Nevertheless, We Have Not Forgotten You

I first met Shaindel several years ago when she knocked on my door with a request. “Hello,” she said with a smile. “I have two children who need special education, and I’m collecting money for them.”

Something about the honest, straightforward way she said it touched my heart, and I was happy to help out in any way I could.

Over the next few years Shaindel would reappear at my door approximately once a year, always with the same smile.

“With G-d’s help, I collected $20,000 each year,” she recently told me. “There isn’t one school I owe a penny to. In 10 years I collected $200,000. Two hundred thousand!

“With G-d’s help” is an expression heard in almost every sentence Shaindel utters. Just listening to her talk for a few minutes is enough to convey a sense of pure, unadulterated love of Hashem.

Shaindel has not led an easy life. In fact, there aren’t many people who could live through the same experiences and emerge with as loving a relationship with the One Above. She was born in Chicago to parents who were Holocaust survivors.

Shaindel’s mother was simply unable to cope, and her three children were not always adequately groomed or dressed properly.

Shaindel relates all this with a smile on her face, with total acceptance. Throughout our conversation, she consistently tries to find extenuating circumstances for everyone.

“When we were little, my parents sent us to the Jewish day school in our neighborhood. But when my father couldn’t afford the tuition, they showed us the door, and were not very politely, either. We had no choice but to go to public school. “Our lives in school were pure hell. The goyishe kids showed us no mercy. They laughed at us and made fun of our shabby appearance. As if what was going on in school wasn’t bad enough, things began to deteriorate at home, too. Shaindel’s brother was diagnosed with schizophrenia, a mental illness whose victims gradually withdraw from reality until they become dangerous to themselves and sometimes to others.

“It wasn’t until the sixth grade that I met Jews who made arrangements for the Jewish school to accept me on scholarship, and that’s where I went until the end of eighth grade.

“All I knew was that I wanted to get closer to Hashem. I had to make up for lost time.

At “shidduch” time, I met Chaim.

Chaim has a mild case of cerebral palsy, which affects muscle coordination. Together we built a home and began a new chapter in our lives. Four and a half years later, our oldest child was born.”

The challenges that would confront Shaindel over the next years would be much more difficult than anything she had previously faced, but still I was hearing no complaints.

When baby Abba was three years old, he was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome, a mild form of autism.

Sarale was born two years after her brother. Unfortunately, she also showed signs of developmental delay.

Then, as if the family hadn’t suffered enough, Sarale was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Yes, the same dreaded illness that had affected Shaindel’s brother and forced her to leave home as a teenager.

Sadly, Sarale’s condition continues to deteriorate.

More than once she has thrown herself into the path of an oncoming vehicle. She has been hospitalized on four occasions.

When I saw Shaindel a few months ago she told me she was hoping that Sarale would be able to avoid being sent to a state-run institution. However, Shaindel’s greatest fear has since come to pass.

Not long ago I bumped into her. She mentioned that she had recently addressed a women’s convention and had spoken about emunah and bitachon. Shaindel believes that she definitely has something to offer. “Would you like to hear me?” she asked, pressing a homemade cassette tape into my hands.

I went home and listened to the tape. Among other things she mentioned in her speech was that the next day, Sarale would be going to the state institution she had dreaded for so long. They had simply run out of options.

Just listening to Shaindel is heartbreaking.

“Do you know why Hashem has given me all these nisyonos?” she asks me. “It’s because He wants me to serve Him without any ulterior motives. Not everyone has such a zechus.”

And I, who was born into an observant family and never had to struggle to learn about Yiddishkeit, to whom emunah and bitachon were presented on a silver platter, am deeply ashamed and humbled.

How many people do you know who want to serve Hashem without ulterior motives?

“It isn’t easy,” Shaindel admits. “After all, I’m only flesh and blood. There’s a lot of pain, deep and terrible pain, every single day, every single hour. I have only one son and daughter. I want them to get married like everyone else. I want to be a Bubbe, to have a little nachas. Sometimes I want to scream – why me? Of all the people in the world, why me?

“But this is my avodah. This is what Hashem has allocated to me in this world. And along with the job comes the strength to carry it out.

“You want proof that Hashem gives a person strength?

“Next week, G-d’s willing, one of my old friends from Monsey is marrying off her daughter. By all rights I should stay at home, crying and depressed. How I would love for Sarale to be home with me, how I would love to be involved in finding her a shidduch! But next week I’ll be at that wedding, smiling and dancing, and no one else will know what I’m feeling. If Hashem can give me the strength to do that, how can you say that He doesn’t love me?”

* * *
May Hashem give you much strength, Shaindel. You have already given me more than a little “something.”

Tammy Holtzman is a freelance writer who resides in Crown Heights, NY. Comments, insights and interesting life stories are welcome at: tammyholtzman@gmail.com. Words of Chizuk for Shaindel will gladly be forwarded to her.