Introducing a new series, as told by Sara Gutfreund:
The Importance of a Smile
There is nothing extraordinary about my story. I'm an average
housewife living in Brooklyn with my husband and seven
children. The truth is that I never really wanted to live in
Brooklyn, but it is a nice, frum community and we have
learned to be happy here.
When we first got married, my husband and I tried moving to
Jerusalem. Both of us had always dreamed of living in Eretz
Yisroel, and my husband was accepted to a wonderful kollel
there. Our parents were surprisingly supportive of our plans,
and even offered to help us with our finances for a few
years.
We found a two-room apartment near my husband's kollel, and I
happily began to set up our home. That first night we went to
daven at the Kosel and thanked Hashem for this
opportunity to live in His holy city. We were so excited
about finally being in Eretz Yisroel that at first I didn't
notice the silence from our neighbors.
We lived in a three -story walk-up on the second floor. We
were the only young couple among the many large families in
the building. When no one knocked on our door to welcome us,
I at first just assumed that people hadn't noticed that we
moved in yet. But after a few weeks, it was clear that they
knew we were there. On the stairway, I would bump into the
mothers, and they would just nod their heads in greeting.
I wondered what was wrong with me that none of my neighbors
wanted to speak to me. I looked at my clothes and my
husband's clothes. Didn't we look the same as our neighbors?
We did. It's true that most of the families were from a
different culture, but could it really be true that they were
ignoring me because I was from a different country?
When I spoke to my husband about it, he thought that I should
just give it some time and give them the benefit of the
doubt. And I tried. I really did. But it was so hard for me
to be away from my family and be ignored by my neighbors on
top of that. I knew that I was at a different life stage than
most of the women, but all I longed for during that first,
lonely year was a smile.
At the end of that year, we decided to return home. I'm not
going to blame it all on my neighbors, but their coldness was
a big factor in my change of heart. I felt not only isolated
but somehow even scorned, without knowing why. As the years
have passed, I look back at that time differently. For each
woman, I really can find a reason why she might not have been
up to smiling and saying hello.
One was having extreme financial difficulties. The other one
seemed to be struggling with shalom bayis problems,
and yet another one seemed overwhelmed with her children. But
I remember arriving in Kennedy airport and being greeted by
the passport official. "Welcome Home!" she said with an
enormous smile. And I thought that it was so ironic that I
had to leave the Land that really was home in order to see a
smile.
When I shared my story with a friend years later, she asked
me. "Was it that bad? Did you try speaking to them?" And for
a long time I didn't want to speak about what happened. I
wasn't sure if it was loshon hora, and I knew that my
neighbors didn't reflect the kindness and warmth of most
religious women in Eretz Yisroel. And the truth is that I
can't really explain how hurtful it was that year when I was
just starting out in a new country with a new marriage.
Even though it's been a long time I can still remember the
pain. But as a person gets older, she learns to forgive and
let go of past bitterness. I believe that I have forgiven
those women and even maybe understood why it probably didn't
even cross their minds at the time. But ever since that year,
I make a sincere effort to smile at people. Our faces are not
ours. They are public property. And a smile is not just a
nice gesture; it is a responsibility that we must all take
seriously.
