IN- DEPTH FEATURES
"For He Will Shelter Me in His Succah"

A Succos Story

The roads to Bederech Avoseinu were jammed. An unusual number of cars and buses were headed towards the school which was celebrating its first anniversary. That night, the first night of chol hamoed Succos, a gala simchas beis hasho'eivo was planned. A huge crowd was expected: rabbonim, communal figures, students and their families, staff members, supporters and anyone else who heard about the institution and wanted to share in the simcha. Anyone who wanted to feel like a part of the unique educational success came to its celebration. And because so many had heard about the new, successful institution, hundreds of invited and their guests streamed to the grounds of Bederech Avoseinu.

The grounds were bedecked for the occasion. Its wide-open gates greeted the visitors with an eye- catching proclamation on colorful banners: "Beruchim Habo'im Beshem Hashem." Many spotlights lit the spacious green lawns and lanterns hung in the trees. White plastic chairs were prepared for those visitors who wanted to rest between dances. Long tables, covered with white tablecloths and laden with refreshments and drinks, stood in huge succas that were built on the edges of the lawn. The head table stood on a platform covered with fresh, green branches and shiny, colorful paper. Excited students milled around in groups, waiting for their guests. The large band that was hired for the occasion did some last minute rehearsals. Amidst all this strolled the baalei simcha, Reb Nesanel Yitzchok Brudman and Reb Shlomo Kagan, who was like his son, the ones who contrived and established the peerless institution.

Reb Shloime Kagan was raised in Reb Nesanel's house, because he did not have a proper home to grow up in. Thus the idea to found an institution for homeless children and children from dysfunctional homes took root in his heart; the institution would be a proper substitute for a home that provides a solid Torah'dik education with true warmth and unconditional love.

Love, support, warmth and personal connection are the basic ingredients necessary for raising sound, healthy children. They are the essential components to foster self-esteem. They are the fertile ground in which educational seeds can take root and sprout pure plants, yirei Elokim.

For years, the idea was merely a dream. And then, wondrous hashgocho protis brought about the events that turned that dream into reality. A whole year passed since, a productive, fruitful year whose results justified the huge investment.

A huge crowd started streaming through the open gates, which seemed to be arms spread open to receive company. Reb Nesanel, on whom the excitement of the preparations began to take a toll, decided to take a short rest before the guest of honor, Mr. Simon Stein, arrived to take his place at the head table next to Reb Nesanel. Reb Shlomo Kagan, the institution's principal, went with Reb Nesanel to the office. "I am very tired, my Shloimy," Reb Nesanel said. "I feel my age in my bones."

"Don't worry," Shloimy answered. "Rest a little and it will pass. You know that you don't have time to be tired; you are too busy."

Reb Nesanel smiled wearily. He sunk wearily into the armchair in his office, put his head down on the desk and whispered, "I want to be at my best when Mr. Stein comes; he deserves it."

"Of course," Shloimy answered. "He is a strong man with a noble soul, honest and upright to an almost unheard-of degree. For so many years he guarded a huge sum of money and did not take a penny for himself, hoping to find the owner someday and return it. How was he able to overcome temptation for so many years?"

"Yes, he is a strong man; `Who is strong? One who overcomes his desires'," Reb Nesanel answered and continued, "But Mr. Stein is a chareidi Jew who fears Heaven. I am not trying to belittle his deeds, but what do you have to say about the non- Jew, a simple villager, who hid the money, guarded it and did not take a thing, even though he had permission to take it? That money was really for him, but he refused to touch it. And when he lost contact with me, he gave it to someone who could find the rightful owner and return it. A goy, a simple goy!

"I cannot fathom it. He was a princely soul, an unusual phenomenon in his place, but still a goy. When I received the money, I tried to contact him but they told me he had passed away and I could not find his son. It's a pity. But he is definitely getting his reward in heaven."

Reb Nesanel fell silent and closed his eyes. Shloimy also lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Suddenly he broke the silence, "Abba, do you remember the night I came to your house, the night that I actually came home?"

"Do I remember?" Reb Nesanel answered with a question, as Jews are wont to do. "Of course I remember!" And then the memories began to flow . . .

A holiday moon hung in the sky, enhanced by the entirety of a dark night strewn with thousands of stars, glistening like diamonds on soft, black velvet.

A man who wants precious stones needs a lot of money, but he does not need a penny to enjoy the resplendence of the universe on the first night of Yom Tov. He just has to raise his head, open his heart, take a deep breath of crisp fall air, lift his arms and thank the One Who created this for His kindness every day.

