A true story, heard firsthand
Ronny sat hunched over his desk, which was lined with
trophies awarded on several occasions. He had just completed
his regular track practice of running a few hundred meters
with his pals. This was how he usually spent the long
weekend.
Ronny was a good-natured, all-around teenager liked by all.
His teachers predicted a promising future, in any one of the
many areas of his interest: sports, electronics, music. Yet,
of late, when tearing past the finishing line, he felt no
surge of excitement at the roaring applause, and would
slowly, and somewhat grudgingly, approach the platform for
his well-deserved prize. The prize would sit forlornly on the
bleachers until his father, beaming with excitement, would
tenderly caress it and place it gingerly in his handbag.
Throughout the long summer vacation, this scene took place
repeatedly. At first, Yoav, his father, did not pay attention
to the distress signals and would always give Ronny a hearty
slap on the back, then hug him, encouraging him to continue
in his successful way. But as the summer came to a close,
Yoav became perturbed by his son's behavior. School began and
Ronny became more secluded and curled into his inner shell,
spending much time with himself and his thoughts.
Today, he had once again broken past all the runners on the
race track, as he passed the goal and was triumphantly raised
up high by his friends amidst much clapping and cheering.
Upon arriving home, his attempts to quiet the loud noise
reverberating in his head seemed futile, despite the eerie
silence in his home. Ronny offhandedly reached out to one of
the trophies. Touching the hard metal served as a
tranquilizer as slowly, his feelings formulated into logical
thoughts and reasoning.
The top of his desk was strewn with scraps of paper. He
suddenly had a brainstorm and dropped the heavy metal cup,
which fell with a thud on an empty, yet dirty glass lying on
the desk, shattering it to pieces. He pushed aside the mess
and straightened his back, beginning a search for some
writing apparatus. Inside a drawer, he found a gold-plated
pen, an award for some sort of contest. With a flourish, he
began his letter:
Dear Hakadosh Baruch Hu,
I, Ronnie Gabbai, am a super sport star. But in my personal
arena, I am far from successful. I am bewildered. I feel lost
and afraid.
I do not know who I am, what my destiny will lead to. My mind
is always churning, leaving questions unanswered. I am at the
pinnacle of success, on the threshold of fame, yet I lack all
satisfaction. I feel underserving of the honor bestowed on
me.
Searching for some meaning in life, I remain,
Yours truly,
Ronny
A soft smile now touched Ronny's face, which exuded a
calmness he had not sensed in a long time. With quick
strides, he left his home and went to drop the letter in a
mailbox, for want of anything better to do with it, once it
was written. His heart beat with quickened excitement as he
began to wait for some sort of reply, some sign... The
response was not long in coming.
*
Ehud was hard at work, fixing the plumbing system in the
school's basement. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, slowly
gathering to form droplets which trickled down his forehead
and into his eyes. He quickly wiped his brow with his gray T-
shirt and continued to work on the stubborn, leaking pipe.
While muttering some unintelligible words under his breath,
he absentmindedly removed his faithful cigarette pack from
his back pocket and with a flourish, lit up and exhaled dark
gray smoke.
An orange spark touched some highly inflammable material in
this basement, which was used for the storage of the various
science and electronic equipment, amplification systems,
chemicals and musical instruments. In seconds, large yellow-
red flames licked the school walls. The dark smoke made its
way upward to the classrooms. Ehud was able to escape and
soon, too, somber high school students following the
instructions announced on the P.A. system, made their way
safely out of the burning building. They watched, horrified,
from behind the gate as hungry tongues of fire crackled from
the first floor windows, groping their way to the second
floor.
The fire fighters were hard at work and finally, the flames
lost their ferocity and began to falter until only dark rings
of smoke and a sharp odor of scorched materials lingered to
testify to the disaster. The once beautiful, modern school
located in the elite and newly populated section of Ashdod
was seriously damaged. All the valuable contents of the
storage basement were either totally consumed or reduced to
deformed, melted metal, representing the loss of millions of
shekalim. The finely designed auditorium of cream and green
would also require extensive repairs.
As dusk began to settle, the chief firefighter, Yoav,
accompanied the school administrator down to the basement to
see if no smoldering was left to spring back into flames.
They also wanted to assess the total damage. They approached
the warped stereos, the computers and the other equipment and
shook their heads in disbelief. Yoav's son, Ronny, attended
this school, so his father had some idea of all the effort
and value gone down the drain.
They continued on until they came to a large box in the
corner. Cautiously, the principal opened it. It contained
Ehud's personal effects. He put his hand in and removed a
once-velvet, but still recognizable bag. Its contents, two
black squares with black leather straps, had remained intact.
Holy tefillin, made of leather and parchment, more
than recognizable, perhaps still usable, in such contrast to
the wrangled mess of melted metal all around.
They turned to leave, but Yoav retraced his steps; he lifted
up the tefillin and cradled them in his arms. Then he
followed the principal up the stairs.
At the dinner table, Ronny sat spellbound as his father
described the terrible fire: the heat, smoke, the loss. Then
came the climax: his father described how he had made his way
down the stairs.
"In all my thirty years of work, I have never seen such total
destruction. The only thing that could be salvaged..." said
Yoav, rising, and leaving the room momentarily, "was this.
This," he whispered with reverence, "remained intact. And
this is probably what saved all of you as well!"
Ronny got up to inspect the tefillin. "Why?" he asked
simply.
His father lifted up a forefinger and pointed upwards. "There
is a G-d in Heaven."
Ronny took the tefillin from his Dad but did not
return to the dinner table. He went to his room and sat down
on his bed. This fire was disastrous to his school career, to
the science and electronics lab, a field in which he had
hoped to make a big future, and to all of his after-school
music practice and dreams of forming a musical band.
*
It was at this point that Ronny began to investigate the
essence and purpose of donning tefillin, discovering a
world he knew nothing about. His parents stood by his side,
letting him feel his way into a new future, admiring him for
his courage in making a new beginning, in doing what he felt
was right.
The tefillin are not in use. Some letters were
obliterated. But they stand proudly on Ronny's shelf,
occupying the place of his once prized trophies. This
parchment, he feels, is the answer to his letter.
An eternal answer of letters written in black fire upon white
fire...
