Rebbetzin Ruthie Halberstadt
Meeting Mr. Cohen
אם ישך נא מצליח דרכי
If you would graciously make my way successful… (Bereishit 24:42)
When I was ten years old, I remember there being a man, Mr. Cohen, who lived in America and started becoming more interested in Judaism. In his progress of learning more about Torah and mitzvos, he had gotten a hold of multiple Torah tapes given by my father, Rabbi Akiva Tatz. Deeply influencing and making an impression on him, he arranged that he would learn once a week with my father over the phone from America. For forty-five minutes, he and my father sat down miles away and discussed various Torah topics.
Now, Mr. Cohen was a very wealthy and influential individual. One of his charities, in fact, included the State of Israel. As such, whenever he would call, all of us children knew we had to be very quiet. “Abba is on the phone with Mr. Cohen!” we would say.
Sometime after he began studying together with my father, he came to Israel for a business trip. At the time, my family, which included myself and six other siblings, lived in Telz-Stone in a three-bedroom apartment. The plan was for Mr. Cohen to meet the Prime Minister, Binyamin Netanyahu, and afterwards meet my father at our house.
That day, I finished school and headed straight home. As I walked through the front door, I was met by the same state our house was commonly in: disorganized. And this time, it was nothing different than usual. Our house was often quite untidy, to say the least. There was nothing dirty or disgusting lying around, but there were always stray toys and housewares on the floor. My mother with her relaxed and easygoing personality would always say, “As long as the kids are happy, it is fine.” “But isn’t his face and clothing full of chocolate?” I said. But again, with gentleness and love, she would tell me, “I can wash him and his clothes. There is a washing machine. As long as the children are happy.”
It was not uncommon for me to come home and find my mother comfortably sitting on the couch reading a book and undisturbed by a whole mess surrounding her. Her patience and laidback attitude was remarkable and something which enabled our family to function happily and healthily.
Personally, I could not tolerate a disorderly house. Yet, there I was standing in our lounge on the day the distinguished Mr. Cohen was going to walk inside and it was a mess. Mr. Cohen was due to arrive very soon, and there was not enough time for me to significantly turn the house around and make it perfectly presentable. And as could be imagined, I was having a hard time coping. And then there was a knock at the door.
My mother, still wearing her apron, opened the soon. “Welcome,” she politely said to Mr. Cohen. “Please come inside; my husband will be with you shortly.” Ushering Mr. Cohen into our home, in walked this very dignified character with a leather briefcase. He looked exactly as we had expected.
My mother then proceeded to grab a chair from the table and lightly pat it down to remove any dust. Placing the chair in front of Mr. Cohen, he took a seat in the lounge. All I could do was cringe. I could not believe my eyes. Here was this extremely well-to-do gentleman sitting in the middle of our unorganized house on a chair that was just seconds before brushed off from its dust.
Thankfully, this scene didn’t last too long. A couple minutes later, in walked my father. Making his way to the nearby closet to hang up his coat as he normally did, I inched my way behind him and whispered, “Why did you marry her?”
My father paused. Walking over to Mr. Cohen, he said, “If you don’t mind, I will keep you waiting two more minutes. I will be with your shortly.” He then called me over to the room adjacent to the lounge. At this point, I knew I was in for it. I was only ten years old, but I had clearly crossed the line and acted with chutzpah.
As I entered the room and approached my father, he gently said to me, “You know why I married your mother? Because she is the most remarkable woman I have ever met. And I wanted her to be the mother of my children I would bring up. But you know what, Ruthie? I love it when things are neat and clean. So you know how you can help me? Every day before I come home, you can clean the lounge.”
And with that, my father said, “If you can now excuse me, I have to go see Mr. Cohen.”
To this day, I vividly remember this incident. I even have reminded my father of this occasion, sharing with him how deep an impression he made on me. At a moment when he could have harshly reprimanded me, which I certainly deserved, he taught me an invaluable lesson which lasted much longer than being sent to my room or a week of being grounded. Quickly thinking on his feet, he wisely imparted a message with such simplicity and beauty that said it all. If I was so disturbed about the messiness of the home, I would be the one to take care of that chore. Instead of complaining, I could be accomplishing.
That is how you use your words wisely to achieve wonderful results.