But the man did not leave his house to see this; he had already left it for his temporary home. As he sat in it, the stars shone through the branches of schach and their light bounced off the glistening candle sticks and shiny wine goblets, while the shiny paper stars on the walls returned the light with thousands of glimmers. Yes, on such a splendid night, the soul yearns to discard its materialistic garb and fly up to the glistening sky, to touch the stars . . . How does a Yiddishe neshomo alight upward if not through Torah and mitzvos??? So Reb Nesanel sat in his succah next to the table, engrossed in his gemora, learning with supreme happiness. He was fulfilling several mitzvos all at once: sitting in a succah, simchas Yom Tov and learning Torah.

The hands of the clock advanced steadily towards one o'clock a.m., and Reb Nesanel, who was still involved in Torah and avoda, did not forget about gemilus chassodim. Between pshat and drash he glanced at his sons, who were sleeping a mitzva sleep. Three of the boys were his own, and the other four were like his own; he was raising them in his home for now. He went over to the boys, straightened out a crumpled blanket, smoothed a rowdy lock of hair, calmed an uneasy breather with a stroke and sighed for a moment. He immediately stood up and chastised himself, "Why are you sighing? Today is a Yom Tov and even though you are nothing more than a simple Jew, you are a yirei Shomayim and love Hashem. Hashem will help, everything will work out be'ezras Hashem. You have had siyata deShmaya until now with raising the children you brought into your house, and Hashem will continue helping."

After speaking to himself like this, he was filled with happiness and emuno once again, and practically burst into dance, but contained himself so as not to awaken his sleeping sons. He stepped out of the succah into the courtyard of the house and breathed in the invigorating night air. When he lifted his eyes upward, he was completely taken aback by the sky's glory. " 'How great are Your deeds Hashem,' " he whispered. He lifted his hands and leaned back better to see the entire width of the horizon, as far as he could.

A simple Jew, Reb Nesanel called himself. Simple? Absolutely not! There was nothing simple about Reb Nesanel at all. The opposite was true. He was a mighty Jew, rich and esteemed, the owner of a large business who was also involved in every dovor shebikedusho. His beautiful, spacious house was open to all the poor and needy. He owned a textile factory and brocho reigned in his business.

Reb Nesanel's heart was as large as his wealth. His ears listened to every bitter-hearted soul, and although his time was precious, he found time to do for the tzibbur and individual. In spite of all this, he considered himself a simple business man and nothing more. And he, who considered himself simple, loved Hashem with his entire heart and was now dancing before Him with all his strength.

He danced unceasingly until he felt out of breath and needed to take a break. With heavy steps, he walked to the edge of the courtyard and leaned against the wide stone fence, listening to the sounds of the night and drawing pleasure from the peace that reigned all around. After a few minutes, he felt that he was not alone. Someone was keeping him company; someone was looking at him. He quickly squelched the fear that was about to overcome him (such was the man) and turned around.

Yes, someone was standing on the sidewalk on the other side of the fence. Who could it be? It was so late at night. He placed his head through the opening of the iron bars and saw a teenager, or perhaps a boy, standing opposite him. A boy on the brink of adolescence. In the pale light of the street lamp, he saw a tall, skinny boy whose black pants had seen better days and formerly white shirt was yellowed from age. But the face was delicate and beautiful, somewhat washed out. Two large eyes looked at him, two clear and sad eyes. Oy, how sad was the look on the face. Reb Nesanel's heart went out to the boy who was wandering the streets alone on Succos night at an hour that children his age should be in bed, engrossed in sweet dreams.

Thus the man and the boy stood facing each other, each one engrossed in his own thoughts. Finally, Reb Nesanel decided to speak to the boy. "What is your name?" he asked to start a conversation.

"Shloimy," he answered.

"Shloimy? That's a nice name," Reb Nesanel said. "And why are you out so late at night?" Silence. The boy looked straight ahead and did not answer. "You don't want to answer?" Reb Nesanel asked. "You don't have to. Wait a minute, I want to come to you. It is not the best thing to speak through a fence. Do you mind?"

The boy did not answer, but seemed to agree. Reb Nesanel went through the courtyard, around his house and through the gate. He walked down the sidewalk next to his house until he stood right next to the boy. "Gut Yom Tov," he said and stretched out his hand. The boy hesitated a bit and then shook the outstretched hand. "Would you like to be my guest? My succah is big enough," Reb Nesanel offered. The boy straightened out his faded velvet yarmulke and scrutinized Reb Nesanel from the bottom of his shiny black shoes to the top of his large black yarmulke. The boy's eyes rested on his shining face bedecked with a beautiful beard sprinkled with white hairs, he looked at Reb Nesanel's kind eyes and nodded.

