Discovering My Gift: A Father’s Talk That Changed Everything

How deeply I wanted to make him proud. I so badly wished I could bring my father even just one “almost good” grade instead of the usual “barely passing” ones. But I couldn’t.

One quiet Shabbat, when it was just the two of us at home, I must’ve been in fifth or sixth grade, I gathered the courage to speak with him. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was, that I couldn’t bring him the joy that my sister did.

He listened closely, looking at me with such gentle eyes. And although he was usually reserved with words, what he told me that day became the most beautiful conversation of my life.

“Gadi,” he said softly, “a father doesn’t love his children because of good grades. A father loves his children because he has no choice. They’re his blood, his soul. He has to love them. Even if they make mistakes, he still loves them. But you, Gadi… you never did anything wrong.”

I tried to respond, “But, Dad…” He stopped me gently and said, “Shhh… Gadi, just listen.

When Hashem created the world, He didn’t make it perfect, He made it interesting. That’s why He made people in different shapes, with different colors and strengths. Each person gets their own set of tools.

To one person He gives wealth. To another, skilled hands. One person gets musical talent, another is gifted in math. We don’t know why Hashem gives certain gifts to some and not to others. That’s not up to us to understand.

But what we can say is this: you don’t blame someone for the tools Hashem didn’t give them. You only ask whether they’re using the tools they do have.

That’s why I’m telling you two things today, Gadi. First, don’t complain about the tools you were given. And second, sometimes it takes time to discover those tools, because they’re hidden. So be patient. Be patient, like your Abba. One day, you’ll find out what tools Hashem gave you too.”

Oh, how I loved my father that Shabbat. I wanted to hug him or even kiss him, but I was too shy. This quiet, wise man gave me a gift that day, a message that stayed with me for the rest of my life.

Back then, very few people in our country had even heard of dyslexia, learning challenges, or other difficulties that children sometimes face in school.

A year or two later, I finally discovered the tools Hashem had hidden in me.

I was sitting in class, though I don’t even remember which class it was. Our regular teacher was sick, so we had a substitute. He was speaking about something, and I was in my own world, sketching.

Suddenly, I realized the substitute teacher was standing next to me. Before I could hide my drawing, he took the paper I’d been doodling on.

He looked at it and asked, “What’s this?”

I answered, “Just doodling.”

He pointed to the figure I’d drawn and asked, “What did you draw here?”

I said quietly, “It’s just… you. Standing by the board.”

He took the drawing and slipped it into his bag.

A few days later, I found out that this substitute teacher’s father was a well-known artist. He had shown him my sketch, and not long after, that artist came to our house. He looked at more of my drawings and then told my parents they must do everything they could to support my talent.

And they did.

From that moment on, my Abba moved mountains to make sure I could learn from the best artists, both in Israel and abroad.

Today, I’m 42. And last month, I opened my 28th exhibition, this one in New York, at the Museum of Modern Art.

And what does my retired father say about it all? He just smiles and says, “What’s the big deal? The child found his tools and he’s using them.”

So if you're struggling to find your place, or watching a child who feels “behind,” remember: Hashem gives every soul its tools. Some are revealed early. Others are hidden, waiting for the right moment to shine.

Don’t rush. Don’t lose hope. You are not broken. You are in the process of becoming.

“Don’t seek society’s permission to be yourself.”