The Little Leaf

​As many of you reading this know, the past three years have taken our family—and specifically our daughter Rochelle—on a difficult journey we could never have imagined.

Who could possibly fathom that a happy, thriving 6-7 year-old could suddenly and profoundly lose her ability to speak, think, and develop? These changes brought a cascade of challenges, affecting her ability to be an independent, functioning child. It was as if an invisible injury had struck her brain—not in a single moment, like a car accident, but gradually, over weeks and months.

By G-d’s mercy, after many frustrating months of inconclusive tests and unsuccessful appointments, we found our way to a pediatric neurologist at the Mayo Clinic where we are blessed to live so close to. There, we encountered a doctor who followed three simple but often-overlooked rules in medicine: listen to the patient, believe the patient, and look at the bigger picture. At Mayo, we received a glimmer of hope. Rochelle’s symptoms and condition had a name. Even more astounding, it was treatable. But because it was related to the brain and part of the elusive autoimmune category, there were no guarantees. We were told that her recovery would be unpredictable—how much or how quickly she might heal was unknown.

From that point, we embarked on a journey filled with highs and lows. We encountered the challenges of navigating the often-daunting world of insurance (a story for another time), but we finally began treatment. The results showed promising signs that we were on the right path. Recovery, however, is painfully slow. While we wait for better times, the child we see now at age 9, is completely different from the one we knew at age 6. It requires enormous reserves of patience, and manufactured hope to believe in the possibility of substantial—even full—healing. Yet, who are we to give up? How dare we give up? And from a purely practical perspective, only because of how exhausting it is, how could we give up? As the incredible modern-day Yiddishe Mama, Rachel Goldberg-Polin, so poignantly said, “Hope is mandatory.” This has become my mantra.

Reconciling my belief in G-d with my daughter’s and family’s hardship has been challenging at times. I could carry on without understanding, but the responsibility for my other children compelled me to dig deeper. How could I leave my children—particularly those old enough to remember Rochelle from an earlier time, and feel the struggle—without answers? Children see through pretense; they need authenticity. I couldn’t put up a facade, or merely repeat oft-spoken reassurances if it wasn’t resonating with me.

This quest brought me to a children’s book on our bookshelf. A story by the 20th century Yiddish lyricist Yom Tov Ehrlich, based on a teaching from the founder of Hasidism, Rabbi Yisrael Baal Shem Tov. The tale is childlike yet profound.

A man walking through the woods sees a leaf fall from a tree. Troubled, he asks the leaf why it fell. The leaf, bewildered, responds, “The branch shook so hard, I couldn’t hold on.” The man turns to the branch, which points to the wind. The wind, in turn, blames the angel of wind, who ultimately directs the man to G-d. When the man turns to the Master of the World with trepidation and pleads for an answer, G-d directs him to look beneath the fallen leaf. There, the man discovers a tiny, parched worm, saved from the scorching sun by the leaf’s timely descent. The Baal Shem Tov’s teaching is clear: nothing in this world—no event, no blade of grass waving in the wind—is random or without purpose. Every moment and every detail is orchestrated by G-d.

There are times when life feels chaotic, unpredictable, and even frightening. Whether it’s happening to us, to a loved one, or even to a stranger, the uncertainty can be overwhelming. This is where Torah, our anchor and source of faith, steps in. It reminds us that while we may not be in control—and that lack of control can feel terrifying—Someone Else is. That Someone has control over every aspect of our lives and every event in the world. He has a PLAN. There is meaning, there is purpose, and there is a story that must unfold. Trusting in His control can bring comfort and peace, even when the Plan feels incomprehensible.

​Sharing this with my children brings some measure of stability to the child in me, and it reassures me that I’m not leaving my children hanging dry; there’s something to hold on to amidst this chaos. Thank G-d for the Torah that is here to help us and guide us through it all. It is a gift I treasure.