(Reprinted from Di Yiddishe Heim, Autumn 5736)

To my dear father and mother,

Today I am celebrating an anniversary. No party, no presents, no glitter, but lots of thoughts come to my mind about one year ago today. Let me explain.

The "things-like-this-happen-to-other-people-not-to-me" feeling is universal. It is said that even soldiers in combat, who watch their comrades fall with mortal wounds, feel that somehow it will never happen to them. But, as reason, statistics, and real life show, it does sometimes happen to you. What happened to me exactly one year ago today, brought home a few lessons that I probably would never have learned as well otherwise.

I had been teaching in the Beis Chana-Lubavitch Live-and-Learn Institute in S. Paul, Minnesota, during July and August. Every night, after a long day of studying and teaching, the students and teachers had the option of swimming in the large indoor pool of the nearby Jewish Community Center. Arrangements had been made for all-girl swimming, and we spent many pleasant evenings there, enjoying the break from intensive learning and concentration.

One Thursday at the end of August, exactly a year ago, I realized that I would have my last chance to go swimming that night, because I was leaving on Sunday. At the last minute, I joined the group, though I hadn't gone swimming for about two weeks. As I walked back to the locker room to get my belongings before going back, I slipped and fell on the very wet concrete floor. I immediately sensed something was wrong as I lay on the cold floor. My left shoulder felt funny. Very funny. To make a long story short, yes, it was broken.

In the private Catholic hospital where I was taken, there were very few Jews -- patients or doctors. While I was being X-rayed, the orthopedic doctor, Dr. G., who by Divine Providence happened to be Jewish, was getting information for the medical records from my friends who had taken me to the hospital. They mentioned to him that I was a "Lubavitcher chassid" from Brooklyn.

Nervously I awaited the doctor's arrival and his diagnosis. He walked in and stared at me silently. Oh, no, I thought, it must be bad news, and he's thinking how to break it to me.

The doctor was still staring at me. "You know, I've never seen a real live chassid before!" he said. "I've heard about them, read about them, seen movies about them, but I never dreamed I'd see one in S. Paul's hospital in the emergency room!"

Well, in true Lubavitch fashion, my two friends and I explained about Lubavitch and the Rebbe and the Institute for Jewish Women in S. Paul. He was fascinated. The talk came around to tefillin. Yes, he had tefillin but hadn't put them on for 20 years... We arranged that one of the Rabbis would come down and show him how to put them on again. I had almost forgotten why I was there, sitting in the wheelchair. "Oh, by the way, what's with my shoulder?"

The doctor seemed to come back to earth. The dazed look disappeared. "Oh, yes, you have a fracture in your left arm, close to the shoulder. You'll have to have a cast for four to six weeks. I'll give you something for the pain."

Oh no. It can't be. Me? A fracture? A cast? I had to begin teaching in New York in three weeks! Why did I have to decide to go swimming tonight? I arrived back at the Institute way past midnight. It had been a long and weary night and I was glad to go to bed. But sleep eluded me. The throbbing pain in my shoulder, the heaviness of the cast, and the tension caused by the events of the evening, drove away any possibility of sleep. The night seemed eternally long, though everyone else around me slept peacefully.

In Lubavitch, a famous quotation of the Baal Shem Tov is often repeated: "From everything which takes place in the world, however great or small, one must derive a lesson regarding his spiritual service to G-d."

Lying in bed wakefully, I tried to think what I could learn from this experience. My first discovery was that I was really a very lucky girl. If it was destined for me to be injured like this, it could have been a leg rather than an arm -- which would certainly have been much more annoying. The doctor had said that the break had just missed the shoulder (which also would have been a much more complicated injury), and it was the left arm, not the right -- a tremendous boon for a right-handed person -- two more counts of "good." The doctor had also said that it was a slight fracture which would heal quickly and easily. It wasn't so terrible after all. I imagined what the next few weeks would be like; I was determined to make this a learning experience, not an opportunity to kvetch and bemoan my sorry fate.

Morning finally arrived, and I spent my first day in my new, temporarily one-handed status. Of course I got a lot of attention and help. And I found out, for the first time in my life, how very vital my left arm was to me. I couldn't wash for negel vasser or for meals by myself, dress myself, or shower. Even eating was much more difficult. My thoughts often turned to the many people for whom this type of disability is permanent. I felt thankful that my handicap was, thank G-d, only temporary.

