Anat Brusilovsky
"So, Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, I regret to have to inform you that your son is not a good fit for our yeshiva. He is packing his things now and will go home with you today."
The head of the yeshiva fell silent, and Sarah marveled at how easily he had dropped this bombshell.
"And here I thought it was just another minor matter, like a broken window or swearing at a teacher. It is always like this: you think you will quickly sort everything out and then buy yourself coffee and tiramisu at a café in the capital, and, as luck would have it, something unexpected always happens."
The head of the yeshiva broke the silence again: "The teaching staff and I decided all this a month ago, and that was when we gave Yitzchak his last chance. We did not tell you anything then, and what could you have done anyway? It is his age, his character, his weaknesses..."
"What do you mean, what could we have done?" Sarah suddenly could not contain herself and burst out. "I would have prayed for him, for my Yitzchak. I would have asked the Almighty to help him, support him, guide him, let him taste the sweetness of Torah. I would have prayed and wept, recited Tehillim and Perek Shirah, gone to the Kotel and to Mother Rachel..."
Sarah fell silent and looked like a large, sorrowful bird with broken wings.
"You know what," the head of the yeshiva spoke again, "I still remember my mother’s prayers and her tears, so I will give you and your son another month. A month for prayer."
Twenty years passed, and when the renowned Rabbi Yitzchak Cohen told this story to an audience of a thousand, no one could remain unmoved.
This Shabbat we come to the end of Tevet, the month when people should bring warmth to one another, and welcome Shevat. A month of good news.
Pray and weep, pray and laugh, pray for those you love and for those you cannot stand.
And may all of us have good news!