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
