The Messenger

^Fifteen years ago, if you had asked me how I was doing, I would have told you I was really struggling — both physically, keeping all the balls in the air, and spiritually, with my trust in Hashem.  

Today, life with my son who has Down syndrome looks very different. What once felt like an overwhelming challenge has become something I no longer see as a struggle. My son Yehuda is in his twenties, and I’ve baruch Hashem come to a place of completeness and wholeness. 

My journey is not particularly exceptional, but it’s unique to me, just like every person has unique challenges. Looking back, I see beauty, but then, the landscape seemed bleak. 

There’s a line I feel is the key to everyone’s life story, and it really resonates with me: Life can only be understood backward, but must be lived forward.

Hindsight is 20/20. We daven for specific things because we think we know what we need — a particular flight or train, a shidduch, a school acceptance. But we have no idea what Hashem has in store for us, or how He’s guiding us to the place we’re meant to be.

We’ve all heard the dramatic stories — someone missed a train and was saved from 9/11. But even when it’s not that obvious, we often begin to understand, in hindsight, why Hashem arranged things the way He did.

When things feel challenging, this perspective keeps me from jumping into anxiety mode. I remind myself that with time, I’ll gain clarity — and that this experience will shape me, teach me, or lead me somewhere I need to go.

Here’s a glimpse of that understanding twenty years into my own story.

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Before I got married, I worked with the disabled population — mostly children with Down syndrome. I was a licensed teacher, and ran my classroom very professionally. I loved my job, worked hard, and had a special connection to the children I taught. Yet deep within, I harbored a secret fear: that Hashem would give me such a child of my own.

Why did I feel that way? I’m not sure. It was a queasy, uneasy feeling — maybe because I felt so fulfilled and genuinely loved my students, I was afraid that Hashem was somehow preparing me to have a child like that myself.

Looking back, even though I was devoted to my work, there was something subtly self-centered in the way I saw it. I felt I was doing something noble, devoting my skills and energy to those who were disabled or less fortunate. And while I adored my students, I also made a quiet, unspoken deal with Hashem: I’ll be their teacher, but let that protect me from having one of my own.

Years passed and I moved on. Life was hectic but good. I had three sons close in age. And then with my fourth, Hashem “changed the deal.”

It was 1998 when I gave birth to a baby boy — with Down syndrome. I guess Hashem really did think I was such a good teacher that I could be trusted with one of my own.

The moment he was diagnosed, everything changed. My life turned 180 degrees. I kept thinking, The tables have turned — Hashem didn’t accept my deal.

Overnight, I became one of “those mothers.” The same mothers I’d sat with for years, discussing goals and IEPs, levels of functioning, OT, PT, and speech services; suddenly, their world became mine. And I wasn’t a happy camper.

I had to shift from “all-knowing professional” to overwhelmed, uncertain new mother. In a twist of irony, one of the mothers whose child I had once taught became my son’s teacher. The desks had literally turned.

My bubble of confidence burst. Whatever quiet arrogance I’d carried was gone. Reality had arrived — and it hit hard.

That first year was truly overwhelming. Yehuda didn’t just have Down syndrome; he also needed open heart surgery. And I, too, had heart issues, though mine weren’t physical; they were spiritual.

I was filled with doubt and questions. I cried to Hashem, Why me? Why me?

How would my marriage survive this? 

How would my other children be affected?

I’m not a machine — where would I find the energy for this level of physical and emotional investment?

I couldn’t help but wonder: Couldn’t this special neshamah have been sent to another family?

But Hashem said, I know what I’m doing, and I put him here for a reason. I want your family — your husband, your children, your relatives, your friends and neighbors, and you, yes, YOU — to be there for this neshamah, to raise him. And you are capable of it. I know because I created you.

I doubted, I questioned, but twenty-four years later I see His Hand so clearly.

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It only took a couple of years before Hashem began to show me why I was given this child. About a year after Yehuda was born, I was offered a position to teach a course… on none other than Down syndrome.

Baruch Hashem, I’ve been teaching that course for over twenty years.

There’s always a reason. There’s always a plan.

Was having a child with a diagnosis the catalyst that turned me into a passionate advocate, committed to educating the next generation about disabilities like his? I can’t say for certain. But that’s what happened.

Back then, I couldn’t have known where it would lead. But over the past two decades, I’ve taught this course in high schools, seminaries, and to women here in Brooklyn. I know I’ve played — and continue to play — a pivotal role in changing how thousands of people view individuals with disabilities.

And those students, in turn, carry those messages into their homes, their communities, and their children’s lives. I’m deeply humbled to be part of that ripple effect, helping to shift society’s attitude and, with Hashem’s help, transform the future for individuals with special needs.

Today, I feel more at peace. Yehuda has left his mark on the world, and I’ve been privileged to serve as a messenger — to help bring about communal change for individuals with disabilities and their families. Some of my former students now themselves teach children with special needs, and I hope that somewhere in the back of their minds, my voice still rings in their ears, offering encouragement.

A few years ago, one of my graduates, just twenty years old, delivered her first child, a baby girl with Down syndrome. The diagnosis came while she was still on the delivery table. But her immediate reaction was to say to her mother, “Don’t worry. Mrs. Reisman said it will be okay.”

If this course has helped young mothers accept this unexpected “Plan B” and step into their role of raising a disabled child with confidence and strength, then maybe, just maybe, this is what Hashem had in mind when He entrusted me with my own precious neshamah, all those years ago.

It wasn’t easy. I struggled. I questioned. I was overwhelmed.

I had my pity parties: Why me? Didn’t we have a deal? I wanted to teach these children, not raise one of my own!

But Hashem knows best.

Raising a child with a disability has been challenging, yes, but it has also transformed me. I often say, when I speak publicly, that having a son with Down syndrome is the best thing that ever happened to me. And baruch Hashem, I’ve been blessed with many, many wonderful things.

But Yehuda is my passion, my platform, my voice.
Hashem saw in me what I couldn’t see in myself — that I needed Yehuda to make me complete.

I don’t think any of you need to hear this from me. Deep down, you already know that Hashem runs the world. When things are hard, we tend to question Him and ask why? But when things are good, we rarely question. We expect good.

I want to change that. I want to notice and give thanks for the abundant blessings, not only cry out when things are difficult.

So, thank You, Hashem, for entrusting me with Yehuda, for placing him in my care and in my heart. His existence has transformed me, giving me the strength to serve the klal in ways I never imagined.

And if my story can, in even the smallest way, help transform yours… then I’m grateful for that, too.