To My Dear Kalla, 

A Guten Chodesh!

Every stage of life gives us a different perspective.

Looking back, there are so many decisions I made years ago that leave me shaking my head today. At the time, though, they seemed perfectly reasonable.

Sometimes I watch someone make a decision and think, What were they thinking?

And then, almost immediately, I remember.

I did the same thing.

Maybe not the exact same thing, but something just as impulsive, just as optimistic, and just as lacking in common sense.

One memory always makes me smile.

Our third child was born on a Thursday. Our oldest son was turning three that Sunday, and of course I had planned his upsherin. I had baked. I had bought the paper goods. I had invited everyone.

Thursday—a baby.

Motzaei Shabbos—I came home from the hospital with a newborn.

Sunday morning? We made the upsherin, took him to cheder, and hosted family and friends in our house.

Now I look back and think, What in the world was I thinking?

Why didn’t I just postpone it for a couple of weeks? It wasn’t a bris. Nobody would have minded. It didn’t matter! I was an upsherin!!!

What amazes me even more is my mother-in-law. She came, helped, smiled, and never said a word. Not one, “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Not one raised eyebrow. She let me learn without making me feel silly.

There are so many other examples.

I’ve driven through the night more times than I care to admit. Back then I thought my parents were worrying for nothing. Today, when my own children do it, I don’t relax until I know they’ve arrived safely.

Years ago I packed up and went to a boys’ sleep-away camp with a four-day-old baby. The bungalow had mice! At the time it seemed perfectly reasonable. Today I honestly can’t imagine doing that.

Just recently I was speaking to a principal. We were talking about summer homework, and she said, “How can I assign summer homework? I can barely get my own children to sit down and do it. Between my own work, shidduchim, everything going on at home, and kids just wanting to enjoy the summer, it’s hard.”

The minute she said it, all judgment disappeared. Sometimes we look at someone else’s situation and wonder why they aren’t doing something differently. Then one conversation—or one stage of life—changes everything.

The same is true in so many parts of life.

Maybe I wonder why someone isn’t careful about a halachic standard that feels so obvious to me. But maybe it took me years to get there. Maybe someone patiently taught me. Maybe this isn’t their nisayon.

Maybe I think someone is wasting time on something I would never spend time doing. But maybe I once did exactly that. Or maybe I still waste time—just on different things.

It’s amazing how memory has a way of replacing judgment with compassion.

Of course, there are times when we need to guide, protect, and speak up. There are decisions that truly require intervention. But so many of life’s mistakes are simply part of growing up. They become the stories we laugh about years later. They’re part of how Hashem helps us grow.

So what made me think about all of this?

The other day I came across a picture of myself from years ago. Don’t worry—the details are staying private!

I looked at the picture and my first reaction was,

Me??? That???

And then I laughed.

Yes…

It was me.

And yes…

It was that.

Somehow, over the years, I had forgotten.

Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to look at someone else’s choices and think,

What were they thinking?

Because we forget that once upon a time, someone could have looked at us and asked the very same question.

Thank You, Hashem, for giving us the gift of growing—not just because we become wiser, but because, if we’re paying attention, we become kinder too.

In this month of repairing relationships, deepening our connections, and learning to truly feel another person’s pain, let’s try to put this into practice. Before we judge, let’s remember our own stories. Let’s remember the patience others had with us—and the patience that Hashem continues to have with us every single day.

Wishing you continued growth, patience with yourselves and with others, and many opportunities to look back at your own stories with gratitude… and maybe even a smile.

Warmly,

Debbie Selengut