Nisht ah hin, nisht ah hare. You could interpret this Yiddish saying as “not a chicken and not a rabbit,” which is its interpretation, but it is not the meaning of this saying. It is meant to be metaphorical and refers to something that is “neither here nor there.” But such a translation still does not convey the subtle nuances of the phrase. The following maises (stories) convey the true meaning of nisht ah hin, nisht ah hare:

Story #1

Yussel Goldfarber, a clothing salesman, was encouraging a customer, Lazer Yapanchik, to purchase a suit that was azoy und azoy (top quality). Lazer rubbed the cloth of the suit between his fingers, as was the custom of suit buyers a few years ago.

“Oy gevald,” said Yussel to Lazer, “do you realize the bargain that you are getting for such a fine suit?” In kurtzen (in short), Lazer purchased the ahntzig (suit) and planned to wear it at the bar mitzva of his einikel (grandson) Shmulikeh.

I read between the lines of Becky’s seemingly innocent WhatsApp chat sent shortly after I arrived at the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Stamford, Connecticut. It was the first time my fairly recently widowed former grad school roommate was attending the annual Samchainu and Nagilla international Shabbaton for almanos (widows). Knowing her hesitancy (I twisted her arm to attend!), I knew that, “U here yet? I’m in room 4058. You?” was a cry for help.

My suspicion was confirmed when I picked Becky up from her room to go downstairs for the buffet lunch. She confided that she was so overwhelmed by the sadness of seeing so many almanos together that all she wanted to do was stay in her room and read all Shabbos. I took my longtime friend under my wing and was thrilled when she admitted, before parting ways on Sunday, that she was uplifted by the experience and happy she came.

Summer beckons. The good news? School is out: no more shiny metal desks, and there’s plenty of time to run and jump under the dancing rays of the sun. The bad news? Spring fever has magically morphed into summer fever, and boredom has crept in. Cabin fever now refers to your own backyard, with its shiny new swings and overgrown dandelions. Little feet itch to explore the world; they want to go somewhere!

So where do the kids want to go? Are they longing to travel the world, to explore the stunning volcanoes of Hawaii, to marvel at the gigantic Eiffel Tower? Or will that bore them too? Then the bickering, which never quite ended, will pick up speed with the dizzying force of an erupting volcano.

We asked the kids and listened to their opinions. What do they remember 10 years down the road? What do they still laugh at? What was most conducive for family bonding time?

The expression, “What am I, chopped liver?” or, in Yiddish, Voss bin ich, gehakteh leber? is used by Yiddelach when they feel ignored. So why chopped liver? you may ask. After all, the inquiry could be, “What am I, a string bean?”

I recently attended a wonderful lecture, where as an aside, the Rabbi mentioned how difficult it is when we realize we are aging and can no longer do everything for ourselves. Before he went on to add some truly encouraging and inspiring words, someone behind me mumbled under her breath, “Tell me about it.” This got me thinking.

We’ve all heard the saying “age is relative.” Anyone who’s ever been a kid or been related to a kid knows just how true this is. You see, children have a very limited vision of age. In their eyes, you’re either a kid (this includes babies) or you’re not (this includes bubbies). If you’re not a kid, then you have two options: You can either be married or you can be a morah (teacher). If you’re a morah, you live at school, and if you’re married, you live with your family. It is an uncomplicated web they weave – that is, until they see their morah at Seven Mile Market. A child’s reaction to seeing their morah falls into two categories: “fright or flight.” If the child is young, then, with a little prompting from their mothers, they shyly peek out from behind her skirt and whisper a barely audible hello. If the child is a little older, the conversation goes something like this: “Look,” they say to their mother, “there’s Morah Sarah.” Just as you turn your cart and glance over your shoulder, your daughter yells, “Run!” Children’s shock of seeing their morah outside of school has shattered their carefully constructed understanding of the world.

A child’s misunderstanding of age comes to light in many ways. Once, when my daughter was learning about presidents, she turned to me and asked if I was alive when George Washington was president. After a negative and slightly huffy response on my part, she then piped up, “Well, what about when Abraham Lincoln was president?” Needless to say, that history lesson ended quickly. On another occasion, my nephew, who was all of six years old, wanted to play Connect Four. It turns out that he is a whiz at the game, and he not only beat me but also beat his grandfather. As we complimented him on his wins, he proudly added, “I beat a second-grader at school.” I said, “That’s great, but you also beat me and grandpa.” To this he scoffed and said, “Yeah, but you’re old.”

