R' Shabsai Frankel's office was abuzz with excitement. At
last, after years of time and effort, and after investing
thousands of dollars, there was, on the table; the precious,
antique scroll of parchment, in its entirety.
Rabbi Frankel was a Holocaust survivor, who had somehow,
miraculously, managed to escape the inferno. He had fled to
the United States, where he had turned over Heaven and Earth
to try to save some of his fellow Jews from the German
annihilation. Together with many others, he had come across
indifference and apathy and felt he was talking to a brick
wall.
To commemorate his whole family who perished in the death
camps, Rabbi Frankel decided to devote his time and income to
publishing Judaica, holy Jewish works. He was going to redact
and publish new editions of important works which were
presently gathering dust on some learned individuals' tables.
The Mishne Torah of the Rambam was one case in
point.
In addition to this project, Rabbi Frankel financed a
kollel of young men, who helped him sort and collate
the material which came in, and who would compare various
styles of writing, and actual handwriting. He spent hundreds
of thousands of dollars preparing documents in order to
perfect new editions. Hundreds of years had passed since the
Rambam had written the Mishne Torah. With each new
printing which had been published, the text was changed
slightly, which led to mistakes and confusion.
Rabbi Frankel was determined to publish this important work
with a text which was as close as possible to the original.
He set up three printing presses, two of which churned out
new volumes of the Mishne Torah and the third was used
to publish other works, such as the writings of the
Steipler.
He became obsessed with the Mishne Torah. Numerous
original samples of the work found their way to his office.
He used the antique editions in an attempt to compare and
obtain an exact replica of the original version. After more
than twenty years of research and sheer hard work, and when
most of the volumes of the Mishne Torah had already
been published, R' Shabsai heard that there was an original
scroll of the complete work of the Rambam in an archives in
Cairo. The complete scroll was seven hundred years old!
Naturally, he was excited, and determined to acquire this
ancient parchment. He turned to the Egyptian authorities, who
refused vehemently. Undeterred, R'. Shabsai appealed to
senators, consulates, ambassadors, anyone who might have some
influence on the Egyptian government. Finally he had a reply
from Cairo. The manuscript would be released, at a price. He
could have it for $750,000 . . . For three quarters of a
million dollars, the Egyptians were prepared to sell it to
him.
To put things into perspective, no ordinary person could read
this at all. A professional would have to open each fragment
of parchment delicately, photo copy it on micro fiche
(although photography was less sophisticated a few decades
ago) and that was it. The brittle scroll would remain forever
unusable and unused, in a glass case, in some museum. It was
for this item that Rabbi Frankel spent seven hundred and
fifty thousand dollars!
The money was sent and received and now the parchment was
lying in state on R' Shabsai's desk. R' Shabsai sat in his
usual chair, gazing at his new acquisition and the young men
were filled with curiosity, as each one of them took a peek
at the invaluable article. What was it going to add to their
years of work?
"Have you been in to see the ancient scroll yet?" someone
asked his friend in the kitchen, during their lunch break.
"No, I have only just come down to make myself a drink. I'll
pop in on the way back to my room." So he did, gazing with
awe, as all the others had done, at the ancient crumbling,
rolled-up parchment. What happened next, or rather how it
happened, is a mystery. The young man's cup of coffee
overturned onto the desk, turning the scroll into a pulp of
sugar, coffee grounds and hot water.
"Oh no!" gasped the typesetter, holding his head between his
hands and closing his eyes to shut out the horrible scene.
"One moment of carelessness and $750,000 is down the drain.
They can fire me, but that won't pay for the damage . . . .
Only one split second . . . " He waited for some reaction
from his boss, imagining behind his still closed eyes, the
tears and the despair. There was not a sound. Just a chair
being scraped back, the door opening and a few minutes later,
the gentle voice of R' Shabsai.
"You spilt your coffee. I made you another cup."
Nobody knew what happened to the scroll. It just disappeared.
The typesetters never received any orders about changing the
texts in subsequent volumes which were published. Their work
continued as before. Two years later, when the family was
sitting shiva for Rabbi Frankel, the mystery was
solved. The typesetter told the story of how he had spilt his
cup of coffee.
