I protected my home.Security comes first when dealing with animals. And that’s why I thought shooting the cats in the garbage would be the right thing to do.
I had used peanut butter. And even with that, my house was secure. And against the advice of all animal lovers, I used the glue trap. And it worked.

What Do I Do When They Look at You
The mouse was looking to me for help. On the trap looking up at me, asking me to save it. Nobody has ever looked to me for help. When in my life have I ever been depended upon, other than the Torah reading at my Bar Mitzvah. And I messed that up.
Depending on me is a dumb idea. I can't help anybody. I'm useless. I did first aid training. Forgot everything. If you need CPR, I'll be standing there telling you, “Try harder.” Maybe I'll throw in a prayer. Blame you for not breathing right. Wish you good luck.

That look touched my soul. The mouse wanted love. The mouse wanted someone to care for it. And here I was, the only one who could care for it, the one who caused its pain.
In my defense. That's my house. I bought it. The mouse did not help with any of the payments. Not even electric. If anything, he ate the electric. The mouse was just taking advantage. Squatting in my house. Living off the fat of the land. Though, unlike my nephews, he did clean up every once in a while.

Now all the sudden I liked the mouse. I'd never seen the guy before. I'd only heard it. He wanted a relationship. I could use one of those.
I cared. The mouse was a cute little guy. Cute and scary as anything. I wanted the mouse in the house, even if I would never use that hallway. That could be his. I had formed a relationship over the months. I had come to look forward to hearing the little guy. I wanted to keep the mouse. I didn't want to let him go. Wanted to hold it. Pet it. Sleep with him. I have no girl in my life. 
We could hang out, watch an Amazon Prime Special, eat peanut butter together. Find a glue trap and eat a few centipedes. Whatever he wanted. I could tell you this. I didn’t want to lose him or hurt him. Until I saw him on the glue trap, I wanted to kill the thing. Execute it. Not now. Now I had a bond with that manipulative little guy.

YouTube Knows
I couldn't figure out what to do, so I went on YouTube. I figured an influencer would have some advice. A teenager hanging out in their bedroom should be able to coach me on this.
The teenager said to kill it. To quote, "You murder the thing. That's humane." And then they went on to say, "You used a glue trap. You're an evil human being."
Has morality come to letting mice take over your house?! Infestation?! That makes a moral human being?! And they continued, "People with a soul use mouse traps that don't work." Well. I did use mouse traps that don't work. Many of them. And now I have peanut butter all over my house.
Whoever came up with the peanut butter idea is a sick individual. They must've had too much in stock. Then they started with this whole "mice like peanut butter" campaign. It was Wegmans supermarket.

Being the kind humane person, I took the teenager's advice and I killed it. That's what our education system has created, a bunch of kids who think homicide is what moral people do.
I wanted to be kind about it. I loved my friend. And to kill something you love tears out a piece of your heart. So, I took my boot and whacked it. Started slamming my boot at that thing. Whipping the mouse against the wall. That's the humane thing to do. You take a bag, put the mouse in the bag and start banging the thing.
I figured boots were good for this. They're good for walking in snow and killing mice.
The humane thing had me feeling bad.
 
The YouTuber knew Halacha. The fact the teenager knew the Jewish laws of Tzar Baal Chayim amazed me. If you must kill an animal, it should be as quick and painless as possible. I figured the boot worked. I don’t know how successful I would’ve been at Shechting the mouse.

It was looking at me to save its life and I killed it. If we can't care for this living being, something is wrong with us as people. It wasn't like this was my neighbor. That guy is a jerk. I would not mind seeing that guy suffer. Get him a glue doormat for his front door.
I felt so bad. I had caused the mouse to suffer, and then I killed it. Was I a murderer?

