Things that Pass. Things that Last

The young man sat quietly watching as the yard filled with water. They had eaten the yom Tov meal outside that night. The ambiance was delightful. Lights had been strung up along the perimeter of the yard which now reflected off the water as it silently trickled in to irrigate the grass.  The others had moved the table over to the patio area and continued their conversation speaking about subjects of spirituality and inspiration. Every night was like this; The lively meal, great food, always followed by insightful conversation ‘till the wee hours of the night.

            There was something about the calm water and cool still air that had the young man in a reflective mood. The past couple years had been eventful, but now no matter what things were going on in his life, no matter what things he had to worry about, none of it was here. All the chaos of life seemed to drown in the simple calm water.

 

Here was peace

Here was home

The bus arrived

 

            The young man was whisked out of his recollection. The arrival of the bus marked the arrival of the week. Another six days of the hustle. This time it was different. He usually went in with anticipation of making it to that home-away-from home at the end, but the last Shobbos had come and gone. He had taken one last look at the small group that made the house a home to him. One last look at them singing as they did every havdallah. Then he grabbed his duffle bag, that trusty duffle bag, and left.

He got on the bus

His life was fast like that

Always was

 

            With the last Shobbos over and everyone going their separate ways it seemed he was left with just the hustle,

but the good things that are temporary

 prepare one for the good things that last forever.

 He knew now what he wanted. He wanted that. The warmth, the company, the discussion, the hospitality, the worry free atmosphere. The home the rabbi and rebitzon had built he wanted to build for himself. He now had a clear picture, a clear experience, of what he was working for. He wasn’t going to get it after six days or even six months, but like anything he would get there. What the rabbi and rebitzon had done for them was show them true warmth. A warmth that they would always remember. A warmth they could make for themselves. They had gained memories they would always remember. Memories they could create themselves.

The young man now knew one day he would again sit on a Shobbos night deep thought, observing the water in his own backyard, while his own guests sat and sang in his own home.

Not in six days

Not in six months

But he knew