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19 Shevat 5760 - January 26, 2000 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family
They All Return to You
by N. Beer

FICTION

It is our collective and individual paternal heritage. It waits for us to claim it, each day anew. "Which I command you TODAY..." Torah waits for its sons to come back and embrace it. And they do!

The tap-tap-tapping of R' Feivel Kalmanowitz's cane descended the stairs, accentuating the sound of laborious footsteps.

Mrs. Weiss continued to doze a bit before beginning her day. It was only 6:05, she knew, without having to look at her alarm clock. This was the sound that woke her up each morning, the staccato tapping and heavy clomping. At first, she had become alarmed at the thought that Mr. Kalmanowitz, her elderly next door neighbor, was leaving his house so early each morning. But she had soon become used to these new sounds that usurped the pre-emptory ring of her alarm clock.

R' Feivel's wife, Perele, had passed away five years before and he had been broken-hearted. No longer could he maintain the tiny notions shop they had operated jointly, where they had spent so many hours of their day together. He closed the shop and closed himself behind his door, and within himself, to nurse his pain in nervous solitude. Early one morning, however, Mrs. Weiss was awakened by a new sound. First came the clinking of R' Feivel's keys in the lock. She was alarmed and leaped out of bed to peek through the small eye-level peephole in the door to see what was doing. No mistake: R' Feivel was beginning to descend the stairs in his slow manner. Very disconcerting. She rushed back to don a robe and unlocked her door. At his snail's pace, she was still able to intercept him at the top of the flight of stairs.

"Can I help you, R' Feivel?" she asked in concern. "Do you want me to call someone or do something for you?"

"No, thanks, Mrs. Weiss. Everything is fine, boruch Hashem," he reassured her. "I'm leaving the house, now, but there is nothing to worry about. Have a good day!" And since then, it had been his morning ritual to leave punctually at the same time.

Mrs. Weiss couldn't help thinking that these morning outings had restored somewhat of a bounce to his step, a renewed joie de vivre, a flavor in his life. He began to slowly recover from the shock of his wife's death, had stopped shutting himself away, and became once again the smiling, pleasant old man of yore.

*

R' Feivel left the building and proceeded slowly down the street, leaning on his cane. He turned left at the second corner and was swallowed up in the dark interior of one of the buildings.

A large truck stopped with a screech by that same building. Its driver, Yaakov Shafer, a man in his fifties who operated the local supermarket, leaped down from the left, while Motty Levi, a boy of seventeen who had joined the supermarket's work force several months before, jumped out nimbly from the right side of the truck. The two began walking towards the entrance and were soon swallowed up inside, as well. Hurried steps could be heard right behind, and soon Yoske Weisman, the locksmith, attired in a blue-jeans overall, had caught up with them. He genially slapped Motty on the back and the three could be heard descending a flight of stairs. A minute later, a natty white Volvo parked across the street from Shafer's truck and out stepped a hefty man in his forties, wearing a leather kipa and a custom made suit. Flicking a finger on his remote-controler, he locked the car and strode purposefully towards the same building. It was Mr. Abe Schor, the famous lawyer.

A young bearded man in dark suit and hat hurried purposefully towards the selfsame address, his head somewhat bowed, a velvet tallis-and-tefillin bag tucked under one arm, looking very serious. This was R' Yitzchok Moriya, a young kollelnik of about thirty, walking alongside his good friend, R' Dovid Cohen, the melamed, holding a black briefcase. They, too, disappeared beyond the doorway of the building.

Yechiel Ozeri got out of his van humming a lilting Sefardic tune he had been listening to on the tape recorder. He straightened out his sports jacket, glanced at his watch, and started running towards the building. From a different direction, walking leisurely, was R' Zev Reuveni, a kollelnik in his forties, so immersed in thought that he almost collided with the lamppost. He was holding a large, heavy book, and he, too, entered the building and went down the stairs leading to the basement beis knesses where his eight students were all waiting and ready. He immediately launched into his Daf Yomi lesson.

*

R' Zev had established this shiur five years before, when he was still a regular avreich studying in the Darkei Efraim kollel. He was considered a serious and diligent scholar who loved his study, relished the serious but enthusiastically lively atmosphere generated by his colleagues, and revered the head of the kollel, a distinguished talmid chochom who exerted a strong impact upon the group. R' Zev had been so pleased about the atmosphere in the kollel that when a strange realization struck him, it had come as a total surprise: he felt he was losing some of his former enthusiasm in learning, and he couldn't fathom why or come to terms with it, even with himself. When he saw that he was unable to handle this problem alone, that "a prisoner cannot free himself from his prison," he approached his Rosh Kollel to discuss the dilemma.

