Last Friday night, after the Shabbat meal, my wife and I walked to the University Hospital in Basel. As we climbed the stairs to the second floor, we encountered a young man rushing by. Without asking who we were, he simply said, “The birth went well, the mother and baby are fine—I’m the doctor.” It took us a moment to realize that he probably recognized us—or rather me, thanks to my beard, tzitzit, and kippah—as being related to the young couple who had just become parents. It took us another moment to grasp that Mousi had a son and a few moments more to realize that we were now a grandfather and grandmother— not to mention, a Zaidy and Bubby.
The first thought that crossed my mind was that no one had prepared me to be a grandfather.
But then I realized that no one had prepared me to be a father either.
And immediately, I recalled that no one had prepared me to be a husband.
It hit me like a ton of bricks: no one had prepared me to be at all.
I remembered a story I heard 26 years ago from Rabbi Shalom Ber Gourarie when I was a young student-shliach at the Chabad yeshiva in São Paulo, Brazil. Actually, it’s not even a story or an anecdote; it’s more of a sentiment he described. At a farbrengen in Montreal, chassidim sat for a long time waiting to hear words of wisdom from the chassid Reb Heshel Zeitlin, of blessed memory. They waited not because he was a professional orator, nor because he was known for captivating stories or exceptional charisma. They waited because he was a pnimi, an inwardly focused and sincere chassid. And when you encounter such a person, you wait to hear what they have to say.
Reb Heshel sat, sipped some vodka, said l’chaim, sampled some herring and pickles, sipped l’chaim again, and then finally said in English with a Russian-Yiddish accent: “A man got to do what a man got to do.” Then his head dropped into the plate of pickles, as if to say, “Who am I to tell you what to do?”
I heard this story dozens of times. I never truly understood it. What was he trying to say? Why did he say it? What does it even mean? What is this thing a man has to do?
Last Friday night, as I sat in the maternity ward lobby, waiting for permission to visit my daughter and grandson, this story resurfaced in my mind. I think I suddenly understood it. I realized that I was prepared for all of this. My parents and teachers each, in their own way, had taught me that very message: “A man has to do what a man has to do.”
When the kids were little and the kitchen sometimes looked like the kitchen of a family with children, I would come home after a long day and try to tidy up a bit. It was a mess, and there wasn’t an empty corner in sight. The question was always: where do you start? My answer to myself was always: start with one spoon, then another spoon, then a plate, then a pot—and lo and behold, slowly but surely, the kitchen cleared up, and the space took shape. Spoon by spoon. I don’t know if this is what Reb Heshel Zeitlin had in mind, but to me, it certainly seemed to fit the definition of “a man has to do what a man has to do.”
And just like spoon by spoon in the kitchen, so too in life—in relationships, in parenting, and now, God willing, in this next stage. Sometimes there’s no need to overthink or complicate things. Simply put: a man got to do what a man got to do. Now, if only I could find a plate of pickles to rest my head on.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Zalman Wishedski