One rabbi recounted that a neurologically challenged student once came to study. A sweet, fragile boy, with a story that broke his spirit from the first moment. He had a speech problem, but he was very smart.
He told her that his parents left him somewhere immediately after he was born when they found out that he would suffer from lifelong complications. They were millionaires, accustomed to comfort and luxury. They never visited him, never hugged him, never called him “son.” They just sent, month after month, a generous check and convinced themselves they were in the best place.
Deeply moved, the teacher decided to try what seemed impossible: build a bridge between this child and his parents. When he called them, the response was cold, dry, and almost mechanical:
-For nothing in the world. We made this decision many years ago. There is nothing more to talk about. It was not an easy decision, we made it for him and for us.
But he insisted with the insistence of one who knows that a whole life hangs on a gesture:
– Understand… There are thousands of orphan children who dream of meeting their parents, but they cannot. Yours is alive, he’s here, in Manhattan. Why don’t they even want to look him in the eye?
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Perhaps out of insistence, perhaps out of fatigue, or perhaps for a moment of humanity that broke through all their defenses, they agreed to see him. They met in Central Park.
There they went, the rabbi, the young man, and the parents, the weather was heavy, no one wanted to cut through the ice or they could not. They talked for five minutes about the weather. Literally the weather. Empty, nervous, almost cartoonish phrases. Until the rabbi – with a heavy heart – could not contain himself:
-We didn’t come to talk about the weather. I think I’m no longer needed here so I’m leaving.
And then, unexpectedly, the boy spoke in a soft, trembling, but incredibly courageous voice:
— Dad… Mom… I know I’m not “perfect.” Since I was born I have my flaws. But to be honest, you guys aren’t perfect either. You almost abandoned your son when he was a baby. I forgave them for their shortcomings. I hope that one day you too can forgive me for what happened to me.
The mother burst into tears. Without thinking, she stood up and hugged him with the desperation of someone who wants to recover entire years in one gesture. Father followed her. And in that embrace – so short, so long, so necessary – a broken family found its first point of return.
The rabbi was watching the scene in silence, and smiled with the calm of someone who had witnessed a miracle. That’s it for the story. And I want to connect it to something personal.
Maybe I tell them stories and they don’t know who is behind that storyteller. But I have a daughter with Down Syndrome, the greatest gift in the universe. When he was born, there were a lot of doubts, especially my own, because my wife was always stronger, more complete, and more aware of the treasure in our hands. Over time, those doubts became my best teachers.
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And this week I received a new teaching. Not directly from her, but from her colleagues.
My daughter goes to a school called Maimonides, a beautiful place. As is the case in every school, upon reaching the fifth year the flag is raised. All the kids, nervous, dreaming of being the next standard bearers. But this year something different happened: one of the flags was selected not out of competition but out of love.
The boys unanimously chose to award it to the best partner. That companion was my dear Jaya. They did not fight to get the flag, they fought to give it to their little comrade. When they gave it to her, she started crying with emotion while all her classmates screamed and celebrated with her. A group of fifth graders who became giants by making someone who at first glance appear to be their smallest and their biggest.
Sometimes the most important bridges in life are built not with grand gestures, but with small acts of courage.
Often times, the bridge between who we are and who we can be begins with simple, profound and illuminating action by those around us. I wanted to dedicate this story to these boys who lost their status as flag bearers in order to present knowledge to my daughter and with a small act they became giants.
Good weekend.