Friday, June 5, 2009
A Living Soul (My mother)
A creation of G‑d, sent to represent Him in the world.
Caring, giving, sacrificing, with never even a thought for herself.
When I was sick, she stayed up all night, to be there if I needed her.
When I cut my finger, she kissed it back to health.
When I had my first bicycle, she almost fainted with every turn.
When I once said something without thinking, she cried for a day.
I still regret it. She's so sensitive, so sensitive.
She's always doing, never caring about medals or rewards. Only the knowledge, that she has helped, is enough for her.
Often she comes home late. Finding out only later, that she had quietly helped, some unfortunate person.
When things get hard, you would never know it by her.She always has only good things to say, "Everything will be all right, everything will be all right".
She always encourages my father to learn more Torah. She says she wants the air of our home to be purified, by the holy words.
When I'm too tired to learn, she takes me into her loving arms, and sings old Yiddish songs to me, of great Tzaddikim. She says, I don't have to be a Tzaddik, but it would be nice.
But you know, the thing that I'll always remember about her, is when she lights the Shabbath candles Friday night.
For two days she works, cleaning and baking, to make sure that everything will be perfect for Shabbath.
She always tells me that G‑d is our special guest on Shabbath. Of course, He's always with us, she says, but on Shabbath, He is a bit closer.
Finally, now it's Friday night. After a very busy week and all the preparation, the time to actually light the candles, has finally arrived.
She has a specially picked out candle for each one of us. She says she has learned, that a woman will have Talmidei Chochamim for sons, if she is extra careful about lighting Shabbath candles.
So, of course, since then, she only uses candles that she hand‑made herself.
She tenderly lights each one. Closing her eyes she says the holy blessing, as Jewish mothers have done, since time immemorial.
Afterwards, she opens them, gently drawing the flickering light to herself.
Then, as she does every Friday night, she softly cries....
The tears, are tears of thankfulness, to G‑d.
G‑d made the world out of earth, but He made my mother out of the souls of angels.
Thank You G‑d!