​Murderers Feel Bad
I felt bad. And that made me feel better. If you commit homicide and you feel bad about it, you're a good person. In prison, they reduce your sentence for stuff like that.
And I did kill the mouse. So, that made me a good person. Truth be told, I’m kind of a Tzadik, a righteous man, for killing that animal. Nonetheless, I felt bad. With all the Halacha and proper practice of execution and use of the boot on my side, I felt bad. And mind you, I didn’t strangle the mouse. I’m not vengeful like that. I took the boot and stomped it.

The mourning period had begun. That mouse was on my mind for two weeks. Two weeks of bereavement. I couldn’t talk to people. I ate peanut butter. Anything to connect me to the soul of my friend I had taken from this world. I started walking barefoot. Sniffing glue. Started sweeping up the pretzel crumbs. Eulogized about walls and how my friend was able to see what was in walls. I began to care about animals. I swore I would never eat mice again. 
What gave me the right to take life? It was the boot.
I realized I had to do Teshuva. I had to repent. I had to be a better person. I gave Tzedakah. Charity was given to every animal project out there. I adopted a hamster. Figured I would get a mouse people like. Nobody kills hamsters. I supported PETA. I became vegetarian.
I started volunteering at the petting zoo. Figured, if they're locked up all is good. As long as there's no glue anywhere.

I was scared of the mouse. But I cared for the mouse. And to that, I was stuck feeling like a disgusting human being. Everything I had done in my life, all the good the bad the care for family in their times of need, was now encapsulated in the eyes of that mouse. And I killed it. I squandered it. I let it down. And I realized I had not done my job caring for others. And I messed up my Torah reading at my Bar Mitzvah.

That was a life that I took. Life with eyes. With feelings. I knew I had to become more caring of animals.
Then my sister-in-law invited me for dinner and put out an amazing brisket

Postscript
Death is death. To be part of that isn’t easy.
To this day, I can't get over what I did to the mouse. The creature of Gd that looked to me for help. It haunts me. I still feel bad. So, when you see me, know that you should be feeling bad for me. Not the mouse.
Now I know what serial killers must feel like. I’m speaking of compassion here. And when I see people, I’m more compassionate now. I think twice before trapping them, and setting up glue traps.
And I still have no idea how to do CPR.

Do I still use glue traps. They work. Would I kill a mouse again. I do like to have guests in my home. I can tell you this much. Knowing what I know now, I would never use a glue trap to catch deer.
Lesson: If you want to feel good, don’t use stuff that works, and do not worry about the cleanliness of your home. Since I took the life of my friend, I have not used a Swiffer.

It’s the window to the soul. The eyes. And now I care for any living being with eyes. A spider, I’ll kill the thing. A cockroach. I’ll squash that thing with my hands.
Yes. I’m still scared as hell of mice.

I didn't want to do it, but there was a mouse in my home. And that mouse changed my life.

Animals Scare Me
I'm not an animal person. I'm a weak human being. I will approach an animal once it's dead and eat it. But I will not pet it. And I feel bad about it. But these things scare me.
​Cats scare the living Beheyma out of me. Living in Israel, I didn't throw out my garbage for years. Those things would be waiting in there. Waiting for me to approach. They knew I was coming. Every time I threw out my trash, they’d jump at me. They'd come flying out of the bin.
Outside my apartment, coming home one night, there were fifty cars. Two cats were going at it and the others were watching the Felidae MMA Event. The cats were being entertained. One cat was taking bets. One cat was standing by the garbage, selling tickets. They called each other together to see the fight. These things communicate. And I couldn't get into my apartment that night.
I called the Israeli police and they just laughed. I thought they might come and arrest a few of them. I thought it was illegal for cats to sell tickets to fights. It turns out, that’s also legal in Israel.
Point is I didn't throw out trash for a very long time. And in America, there are racoons. Thanks to animals, I keep my house very dirty.
Animals conspire against me. Let me not get into the pigeon who's been attacking the air conditioner outside my room the past three years. Just there to wake me up and ruin my day. They know what's going on and they’re out to get me. And so are mice.
They all scare me. All I ever did was stay away from animals and eat them. No connection.

