To My Dear Kallas, עמו”ש

A Guten Chodesh!

Sometimes I think about the people who quietly shaped my life — not the obvious ones like parents or teachers, but the everyday people who simply happened to be part of my world, at different stages.

The neighbors I grew up next to. The girls who I sat near in class. The girls in my bunks in camp. Seminary roommates. Women I’ve taught alongside of. The children who lived near my grandparents that I played with during Yom. The families whose homes I was in and out of as a child without giving it any thought.

At the time, they were just there. Familiar faces. Part of the comfortable background of growing up. I certainly didn’t imagine that many of them would be significant to me years later.

And yet, at different junctures at my life, those people that were “random” (I hate that word) at the time, can be very significant to us.

Even as adults, we land in certain places for very practical reasons. A building that works. A block close to school. A house that was affordable (or not). Some families our age on the block.  A community that fits the stage of life we’re in.

At the time, they’re just neighbors — friendly hellos in the hallway, quick conversations at a kiddush, and familiar faces at carpool lines or at the grocery store.

But when I look back, I start to notice something special.

There was Sanhedria HaMurchevet, when we were newlyweds, figuring out life in a small apartment and learning — without realizing it — how much you absorb just by watching the people around you.
There was Lakewood, where neighbors modeled things about raising children, running a home, and living their authentic values.
There was Denver, where warmth, community, and an exposure to the world of Kiruv, gently left their marks.
And then Passaic, where once again the people around us added dimension to how I think about family, chinuch, and connection.

At the time, it all feels very ordinary. Just life unfolding.

I watched how someone handled a child who was particularly challenging — and without realizing it, I learned something about patience, creativity, and consistency.
I noticed how couples spoke to each other — how they handled stress, disagreement, humor, and teamwork.

I picked up small things along the way — organizational systems, recipes, kitchen shortcuts, laundry hacks, shopping secrets, how a home runs smoothly (and sometimes what happens when it doesn’t).
People added a Chinuch insight, a gem of wisdom about life — or sometimes just fun.

None of this felt like learning at the time. It was just living near real people and watching real life happen.

What’s also fascinating is how these connections can pop up when life hits certain milestones.

When you’re marrying off a child and suddenly need perspective or solid advice.
When you have a child in shidduchim and need real information about a family or a community; (and like we always say, knows both sides, but likes me more!)
When we’re thinking about moving and realize we know one person in that area — someone you met years ago — and now they’re our first phone call.
When a life change nudges you to reach out to someone you haven’t spoken to in a long time.

And somehow, you just pick up where you left off. The conversation flows easily. The relationship feels familiar and trusting.

It’s hard for me not to notice the hashgacha in that. People seem to enter our lives long before we understand why. Connections get planted early — sometimes casually, sometimes briefly — and later they become bridges, sources of wisdom, clarity, and support.

It reminds me that ordinary moments matter far more than I often realize.

And sometimes, this awareness comes through something very personal.

Recently, our family — and Klal Yisrael — said goodbye to two older, dear family friends who were a huge part of my younger years, Dr. Abba Spero and Mr. Murray Koval. They both, in their individual ways, had a profound impact on our childhood. Hashem placed us as their neighbors, leading to years of wisdom, friendship, and guidance.  Thinking about them brought back so many warm memories and a deep appreciation for how much certain people quietly shape us over time.

With Love,

Mrs. D. Selengut