That's Life

Issue of August 8, 2008

Dear That’s Life,

Rich and I met about eight years ago at the World Trade Center at a Landmark Seminar. G-d knows that if it had not been for the melting pot of New York, the odds of our paths ever crossing were slim to none.

Raised in Brooklyn in a close-knit Italian family, Rich had been drafted into Vietnam and managed to survive despite the odds against him. He had lost many friends in Vietnam and, like many war veterans, Rich had a part of him that would always stay locked up forever. No one could ever venture into that part of his heart. It had to “biodegrade” because otherwise it would have been lethal.

Rick was somewhat typical of those who lived through war horrors, as many do not enter into relationships since they cannot allow the depths of their emotions to surface since they are intertwined with scars from war. Similar to Holocaust survivors, while they have “survived,” many are tormented by war horrors and do not function well in relationships.

Rich worked in the art department at a weekly news magazine from the time he returned from Vietnam up until his retirement. He loathed his job, but counted the days until retirement when he could finally draw to his heart’s content. And while his job afforded him a secure financial future, his years at the magazine were dotted with short-term relationships that never ended in commitment.

At the seminar, we began discussing the choice to attach your own meaning to events in your life. So long as you were making up what things meant, you may as well make up an empowering meaning instead of a pessimistic interpretation.

Later that week Rich and I were talking and I mentioned that my father was a Holocaust survivor. Although I did not consider how a comment like that would affect him, with all our cultural differences, I nevertheless felt comfortable telling him.

Rich, who is old enough to be my father, grew very quiet. Then he said, “Rochelle, I want to tell you something. My father had a brother, my uncle, and I was very fond of him. I have wonderful memories of times we spent together. When World War II came, my uncle went to fight. He was killed while fighting the Nazis and I was sad much of my life for the uncle I no longer had.”

I listened to Rich, just being with him and his pain, and waited for him to continue. “Rochelle,” he said, “if I lost my uncle so that your father could have life and create a family, then I give that to you as a gift.”

I was speechless. Rich had taken his favorite childhood memory and given it up in complete generosity to people he had never met. I was blown away. A while later I called the WABC Religion on the Line Sunday talk show and shared my story. Coincidentally, Rich had been listening and called me to say thank you.

Rich turned 67 this past April. A few weeks ago he called me, a new “sing song” in his voice. Riding the subway one day, he had met a woman that he had not seen in 21 years. He was pleasantly surprised at how excited they both were to see each other. Rich and Lorraine chatted, caught up, and decided to get together for lunch.

I noticed a change in Rich’s voice as he told me that he was getting rid of the old furniture in his house and that he had gone shopping and gotten some new clothes. “My friends told me I was living in the past,” he said. “I finally decided to deserve better! So, Lorraine and I went clothes shopping together.”

This was music to my ears. Since their first visit, they now meet twice a week in Manhattan, “just to be tourists again and spend time together.” It goes to show you that it is never too late for true love.

In my heart I knew that Rich taking the loss of his uncle and choosing to turn it into a gift for someone else caused generosity to land right back in his lap. During these Nine Days, may we all merit to have our acts of kindness, random and intentional, reciprocated to us and our families.

Rochel Weinfeld

Woodmere