I am 31 years old, I am married and father of four adorable children. I will start my story in the middle.

I was 16 years old, I was an introverted young man, almost without friends. I was surrounded by Yeshiva students, I did not argue with anyone, but on the other hand, I did not feel a connection to them. It seemed to me that nothing was advancing in my life. I was not integrated, no subject fascinated me, and for most students around me, I was transparent.

Then, one day, the Yeshiva took us on a trip.

I was then in second grade. Some Yeshivot - including mine - organize camps during the summer holidays. We arrived at our destination on Thursday afternoon. It was a kind of small complex with rooms for rent booked by the Yeshiva. The rooms were comfortable, with great views and only one thing was missing. A cook. The Yeshiva had chosen a cook and had undertaken to buy all the ingredients for the cook who would have taken care of everything. The ingredients arrived, but, on the other hand, the cook did not show up. We were more or less able to get by with omelets and salads made by us for the weekend, and we hoped that the cook would arrive for Shabbat.

Friday. The hours passed, and everyone thought that the cook was already busy preparing for the Shabbat meals. Suddenly, someone remembered to check if the cook had arrived. Well no, he was nowhere to be found...

We made some phone calls, tried our luck here and there, and at 2 pm it turned out that there were plenty of meat, chicken, fish, vegetables, side dishes, spices, ingredients for starters and desserts, but no one was there to cook.

The Yeshiva staff was very tense. After they consulted with each other, we were gathered in the dining room and they told us, "We have discussed the matter and we have come to the conclusion that a Shabbat without food is not a Shabbat. We have to order buses and send you home. Simply tell your parents that you are coming home, so that they can organize themselves."

There was a great uproar. Many students protested that their parents had gone on vacation and they thus had no place to spend Shabbat. Some of them arranged with friends to stay at their homes, but many did not have where to go. The Yeshiva staff, powerless, deliberated again, and finally, the Mashgiach spoke to us: "What do you propose?"

A tense silence filled the air, and- I do not know how I managed to gather my courage - I said, "Kvod Harav, I think I can cook for Shabbat".

"What?? "

Everyone looked at me as if I had fallen from the moon. "You can cook for Shabbat..." repeated the Mashgiach in a tone that indicated that I was not fit to cook for Shabbat.

''Yes'', I replied, ''I can do it''.

''But where did you learn to cook?''

I fell silent for a moment, then continued: "I did not learn, but ... I know," I replied, this time with an assurance that surprised me. They looked at me and something in my confidence convinced them. ''Ok'', replied the Mashgiach. ''What do you need?'' ''I need five students to help me peel vegetables and to help me with other tasks that I will need''. ''Who is volunteering?'' asked the Mashgiach. Five students volunteered.

I received the keys to the kitchen and the storage rooms, and five boys followed me. I went into the storage room, and I took out all the products that were there. I gathered the five boys. "Now we will peel the vegetables," I told them. We began to peel with knives because we did not have peelers. It took us about half an hour, during which we talked about camp. For the first time in my life, they spoke to me in a natural way, perhaps because they knew they were "working with me". I took the vegetables for the soup and the chicken, and I showed two students how to cut the vegetables such as zucchini, onions, carrots and potatoes. I asked two other boys to make a salad, showing them how to finely chop the vegetables. I asked the fifth boy to follow me.

I showed him how to sort the rice and the beans for the Cholent, and during this time I poured oil into two pans and began to fry onions. The kitchen was boiling, I juggled between cooking fish, soup, and Cholent. Everyone was amazed, they complimented me. They asked me: "How do you know all this?".

I asked them to prepare a pan of boiling water for cooking the meat. I put another pot on the fire, and at the same time I asked permission to buy more ingredients. I sent a student from my class to buy dark chocolate bars and pareve cream. Meanwhile, I beat some eggs and added beans to the Cholent. The Yeshiva team came to visit me. We did not really have time to talk with them, they sat on the side and watched in silence. They saw how we worked as a team, and how I, with great confidence, ran the whole thing with such ease and confidence. Today, years later, I realise what a surprise it was for everyone to see a quiet and discreet student behaving like an innate leader.

An hour passed, and all the dishes were on the fire, at an advanced stage of the cooking process. I took another pan, and asked that it be filled with eggs. "It's for tomorrow, for an egg salad with onions. I then made chopped liver and put it in the fridge.

At 5 pm I called two other students of my class, and I asked them to set the table for Shabbat. Then we prepared the fish dish. I showed them how to arrange the fish on the plate with vegetables and lemon slices. I placed some garlic sauce on the plate. They were inspired by my example and they imitated me. This dish looked particularly refined.

Then we put the salads into beautiful dishes, and from there, things came together easily. The chicken and soup were already ready, the fish was on the plates, and it was time to make the dessert.

I made a hot chocolate cake filled with cream. The boys who helped me were constantly marveling, without failing to taste. They repeated constantly: "What a surprise everyone will have! And we decided not to allow anyone to enter the kitchen, to keep it a surprise.

