Ne'ila. Yom Kippur 1978. The sun is slowly setting and
the whole world is standing breathlessly by, willing the
gates to stay open for just a few minutes longer. Yes, it's
time for the gates to close but in Tel Aviv, in Assuta
Hospital, a new gate was opening: a baby boy is born, a tiny
one, who could best be described as `tear-drenched.' A sea of
tears brought him into the world, endless prayers and
infinite hope. A baby with delicate features, eyes framed by
light lashes, a tiny nose and soft cheeks, but extremely
small. Within several minutes, the baby was hooked up to
several machines and it was difficult to caress him without
encountering a few tubes in the way. The baby was born with a
serious heart defect, and several other problems which are
too complicated to describe here.
The mother and father stood by, a couple which had waited for
over ten years for such an event. The mother, Efrat, is
already in her mid-thirties and as she tries to hug her son,
her tears fall on the tangle of tubes protruding from his
thin body.
These tears have been carrying her throughout the years, as
she dreamed of having a son who would one day illuminate the
world with his Torah learning, even before she thought of the
word `marriage.' And of course, afterwards, when she was a
young bride, she would cry and pray each day and envision
herself hoding her son in her arms. She dreamed of how she
would sing, "Shivti bevais Hashem" to him and tell him
stories of gedolei Yisroel who had achieved greatness
because they loved Torah so much. Yes, she had it all
prepared in her mind: how she would teach him Modeh ani,
Torah tziva and all the brochos.
She would go about her housework, daydreaming of a lovely
childish face, full of innocence, a child who loved Torah
with all his heart. At first she thought only of a small boy,
but then he turned into a yeshiva bochur who ran to
study with all his might, smiling with anticipation.
Everything seemed to be so real and possible in her dream.
Dreams are lovely, but Torah has to be learned in real life,
so she cried her heart out so that the dream could turn into
reality. Tears of a Jewish daughter longing for a good Jewish
child, a child who could learn and practice all the
mitzvos, a child who would bring nachas to his
parents and to his Creator. They were not demanding tears,
but tears of supplication.
Those who met Efrat, and got to know her well, already knew
that Efrat Peshovitz wanted a little tzaddik. She
would sigh and exclaim, "Oy, how I want a ben Torah!"
and her feelings were echoed by her husband, R' Dov. So here
they were after all these years of longing, cradling a
delicate baby boy in their arms on Yom Kippur of 5738.
At 7:30, Efrat Brill (her married name) was still sitting
near her sleeping infant while the beep of monitors could be
heard, a sound annoying enough to irritate even a calm
person. Efrat examined her treasure from every possible angle
and whispered, "I waited so much for you. We waited so long
for you, so many preparations, so many prayers. Oy, Ribono
shel olom! thank You so much! This is such a wonderful
gift!" Efrat continued on as she was used to, praising and
thanking Hashem, pouring out her heart in prayer. Only
prayers could help this poor sick child. Word got out
quickly, "Please pray for the newborn infant of Efrat Rachel
bas Freida" and books of Tehillim were distributed and
recited in all the communities.
In the meantime, Efrat regained her strength and continued to
beseech Hashem to have pity on her child and bless him with a
complete recovery and a long fruitful life -- a life of Torah
and yiras shomayim. She prayed that his weak lungs,
now being pumped artificially, be used to study with fervor.
It was hard for her to believe that this treasure of hers
would somehow disappear. She could already hear the
brocha: "...just as he is entering the covenant (of
Avrohom Ovinu), so shall he merit to study Torah..." She
continued her prayers together with all the others,
interspersed with fragments of those familiar songs she had
always sung -- "Shivti bevais Hashem" and "Mekimi
mei'ofor dal" - - to her infant.
A month went by. If Efrat hadn't been a bas Levi,
there would have been a pidyon haben with happiness
and sadness all mixed together. The whole situation was like
a see-saw; as one seat went up, the other went down. The
doctors tried to predict the situation. This one gave him a
month to live and the other said he had more of a chance than
that, while a third colleague insisted on a bit less. But the
couple knew that all these predictions were baseless. "We
shall trust in Hashem, we shall pray and succeed."
They put their trust in Hashem, the Creator of all, Who knows
what is best for all of us. Efrat sat by her baby's bedside
for hours on end, while her husband learned in a low lilting
melody. And when the baby seemed to be awake, she would
caress him gently, as often as the staff of the intensive
care unit allowed, while telling him wonderful stories of
gedolei Yisroel. She told him of Hillel who lay on the
roof of the beis midrash in freezing weather to hear
words of Torah. Of the Maharam of Lublin, whose love of Torah
came from his mother, of R' Yisroel Elchonon Spektor who grew
up to become the Rov of Kovno, and also of those whose
greatness was never discovered, and only Hashem knew. Every
caress was an expression of the wonderful `triple cord' --
Hashem, the Torah and the Jewish people -- all bound together
forever.
On the 15th of Teves 1978, Efrat Brill was sitting opposite
her grandfather, an elderly tzaddik, who had undergone
many difficult experiences in life. And although he had
suffered a great deal, his faith had remained strong and
undaunted. Her husband was in the hospital with the baby, and
Efrat was praying that `it' shouldn't happen while she was
here visiting with her grandfather.
