A Gift for My Aunt Sara

By Chani Vogel

For me it started out as any other Friday morning does. I got my challah dough up, and my soup was bubbling gently on the back burner of my stove. I had my mounds of veggies to cut and cook, and my chicken was waiting to be put into the oven. My kids went to the bus, and I sat down for a coffee. My cousin private messaged me. Did Ari text you? No, as a matter of fact, he didn’t. Ari is my uncle. His wife, my father’s sister, Sara Blesofsky A”H passed away four months ago. It still blows me away that my aunt that I loved will never ask me how I am doing again. Friday was her birthday, and her family was making a small breakfast in her honor. My mom called me at the same time, to ask me to come.

I turned off the flames, punched down the dough, and got dressed. Whatever had to be made for Shabbos could wait. I will never miss an opportunity, bli neder, to give my precious aunt an aliyas neshama. I came into the house, and most of my father’s siblings were there. I made a coffee, and sat down to join everyone. Someone I did not know came into the house, and a small side table was being set up. The unknown man was a sofer, and they were starting a sefer torah L’ilui nishmas, Shterna Sara bas R Chaim. Shterna Sara bas R’ Chaim. Bas her father’s name? It still makes me shiver. My aunt, a valiant fighter in every manner, is now being recalled by her father’s name. Hashem gives, Hashem takes away. Hashem gives. He gave the world a person who personified a “bas melech.” Sarah was a tzniusdike person, not just in dress, but in action as well. She taught by example, kol kvudah bas melech penima. Take away He certainly did. My aunt suffered with dignity. She suffered privately and quietly until the end. In the beginning she decided that she didn’t want to put anyone out. Stubbornly, she used to sit through horrible chemo sessions on her own, and then come home from the hospital by train herself. She would walk the streets, and continue to do her grocery shopping on her own.

Many people loved Sara. She taught in Bais Rivkah and her students adored her. I had the privilege of working with her as a substitute for a few days. I can recall how she taught her students parsha, the parsha was Va’era, and she made sure the little angels in her class knew it well. At first there were whispers, how is your aunt Sara? Time and again, we heard good news. She was doing better, she was feeling good. The numbers were down. And we all thanked Hashem. She was getting better, she was fighting the ultimate fight, and she was determined to live. She had so much to live for, she told me that herself. Her husband would talk with pride about how strong she was, and how her family blood lines, the genetics of Reb Chaim Tashkenter, were coming out, and waging war against her prognosis. But getting well completely was never part of His plan, and so she passed away. Even in her death she had dignity, and compassion for others. She just hung in there until my brother got married. My father was able to dance with simcha at his baby’s wedding. Two days into sheva brochos we got the news. Shterna Sarah bas R Chaim had returned her neshama to her maker.

The pain was so raw, and biting. To know Sarah was to love her. It is evidenced in the expression that comes across one’s face when they recall her name, and whatever it was she meant to them. Be it a teacher, a mentor, or just a listening ear. On the other hand, her suffering, she kept silent.

Her children are carrying on her legacy. All her married children are on shlichus. Her oldest son, Avremel is a shliach in New Jersey. He decided, and it was, a Torah would be the perfect way of carrying on his mother’s name. He spoke to a sofer, and hired him. On Friday, Sara’s birthday they would give her the eternal birthday present of Chaim Nitzchiyim. She will always be mezakeh ess horabim. That is the way she lived. This is the way she will continue. Even in death, she will be mezakeh ess horabim. Sara, I miss you. My kids miss you. They miss coming to do bikur cholim. The world is definitely missing you. We are missing in so many ways. May you be a melitzah yosheres to all of us, your children, your siblings, your husband, your extended family. Not one to care only for yourself, may you be a melitzah yosheres to all of klal yisroel, culminating in the ultimate brocha, of Moshiach NOW, when we will be able to dance (tee lala) in your kitchen with you again, while your husband and your children give you nachas of being mekayem birchas kohanim, in the Bais Hamikdosh, and giving to the world, the way you did all your life, and the way you continue to give today as well.

If you would like to have the honor of contributing to the great mitzvah of writing the sefer torah L’Ilui Nishmas, Shterna Sarah Bas Chaim, please click here.