A Letter to My Dad

Some people only encounter real, life-changing inspiration once in their lives.

I, however, have encountered this kind of influence on three separate occasions. But all three times I didn’t let it change me. All three times I let it die down instead of lift me up. All three times I chose comfort over growth. If it were I, and not my dad, who hesitated before stepping into that Chabad Synagogue twelve years ago, I would have turned around and gone home. But, thank G-d it was my dad.

My friends tell me that I live in the clouds. When I’m up there I never think to bring my passion down to Earth and by the time I make the long journey home, that motivation is gone. My father is as grounded as a tree. He recognizes that moments are fleeting and grabs hold of inspiration as it comes, but never relies on it to build him up. He is stable and strong and though he’d be the last to agree, he is the most spiritual man I’ve ever met.

Those who know my dad may be surprised about such a statement concerning a man who didn’t have his bar mitzvah until 50, but then those people clearly don’t know my dad. He is the first one to call when in need of a Minyan and the last one to leave shul on Shabbos. Though he has yet to learn Hebrew, he buries his face in his Siddur, eyeing every word in English. He is a staple at every one of the Rabbi’s talks (thereby earning himself his own personal seat) and leaves no question unasked, no matter how seemingly basic. My father had no Jewish background, but he built himself a foundation, all on his own and right before my eyes.

I came back from Pesach vacation two weeks ago, and I have since not only fallen from the clouds, I crashed and burned upon landing. My years of chasing inspiration have left me with nothing left to catch and I find myself empty handed with little to inch me forward. But more than the classes at school and the books I’m learning and the mentors I’ve met, it is only when I look to my dad and the strides he made to become the man he is that I’m able to get myself back on track. Lately all I want to do is sleep through my last four weeks here, but I don’t have that luxury. Because the man who raised me left every comfort he had to start a life and a family that would make G-d proud. It is my responsibility and honor to carry on what he started and never lose sight of the goal no matter how far away I may float. I am my father’s daughter and he has lit a torch that I vow to pass onto my kids, for if not, I don’t deserve such a title.