For those who have not seen the news recently, Montreal has received slightly more than 70 centimeters of snow, which in our American minds is approximately 27 ½ inches. Although there are very few things I miss about living in Canada, I have to say that trudging through feet of snow I can live without. It is actually quite beautiful and if one was able to sit in their house for an extended period of time and just look at it, life would be enchanting.

Here we are where everyone has had enough of cold weather, blowing gusts of wind and slippery curbs, where trying to get out of cars and walk onto sidewalks is almost impossible. Whoever plows the streets does not do it close enough to the sidewalks. For some, trying to step from the curb onto the sidewalk is taking their lives into their own hands.

We are all guilty of, as they say, “sweating the small stuff.” If it is not the weather, no matter what the season, it is the prices of groceries, (eggs???) matzah, meat and everything else. Tuition is astronomical, many complain. Summer camp is ridiculous, school and shul dinners cost an arm and a leg, and everyone gets the gist of what I am saying. How are we expected to financially be viable with all that is expected of us? (I am not going into alternatives which I feel strongly about.)

What breaks my heart at the moment is the news that we have all been waiting for on pins and needles, and that is what the outcome will be for the Bibas family. When will they or their bodies be delivered to their broken family? When will those alive finally be returned to their loved ones? How can the terrorists be allowed to play with families’ lives this way? How can we not embrace the Alexander family, who are our neighbors, awaiting so desperately the release of their son Edan? He belongs to everyone as well. We are one family.

From all the families whose members have been released, are we hearing words of complaint or words of gratitude? We are mesmerized by those who have been released but other than what we see and the obvious atrocities that befell them do we hear them complaining or giving thanks? Today I watched as Emily Damari, one of the freed hostages, benched gomel at the Kotel. Yesterday there was another caption of a male hostage requesting to put on tefillin. There seems to be no doubt in many minds that during their captivity and following their release they felt closer to Hashem than ever before. One did not hear words of complaint, but words of gratitude.

Will they ever be the same people? We will never know. Yet there seems to be a general sense from their family members, who spent so many long days awaiting the fate of their loved ones, that many took it upon themselves to do more mitzvot, or turned to tefillah. The mother who would not travel on Shabbat to meet her released hostage daughter was given the privilege of having that group released on a Thursday. Are we hearing words of complaint from anyone? Gratitude and thanksgiving seem to be the first words on their lips. The concept of complaining for all of them has become passe. Wouldn’t it be great during the summer months if we all realized that heat from Hashem is so much more pure and appreciated than the depths of a tunnel in the middle of nowhere with not even the ability to see a drop of sunlight?

Next time we find reason to become infuriated about something we need to step back and weigh the severity of what bothers us so much. We are surrounded by so much pettiness. This one did this, that one did that. One sibling gets more attention from the other from devoted parents. I am not even discussing teens. Marrieds who are long out of their parents’ home and are still vying for more attention. Are you adults or are you babies? Husbands expect more from wives and vice versa—does anyone remember their feelings when their romance was blossoming?

Stop complaining and start accepting, and follow the examples of the hostages who have gone through h**l and back and are grateful for every day they are alive. Let us keep them in our prayers and in our daily lives as a reminder of how we should behave.