Reb Nesanel and Shloimy walked up the sidewalk, through the wide iron gate, on the paved path around the large house, past beautiful greenery and bunches of flowers, until they reached the backyard and saw the big beautiful succah. Reb Nesanel opened the door. Shloimy went in and Reb Nesanel followed. "Please sit down at the table," Reb Nesanel requested.

But the boy stood rooted to his spot, staring at the seven boys sleeping in their beds. Unintentionally, the question popped out of his mouth. "Are they all yours?" he asked, openly amazed.

"Yes," he answered. "They are all mine. Three are my sons from birth and four are like my sons. You can also stay here, if you want, at least for tonight. Now sit down at the table and I'll be back soon."

Reb Nesanel left the succah and came back with a tray of drinks and refreshments. The boy made a brocho, ate and drank, while looking at the sleeping boys who were not disturbed by the small commotion. When Shloimy finished eating, Reb Nesanel reiterated his proposal. "You can sleep with us in the succah, but first tell me if anyone is worried about you, if anyone is looking for you."

A pained look crossed the boy's face, and Reb Nesanel did not need an answer. He gently moved him from the table to the only empty bed, his bed.

The boy sunk into it in his clothes and wearily closed his eyes. "Thank you very much," Shloimy whispered and fell fast asleep. Reb Nesanel stood next to the bed for a few minutes, looking at the boy compassionately. He then returned to the table, sat down in his chair and fell asleep with his head resting on his arms.

Shloimy stayed at Reb Nesanel's house that night as well as the following nights, like the days and nights of the next ten years.

And when he received the title "son," he joined Reb Nesanel's three sons (and two daughters) and the other four who were considered his sons. Shloimy's birth father had been in an accident two years prior and lay in a Home in a vegetable state. His mother had a nervous breakdown because of the tragedy and spent long periods of time in a mental hospital. His older sisters were married, but went off the derech and didn't want to raise him. His "devoted" uncles put him into an institution that was not one of the best, to put it mildly. On that night of Succos, when Hashem mercifully directed Shloimy to Reb Nesanel's house, Shloimy's anguish overcame him and he left the institution, not knowing where to go. Hakodosh Boruch Hu did know and He led him to the best place for him.

Shloimy was twelve years old when he came to Reb Nesanel. He finished his last year of elementary school in his former school. He celebrated his Bar Mitzva splendidly with his new family. Then he went to yeshiva. He was a smart boy who absorbed his lessons easily and was outstandingly good natured and a yirei Shomayim. But his state- of-mind went up and down -- sometimes he would burst out in uncontrolled anger and sometimes he fell into a depression and was unable to learn.

His behavior was due to his stormy life, but the yeshiva was not able and didn't want to deal with children like him. He was thrown out of three yeshivos, one after the other. The fourth one, he managed to stay in until the end of the term. "When I grow up," he confided to Reb Nesanel, "I will establish, be'ezras Hashem, an elementary school and yeshiva for children like me. The rebbeim and teachers will be specially trained to understand children like me and help them." Reb Nesanel actually did understand him and helped him as much as he could.

Three years passed, and Reb Nesanel was busy trying to find a yeshiva govoha for Shloimy. As the years passed, Shloimy's heart healed and his behavior improved accordingly. After much effort and using connections, a good yeshiva was found for Shloimy. He found his place there with chasdei Shomayim, and the first year passed uneventfully. The second year also began on the right foot.

Shloimy was seventeen and a half years old the fifth Succos after he became Reb Nesanel's son. Shloimy came home during bein hazmanim to help Reb Nesanel build the succah. His own two daughters and three sons had gotten married and established their own homes. The four who were considered his sons had returned bs'd to their original families. Shloimy remained like an only child and was very close to Reb Nesanel. Together, they attached the succah boards, laid the schach, checked esrogim and chose the nicest ones. They checked the tips of the lulavim, the hadasim leaves and length and quality of the arovos. And between this and that, they had private discussions. When they were tying the arba minim, Shloimy suddenly asked an unrelated question. "Everyone in yeshiva knows that I am adopted, and your yichus will not be passed down to me. Who is going to want to marry me?"

Reb Nesanel looked at him surprised, but quickly got a hold of himself and immediately understood what the real problem was. He carefully put down the arba minim and told Shloimy to do the same. Reb Nesanel sat down and sat Shloimy next to him. He put his arm around his shoulders and started to speak. "I detect in your words a bitterness about the way you grew up. I understand your feelings very well, but I want you to understand and internalize the posuk: `Kol ma de'ovid Rachmono letav ovid.' This is the absolute truth and not mere words. HaKodosh Boruch Hu does everything for the good, even if we don't see it, at least right away. Hardships build a person, form his character, shape his spirit and sharpen his feelings and emotions.

