When She Chose to See Only the Good in Him

The following story is completely true, aside from the necessary name change. It was shared by firsthand witnesses:

Soft knocks were heard at the door of Rabbi Neistadt, the rabbi of the “Kehal Hasidim” community in Neve Yaakov. A woman from the neighborhood stood outside, her face heavy with emotion. She came with a deep pain, hoping for the rabbi’s wisdom and comfort.

“It’s been two years today,” she began, as though the story didn’t need to be explained. “Two years since that night… the night Rubi didn’t come home. The night he chose a different life, somewhere far from the one we raised him to live.”

And with that, she burst into tears.

When she managed to calm down, the picture became clearer. Rubi had left the path of Torah—of Jewish life—and set out into the world to find something else. Her heartbreak was deep. Her child had walked away, not just from home, but from everything they held dear.

A Surprising Suggestion: Letters of Love

The rabbi and his wife listened patiently, their eyes reflecting her pain. They gave her a warm drink, encouraged her to sit, and allowed her to catch her breath. Then, gently, the Rebbetzin offered an unexpected idea.

“Our emotions are incredibly powerful,” she began. “We often don’t realize just how much they can influence the world around us—especially the people we love most. Right now, your feelings toward your son are naturally filled with hurt, disappointment, even anger. But what if we tried to shift your perspective?”

The mother looked at her, puzzled.

“Here’s what I suggest,” the Rebbetzin continued. “Each day, find a quiet moment in the evening, and write a letter to your Rubi. Don’t focus on what he’s done. Instead, write something warm. Something loving. Try to remember the good in him—maybe a childhood memory, or a trait you once admired. Even if it feels far away now, I promise it’s still there.”

The woman stared, unsure if she could even begin. But the Rebbetzin didn’t let go.

“Write something like: ‘My Rubi, even though you’re far away, I know there’s still a spark inside you that longs for home. You were such a warm, loving child. I know that hasn't disappeared.’ Or: ‘Rubi, I remember how stubborn you were—and how that stubbornness led to amazing things. That strength is still yours.’”

The woman was stunned. Could she really write something like that?

The Rebbetzin smiled. “You don’t have to send the letters. You just need to write them. Read them to yourself every day. Let your heart speak kindly, even if your mind still hurts.”

One Letter at a Time

That first night, she could barely bring herself to write the words “My dear Rubi.” Her heart ached too much. So she read those three words again and again, trying to let them in.

A few days later, she added a simple line: “My sweet Rubi, I’m sure you’re still smiling at your friends.” That was all she could manage—but it was real.

Every day she wrote. And every day, she read those letters over and over again. Slowly, a collection began to grow—a thick envelope filled with raw, beautiful emotions from a mother still waiting, still loving, even in pain. The letters didn’t erase her sorrow. In fact, they often deepened it. But something inside her began to shift. Her grief turned into longing. Her frustration became a quiet hope. Her anger softened into yearning.

From the middle of the Hebrew month of Tevet until Nisan, she continued. Even as Pesach (Passover) approached, and the house filled with cleaning and preparation, she didn’t miss a single day.

The Words That Changed Everything

It was the night of bedikat chametz—the search for leaven, traditionally done the night before Passover. The house sparkled. The cleaning was finished. And still, she sat down to write Rubi one more letter, praising his natural love for cleanliness and how helpful he once was during holiday cleaning..

That night, the phone rang.

“Mom? It’s Rubi. Can I come home for Passover?”

Such simple words.

She could barely recognize his voice. Still, she answered calmly, almost as if she had been expecting this all along. “Yes, of course.”

Only after the call ended did she begin to tremble.

Forty minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

Rubi stood there—his clothes a bit messy, his eyes full of tears, and a small smile on his face. “I’ve been all over the world,” he said quietly, “but I came back to the best place in the world.”

His mother stood frozen, barely believing what she saw. The words she managed to say were almost robotic: “Really?”

“Yes, really. Really, really!” Rubi said, crying openly now. His tears met hers as they finally embraced.

They sat for hours. Rubi spoke freely, pouring out all that he had been through. And then he explained what brought him back:

“I don’t know what happened, but ever since the middle of the winter, I started feeling this deep ache… this sense that no one in the world loved me like my mother. I kept pushing it away, but it only grew stronger. I couldn’t take it anymore. I missed you. I missed home. I just had to come back.”

His mother quietly stood up and brought him the bundle of letters.

“Rubi,” she said softly, “I didn’t just miss you. I longed for you. I chose to let go of the pain and focus on your goodness. I reminded myself every day how special you are. You couldn’t hear the words—but your soul could. That’s why you came back. Because when hearts are connected, distance doesn’t matter. And once I started seeing your goodness… you began to feel it too.”

Seeing the Good Changes Everything

There is so much pain in the world—between parents and children, teachers and students, spouses, friends, coworkers. Sometimes, it feels like those bonds can never be repaired.

But they can. It starts with us.

That student who always disrupts class—did you notice how he gave up the ball to another kid? That daughter who’s slipping in school—have you remembered how kind-hearted she is? That friend who seems distant lately—have you reminded yourself how brilliant they’ve always been?

Let’s choose to see the good.

Let’s think about it. Speak it. Write it down if we have to. Because every person carries something beautiful inside. When we focus on that goodness, we awaken it—not just in them, but in ourselves. And the results can be life-changing.

Courtesy of the Dirshu website.