The phrase “nursing home” conjures up several images. One might be that of a caring environment where a level of healing can take place. Alternatively, one’s thoughts can go to media depictions of places where people are left towards the end of life with minimal – and sometimes adverse – treatment.

Nursing homes have their purpose. When hope of rehabilitation is gone, and close kin do not have the time, energy, or knowledge to meet their loved one’s daily needs – and hospice is not an immediate possibility – long-term facilities can provide a space for end-of-life care. The questions become: How long a period might “end-of-life” be, and what will be the quality of care? We live in an age where medications can keep us alive yet barely functioning. Is this providing quality care? Who gets to determine the criteria for quality care and then assess whether or not it is occurring?

Like everything else in our health care system, there are myriad regulations in long-term care provision. Nursing home administrators will tell you they do their best to comply with state, federal, and insurance codes. They claim that the care required is enormous and their profit margin is low. They say that families thrust their guilt and anxieties on staff and demand the impossible in caring for their relative. They assert that most of us are in such denial about our loved one’s inevitable demise that our inability to accept what is happening only makes their jobs harder and more frustrating. We want answers; we want cures; we want better outcomes. And the staff lumbers along putting in time and energy with little improvement to show for it.

*  *  *

It’s that time of year, when everyone in the school building walks around with an extra spring in their step knowing summer vacation is just around the corner. School years are wonderfully predictable, unlike much else in life. They have a beginning, followed by inevitable periods of conflict and drama, and finish with a predictable end – the last day of school. There is then a brief interlude followed by a sequel with the same format. If you have ever read a good novel, you know that, while all stories have a similar format, the best ones end with a closing that makes them memorable and stick with you for a while.

Children only experience each grade and age once; we want the story of their year to be just as memorable as any good book. More importantly, if we use this time of year correctly, our children and students will “own” what they have learned rather than it being something we have imposed on them. Parents and teachers can provide that satisfying closure that makes the lessons of this past year stick.

An often overlooked but critically important cog in the wheel of an effective estate plan is the durable financial power of attorney. I say “overlooked” because the durable financial power of attorney is not typically considered to be one of the big-ticket estate planning items. While it often happens that, after the death of a loved one or just before departing on a trip overseas, a person finds the fleeting motivation to contact an estate planning attorney. Usually it is with an eye toward preparing an Advance Medical Directive (otherwise known as a living will) and a Last Will and Testament. The importance of having a living will and a Last Will and Testament (and other documents in some cases) has been previously discussed in this forum and cannot be emphasized or overstated enough, yet it is also crucial for an individual to make sure that his or her property and finances are properly managed and protected during his or her lifetime. The durable financial power of attorney protects one in the event he or she cannot make financial decisions for him or herself.

To the Shadchan:

I am a yeshiva bachur, aged 24. I have been going out for a year and a half. All the shidduchim have resulted in just two or three dates before the girl or I called it off. Now I have gone out with a very nice girl six times. The feedback I got after the last couple of dates is that she likes me but it’s not “going anywhere.” The shadchan told me that it’s time to start bringing the shidduch “to the next level.” By that, she means that I am supposed to have some “deeper discussions” and “open up” more. She didn’t give me much more guidance than that. I’m not a very emotional person, and I’m not quite sure how to go about it. What topics do you suggest that will help us form a better understanding of each other’s personalities, perspectives, and goals? Is it all a matter of abstract discussion, or is there some other way to connect on a deeper level? All this seems kind of artificial to me, but I’ll give it my best shot if it will help.

A well-known pasuk in Tehilim (89:3) says “Olam chesed yibaneh – The world is built on kindness.”in Pirkei Avos, gemilus chasadim, doing kind deeds, is considered one of the three pillars of the world. Indeed, it is man’s humanity to man, caring about others and reaching out to them that makes the world a good place to be.

True kindness doesn’t have to take a lot of time or effort. It does take empathy and caring: putting oneself in another’s place and thinking about how that person feels. True kindness is looking under the surface to understand the need of the other person and filling that need.

To write this article, I asked everyone I met about small kindnesses they had experienced. It was a great conversation topic; it was fascinating to hear what people remembered and what was important to them. Everyone I came in contact with was included in my quest to hear meaningful stories: from Shabbos guests to sons-in-law to walking partners to email correspondents. Their answers may surprise you.