Look, you haven't forgotten about your idea to establish educational institutions for homeless children. Would the idea ever occurred to you if you yourself were not a child like that? Hakodosh Boruch Hu made you sensitive and compassionate; would you have been aware of others' anguish if you had not experienced it yourself? That was a rhetorical question of course, but the answer is obvious. Hakodosh Boruch Hu appointed you to help children. You are still young. You still need to learn and grow in Torah and midos so someday you can educate Jewish children who need the kind of teacher you will become, a teacher who can understand a troubled child's heart. And if you don't establish your own institution, you can always work in similar places." Reb Nesanel paused for a moment and immediately continued speaking. "I never told you my life story and why I took in children who did not have a proper place to grow up in. The time has come to tell you."

And Reb Nesanel began his story . . .

Lodz, World War II.

Before World War II, Lodz was the second largest city in Poland and famous as a city of industry and factories. Two hundred and fifty thousand Jews lived there before the war. Many of them were rich and respected, owners of the largest factories, which manufactured material and linen for the entire Poland and employed hundreds of thousands of local workers.

When the Germans yemach shemom invaded Poland, the first thing they did was overpower the factories, businesses and immovable property in Jewish ownership. In Lodz too, they confiscated and nationalized all Jewish factories and businesses. They appointed German custodians, mainly Poles of German extract who were nicknamed German Poles, on the factories. One of the chains of large textile factories that fell into German hands like a ripe fruit belonged to Reb Kalman Brudman, one of the rich and esteemed Jews of the city. Reb Kalman was a talmid chochom and a yirei Shomayim, a tremendous ba'al chesed and one of the pillars of the Jewish community. He owned a chain of factories that manufactured all kinds of material: fine cloth for sewing clothing and linen; rough, thick cloth for military purposes like tents, vehicle and weapon coverings. Reb Kalman inherited the factory from his father-in-law, Reb Yoshe Pinsky, and it carried his name after his death and was called "Pinsky's Chain Factories, Inc." The knits were famous throughout Eastern Europe as Pinsky's Knits.

The custodian appointed over the factory had no idea how to run a factory, especially such a huge chain of factories like Pinsky's. He desperately needed Reb Kalman's help to keep the factory operating. The Germans yemach shemom vezichrom were especially interested in the factory's operation to supply material to the German army. Reb Kalman received a permit allowing him, his wife, his daughters and young son to live near the factory. His two older sons had been snatched off the streets at the beginning of the war and sent to the Russian front, from where they did not return.

Until March, 1942, Reb Kalman and his family survived with their special permits and managed to push off being sent to the camps again and again. During this time, Reb Kalman gave one of his young daughters to a Polish family. He had business connections with the head of the family for many years and had helped him a lot. The Pole promised Reb Kalman that he would guard his daughter to the best of his ability for the sake of his long- standing friendship and for the sake of a large sum of money, silver and merchandise from the factory.

He kept his promise and hid Breindel, or Polia in Polish, who had blonde hair and blue eyes, in his house. But towards the end of the war, "good" Poles recognized her as Reb Kalman's daughter and gave her to the Nazis. She died al kiddush Hashem in Auschwitz.

Reb Kalman also wanted to send his little boy Nesanel Yitzchok, or Yazek in Polish, to that friend but Yazek at first refused to leave his parents. He stayed with them until Reb Kalman felt that the ground was burning under his feet and they would soon be sent to the death camps. Because he no longer was in contact with the Pole who took in Breindel, Reb Kalman decided to speak to Paul Pablov, an old worker in the factory who was faithful to Reb Kalman even after the Germans confiscated the factory. Reb Kalman gave Paul his remaining wealth: jewelry, furs, utensils, furniture and clothing, and a sum of money in bills and gold coins, a huge amount of money that today would amount to about a million dollars.

Paul took the huge sum and Nesanel Yitzchok, seven- year-old Yazek, and gave them to his elderly father Michael Pablov, who lived alone in one of the small villages about an hour and a half away from Lodz. Late at night, Michael dug a hole in his yard, hid the property in it in a wooden box and took Yazek into his house.

The thin boy was suddenly snatched from his family, whose shattered hearts bled and whose tears had dried up. His father Kalman asked him to remain a Yid, and his mother asked him to try to remember everything he had learned in his father's house. The sudden separation was planned to ease the suffering it caused. Yazek, who was mature beyond his years, participated. He put up a strong front so as not to pain his parents and sister and went with Paul, while his heart told him that he would never see them again.

About a week after Yazek arrived at his haven, his parents and sisters were taken to the valley of death and died al kiddush Hashem. Yazek did not know. He put his small palm in Paul's hand and went with him.

