the cave from
the Romans, he learned Torah for 12 years straight, uninterrupted. And when he
emerged, everything physical he encountered was burned by the intensity of his
spirituality. It took another year of Torah study for his outlook to shift. Upon
exiting the cave again, Rashbi encountered a simple Jew preparing for Shabbos
and was moved by the man’s sincere devotion. At that moment, a heavenly voice
declared that he need not return to the cave.
This gemara offers a powerful lesson about perspective. While lofty
spiritual pursuits are admirable, an even higher level is recognizing the
holiness in the mundane, the beauty in each individual and the value in every
moment. True spirituality exists not only in seclusion but in interaction,
empathy, and appreciation for the simple and the real.
This message deeply reflects the
way our beloved mother, Rochel Vim, a”h,
chose to live her life. She was relatable, warm, witty – and at the same time,
profoundly deep, reflective, and growth-oriented. Her greatness lay not in big
actions but in the way she found value and purpose in everyday life.
One memory stands out: A son
remembers the time he was scanning in at the JCC and the receptionist lit up,
exclaiming how excited she was to meet “Rochel Vim’s son.” Ma had built a
genuine friendship with the receptionist – not through anything dramatic, but
through small talk, respect, and authentic care. She connected naturally with
people, making each person feel seen and valued.
Her spiritual growth never came at
the expense of others. It wasn’t about being “holier than thou.” Rather, it was
rooted in humility, respect for all people, and valuing even seemingly trivial
experiences. She had a unique ability to engage people on their level, never
dominating the conversation, always listening with full presence. There was no
room in her world for mocking others: humor, yes – mean-spiritedness, never.
Ma worked hard on accepting her
humanity. She was open about her struggles and honest about her mistakes. This
authenticity was the foundation of her spiritual growth. She didn’t seek out
challenges, but when they came, she rose to meet them, step by step, never
losing sight of her role as a friend and a parent.
One friend recalled that, after a
car accident left her in a wheelchair, Ma called her and quipped, “I heard you
became a citizen in my country.” That line carried a world of empathy, humor,
and shared experience
Another person shared how, when
discussing a personal struggle, she tried to minimize it, but Ma wouldn’t let
her. “It is a big deal,” Ma said. “Your challenge is real.” To Ma, growth in bitachon (trust in Hashem) began with
validating reality, not denying it.
At shiva, friends recounted how devastated Ma had been upon hearing
her daughter was diagnosed with autism. It was a new, scary world. Yet, over
the years, she grew into a proud, capable mother of a special-needs child – acknowledging
the challenges but finding pride and even joy in the responsibility. That
transformation was not accidental. It was years in the making, forged in
acceptance and perspective.
Ma was fiercely resourceful and
independent. She created joy-filled memories: family trips, Chol Hamoed
outings, bedtime songs. A child remembers how they sang Tehillim together to ease nighttime fears, her creativity and emunah combined to turn fear into
safety.
As she got sicker, Ma had to
accept help, something deeply foreign to her. Yet even then, she grew. She let
others give and made them feel good for doing so. As a son-in-law said at the levaya, when he hesitated to let her do
something for him, she’d say, “Don’t feel bad that I am giving. Feel good that
I am giving.” In her later years, she embodied that same generosity in
receiving.
Ma was proud to be a teacher. She
gave her students her heart and soul. Whether planning lessons, creating work sheets,
or dressing up for Purim events, she showed that their education – and their
joy – mattered. One mother shared how Ma once noticed her daughter was
troubled, and after learning that the girl’s grandfather was gravely ill, Ma
gifted her a Tehillim with personal
notes and highlighted perakim. That Tehillim remains with the student to
this day.
Ma’s sensitivity deepened after
her diagnosis. Always a believer in each person’s inner greatness, she came to
see even more clearly that we never know what others are going through. She
resisted self-pity, using her own pain as a path to empathy.
Her final challenge was like those
before – handled with grace, dignity, and focus. She kept her illness private
as long as possible, choosing to live in the present. She didn’t let her
diagnosis define her. Those who met her in her final years saw the same driven,
joyful, purposeful teacher they had always known.
Ma taught us that spirituality is
not escaping the world; it’s transforming it. That greatness isn’t in dramatic
gestures but in small acts of authenticity, kindness, and connection. Her life
was a living example of the gemara’s
lesson: The highest level of holiness is bringing light into the ordinary.