When all was ready, we shared our secret.

From that moment on, I received compliments like I had never received in my life. Everyone marveled at the arrangement of the tables, the napkins, the salads (they were bought, but once they were taken out of the boxes and put in beautiful utensils, they looked homemade...).

The moment to serve the fish had arrived.

It is difficult for me to explain what happened then. The students hardly dared to start eating, as the fish was as nicely arranged as in the most beautiful wedding halls. They pointed it out to me, and then they tasted it and each of them came to congratulate me on the taste of the dish and they asked me for more.

The women that were there also complimented me until I blushed.

Once the fish was eaten, we went on to serve the next dishes. In the kitchen, a student from the third year whispered: "They do know about the dessert, they will not believe it, you'll see!". He looked at me admiringly. I had never been looked at that way. In truth, I had never received admiring looks all my life.

The dessert was so exceptional, both in terms of presentation and taste, that compliments poured in.

The Rosh Yeshiva arose and spoke, and all his Dvar Torah revolved around the idea that it is forbidden to despair, even if one believes that one's spiritual situation is lost, it is always possible to rectify oneself. Of course, he gave the best possible example: the members of the teaching staff were on the verge of despair and I saved them, he praised me and asked, "Where have you been until now?'' He explained how humble, delicate and low profile I was. I admit it willingly. I appreciated the compliments and the applause. In just a few hours, I received everything other students received throughout their lives.

The meal was over, everyone retired to their rooms, and they addressed me as if I were an officer. The next day, the scene was repeated with the liver and the egg salad, and even the most skeptical congratulated me… and then came the dessert.

On Seudah Shlishit (third Shabbat meal), we served a rich Chalavi meal, with cheeses, quiches and the rest of the salads.

Then the Mashgiach asked me to speak.

I refused. I had never spoken in public, and I did not plan on doing so now. He insisted, "I am not asking you to say a Dvar Torah. Just tell us from where you know how to cook." Sitting in my place, 120 pairs of eyes turned to me. I knew that all the students had no idea of ​​my story. I hesitated a moment, then, I do not know with what strength, I decided to get up and tell my story. I said at the beginning of my story that I started at the end. Here is the beginning.

"When I was eleven, my mother contracted the disease," I began.

There was complete silence.

"Little by little, we watched as her health deteriorated. Initially, she was weak, but then she had to undergo treatments and radiotherapy, and she had trouble moving. For many weeks she was not home at all."

"Our family is made up of eight people, the eldest of whom was eleven years old. It was me. Without me noticing, suddenly the shirts were no longer washed, and we had to eat bread with chocolate in the morning, afternoon and evening. Sometimes we had an omelet.

"One day, one of my aunts came to the house to cook us a good meal, which we had not eaten for several weeks. I asked "Please, teach me how to cook." And she taught me. I learned to cook all kinds of dishes. My mother came back from time to time, and I made her a meal fit for a king. She did not speak, but her eyes told me she was happy and proud of me ... "

I had trouble speaking, but I continued nonetheless.
"From that moment on, I grow up alone. I learned which spices to add and which to avoid, and I also invented small dishes. As for meals, the house regained some kind of normality. The children at least ate hot meals, homemade soup ... " At that moment, I stopped. The terms "homemade" moved me a lot. I remembered that time. I did not cry, but I felt that all the students around me were tearing. Everyone was crying. The Rabbanim, the teaching staff, the students. Some plunged their heads in their arms and others allowed the tears to flow freely on their cheeks. I continued my story, pausing from time to time, struggling to keep going, and those breaks caused loud crying in some of the students.

"Then my mother died. In the letter she left us, she praised me for replacing her and asked me to continue in this direction, so that the children would have homemade hot food, even after she left this world."

"We sat Shiva, the week of mourning. Afterwards, I continued to make food for everyone. A year later, my father remarried, and thus my role as a cook at home came to an end, because a mother who cooked very well took my place. But my notions of cooking have not left me, and from time to time, when I come home, I cook with her."

I finished my story, but the students did not move, their heads in their hands. The Mashgiach stood up and took me in his arms, followed by the whole teaching staff, whose faces were red with tears.

That Shabbat was a turning point in my life. Naturally, I no longer had difficulty integrating into society. I did not turn into a loud and extrovert boy, but I had no problem expressing myself. I obtained a social status at the center of my circle of friends.

I then attended Yeshiva Gedola, then I married. I am now the proud father of four adorable children. I work in the field of education where I harvest the fruit of my labor.

And as for cooking ... it is my hobby. I prepare dishes for my wife and children, and on special occasions, there is always an unusual dish that I invent.

But why lie? I do not only cook for them, but for me too. Cooking, just like drawing or writing, is also a form of art. I also have special feelings for this art, which gave me the opportunity to succeed, to integrate into society, and to express myself.

In reality, it allowed me to save my soul for life.

So, if you plan to encourage your children to learn carpentry, painting, drawing or writing, let me add a proposal.

Cooking!