It was a small shul with very few members. The
regulars were only seven elderly men, and every day, the
gabbai, Elimelech, had to go out to find three extra
men to make up the minyon.
One day, Elimelech went to a family simchah. The
conversation turned to the proliferation of public
shiurim and how it was now possible for everyone to
attend one. "Who gives the shiur in your shul?"
asked Elimelech's cousin, Pinchos.
"We don't have a shiur in our shul," answered
Elimelech. "It's all I can do to get a minyon each
day."
"Not even between minchah and maariv?" wondered
Pinchos.
"When I coax three men to join us, we daven maariv as
soon as possible after minchah so that they are free
to leave. There would be no time for a shiur."
"Who says the shiur has to be between minchah
and maariv? You can have it afterwards. A shul
has to have a shiur." The two chatted a little longer
until the band struck up deafeningly, and they joined the
dancing for a while.
When Elimelech returned home after the wedding, he thought
about what his cousin had said, and decided that his
shul, too, would have a shiur. He discussed it
with the six other members and they decided that they would
like a shiur after maariv each day, but not a
gemora shiur; that was too difficult for them to
understand, they thought. Now who was going to give this
shiur?
"I found someone," announced Elimelech triumphantly, "he is a
young kollel man who is prepared to do it on a
voluntary basis. He suggests that we learn Ein Yaakov,
which is easily understood, for half an hour each day."
Every evening, the young man, Reb Ezriel, explained every
topic clearly to the seven elderly men. Occasionally, some of
them dropped off for a while, and more than occasionally,
they started chatting amongst themselves. Reb Ezriel could
not reprimand them, and asked himself what he was doing
there.
"They are not learning Torah and you don't get paid; you're
just wasting your time," he told himself. Matters came to a
head when some silly argument broke up among the oldsters,
about the diameter of the world and its distance from the
sun. Reb Ezriel tried to silence them and even Elimelech
shouted, "Enough, gentlemen, we came here to learn Torah."
After this rebuke, silence reigned for about two minutes,
before the argument was renewed with full vigor. That
evening, Reb Ezriel poured out his heart to his mentor, a
well known Rov. "I am wasting my learning time, and perhaps
even their learning time, because it is not right to sit in
front of an open sefer and chat."
The Rov asked him gently, "Do they chat or argue every single
day? Are there maybe just a few minutes when they do listen?
Is there not one single individual who does listen to the
shiur?" Reb Ezriel had to admit that there were about
two or three individuals who did not join in the
conversation, and yes, there were some evenings when nobody
talked at all during the shiur.
The Rov told him to continue, for even if it is only for one
man, or only for a two minutes, it was worthwhile. He then
concluded with a quotation from Yeshaya (60:22), "The
smallest shall become a thousand, and the least, will be
mighty."
So Reb Ezriel continued giving the daily shiur.
One evening, a famous rosh yeshiva, Rav Kirsh, came
into the shul. His little daughter had meningitis: she
would be hospitalized for several weeks. They never left her
alone, and Rav Kirsh did his stint between eight and eleven
at night, until someone from the family relieved him. As the
hospital was nearby, Rav Kirsh popped in there for
maariv. By the time he had finished, Reb Ezriel had
already begun the shiur. Not wanting to seem rude,
Rav Kirsh sat down at the table, took an Ein Yaakov
and listened to Reb Ezriel, who stood up immediately when he
saw him. But Rav Kirsh motioned to him to continue. After
some initial stammering, Reb Ezriel gained confidence and
elucidated the material clearly, as always.
At the end of the shiur, before hurrying back to the
hospital, Rav Kirsh turned to Reb Ezriel and said, "Thank you
so much; it was most enlightening and I really enjoyed it."
The next evening, Rav Kirsh came again, and again he stayed
to listen to the shiur. He became a regular member of
the shul in the evenings.
One evening, a student from his Yeshiva noticed Rav Kirsh
going into the shul for maariv. The student
thought that this was an ideal opportunity to speak to the
usually busy Rosh Yeshiva privately, so he too went too. He
waited for Rav Kirsh to finish davening, then
approached him quickly. To his surprise, Rav Kirsh handed him
an Ein Yaakov, as he himself sat down to concentrate
on what Reb Ezriel was saying.
The next day, the news spread like wildfire in the yeshiva.
Rav Kirsh goes to a tiny shul each evening, especially
to listen to some obscure young man giving a shiur.
Ten bochurim were prepared to forgo their supper the
next evening, in order to ascertain whether their Rosh
Yeshiva was indeed participating in a shiur. In the
evenings that followed, there were about thirty-five
participants in the shiur. A few sat round the table,
the rest were wedged against the walls.
Many asked questions, which Reb Ezriel answered. In fact,
sometimes Reb Ezriel had to call out, "Enough, gentlemen. We
are simple folks here; we do not need these complicated
questions." This nightly influx did not escape the notice of
the locals, the neighbors of the shul.
The word spread that "it is well worth going to hear the
great talmid chochom, Reb Ezriel, speaking." Each day
more and more people crowded into the shul for
mincha-maariv. The gabbai could not believe his
eyes: even the Yomim Noroim never had more than sixty
participants. Now, every evening, there were no less than
eighty-six men. All because of the shiur he had
started, a year ago.
Rav Kirsh's daughter recovered after ten weeks, and was
discharged from the hospital. Rav Kirsh said to Reb Ezriel,
"I will not be coming anymore but I cannot tell you how much
I learned from you, and how I will miss your nightly
shiur."
One cannot turn the clock back, and the people kept on coming
every evening and staying for the shiur. Three years
later, the place was transformed. It had been enlarged, and
they had bought new furniture. The shiur in Ein
Yaakov was as popular as ever and a Daf Yomi
shiur, also given by Reb Ezriel, was added before
minchah. One day, Reb Elimelech met his cousin Pinchos
in the area, and invited him to see the shul. Pinchos
was amazed at the change, and Elimelech told him that it was
all because of him, of the advice to start a shiur.
Pinchos answered, "One piece of advice follows another . . .
You need a Rav. After hearing Reb Ezriel, I don't think you
will have a problem appointing someone." When he was
approached with the offer of a position, Reb Ezriel
understood his Rov's words from over three years ago. "The
smallest will become a thousand, and the least will become
mighty."