Yazek had blue eyes and blonde hair and an "Aryan" face. They sheared his payos and gave him a goyishe haircut. From now on, if anyone would ask him, his name was Yazek Pablov, Polish from birth.

At night, under the cover of darkness, they got on to the train in Lodz and after a one and a half hour trip, got off on the outskirts of the village. The last house in the row of small, crude houses was Michael Pablov's. But they did not go on the main road. Even though all the houses were dark and slumbering, they bypassed them and went through the fields, until they reached Michael's field. They crossed the field and stopped at a poor stone house. Paul knocked on the window as prearranged, and Michael opened the door. Paul thrust the boy inside, gave his father the package with clothes and toys for Yazek and, without saying good-bye, went back where he came from. Yazek remained with the old man.

"Come, boy," Michael said and brought him to the kitchen, which was so-called only because it contained a crude wooden table with two chairs, old but strong wooden boards that held a few eating utensils, copper pots and iron pans. One bowl and a pail stood in the corner of the "kitchen." The partially covered bowl contained milk, and there was a bit of drinking water in the pail. Because the shutters were closed and no light could enter, Michael lit a thin candle and sat Yazek at the table. "You must be hungry, boy," he stated and put a few pieces of bread and a cup of milk on the table.

Yazek finished everything that was in front of him, while Michael sat across from him silently watching him. "You can't stay here in the house," the old man said. "The `good' Polish neighbors might discover that I have company. Even though you appear Polish, it is not safe to rely on that in these stormy days. They suspect everyone. There is a wooden shed on the edge of the field. I cleaned it out and put in a mattress and blankets and even set up a stone fireplace. I sealed the window, so no light can be seen from outside. You'll stay there by yourself during the day, and I will try to come once a day on some pretext. Every night, I'll come keep you company so you won't be scared. Let's go now, before the sun rises."

Michael already despised Germans when he was a soldier during World War I, and since their recent conquest, his hate grew tenfold. Their wickedness, animalistic behavior and bestial cruelty that was exposed by their treatment of the Jews did not sit well with him at all, and he did not take part in the Polish collaboration with the Nazis. Privately, he swore to do whatever he could to ensure that little Yazek would return to his family whole and healthy.

Michael did not know about the death camps and that Yazek's family was no longer alive, but he tried to guard him well. Even if he had known, he would not have behaved differently but would have tried to do even more for the boy. Yazek could not read thoughts, but he sensed that the tall, strong, elderly man was concerned about him, and he trusted him and even became attached to him over time.

The small shed was made out of thick wooden boards. Its roof, which was made out of bundles of straw, reminded Yazek of the succah his father used to build every year, but his father put green branches under the straw on the succah. Yazek got used to the yellow dry straw that lay constantly on the shed's earthen floor like he got used to the constant loneliness of those long days.

Yazek was forbidden to leave the shed during the day and could not even look out the window, lest someone see him. He had enough time to fulfill his mother's last request and review everything he learned. One day, Michael brought him a siddur. Michael did not tell him how and where he found it and Yazek did not ask. He davened whatever he knew from the siddur and even taught himself the other tefillos.

Every night, Michael came and sat with him. He covered him with warm blankets and sat wrapped in his coat next to Yazek's bed, watching him until he fell asleep. Yazek never found out if Michael slept. He usually fell asleep before the old man, and when he woke up, he was no longer there. Before sunrise, he had to go home so the neighbors should not see him. Every afternoon, he brought his only cow to pasture near the shed. Thus he was able to bring Yazek food and bread and other necessities without arousing suspicion. He then went back to his work, leaving the cow in the field. At evening, Michael returned to fetch his cow and check up on the boy. When a blanket of darkness enveloped the village, he went back to the shed to keep Yazek company. This routine happened every day, while the storms of the war were far away.

Periodically, the Germans came into the village to confiscate agricultural goods and left very little for the villagers. Even this did not bother them. The elderly Michael was a quiet person and did not speak much, but this did not bother Yazek. He trusted him and knew that when the war was over, he would return him to his parents. Yazek was cut off from anything happening outside of the shed and did not know the situation. Michael also did not know much about what was going on and did not bother informing the boy of what he did know. Only once during the entire time that Yazek stayed at Michael did Paul come visit his father and bring him some of the money Yazek's father gave him in addition to the huge sum for supporting Yazek. Michael took the money but did not use it. He hid it for the boy. The treasure hidden in the yard he moved to another place unknown to Paul.

In Michael's mind, the money and property all belonged to Yazek and he didn't want Paul to take it after the war was over. Michael will claim that he doesn't know where the treasure disappeared and Paul would never suspect that his father hid it from him. To support himself and Yazek, Michael grew vegetables and fruit in his garden and obtained a little flour, which he baked into bread with his own hands. The cow supplied milk and what more did they need to live on?