He reassured R' Zev immediately. "This is a very healthy and natural feeling for a scholar your age. You feel the need to begin giving to others. Your soul feels the urge to express some of the latent energies and talents stored up inside you. In short, to learn and to teach."

"What's the next step?" asked R' Zev. "There is more of a supply than a demand. It's unlikely that someone is going to come and offer me the position of a maggid shiur in a yeshiva. So what should I do?"

"Well, why don't you establish a shiur yourself? Think about it."

R' Zev absorbed this advice and nursed it in his heart. One day, when he learned about the establishment of a beis knesses in the basement of a new building recently completed on Rechov Beit Habechira, he decided to approach the gabbai and find out if any shiurim had been organized yet. "It's all open," he was told, "do what you like."

R' Zev put up some notices on the local bulletin boards and advertised in the local weekly flyers. His ad read as follows:

NEW! With the beginning of the daily study of Maseches Chagiga of the Daf Yomi, we hope to join the circle embracing the entire world. There will be a daily shiur held in the new Beit Knesset on Rechov Beit Habechira 5. It will begin at 6:15 a.m. beginning this Sunday. Open to the general public. All are invited to join.

And this is how the shiur took on shape and structure.

*

Sunday morning. R' Feivel Kalmanovitz woke up at five a.m. from a restless night's sleep. He hadn't succeeded in falling asleep until very late and awoke to find himself in a sweat. He tried to remember the dream that had troubled his sleep but couldn't. Nor could he fall asleep again. He tossed about in bed for a while and when this failed, turned on his night light and stretched out his hand for the latest neighborhood flyer that lay on the night table. Something to distract him. His eye caught a small ad. Well, Rechov Beit Habechira was not far from his house. Indeed, he had heard about the new shul being organized there. Why not join this shiur? he asked himself. "I always thought this was the very thing I should do when I retired, to get my teeth into some real gemora."

He glanced at his watch. It was 5:45. Too late to go back to sleep, which he probably wouldn't be able to do, in any case. R' Feivel got up and organized himself to leave the house. He'd give it a try. He needn't make any sort of commitment to anyone. And thus he left, leaning on his cane, and strode slowly towards the new shul. And ever since then, every day aside from a few exceptions of illness, R' Feivel would eagerly await the 6:15 shiur of the Daf Yomi before his morning prayers.

*

Yaakov Shafer, manager of the local supermarket, had noticed that Motty Levi was at home even in the middle of the zman. He sauntered in at the late morning hours to buy a nosh or a soft drink. What was a boy his age doing at home? he asked himself. As an old friend of the family, he asked Motty, but received no answer. Motty had looked startled, confused, and had turned around and left. Meeting Mr. Levi one day, he had gently questioned him about his son, and learned that Motty had been expelled from yeshiva for some foolish act. His spirit had been broken and he refused to try another yeshiva. He remained at home, lounging around, without any structure. His parents tried their best to prevent him from keeping bad company, so he remained mostly in the house, trying not to go crazy.

"Motty is really a good kid," the father concluded lamely in a broken voice, "but he's at a difficult age and somewhat lightheaded and stubborn, which leads him to do foolhardy things at times. I wish I knew what to do with him. All he does is sit around the house, doing nothing, feeling bored. What will become of him, I don't know..."

Yaakov Shafer was a receptive person with a soft heart. He thought about the problem and hit upon a plan that might help Motty and spare his parents much suffering. The next time Motty came into the store, he called him to the side. Motty was alarmed at the personal `summons' from the manager, but was surprised at the gentle and friendly manner with which Mr. Shafer addressed him.

"Look here, Motty, we need some extra help. I'm looking for someone energetic, someone trustworthy to help organize orders, to price the merchandise and arrange it on the shelves and so on. It's work that doesn't require experience, only good will, a desire to be useful. You look to me very suited for the job. If you prove yourself, I am willing to pay very well."

Motty was taken by surprise. What would his parents say? "I- I'll have to think about it," he replied uncertainly.

"No problem. Think about it and give me an answer by the end of the week, O.K.?" said Yaakov with a friendly smile, and slapped Motty on the back affectionately.

"Oh, one minute," he added, "I forgot to tell you one important condition: I am looking for a helper who will accompany me to the daily Daf Yomi shiur in the neighborhood, as well. Discuss it with your parents and give me an answer." He was called to the far end of the store and turned away with a friendly nod, leaving Motty thoughtful and puzzled.

His father was enthusiastic over the offer. Motty accepted it and began working the very next day. Thus, too, did he become another steady attender of R' Zev Reuveni's daily Daf Yomi shiur.

Second part next week IY"H

 

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