Always My Malky “The Rebbe listened to <strong>my</strong> idea. Then he said, ‘Yes, but buy the bicycle first. Let the child see it. Chain it to the house and tell your son that he’ll get it after cheder if the rebbi says he was a good boy. And then speak to the rebbi and make sure he finds some way that your son was good so that the boy gets to ride his new bicycle every day.’ ” It was a revolutionary idea, and it laid a foundation in Avreimie Klein’s mind, the backdrop to advice he would receive many years later. The Kleins took their children’s chinuch seriously, attending PTAs and working with the teachers to achieve maximum results. When their fourth child, Malky, was graduating nursery, Rivka Klein went to the endof-year graduation. “Maybe Malky should repeat the year,” the teacher casually remarked. Then, in kindergarten, the teacher called Rivka Klein to suggest that they get Malky evaluated by the Board of Education. Dedicated parents, they brought Malky to the free Board of Ed evaluations. The diagnosis was that even though Malky was approved for extra help, she was a brilliant girl. For the first few years of school, Malky left the class a few times a week for private lessons and extra tutoring, but she seemed happy. “She <strong>always</strong> had so many friends, she was popular and fun. And she was resilient, working through the scholastic struggles.” Malky Klein’s parents seem to recall every comment their daughter made, a musician’s ear for every note in that symphony of heartbreak. Once, in second grade, the family was enjoying a Shabbos meal when Malky blurted out, “My teacher says I really belong in first grade.” Once she shared the information, Malky appeared to relax, as if the secret had been weighing on her. She wouldn’t forget it, however, until her final day. Good parents, they arranged for tutors to help Malky with schoolwork. “But we didn’t realize then that she had a real learning disability. She worked hard with the tutors, but looking back,” Avreimie says, “I can’t even imagine what it felt like for her. All day in school, which was painful, and then home for a few more hours of pain.” One day, when Malky was in the sixth grade, the sweet, gentle child uncharacteristically shouted, “That’s it. I’m done with tutors. I can’t anymore.” I can’t even imagine what it felt like for her. All day in school, which was painful, and then home for a few more hours of pain The schools were accommodating. They created a special class for the girls who needed extra help. “But of course, being pulled out created a stigma, a challenge of its own.” Through it all, Avreimie recalls, he and his wife believed that the whole issue would pass, that Malky, with her emotional depth, eager mind, and sparkling personality, would come through the rough years stronger. “We saw how many friends she had, and knew our role was just to get her through the school years.” There were other children at home, a business to run. The house did not yet revolve around Malky. In eighth grade, Rivka recalls, Malky finally had “that teacher.” “You know how you read about great teachers, the one who could make a difference?” Rivka allows herself a soft smile. “Malky found her teacher. The one who believed in her. The teacher, Mrs. Leah Handelsman, ‘got’ Malky. Malky recommitted herself to learning.” “I have to say, there were several wonderful The Krule Rebbe with Avreimie Klein, giving comfort to Malky at Maimonides Hospital. “When she opens her eyes and reaches out, she’ll feel the warmth. Tatty is there” Malky’s great-grandfather made a special trip to visit her — his newborn ohr-einikel and the first to be named after his late wife teachers along the way. I think about Ronit Polin, who was another bright spot in Malky’s life, and others who were so helpful along the journey.” Eighth grade went nicely. In-school discussions were all about “next year,” and high school choices. Malky enthusiastically took part in these conversations, confident that she would join her friends in high school. But the interview process didn’t go well, and hope was quickly replaced by frustration. When Malky finally did get invited to an interview, the prospective principal asked her what she was looking for in a school. “Honestly? I would go to any school that accepts me,” came the naive response. Later on, Malky’s mother asked her why she’d said that, and she shrugged. “I don’t know,” she replied. It had just seemed the truth. Mrs. Klein stands up and finds a letter Malky wrote to a friend on the last day of school. The handwriting is childish, exuberant, bursting with optimism. I’m going to miss you soooo much in the summer, ’cause we are going to high school together and we are going to have a blast. Hope ya have fun in Eretz Yisrael…. Everything was in place. A new start beckoned. Except… It was the day of Malky’s eighth grade graduation when the message came from the one high school that had actually accepted her. Yeah, well, so that acceptance? Not really. Sorry. The words might have been more formal, but the point was the same. Her parents decided not to tell her. Rivka took Malky on a trip to Europe while Avreimie followed leads and called askanim and begged for meetings, trying to get her reaccepted in the first school, and eventually to find any school for his daughter. “Forget acceptance — we couldn’t even get an interview.” Avreimie’s voice is calm, controlled. “It’s very easy to get angry, but you can’t build with anger. We don’t blame people. I’m telling the 50 MISHPACHA 17 Av 5777 | August 9, 2017