By: Chaya Sora Jungreis-Gertzulin

This Shabbos, Shabbos Mevorchim, we bless the oncoming month of Shevat. Shevat, spelled Shin-Beis-Tes, is often read as an acronym for “She’nishma Besoros Tovos, May we hear good news.

A much needed bracha during these unsettling, even turbulent times. We daven that all should be good in the world. Good in Eretz Yisroel. Good for the Jewish people. Good for our families, good for us. At the end of the day, after all is said and done, we just want to hear good things.

Shevat heralds in Tu B’Shevat, the turning point of winter. In Eretz Yisroel, the trees are awakening, getting ready to blossom. It is a time of new beginnings, of besoros tovos, good news. Shevat is a time of change. A change not discernible to the human eye, reminding us that with some patience, we will see the blessing of besoros tovos.

Shevat is also the month of the yahrtzeit of my beloved father, HaRav Meshulem ben HaRav Asher Anshil HaLevi zt”l. 2 Shevat, thirty years ago, yet the wonderful memories created, and the life lessons learned remain.

After the Holocaust, my father arrived to this country alone. He lost his father, he lost his mother. He lost all his siblings, except an older brother who made it to Eretz Yisroel. For my father, it was a new world.

As a child, I didn’t realize what my father’s journey entailed. As I got older, I would often wonder – how did Abba do it? How did he start all over again? Would I have had the courage, the inner strength and fortitude to do so?

Fast forward. When my daughter packed her son Meshulem’s (named after my father) camp trunk, she shared with me that she got him “extras”. Extra sports pants, extra white shirts, extra socks, and, of course, extra nosh. It hit me hard in my heart… who packed Abba’s bag? Forget about the extras – did he even have a bag?

Yet, Abba always wore a smile on his face. I never heard a harsh word, a complaint, a raised voice. Abba never saw problems, in his eyes all was good. There was never sadness or despair. To Abba, every day was a day of bracha.

There are no coincidences, even when it comes to one’s yahrtzeit. Abba lived the message of Shevat. Like the blossoming that we cannot yet see, but is starting to stir within the tree, Abba not only believed it will be good, but that it was already good.

My Uncle Yanky shared a story with me about my father. My parents were newly engaged, and my father, the chosson, was coming for a visit. My two uncles decided that they would cheer my father up. After all, their immediate family miraculously remained intact after the war, while my father was alone.

How ironic, Uncle Yanky told me – it was my father who cheered them up. He came with a smile, a good word, a funny story. He made them laugh.

My father lived with a fundamental teaching of Rav Nachman of Breslov. “Smile even if you have nothing to smile about, and HaShem will give you something to smile about”.

A lesson to believe that it is all good. To be happy with what you have.

How lucky we children were. We were gifted a most loving father. While we didn’t have trips to Disney, or any ‘destination’ vacations, we treasured our outings to the local fire station, the park, the zoo, the duck pond, and exploring HaShem’s beautiful world with nature hikes in the mountains. It wasn’t where we went, it was the love and full attention Abba gave us wherever he took us.

When the grandchildren came around, Abba enveloped them with the same love, and found the strength and time to take them on outings as well.

Often, I, as well as my brothers and sister, would “go home” to our parents for Shabbos and Yom Tov. Abba would stand by the front door and call out, “Check-in time at the hotel”, with the biggest, happiest smile on his face. He would pick up the babies, put them on his broad shoulders, where they would magically fall asleep.

Abba was always up Friday night learning. If he saw any of us up with a baby, he would tell us to go to sleep while he would gently rock the little one. He sat at the kitchen table, Gemara opened in front of him. With a chuckle, Abba would say, “The reason babies cry at night, is so that their fathers would stay up learning”.

As the babies grew, my father found new activities for them. He would sit and make arts-and-crafts projects with them. He would share with them stories from the parsha, and teachings from our gedolim. He would always be available to help with homework (even I would ask him for a good vort to use in my classes).

My son, Yosef Dov, the oldest grandchild, coined the name “Abba Zeide”, for that was my father, a loving abba and zeide, all rolled up in one. A name that stuck with all the grandchildren that followed.

My father’s love and devotion wasn’t only reserved for us children and grandchildren, but he had a special place in his heart for my mother, a”h. They were a team, rabbi and rebbetzin of the shul, working together to be mekarev and teach Torah to the broader community.

Every morning, my father would prepare sliced grapefruit for my mother. If there would be any articles about Eretz Yisroel, or of Jewish interest, in the paper, my father would cut them out and place them alongside the grapefruit. Little acts that mean so much.

A lesson in unconditional love and devotion to family.

My father was the rov of a growing shul. Every Erev Shabbos, He would bring challahs and cakes to the single mothers and widows in the community. Not because they couldn’t afford to buy it, but because he wanted them to know that they were not forgotten about.

As a rabbi, he reached out to the local high school boys, asking them to be part of the morning minyan. They were public school kids, so Abba would pick them up, drive them to shul, and then take them to school. The love he gave each of these boys paid off – they all became shomrei Torah u’mitzvos.

A lesson in reaching out and being there for others.

I could write volumes about my father. At his levaya, my husband said, “Abba was a gentle giant”. Indeed, he was a tall man, whose presence commanded a room, but at the same time, was the gentlest person ever. Abba’s life was one that embodied quiet faith, kindness, and unwavering goodness.

Yehi zichro boruch.

Shabbat Shalom!

Chaya Sora

Chaya Sora can reached at [email protected]

This article was written L’zecher Nishmas / In Memory Of HaRav Meshulem ben HaRav Osher Anshil HaLevi, zt”l and Rebbetzin Esther bas HaRav Avraham HaLevi, zt’l