Contemplating her grandfather's pure eyes and his full white
beard framing a lined face, she turned to him anxiously.
"Zeidy, you know how much I prayed for a healthy child who
would grow up to serve his Creator. And here we are, four
months after his birth and we haven't had the privilege to
make a bris yet. And if that weren't enough..." Here
she stopped out of respect for her grandfather, whose trust
and faith in Hashem were part and parcel of his being.
He explained gently, "Efrat, prayers don't get lost. As for
our aspirations, if Hashem wills them, they come true.
Therefore, we must continue praying. The One Who hears our
prayers does not ignore them. May He accept them..." He
lowered his voice and added, "If I don't get the chance to
bless you along with the others at the bris, let me
bless you now. May you merit to bring him up to Torah,
chuppa, umaasim tovim. Tell this to Dov, too."
It took Efrat several minutes to gain her composure after the
words her grandfather had pronounced with such emotion and to
realize the import of "...if I don't have the chance to bless
you at the bris." She made an effort to move on to
other, more mundane topics. They talked about family news,
about the siyum which had recently taken place in the
Peshovitz home, about the new great-grandchildren, and as
they talked, the message of pure faith came through again and
again: all that Hashem does is for the good.
Jerusalem, the 30th of Adar, 1978. The morning stillness is
broken by the sounds of a loudspeaker: "The funeral of the
tzaddik, R' Shmaya Peshovitz, will take place at..."
These sad tones, always difficult to bear, were even more
painful for the couple in the hospital standing by his great-
grandchild. They wanted so much to accompany him on his last
journey in this world but the doctors were adamant. "You
can't both go," they insisted. "The situation is critical and
if they baby goes, at least one of you has to be present."
What callousness!
"We understand the situation," the parents replied, "but as
we have already explained several times, Hashem is watching
the baby, even when we're not here. We have to go!"
"Do what you will," answered the doctors, "but he only has
several hours to live." A question of hours? Does anyone
in the world have the key to life? they murmured, partly
to themselves and partly to the doctor in charge. "We are
going. We will be back as soon as possible."
They left for Jerusalem. The bus trip gave them a chance to
recover from the shock and to rest a bit. They walked from
the main bus station in silence, each thinking about the
wonderful man who was no longer with them. It was he who had
encouraged them throughout the years and believed that one
day, they, too, would hold a child in their arms. True, he
was Efrat's grandfather, but he was also one of the great
figures of Jerusalem.
The eulogies began, each speaker trying to keep within the
norm for Rosh Chodesh. They all spoke of his great
scholarship, his acts of kindness and his refined character.
The last speaker was R' Boruch Peshovitz, one of the
deceased's sons. He read his father's last testament in an
emotional tone, mentioning at the end one important
paragraph: "I, Shmaya Peshovitz, promise that all children
named after me, and their parents, will surely grow to have
yiras shomayim and be meticulous in the observance of
all the mitzvos, and bring nachas to their
Father in Heaven."
A ripple went through the crowd of grandchildren. Efrat, the
youngest of them, was deeply moved. Think of how many prayers
parents pour out for their children -- and here, their
grandfather had made such a wonderful promise!
Back in the hospital, the monitor still showed signs of
life.
The 28th of Nisan 5738. 10 a.m.
The strong cry of a six-month-old boy pierced the Netivot
Olom Yeshiva hall as he was ushered into the covenant of
Avrohom Ovinu. Then an emotional voice rang out, "...and his
name in Israel shall be called `Shmaya ben Dov'. May his
father rejoice in his offspring..."
A murmur passed through the crowd. A first great- grandchild
named after their special grandfather! Of course, there were
so many prayers behind this: the grandfather's prayers, Dov
and Efrat's prayers, and all those in the family who had
shared their hopes.
Standing by the side, Efrat was trying to understand that
this was her own son's bris. That she really had a
little Shmaya. She was filled with gratitude to Hashem Who
heard her prayers and had given her this child.
The head nurse of the Intensive Care Unit, who had traveled
from out of town to attend the bris, came over to
Efrat, and in a murmur filled with emotion, asked, "How did
you say it? That he merit to study Torah, to do
mitzvos and good deeds? Only prayers such as these can
move things. Continue praying." Her eyes filled with tears as
she embraced Efrat. Everyone understood that this occasion
was a milestone in the fulfillment of Efrat's dreams.
*
Time went on. Circles closed and new ones opened. Tishrei
5759 (1999).
In the Netivot Olom hall of the yeshiva, it was Shabbos Sheva
Brochos for the chosson Shmaya Brill and his
kalla. All the speakers praised his excellent
character and his numerous acts of kindness. The Rosh Yeshiva
who had the merit to gain him as a son-in-law also praised
the chosson's character and then went on to describe
his wonderful learning capacity, his in-depth analysis, and
his diligence in study. Surely there was more to be said, but
one does not overly praise another in his presence.
Then the chosson himself stood up and asked to say a
few words. "I would like to thank all of those who praised
and blessed me. Some of you surely know the wonderful home I
grew up in. What I really want you to know is that everything
I am today I owe mainly to my mother's prayers and
aspirations for me."