But Yazek and his family would need the money after the fall of the Germans, Michael thought, so he carefully guarded the treasure to eventually return to its owners some day. Before the war, Michael had visited Reb Kalman's factory and knew him as an honest Jew who employed his son. He knew him as Mr. Pinsky, from the factory's name, and thought that Yazek's name was also Pinsky and guarded him devotedly. Thus two years passed with Yazek hidden in the shed. He pretended that it was not a shed, but a succah, and he was fulfilling the mitzva of sitting in a succah every time he was there, sat, ate, drank and learned, like the good old days in his father's succah.

One frozen December night, towards the end of Yazek's second year at Michael, Michael was late. The entire day he had not visited the hut, but Yazek was not worried; he was sure that the old man would not abandon him. If Michael had not come, he must have a good reason, Yazek thought. So, he sat and waited, wrapped in his clothes and blankets.

The field and hut were covered with a blanket of white, clear snow and icicles hung on the hut's window. At around midnight, Yazek heard Michael's boots stomping on the snow. When he came in, covered with snowflakes, Yazek knew that something was out of the ordinary. Michael was holding a thick woolen coat and boots for Yazek (Yazek's coat and boots were too small for him), a woolen hat and a wrapped package. "I have to take you away from here, my child. The neighbors are starting to become suspicious. Today they came to my house and asked me questions. The ground is burning under our feet. You have to go. Today I went to the city and bought a coat and boots for you for a lot of money. You have to leave, my good boy."

My child, my good boy, this was the first time Michael said such affectionate words. He was a closed man and did not speak much in general, and especially not affectionately, but this time emotion untied his tongue. "But where will I go?" Yazek asked. "I don't want to leave."

"I also don't want you to leave, but we have no choice. There is no other option. We'll travel to Lodz and from there to Cracow to a Christian orphanage. I have documents for you as Yazek Pablov, which I got a long time ago. Put on these clothes and let's go. We have no time to waste."

In the frost of thirty degrees below zero, Michael and Yazek walked to the train station, got onto an almost empty train to Lodz and traveled in relative safety. In Lodz, they boarded the train to Cracow, a thirty-six hour journey including waiting. Yazek entered the Christian orphanage in Cracow when he was nine years old and much more mature than his age. His Polish appearance helped him disguise himself well and none of the orphanage's children or monks suspected that at night, under his blankets, he said krias shema and in the morning before getting up, modeh ani and birchos hashachar.

Michael came to visit him twice during the first half a year that he was there. Yazek knew how expensive the visit was, but Michael was so attached to the boy that he made the long trip from his village to Cracow to see him and make sure that all was well.

Towards the end of the war, the orphanage was hit by a bomb. The Allies were steadily approaching and were right outside of Cracow, and the city was frequently bombed. So, the orphanage moved to a faraway village and when Michael came to visit a third time, he could not find the orphanage.

Thus the connection between the two was severed. At the end of the war, Yazek discovered another five Jewish children disguised as Poles in the orphanage. Together, they fled the orphanage and went to Cracow where social workers found them wandering the streets and sent them to the Jewish Joint Distribution Committee. After a few months, Yazek Nesanel Yitzchok Brudman arrived in Eretz Yisroel on an illegal transport when he was eleven years old.

Activists from a chareidi settlement in the center of the land sent him to Botei Ovos, a home in Bnei Brak founded by HaRav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman for orphans of the Holocaust and later for youth from the eastern countries.

"You see," Reb Nesanel Brudman said to Shloimy, "I also weathered storms in my life. I learned in yeshivos in Bnei Brak and Yerushalayim, got married, established a home, learned in kollel for ten years and then established a textile factory like my father's in Lodz. Hashem helped me establish a family, succeed in business and help lonely children grow up in dignity. My entire family, with their great yichus, was snuffed out in the gas chambers of Auschwitz and I had to build up my own yichus anew. You too, be'ezras Hashem, will continue learning and growing and your family's yichus will start from you. Don't worry, in the zchus of your learning and your talents, you'll find a good wife be'ezras Hashem and establish a home and try to help others as best as you can. Hashem will help that your dream to establish your own institution will come true someday."

Years passed. Shloimy got married and established a home of Torah and yiras Shomayim. It seemed that the possibility of realizing his dream was very far away. There were no means. Meanwhile, Shloimy was highly successful at his job as a rebbi in yeshiva and gained a reputation as a talmid chochom and excellent teacher. His dream to establish a yeshiva and beis medrash for homeless children still remained his greatest aspiration.

