What is chessed?
Many of us think that it involves going to old age homes,
attending funerals, or dancing at mitzva-weddings.
These are certainly fine acts of kindness and no one can
measure their value or reward. But we often fail to realize
the big opportunities right in front of our noses (or ears).
We don't have to go far to look for them.
I was walking home with a friend one night. To preserve her
anonymity, let's call her Simi. Simi is upset; upset is not
half of what she is. She's raging, boiling with anger. She
feels exploited, and I know exactly what she's talking about.
You see, I had these strong feelings not very long ago. And
somehow, I dealt with them so that I feel that Simi was sent
to me from Heaven to help her, to listen, share the burden,
offer advise with a tinge of mussar.
"It's out of hand. There's no use talking about it. I'm
plot..."
"Yes, I know how you feel. I sometimes feel the sa..."
Simultaneously with "tzing. Blumy, I can't take it any
more."
I try to fit in a sentence, a comment, a word. It is
impossible. There are no ears to listen. Her monologue goes
on for twenty minutes. Simi is suddenly pouring out the
frustration of many bitter months.
I've got to wind her down. And I really have to go. I feel
like I've been wasting my precious time. "I understand you,
Simi, but I've got to go. Bye. I hope you feel better!"
"Oh, Blumy. I do. Thank you!"
For what? Not for guidance. Not for mussar. Not even for
identifying with her. Just for listening. I suddenly feel
different about those twenty minutes. They were not lost
time; her `thank you' made me change my mind about that.
*
Many people are missing ears that listen, not mouths that
talk.
One way of looking at chessed is providing people with
what they lack, their chesser (possibly related?).
Listening. Not just hearing. That's the whole difference.
*
When One Door of Happiness Closes, Another Opens
Another time, I was walking with a friend, when she stopped
in the middle of her chattering and stood there. I could see
she was bursting with something she had to say.
"Blumy," she began. "You have a problem. You don't really
listen to me. You might be listening with your ears, but not
with your heart. What you're really itching to do is have
your turn to speak. You want people to listen to you. I
notice how often you jump right into my words. You're an
outgoing person; you like people. That's obvious. You're very
good hearted. But you get carried away with yourself."
A door had closed. I heard it slam. I stood there, stony-
faced. My heart was beating quickly.
Admonishment is hard to take. It's so painful. It demolishes
your self esteem, sometimes completely.
I had plenty to answer; I was bursting with excuses, defenses
and explanations. I didn't know where to start. And I was
hurt. My heart was crying. But I didn't answer back.
I thought over her words and decided that instead of allowing
them to destroy me, I would incorporate them and try to see
to what extent they applied.
After a long pause, I was able to say, "You're right. Thank
you."
A door had opened...
That was three years ago. Many doors have opened since.