A Mouse in the House
I knew there was a mouse in the house. There was a pretzel on the floor and it was not there anymore. Somebody cleaned it up. It couldn't have been my nephews. In kindergarten, second and third grade, those kids haven't ever picked up a thing. They’ve drop stuff, but they’ve never picked anything up. Bad backs run in the family.
There was a mouse. And I didn't need a mouse gang organizing underworld mouse brawls in my house.

The Defenses
As a responsible adult, I set up defenses around the perimeter of my home. A strong security perimeter. I built up the internal defenses as well. They had already infiltrated. Mouse tactic is not some they teach you in the military. Apparently, the mouse threat is not a concern of the armed forces. The National Guard is not on rodent. Nor are the Israeli police.
I put up traps everywhere around the house, sprayed, barbed wired. My house had been infiltrated by something that was cleaning my floor. I knew something had to be done.
Barbed wire was up. Some of these mice are huge. I'm not taking any chances. I didn't want mice in the house. I definitely didn't want nephews in there. I set up a moat around the exterior. As I was digging, I found more animals. Stopped that project and now I have a messed-up patch of grass and a groundhog.
I sprayed the place with anything that could kill. The container had to look like something that brought death. I sprayed oven cleaner everywhere. Figured, that stuff has to be fatal. I touched it once and lost a finger. It's got to kill.
If you’re ever selling a kind of spray to kill animals, make sure the package has the animal dying. Words aren’t enough. The animal with no hope of life entices people to buy it. People like to see animals dying.
I went to Home Depot and got everything that looked like a mouse getting electrocuted. See a mouse getting shocked, I bought it. Any picture of a cat that looks like a serial killer, I bought the product. The scarier and more felonious the feline looks, the better. Cat with spiked hair, looks good to me. I put out those traps. Then I put up the cat pictures to scare the mice. Thought the mug shot of the cat might scare them out of the house. Let the mouse know there was a tyrant, and its name was Tomcat. I put up those Tomcat pictures, I was scared to walk around the house. That's a scary looking cat.
I figured. If cats scare me, they must frighten the Beheyma out of mice.
Defenses were up. I used every trap.
People said don't put out the glue traps. I asked them why. Answer. "Because they work. Mice don't like them and they work." Then they said something about the mouse suffers as it dies slowly. So, I put it out.
Put out the clip trap. That caught my finger.
Put out the maze trap where they go inside think they're having fun, and die. The maze trap didn't work. The mouse has to find the entrance to that thing. It's a maze. To get over the ramp into that thing, you've got to be a brilliant mouse looking for a fun activity. I got rid of the maze fun park trap. My goal wasn't to set up a rodent jungle gym. I got a Rubik's Cube instead. Gave the mouse another activity to keep him occupied. Take his mind off of eating my wall.
Got the shock trap, where they go through a mouse hallway and get zapped. I guess that incapacitates them for a few minutes, before they wake up and finish their burglary of my house.
​I prayed. When you go to battle, you pray. Just as Yaakov. I prayed and set up traps. I put out traps with peanut butter. Peanut butter was the gift. I went Biblical on the mice. I get my battle ideas from the Torah.
I used peanut butter on every trap. The barbed wire was smothered. This way you touch the barbed wire and your hands get sticky. Everybody said "use peanut butter." Peanut butter was on every trap and not one of those traps caught a mouse. 
 
Most people suggested the maze trap, as then you can carry the mouse out of your home, let it live and drop it in your neighbor’s yard. Give them the mouse problem. But I’m not that much of an animal activist.
I would’ve purchased the mouse edible block poison, but I didn’t need the mouse tripping all over my house. The peanut butter also didn’t spread well on the edible. Instead, I put out bread. Figured peanut butter on bread is excellent. I like that. Mice would like that too.
 
