I happen to enjoy and appreciate that fluid flow of online information. A friend (as in, I had meet him years ago and then we were ‘friends†online, and I actually met him recently over Sukkos) recently posted a link on Facebook to an article published in July of 2013 in the New York Times. The article contained the full text from a commencement speech at Syracuse University given by George Saunders. I highly suggest you read it since there are a number of lessons related to chessed. You can read it here. I read it, thought about it, and forwarded it to a few people, and now trying to write about one of several things I gleaned from it.
Saunders’ theme was based on the age old question of, “Looking back, what to you regret?†In the article he gets very specific about something he regrets from his past (really, you should read it). That question about things I regret started creeping its way into my thoughts. I know, must of us probably don’t think about regret until Elul or Tishrei. I’m right there with you. The question pushed me to think about two specific and related things, my relationship with my father aâ€h and with my own kids. It is not easy to write some of this, as it is uber-autobiographical, but I hope it may be useful to other growth oriented people.
My father was niftar in November of 2009. He was always, Baruch Hashem, supportive of my gradual move from “traditional†Jew to Orthodox Jew. Since 2006 we would speak at least 4-6 times a week, about things in general, no seriously deep discussions or vulnerable moments. Our relationship was warm, but it lacked emotion at times (mostly from my end). On his last trip to see us my wife who knew that I and my father both wanted more out of relationship decided to sit us all down at the table and we talked. We laughed. We listened. We explained. We cried. In 45 minutes we pretty much answered questions, healed wounds, and gained insight into a 38 year old relationship I had with my father. Our relationship blossomed and I have my wife to thank for this. That relationship screeched to a halt 3 months when he was diagnosed with pneumonia on top of battling leukemia. So, the regret related to my father is one of lost time, time when he was alive. We both spent years not being as emotionally connected as we could have. I often find myself telling friends to let their parents know that they are loved, not only by saying it, but showing it.
Regret number two. I know that I am not alone in this, even though most people won’t admit it. As an observant Jew I often find myself losing patience with my family. Sometimes to the point that I feel like any self-control, any middos management, or learning about kas (anger) and salvonus (patience) is totally thrown out the window. In the heat of the moment, when I look at my kids and only see the negative in them I am not thinking about the mitzvos of chessed (kindness), V’ahavta L’rei-acha k’mocha (loving your friend as you love yourself), or the concept of B’tzelem Elokeim (being created in God’s image). It is something I regret. It pushes my family away from me, which down the line might result in my own kids having a less than stellar relationship with me. Truth be told, for the past 2 weeks (prior to even reading the above referenced article) I have been going out of my way to point out to them positive things they do and the traits excel in.
So, when all is said and written, I am left with two regrets (I have several more, seriously). One I can do nothing about and one that, with Hashem’s help, I can put an end to. As cliché as this is, when you finish reading this, find a piece of paper and ask yourself, “Am I Living with Regrets?” It might be the start of something extremely powerful.
