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Sara Hindy: The Real Me

Temima Levy

Sara Hindy had no words, but the look on her face said it all. The kind gestures had left their mark mark — and her Navi mark didn’t matter at all

Wednesday, November 09, 2016

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"H

i! Anyone home?” Sara Hindy called out, dropping her briefcase at the foot of the stairs.

“I’m here,” replied her mother, sticking her head out from the laundry room. “How was your day?”

“It was okay,” Sara Hindy answered, her eyes scanning the pantry for a snack. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “These cookies look good! I think I’ll take some to my room.” She scooped up a handful, tossed them into a sandwich bag, and headed upstairs, picking up her briefcase on the way.

Sara Hindy paused to consider and prioritize her homework to-do list. There was Chumash review, a math worksheet, a Navi quiz… Navi! There was that Navi test in her folder given back to her just as Morah Winter came in for second period and she hadn’t even had time to look at it. She pulled out the test paper from her folder…

“A 58?! How in the world did I get such a mark!? I studied the whole Sunday for this test!” Sara Hindy recalled studying with her friend Rochel from nine in the morning until seven at night, confident she would get a good mark. But now she realized that wasn’t the case. No matter how hard she studied for Navi, or for any test for that matter, her marks never bore the fruits of her labor.

Her mood didn’t improve when the next day she got back a Halachah test with a 60 on it. And that was after locking herself in her room for four hours, and studying her brains out.

“I’ve had it!” she cried, that afternoon. “That’s it! No more studying for Sara Hindy!’’ Her briefcase untouched, she plopped down on her bed and let the tears come freely.

Ten minutes later, when Sara Hindy’s mother passed by her daughter’s room on the way to the den, the tears were still flowing, the sobs audible from behind the closed door.

Knocking softly, her mother quietly opened the door to find her daughter lying face down on her bed, sobbing into her pillow.

Sitting down next to Sara Hindy, her mother asked softly, “What’s the matter, sweetie?” Shrugging her shoulders, Sara Hindy just kept on crying while her mother sat next to her with a concerned look on her face.

“Sara Hindy,” her mother said softly, “please tell me what’s wrong. I want to help.”

Sitting up and letting herself fall into her mother’s arms, she explained, in between sobs, how disappointed she was with her marks. “I’ll never be able to get a good mark!” Sara Hindy cried. “I’m a klutz and a dumbbell and I’m never going to study again!”

 

“Sara Hindy,” her mother replied, “you’re a great girl. Not everyone is good at everything. You are great at art and amazing with children. You know how the neighborhood children love when you come to babysit them.”

“But what about my marks? Isn’t that more important?”

Later that night Sara Hindy’s parents had a quiet talk over cups of calming tea. “What should we do with Sara Hindy?” her mother asked worriedly. “I mean, besides hiring a tutor for her in school, she also needs to recognize her strong qualities that Hashem has given her.”

“We both know she enjoys art. Maybe we can send her to art class,” replied her father. “We can even set up a small art studio in the basement for her to try her hand at painting. She’d love it!”

“That’s a good idea,” her mother agreed. “And as for her talent with kids, well, I have an idea…”

 

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