Smile & the world Smiles Back

“What?! That’s crazy—it can’t be!” my mother exclaimed, horrified.

I was about to embark on an 18-hour-and-40-minute flight from New York to Singapore.

I had flown to New York via LA to help my daughter after her third child, assuming my return flight would be similar. But no—this was the ticket I had. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t check your itinerary until the day before your flight.

When I realised how long the journey was, I Googled it, and sure enough, it’s called the longest flight in the world.

I don’t mind flying, but this trip had already been eventful, so I was a bit anxious about my return. Still, I said my Tefilat Haderech, and with that, I knew it would all be okay.

The reason my mum was so worried? Well, she’s a Jewish mother.

Jewish mothers need something to worry about—it’s practically in their DNA. Every week, she finds a new concern, and off she goes, stressing about it. Sometimes, I even wonder: Am I Jewish enough?

Jokes aside, she had every reason to worry.

On my first Shabbat at my daughter’s place, I was rushing down the stairs—fast, because that’s how I do things—while wearing airplane socks. Bad idea. I slipped and fell all the way down.

I’m not old-old (like 100), but I’m also not young (53). I was bruised up pretty badly. I hurt my thigh, my ribs, and worst of all, my ankle. I could hardly walk for the rest of the day.

I spent most of it on the couch, my foot elevated with an ice pack. Thankfully, babies love being held and burped, and my grandkids were thrilled to hear stories, so couch time wasn’t all that bad.

By the grace of G-d, I didn’t break any bones, and by Monday, I was up and walking again.

As with most things in my life, I quickly moved on. The only reminders of the fall were a few bruises on my leg—but out of sight, out of mind, right?

The following week, I developed an infection in my mouth.

Luckily, my son-in-law is a doctor and prescribed me the right antibiotics. It cleared up quickly, and within a few days, it was a distant memory.

But then came the mama of all stomach bugs.

I vomited all Wednesday night. By 4 a.m., I was weak but felt the need to head back to the bathroom. That’s when it happened.

I don’t know how, but I fainted. I woke up on the bathroom floor, feeling warmth on the left side of my face.

I had hit my head and shoulder badly. My eye turned black, blue, and purple. It looked awful—and felt even worse.

The next day, I slept all day and didn’t call my mum. I usually call her every day, so naturally, she got worried.

When I finally called, she was shocked to hear about my stomach bug. And, well, to gain a little more sympathy, I sent her a picture of my face. It worked. She was really worried then.

Shabbat came, and I was still weak. I couldn’t eat much, and I looked like an alien. All in all, I was a sorry sight.

Thank G-d, by Sunday, I started feeling better. I could eat more than just toast and tea, and I began regaining my strength.

Once I felt more like myself, I started reflecting on everything that had happened.

Why? Why did all of this happen to me when I came to help my daughter?

I’ll admit, part of me felt sorry for myself. I was upset at G-d.

But then I remembered something I learned a long time ago: nothing happens to you; it happens for you.

So, what was G-d trying to tell me?

For starters, He was telling me to slow down.

I don’t have to sprint down the stairs to grab a baby bottle. I’ll get there just as quickly if I walk—and without the bruises.

I’m always rushing, as if life is some sort of race. But it’s not. Life is a long, long journey, and there are no winners.

Taking the steps slowly will still get you to the top—minus a few bumps and bruises.

I’m still wrestling with G-d about it all—not in a “make-or-break” kind of way. Thank G-d, we’ve had a strong relationship for years, and I’m loyal. These mishaps aren’t going to break that. But I was hurting—physically and emotionally.

My youngest daughter gave me a new perspective.

Her friend fell down the stairs and broke her ribs. I fell in the bathroom and, thank G-d, didn’t need stitches. My eye may look bad, but G-d was looking out for me. He was kind—it could have been much worse.

After surviving a car crash or a bad illness, people often make a seudat hoda’ah—a meal to thank G-d for saving their life.

But what about the near misses? Do we thank G-d when a car almost hits us on the way to school? Do we thank Him every day for the ability to walk, for a head that’s intact, for our eyes, nose, mouth, throat, and teeth?

Despite everything, I feel incredibly blessed.

I’m no longer wearing sunglasses to cover up my black eye. Sure, I notice people looking at me, but when they do, I smile.

I smile because I look better when I smile.

I smile because most people smile back.

And most of all, I smile because G-d has been so kind to me.

When you lose—don’t lose the lesson!