A few days ago I received an extremely poignant reminder of the true nature of Purim from a friend of mine, which I am reprinting here with her generous permission. The author wishes to remain anonymous. I am truly speechless.
I am extremely saddened and shocked over the unfortunate news I received today of the passing of a young man from my husband’s yeshiva in Jerusalem. Though I was not close to him at all, we had hosted him for Shabbat and holiday meals in the past, and he found a soft spot in both my and my husband’s hearts. Please allow me to share a few thoughts with you as an expression of my own emotions and as way of gaining strength from such a perplexing and tragic situation.
This young man was a ger (convert) from the Ukraine who had come to Israel on his own to deepen his knowledge of Judaism and to fully embrace life and culture as a member of the Jewish people. He learned for a short while at the yeshiva, living in the same dorm room as my husband did before we were married. He was brilliant, spoke several languages, and had a PhD, I believe, in bio-engineering.
After learning at the yeshiva, he moved out on his own to an apartment in the area, and looked for work in his field out of necessity to support himself and remain in Israel. This unfortunately took some time, though. He meanwhile continued to attend lessons as much as he could at the yeshiva. Alone in a foreign country, the yeshiva was his only real source of support. I don’t want to speculate because one can never know what is going on in other people’s lives, but from the outside it appeared that he was struggling, when, already a very slim individual, he became disturbingly thin over time.
Yet, despite these challenges he was always a very jovial and smiling individual, with endearing quirks, and not-quite-complete fluency in English that made for sweet and unexpected remarks from time to time.
I do not know all the details of his death yet, but from what my husband told me, when the young man didn’t show up for a lesson, one of the rabbis instinctively knew something was wrong because this was not a person who missed out on his lessons for no particular reason. The rabbi went looking for him, and eventually found him in his apartment.
Often my husband mentioned that he wanted to invite him over more, but like so many of us, leading busy lives and caught up in our own “issues”, we failed to reach out sufficiently to this poor young man. Yes, we knew he lived alone, and yes, it was clear that he immensely appreciated (and needed) a nourishing meal in a warm home, but of course we had our own affairs to deal with, errands to run, lives to live… Obviously no single person can blame themselves for a tragedy such as this, but I cannot help but think, could we have done more to help this person, who, really, had no one?
The overwhelming feeling that I have in light of this unfortunate event is that we cannot do enough kindness for one another. There are so many people out there who are in need of help, be it physical or spiritual, and who we need to continue to reach out to on an ongoing basis. By inviting someone over you may feel that you are “yotzi”, as they say colloquially in religious circles (meaning, roughly, you’ve done your duty and now you’re discharged of any further obligation). But helping others is not a one-time thing.
Most of us, thankfully, have relatively small problems to deal with. To give a personal example, my husband and I have, for some time, been carefully debating whether or not to move out of Jerusalem to a smaller, more bedroom-type community, where it is substantially cheaper. Meanwhile, I have a decently well-paying job, we have a comfortable apartment in a conveniently located area, and we are blessed to have the means to have guests over regularly, and to treat ourselves from time to time.
I consider myself quite a giving and compassionate person, yet I can easily think of half a dozen people in my area who I know could benefit from a little more kindness in their lives. I am well aware of their situations yet I don’t reach out to them. “Why?” I ask myself. It is so easy to feel that we “do our part” when it comes to chessed (kindness) by inviting people over and by helping out from time to time in the community. But believe me, you can always do more.
We are approaching the holiday of Purim, a day in which we are obligated to distribute charity to the poor, give gifts of food to friends and neighbors, have a festive meal, and hear or read the scroll of Esther. I encourage you to push yourself beyond what you might normally do and use this as a time to reach out to others. In addition to giving monetary charity, give someone a listening ear. Then do it again the next day, and the day after that. Give a gift of food to someone you know is on the fringes of the community or who might not otherwise have much to eat. Invite a few people to your festive meal who you think might not have anywhere else to go. If you know how, read the scroll of Esther for someone who may be housebound. Many opportunities exist for doing kindness for others. Please, don’t pass them up.