That was a good five days at Home Depot and the grocery store. Why the Wegmans grocery store sells mouse traps. They’re a loss leader for peanut butter.
My house was secured and ready. Traps out. I learned a lot. One thing I learned, mice don't like peanut butter. Maybe they're allergic to peanut butter. I don't know.
 
The Search
For months I heard the mouse running around the house. But I wasn't a hundred percent sure. I thought it was the new wood floor they put in, settling, pitter-pattering every night. Maybe a cockroach. The mouse was gaslighting me. These animals are smart. They know what they're doing.
Every day I checked the mouse traps, to make sure they didn’t work. And to make sure I didn’t have to pick up another jar of peanut butter. I was running out.
I didn't want the traps to work. If I catch the mouse, what then?!
 
The Mouse Was There
I'm walking up the stairs from the basement. I did laundry that night. I have to walk all the way down the stairs to put up a load, then I have to walk back up. I'm almost as scared to do laundry as I am to throw out garbage. I'm walking up the stairs and I see something pretty big on the glue trap. My soul fell. My heart dropped. My eyes got wet. It's been fifteen years since I've achieved anything. I went on a four day fishing trip. Caught nothing. 
Must've been the Shpritz I sprayed around the house, with the picture of a mouse going to hell on it.
It wasn't one of my nephews. It was the mouse. The glue trap caught it. I know because I saw it breathing. A creature of Gd that was not a spider. Nor was it one of my kin that doesn't help around the house.
I felt so bad. I didn’t want to kill it. I definitely didn’t want to see it suffering on the glue trap. I would’ve much rather put it in my neighbor’s house. And I cared about this mouse. What could I do? Could I drop off the glue trap with the mouse on it at my neighbor?

Now that the trap worked, my heart was broken. Yet, I felt like a champion. A champion who felt pain.
 
Postscript
It wasn’t the peanut butter. The mouse ate none of the peanut butter. The peanut butter was still there.
Is peanut butter inhumane? I can't tell you. 

To be honest. Those glue traps are great for catching spiders. Centipedes, ants, spiders. Mice eat those. Put centipedes on the mouse traps. Just a piece of advice.
 
Somebody got wind of the pictures I put up to scare the mouse. They thought I lost my pet. Ended up bringing me an actual tomcat. Now I have no idea how to get rid of the thing. There are no tomcat traps with scary looking mice on them. Now, I’m too scared to throw out garbage in my house.

You can't hide the bad news from kids anymore. Their Hebrew is too good. And whose fault is it. Yours. You sent them to Jewish day school, you sent them to Israel. Some of you made Aliyah and moved to Israel. And you wonder why you have to load up on sugar cereal every time you go to the supermarket.

Parents Try to Hide Stuff
Going shopping. You don’t want them to know. Otherwise, you’re picking up ice pops and Frosted Flakes again.
Parents try to hide information from their kids. That is the goal of parenting. You don’t want your kids to know stuff. Otherwise, you have to start explaining to the little critters why you brought them into this world. And you can't explain that. You're still trying to figure out why Frosted Flakes are so bad. Thus, you hide everything. "We're going camping tomorrow." "When are we going to let the kids know?" "Never." "Won't they figure it out once we're there?" "No."

We're Trying to Hide the Sickness
We're trying to hide the stuff about their Bubby’s condition. Figured, that's what we can do to help. We don't have much say as to the medical treatment, but we can hide stuff from the nephews and nieces. The problem is their Hebrew. The Jewish day schools are teaching too good.
I tried talking in Hebrew about Bubby. It was over in a second. "I know what 'Tiguva' means, I learned it in school." He then went off on a whole rant with the word. No concern for his Bubby, he was just so proud of himself for knowing the word "Tiguva." I had never seen such happiness to a conversation about somebody in the ICU for three weeks.
I have no idea what Tiguva means. I just used it because it sounded Hebrew. I think I was talking about some vacation I went on. I don't know. It was Hebrew. I truly didn't understand what I was saying. I just got involved in the moment. Heard everybody else talking Hebrew. Thought "there's illness, and you don't use English when somebody's sick." I am thinking English is an Eyin Hara. And I don't want to bring the evil eye when kids are around.