Reb Nesanel also shared his dream and hoped to dedicate some of his wealth to the cause, but the financial state of the country steadily worsened. Inflation was at a peak, there was a recession, and many factories experienced difficulties, including Reb Nesanel's formerly prosperous factory. The situation got so bad that Reb Nesanel asked brokers to find him an outside investor for his factory.

The telephone rang in the office of Brudman Knits, Inc. Adina, Reb Nesanel's secretary, picked up the phone. The caller identified himself as Mr. Simon Stein from New York and asked to speak with the boss. Adina forwarded the call and Reb Nesanel picked up the receiver.

He could not speak English, so Mr. Stein switched to Yiddish. He identified himself again as the owner of a chain of textile factories called United American Textile and said that he heard that Mr. Brudman was looking for an investor and that he was interested in becoming a partner. He offered some information about himself and his factory, but Mr. Brudman did not need any details. He had heard of the chain and the wise, successful chareidi who headed it. He always wanted to establish business connections with Mr. Stein and here was the opportunity to become nothing less than partners. Mr. Stein suggested that he come to Eretz Yisroel to discuss the matter and they decided to meet in one week in the Brudman Knits factory.

Mr. Nesanel Brudman replaced the receiver on the hook with a feeling of tremendous happiness and thanks to Hashem that His hashgocho protis accompanied him throughout his whole life. If Mr. Stein invested in the business, it had a good chance of making a turnaround and returning to its former production. Mr. Stein was known as an honest, G-d fearing person and Reb Nesanel did not hesitate to become his partner. He and the factory would only gain.

Mr. Brudman was already weary. Years ago, he had wanted to retire, but his sons and sons-in-law sat in the beis medrash and did not want to enter the business. He was prepared to entrust the entire business to Mr. Stein when the time came. "Modeh ani lefonecho for Your nissim every day," he murmured.

Mr. Stein came to Eretz Yisroel with his wife, son and daughter-in-law as well as his factory's lawyer and accountant. After a thorough inspection, discussions and agreements, they signed the contracts and Mr. Stein became a sixty percent partner in the Brudman Knits factory. The remaining forty percent remained in Mr. Nesanel Brudman's hands. The two sides were most satisfied and Mr. Stein committed himself to invest money into the factory so it would once again be able to function at maximum production. After the contracts were signed, Mr. Brudman invited Mr. Stein and his family to his home for supper.

Mrs. Brudman hosted the guests royally. They sat in the roomy dining room at a table set with expensive dishes and delicacies. The atmosphere was pleasant; the women chattered about household matters and the men spoke about business and other important topics.

The hour was late but the company lingered. Suddenly, Mr. Brudman's seven-year-old grandson, who was staying with his grandparents at the time, walked into the dining room. The boy was very cute with his blonde hair, blue eyes and pug nose but his little red mouth was twisted with crying. "Savta, I don't feel well."

His grandmother went out of the room with him when suddenly something totally unexpected happened. Mr. Stein looked like he was in absolute shock. He quickly got up, burst out of the dining room and ran after Mrs. Brudman and her grandson. Everyone else also got up and ran after him. They all gathered in the bedroom and saw a strange sight: Mr. Stein stood the boy up opposite him, took a small, crumpled picture out of his jacket pocket and looked back and forth from the boy to the picture. Then he passed the worn out picture to Mr. Brudman and asked in a trembling voice, "Do you recognize the boy in the picture?"

Mr. Brudman looked at the picture, and a look of shock now appeared on his face. With great difficulty he finally blurted out, "That boy is me."

Mr. Stein fainted. Panic reigned. Mrs. Stein started screaming frantically, Mrs. Brudman clasped her hands with a lack of strength, and the grandson resumed his loud wailing. Mr. Stein's son knelt down next to his father and started trying to revive him, while his young wife gave him advice.

The only one who had control over himself was Mr. Brudman. He whipped out his cellular phone and called Mogen David Adom, the ambulance. Hatzala arrived first and declared that it was just a light shock and that no real harm was done. Then the Mogen David people arrived, but by then there was nothing for them to do but to go back to where they came. Mr. Stein recovered and everyone calmed down a bit. Mr. and Mrs. Brudman insisted that the company stay overnight and not return to the hotel. They returned to the supper table, bentched and sat down in the Brudman's spacious foyer, waiting for an explanation of what happened. Mr. Brudman wanted to know how a childhood picture of him got to Mr. Stein.

"Mr. Brudman," said Mr. Stein, "Fifty- two years I am searching for a man named Yazek Pinsky or his Jewish name Yitzchok Pinsky, whose family owned a cloth factory called Pinsky Knits. What connection do you have to Yitzchok Pinsky?"