I thanked you, my dear mother and father, for instilling within me the attitude to look at my injury in this positive, rather than negative way. I remember how, as a child, I once complained to you that "everyone else" had a certain toy (except me, of course!), and how you patiently told me, "My child, in ruchnius we look up, and in gashmius we look down." You taught me that in spiritual matters we shouldn't compare ourselves favorably with those who are worse off than we are, but rather look up to and learn from those who are better. As for material matters, we shouldn't compare ourselves with those who own more than us, which leads to a feeling of jealousy, self-pity and unhappiness, but rather with those who have less -- which will bring a feeling of satisfaction and gratitude for what we do have. This lesson from my childhood came back to me then so clearly. And today, on this "anniversary," I am recalling it once again.

Another thing I remembered was how I promised myself that I would no longer take the ability to use two arms for granted. The day the cast came off, I felt like a prisoner freed from jail. How wonderful it felt to do things by myself and not to have to depend upon others for assistance. How humble I felt when I realized that G-d can give and take away so quickly. I know I would never have appreciated such an apparently small thing, if I hadn't been deprived of it for a period of time. I was overwhelmed by the many blessings I had received from my Creator for "free" -- my sight, hearing, speech, use of my limbs, talents... The list could go on and on. The broken arm ultimately made me happier and more appreciative of all the things with which I had been blessed.

You always used to tell me that G-d in His Kindness often frees us from a severe punishment by substituting a minor one in its stead. You told me that what many people view as a punishment, or "bad," is actually a cleansing agent for one's soul -- it is to the person's benefit that he undergoes it because he will then be "clean." Do you remember the time you told me this moshol? If a child soils himself lightly, the parent can remove the dirt with a damp cloth, or some cool water, but if the child becomes very muddy and sticky, the concerned parent will use hotter water, and perhaps a rough cloth, to remove the dirt entirely. Is the parent cruel? Of course not. The parent is only "hurting" the child so that he can once again be clean. Certainly the broken arm was a small blow, and hopefully it was a substitute for something bigger.

Another thing, which is probably the most important of all, happened as a result of this incident. Because of my broken arm, a Jew, Dr. G., saw, for the first time in his life, a living chassid. What really surprised him was that the chassid was not an elderly Yiddish-speaking man from the "old country," with a long, white beard, but rather a young American girl who speaks English and goes swimming. It seems that many people automatically picture a chassid as firstly, a male, secondly, European (if not in origin, at least in "lifestyle and outlook") and thirdly, old. It ruins the stereotype to see a girl, American, English-speaking, and young, who proclaims herself a chassidic Jewess. It seems to make a strong impression on people that not only "Rabbis" are Chassidim. We women and girls have a tremendous responsibility to tell others proudly who we are and what we stand for. It will hit home.

Dr. G. was also moved by our enthusiasm about Yiddishkeit and how all the thoughts of pain and injury were pushed aside as we spoke to him simply as one Jew to another. A chossid should think of the other person before himself. It's important to know that every Jew, even if he is called Doctor, Sir, Professor, Attorney, or Judge, has, above all, "a pintele Yid." If you address the "Yid" and not the "doctor," you will get your message across very quickly.

It was amazing that the discussion about Yiddishkeit soon came to an actual deed -- tefillin. As Dr. G. related his boyhood experiences in Hebrew school and about his bar mitzvah and tefillin, it was clear that he had totally forgotten that he was a busy orthopedic doctor who was seeing an emergency patient after midnight. His whole essence was engrossed in the topic of Yiddishkeit; his thoughts were concentrated upon finding out more about living Chassidus and a living chassid. Certainly he glimpsed, in those moments, the entire "soul" of Yiddishkeit, which he had, unfortunately, never seen before. As Chassidus puts it: "in one moment, from one extreme to the other." Who can estimate or even know the profound change this incident could make?

Some very important lessons can be learned from this incident: If even a broken arm can bring another Jew closer to Yiddishkeit, then certainly every incident can, and therefore must be utilized as a tool for spreading Yiddishkeit and strengthening Torah and mitzvos. Every event is a potential channel for "spreading the wellsprings outward," but we must be attuned and conscious of this so we can respond to the right cues at the right time.

What's more, if a seemingly "bad" experience brings a spiritual benefit to another Jew, then that is proof that the "bad" thing is actually and ultimately a good one, for surely a bad thing cannot accomplish good results. However, not always are we granted the privilege of seeing this good so vividly.

As today, in the month of Elul, I quietly and privately celebrate this "anniversary," I am reminded again to thank Hashem for His kindness in teaching me so many important lessons, and for giving me the merit to have such wise and wonderful parents as you.

Love,

Your daughter, Nechoma.