Their Hebrew
Their Hebrew is better than mine. My Hebrew is too basic to hide stuff from kids. I can’t Echad Ha’Am my Hebrew. I can’t pull out Navi Prophet words, that are now considered modern poetry if somebody uses it in their writing. People are amazed when somebody uses the Biblical "Vav." The way that letter that changes the future to past tense is mesmerizing. If you can’t understand my transliteration of the Hebrew letter, you're also lacking basic parenting skills. How do you plan to hide stuff from your kids if you can't transliterate?!

Jewish Day Schools Have Ruined Parenting
They’ve got to stop bringing these Israelis to American schools, teaching Hebrew. It is killing parenting. You can’t hide sickness from kids. "'Choleh.' That means sick. I know. I learned it. I'm awesome." No care about who is sick, just happy and prideful they know the word.
They know Hebrew, yet they're not saying Tehillim for their Bubby. They learned the word Tehillim in school, but they can't say the prayers.
And then they're teaching the kids a third language. Now, you can’t hide from them in French. Forget Spanish. They know that too. If I'm going to parent, I am learning Norwegian. They don't teach that in school.

Even if They Did Bad in School
They know something is up, even if they don't speak the language. They know, they hear Hebrew, it's serious. "Mom and dad are talking a language in grammatically incorrect form, somebody is ill."
You speak any language other than local dialect, they know it's not good. "Mom and dad are talking Portuguese again. Somebody must've passed away this time." “Anytime mom and dad talk Portuguese, something bad happens. I’m starting to see a pattern. I think grandpa just had a heart attack. And I think Portuguese is quite ominous.” “How do you know?” “They switched from English to Portuguese. Mid-sentence." 

Now the Kids Think Your Native Language is an Angry Tongue
You speak to your kids in Russian all the time, they are asking, "Why is Russian such an angry language?" Because your mom talks to you in Russian. And your mom doesn't like you.
You think French is the language of love. That's until you hear mom. Mom uses French to scream, because she's French.
I hear a woman speaking Spanish, I know she's mad at her husband. In English she's all kind with her, "Oh Honey. Jue are sweet." Might throw in a Mi Amor. She switches to Spanish, she starts talking fast speed, something went wrong. Dad's in trouble and kids are taking out the trash.
Jews, we used to have Yiddish. Got out our anger among the kids in Yiddish. And everybody knew who the Putz was.

Next time something bad happens, just say "Shalom Koolam Hakol LTova" when you get home. The kids will know, it is Hebrew, something bad is going on. No need to yell. “Mom and dad are talking with messed up grammar again. Something is wrong.” 
Or you can just tell the little ones, "Somebody died. There is death in the world. You don't have too long in this place. That's why you've got to put more effort into the Siddur party."

Conclusion
You want to really protect your kids. You want to hide information from the kids. You want to parent right. Stop teaching them Hebrew. Keep your kids uneducated.
Don't send kids to Jewish day school. Definitely don't teach them languages. Focus their education on English. Nobody uses English to hide news from their kids.
Me and my wife are going to learn sign language. It's harder to yell in sing language. And I want my kids to know that sign language is a language of love.

If you don’t care about protecting your kids, move to Israel. They will definitely know something is wrong when you try talking in Hebrew with your messed up vocabulary. They will realize how dumb mom and dad are, when they can't order Falafel like a normal person.
It's easier to keep your kids dumb in America.

And I am stuck trying to figure out why my sister-in-law is trying to teach her kids French.