"But I am Yitzchok," Mr. Brudman answered. "My full name is Nesanel Yitzchok. Pinsky Knits was my grandfather's factory and then my father's. My father was Reb Kalman Brudman, but people thought his name was Pinsky because he owned a factory called Pinsky. The factory was named after his father-in-law, my mother's father."

"Aha," Mr. Stein understood. "The man who gave me your picture mistakenly thought that your name was Pinsky and that is why I could not find you."

Mr. Stein leaned back lightly. "For fifty- two years I was searching all over the world, first for a boy and then a man named Yazek Pinsky. I put advertisements in newspapers all over the world, I contacted agents -- but you were living under the name Nesanel Brudman. How could I have found you? Didn't you ever come across my advertisements?"

"No, I never saw such an advertisement. If I would have seen it, I would have recognized the name I was called during the war. If anyone I knew would have seen the advertisements, they would have contacted me. It was Hashem's will.

"But who gave you my picture and asked you to find me? And why?"

Mr. Stein straightened up, looked around at the curious crowd, looked straight at Mr. Brudman and said joyfully, "Mr. Nesanel Yitzchok Brudman Pinsky, I have good news for you -- that I am afraid might cause to you what happened to me just now. I am afraid that you'll go into shock. Maybe we should call Hatzala."

"I have gone through hard times in my life and I survived," Mr. Brudman said. "I am no longer young, but I can handle good news."

"If so, I don't take responsibility," Mr. Stein said and cleared his throat. He hesitated a few seconds and finally said the following: "Mr. Nesanel Yitzchok Brudman, in the National Pacific Bank in New York, there is a million dollars plus fifty-two years worth of interest, quite a sum of money, that all belongs to you."

Mr. and Mrs. Brudman looked at Mr. Stein as if he were out of his mind. "I know what you are thinking," Mr. Stein said. "If I were in your position, I wouldn't believe it either. It seems like a fantastic sum of money, but it is completely true. You can ask my wife and son."

His wife, son and daughter-in-law nodded in agreement. Mr. and Mrs. Brudman looked at Mr. Stein, confused, and could not say a word.

"Listen to the details," Mr. Stein said. "During World War II, I was a soldier in the American army, a frum Jewish soldier. I fought with the army that freed Poland from the German Wehrmacht. My platoon was stationed in a small village near Lodz. One day, an old Polish villager came to the army camp, a tall, thin man named Michael Pablov. He said that he heard that there was a Jewish soldier in the platoon and he wanted to meet him.

"My friends tracked me down and brought me to the old man. He gave me your picture and told me that he hid you for two years. Then he sent you to an orphanage in Cracow. After about a year, the orphanage moved away and he lost contact with you. He gave me a package and told me that there was a large sum of money inside, and valuable silver and jewelry, that your father gave to his son for saving you. Pablov guarded the treasure and refused to touch it because it was yours. He said that your name was Yazek Pinsky and asked me to find you. Since then, I have been searching for you all over the world."

"You couldn't find me because my name was Brudman, not Pinsky," Reb Nesanel's tongue was untied. "But . . . And here is the great "but." It seems that Hashem Who is the Master of the world arranges things as He wishes. He wanted the money to be saved and the sum to grow so that I can make an old dream come true.

"Of course after you get your share," Reb Nesanel added. He was excited but still in control of himself. "Excuse me, I have to tell someone the news."

He hurried to the telephone, ignoring the fact that it was after midnight. Good news like this could not wait until the morning, he figured, and dialed Shloimy's number with shaking hands. "Shloimy," he said, laughing and crying at the same time. "Your idea is no longer a dream. Your dream will come true, be'ezras Hashem! Chasdei Hashem ki lo somnu . . ."

Conclusion

One rov after another got up at the head table at Bederech Avoseinu and spoke beautifully. Communal figures also spoke. HaRav Shlomo Kagan blessed the assemblage in the name of the rabbonim of the institution and the educational staff. Then Mr. Nesanel Brudman asked to speak. He introduced Mr. Stein, and told everyone the unbelievable story of the treasure that made it possible to build the school and yeshiva on the beautiful grounds. Everyone stood up and applauded for a long time.

The next day, the front pages of the newspapers were filled with the story of Mr. Stein and the money he watched so carefully. It was a kiddush Hashem that crossed borders, cities and countries. Meanwhile that night, the band began playing joyous songs and the large crowd outdid themselves, uplifting the simchas beis hasho'eivo to previously unknown heights.

And if we can borrow the saying, "Whoever did not see the simchas beis hasho'eivo did not see simcha in his days," we can definitely say that whoever did not participate in that simchas beis hasho'eivo at Bederech Avoseinu did not participate in a true simcha in his days.

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