Adapted from: A Heart for Another by Rabbi Yaakov Bender

I have been privileged to be exposed to giants of the spirit throughout my life, wise men and women, and I have tried to observe and learn.

If there is a common denominator, a single middah that connects all of them, it might be this one: hakaras hatov. It goes beyond gratitude, however. It reflects not just humility, but also the determination to remember, to never lose sight of a chessed performed, and to live with that recognition.

People trained to see Hashgachah pratis appreciate that each action has significance. They are aware that if a person was sent by Shamayim to help them, then part of seeing the chasdei Hashem involves seeing the role played by the Divine messenger.

Marrying off a daughter is special. The night of my daughter’s chasunah, in the summer of 2011, remains etched in my memory. During the dancing, at the peak of the joy, I noticed an older man being helped into the hall, and it took me a moment to realize who it was. It was Rav Don Ungarisher, Rosh Yeshivah of Beis Medrash Elyon in Monsey, and it was difficult for him to walk.

I was astonished that he would make the effort, and I reasoned that it was because of a familial connection he had with my mother-in-law, but he told me differently. “I came out of hakaras hatov,” the Rosh Yeshivah said to me.

In 1940, Reb Don and his two siblings had left Vienna for America, their parents planning to follow on the next boat. That next boat did not make it out, however, and their parents were murdered, Rachmana litzlan, leaving the three children on their own in a strange country.

Although Yeshiva Torah Vodaath accepted the two boys into the yeshivah and dormitory, giving them some semblance of a home, the sister was on her own — that is, until my mother became involved. She welcomed the young girl into our family. My mother helped her acclimate to America and succeed in Bais Yaakov. Eventually, she married Rav Manis Mandel, and enjoyed nachas from a beautiful Torah family.

This had taken place in 1940, over seventy years before my daughter’s wedding. My mother was gone and Reb Don’s sister was gone, but he lived with that memory before him, along with the obligation to acknowledge it. Later, his driver told me that the Rosh Yeshivah — who was niftar just two months later — was feeling weak that day, but he insisted on going to the chasunah just the same.

The Rosh Yeshivah would not let himself forget.