***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-2020 in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.

It’s been a year and I don’t know what any of it means. All I have are ideas.
I’ve been saying Kaddish all year. No idea what it means. I still have no idea what "Ba’agalah" means. I said it around eight to twelve times a day for eleven months and I have no idea. I look in the English every time. Just looked at the English a few minutes ago. Forgot already. Anyways. Everything should be Ba'agalah. That sounds like a good blessing to give on a Yahrzeit.
It's been four years since I had those thoughts on my Abba's first Yahrzeit. And I still haven't figured it out

Maybe people figure some of this death stuff out quick. They're usually intellectuals. People in college who haven't lost anybody yet. But they have death down. They know Gd's plan. They sat on the quad with a buddy. I think it takes longer when it's your dad.
There's a lot I still haven't figured out. I still don't know how to get the dishwasher to work. It just sits there. If there is one reason for reincarnation, it would be to find out who broke the dishwasher. Was the dishwasher was broken before I tried using it. Why is Abba not in the physical Olam anymore. I have questions. How did it break. Maybe it was me. I will never know. 

Abba was my father. Hence, I called him Abba. Yet, to most, he was a rabbi, a rebbe. It's hard to see the rebbe when they're setting a bedtime for you, and saying you can't watch any more TV.
I read that Hasidim, a rebbe's adherents, would follow their masters in their last days. They follow them all the time. Very nosy. This is a reason to not have Hasidim. You go grocery shopping and fifty people are following you down the canned foods aisle, and not one of them offers to pay. But this specifically speaks of their rebbe's last days, as they learn from the way the rebbe lives and dies. "To record the last moments of their masters was for Hasidim a sacred task" (Jewish Reflections on Death, Riemer, p.16). These community leaders, Hasidic Rebbes, are also known as a Tzadik, righteous person. And they probably wouldn't have passed away if the Hasidim would've put down a pen and called a doctor.
I didn’t record anything as I have seen what happens nowadays with social media. However, I witnessed my father’s last days of living in Olam Haguf (I call it the world of the body, because the only thing about passing that I know is that we are not using our body for actions anymore- at least for now).
Sometimes, the only way for a rebbe to shake off his Hasidim is by dying.

Being with my father the last months of his life in the physical Olam I learned of forgiveness. He forgave. He judged not. His last words were of love. What makes a Tzadik? I would say forgiveness. If we are judged as righteous when our Mitzvot outweigh our Aveirot (sins), we are definitely righteous when we are able to help others in that process of having less Aveirot. And that is what forgiveness does.
My rebbe always thought about others. And that is what he expressed in his final days.
Other people are annoying. They mess up. My Abba always saw people for good.
In his last days, my Abba taught me that even congregants have good in them. It's hard to see that, but it's there. And you have to forgive them for being idiots. That's what I got out of it.
 
What’s the lesson that we learn when a Tzadik passes? I don’t know. I’ll give a sermon about it at some point. Who knows, somebody else may give a sermon about it. They will have no idea what it means. Even so, it will sound good. It will sound meaningful. It will sound like the rabbi knows what’s going on. Even though the guy has never lost somebody. They had a buddy who thought about death in Ancient Stoic Philosophy 101.
I do know that I wasn't trying to learn a lesson those final days. I'm still not trying to learn a lesson. Being there with my dad was life itself. Not a lesson. You tell me there is something to be learned, and I will not be happy. People don't want to learn lessons about dying. If you want to lose your job as a rabbi, start telling people it's good their parents passed, because they can learn something from it. But I learned a lot from it. Just don't tell me that.
There is always an idiot leader ready to piss off the mourners. Usually, they wait for communal tragedy to share their thoughts.

Following the rebbe in their last days has something to do with what’s truly important in life. People seem to hone in on what’s important when they’re faced with mortality. When it's my time, I’ll probably be focused on selling my baseball cards. I know I’m mortal and that’s what I’m focusing on now. I can't get rid of those things. It will just be a greater degree of urgency. I’ll probably do a flash sale from the hospital. Collecting as a child focuses the rest of your life on selling the stuff. 
We’re faced with mortality every day. Walking under the trees in my neighborhood. The trees are old. Every morning, I see countless branches on the ground. Dead. Dead branches. I’m just happy I’m sleeping when it’s happening. I can’t deal with more death right now. And I am not following the trees right before the arborist cuts it down. Though, I am sure they think congregants are annoying. And I know they hate dogs.
Those last days, when the body is weakening, are the culmination of one's true thoughts. What does one want to leave in this world. Abba wanted to make sure I trimmed the hedges. He didn't mention the baseball cards. Those were still in the house. And he wanted to know that everybody else was good. They were good and righteous in Gd's eyes.
When will I start thinking about others, like my rebbe, my Abba?!

The Rebbe focuses his life as a community leader. One who leads people in Torah. Their students follow them, as they know that the actions of their rebbe represent Torah. And then, their last days, you see the culmination of this part of their life. What they seem to believe it was all about. Generally, the culmination is represented with tubes and a lot of sedation. They’re spent wondering how a bed with so many different incline positions can be so uncomfortable. But for those other moments, you see someone’s true essence. And Abba wanted me to turn off the TV. And to have a conversation with is son. He wanted his son to know he is a decent dude, and he's proud of him. Not because his son accomplished anything. It goes without saying, that didn't happen. But because he thought his son cared about people and was a good human being. Basically, Abba knew I accomplished nothing. Loading up the house with boxes of baseball cards isn't a source of Nachis. But his son caring about Pete Rose being in the Hall of Fame, that's a source of Nachis.
Abba was proud of all his kids. Which goes to show, never trust a parent who tells you how great their children are.
Truth is, Abba did support my comedy and got Nachis from that. Not because of success. But because I cared and hopefully did something of a giving nature with it. And that is where Abba's mind was. It was focused on what is truly important. When it comes to other people. It's caring about them. And Abba taught me that throughout his life. I would've followed Abba everywhere, taking notes, but Abba was skeptical of journalists.

Those last days, my Abba, the rebbe, shared with me the moments of his beautiful interactions with people. Challenges and how they were overcome. He was sharing with me what is truly important. Family, caring for people, seeing other people in a positive light. Even if they are pieces of…
 I try to now see people in a positive light. I see it something like "we wouldn’t be able to see good in the world if there wasn’t evil." That’s why I worked my last job. I wouldn’t have known hypocrisy, lies and evil if I didn’t work there.

Lessons from this Yahrzeit
Losing my Abba and rebbe in this world is hard. But I do thank Gd, as with all gifts, for the holy day of the Yahrzeit. For Kaddish which I don't understand. For being blessed with parents that were so caring, with an ability to see the blessing of people. And for those last days with my Abba. I would never trade those last months in the house, taking in my father's heightened sense of perspective before heading to Olam Haba.
In those last days of us talking, Abba turned into my rebbe. In their last days, many people project their thoughts onto their parents. They turn their parents into something they want, so that they can cope. To be blessed to take in those days with my father sharing his true feelings, learning from him. And to take in his love for Yiddishkeit and people, while wondering why the baseball cards are still in his house.

All those hours by his bedside. Those conversations in the home I grew up in, I learned so much about outlook. To not judge people. For they are all idiots. My father couldn't shake that thought from me. 
My father saw everybody as talented. As precious. As holy. And he always gave them that respect. That's what my Rebbe taught. And he taught that throughout his life. I should've written that down over the many years, instead of advocating for myself to eat hamburgers and deli at 2am.
I would've rather he just told me who broke the dishwasher.

I miss those moments in this Olam. But I feel the holy moments all the time. Todah Rabbah for passing that on. At the end, the real success is just being decent and caring, and forgiving.
I've got to start letting people know they're good dudes and I'm proud of them, even though they're idiots.
May it all be Ba'agalah. Whatever that means. I’m sure it’s a blessing.
 
***For an Aliyas Neshama for הרב ישעיה בן יחזקאל הלוי זצ"ל and all the Tzadikim who made and continue to make this Olam a great life.