The silver crescent of the moon was small but clear. The
first autumn clouds wafted through the sky as a small group
of men stood in their white talleisim. "Sholom Aleichem"
"Aleichem Sholom;" the joyful greetings filled the cool
night air.
In another hour, the early birds would begin wielding their
hammers, to erect their succos, piles of
lulovim would be neatly laid out in all the shops,
beside the esrogim, waiting for discriminating buyers.
Inside the shul, a long queue waited to wish the Rav a
gmar tov.
The sleeves of the Rav's kittel were wide, and flapped
with each handshake.
"Gmar Tov, Shonoh Tovoh," he blessed each of the
congregants as they streamed past, men in their
kittels and talleisim: small boys, big boys.
Who would forgo the blessing of the Rav at this auspicious
time?
"Shalom, K'vod Harav, and thank you very much." The
outstretched hand was strong and sunburnt. The Rav held on to
it for a long moment, his brow puckered. "Shanah Tovah,
Shanah Tovah. Please remind me your name."
"Mike."
"Oh yes, of course," the Rav's frown disappeared. "Michoel
ben Erez. They called you up, if I remember correctly."
"Yes," the young man thrust his hand nervously into his
pocket. "I . . . .I'll take down the address and send the
money . . . I don't have my wallet on me, it was all so
sudden . . . they said I would have to pay for the aliyah
laTorah."
The Rav still clasped the boy's hand warmly. "That is not
what I meant at all. If you want to send the money, fine. I
wanted to wish you a Shanah Tovah."
The boy shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "I wanted to ask
. . . if I could . . . that is . . ."
As if on cue, the men waiting in line silently moved back a
few steps; everybody feels magnanimous at this holy time.
"How can I help?"
The tanned hand shook slightly in the Rav's hand. "It's like
this. I don't know if K'vod Harav knows, but I had not
planned to come here at all. My car broke down at the
crossroads on Erev Yom Kippur, and I heard voices, and came
in and then I didn't want to leave but . . . "
"That is perfectly all right," smiled the Rav, "Everyone has
a first time in a shul."
Mike relaxed and smiled in return. "Thank you, it was indeed
a great day for me. I enjoyed the words, I enjoyed the tunes,
but it is just . . . " once again the boy moved
uncomfortably, "I am going home now: there is nothing like
this in my town; I live a completely different life; I just
wanted something small . . . as a sort of memento."
The Rav's gazed at him steadily, completely oblivious to the
dozens of hands still waiting in line, and to the fact that
his wife was waiting at home for havdoloh.
"It should not all be lost, you mean."
"Exactly so," the boy rejoiced that the Rav had understood
him so well. "But please understand, it must be something
very small. I am in my fourth year at university, the
cafeteria for students is not kosher, and my family will not
want to change their life style one iota, so — er . . .
nothing serious, just something small."
The Rav closed his eyes for a moment. "In four days time
there is a festival called Succot. We are commanded to live
in a succah for a whole week."
"I'm sorry," stammered the boy, "I can't build a
succah. They wouldn't let students . . ."
The Rav spoke slowly. "I want you to try and eat your main
meal in a succah."
Mike was puzzled. "To sleep there, and pray there and all
that?"
"Nothing at all like that," replied the Rav calmly.
"But I wanted something that would stay with me. Just to eat
there you said, not to build it? Just one meal a day?"
"It will be all right, you'll see," answered the Rav, his
hand already clasping the next one in line.
His car was waiting for him in the next street. The mechanic
had done a good job and it started immediately. The moon lit
up the hills as he drove past. The same moon they had blessed
a short while ago. That Rav . . . what a personality. He had
watched him all day his sincere prayers and his longing to be
a better person, his happiness at the end of the day, his
patience with all and sundry, himself included, despite his
hunger and weakness.
They had given him a siddur and someone had stood
beside him all day, showing him what to say; he even got an
aliyah, as they called it. To eat in a succah,
not to build one or sleep there, what a strange directive
from the Rav. Perhaps he had not realized that Mike was
serious? Anyway, he could not endanger his career now,
because of a fleeting emotional uplift.
Some Jews lived very near the university. The locals always
knew when it was a Jewish festival. Before he turned in to
the campus, he saw several wooden huts in the making. He must
have seen them in previous years, but had never noticed.
*
It was a dark cloudy night, not a trace of the friendly moon
of four days ago. There was one wooden door directly against
the parking lot. The singing and children's voices which Mike
heard before he knocked, paused abruptly. "Someone's
knocking," he heard a childish voice. "Knocking?" this was a
worried woman's voice, "Who could it be at this time of
night?"
Mike's heart turned over, "K'vod Harav," he said to
himself. "Couldn't you have found me something small which
was not during a festival?" He held his breath as a chair was
pushed back, and the door was opened; he shaded his eyes
against the bright light inside.
"Can I help you?" a man in a white shirt stood at the
door.
Mike stammered "I, I wanted to ask . . . That is, they told
me . . . I know it is Succos today." He stopped. How had he
dared intrude into a family gathering.
"Well?" the man spoke kindly.
Mike tried to explain himself, "They sent me to eat in a
succah . . . Could I . . ."
The man stepped aside before he could finish the sentence.
"Can you eat here? Of course you can. Moishe Chaim, go and
get another chair from the house. Devoiri, bring another
place setting. We have a guest."
Mike found his tongue. "No, really. It's all right. I have my
own food."
"You're going to eat with us," his host patted him on the
shoulder, as he placed a chair near him, at the top of the
table. You ARE Jewish, aren't you?"
Mike flushed. "Thank you so much. Yes, of course I am Jewish.
I study at the nearby university. If you don't mind, I prefer
to eat my own food, so I won't feel I am imposing on you. I
just wanted to eat in a succah."
"Welcome to our succah and make yourself comfortable,"
the father smiled genially.
Someone quickly removed the place setting and spread a napkin
by his place. The meal which Mike had bought at the cafeteria
was still steaming as he opened it: he took out the
disposable fork and began to eat quickly.
"What's your name?" asked a boy.
"Haven't I told you? It's Mike."
"Mike?" a little girl, with an impish face, echoed. "Mike,
what sort of a name is that?"
"What's that you're eating?" asked the boy curiously.
"Is it any good?" added the girl suspiciously.
"Moishe Chaim, Penina, keep your eyes on your own food,
please. And hurry up a bit, we want to start
zemiros."
"But what is it?" whispered the boy before he turned to his
own plate.
"Steak in cream," Mike whispered back.
"Steak? What's that?"
"A sort of food."
"Well it can't be meat and it can't be fish, that's for
sure," pronounced the boy.
Mike stopped chewing. "Really? How do you know?"
"Because you said it was in cream," crowed the boy
triumphantly. "It's forbidden to eat meat with milk, and you
mustn't cook fish in milk, either. So it was simple."
For some reason, Mike felt incapable of finishing his
meal.
"Let's sing," called the father, seeing his discomfort. Under
cover of the singing, Mike felt free to look around him.
Children of all ages sat around the table. Two boys who were
almost men. And the mother was cradling a baby.
One song followed another. The big boys had strikingly good
voices and the father and younger children harmonized with
them. It was wonderful.
Mike stood up, gathering up the remains of his meal and
crumpling it into the bag, "Thank you so much. I have to be
going."
"You're welcome to stay," said the master of the house.
"The truth is, I have a lecture early in the morning, I only
wanted a quick bite in the succah."
"Oh, too bad,," he heard the cheeky little girl, "We so much
wanted a visitor, and he didn't even get any of the chocolate
cake."
One of the big boys held the door open for him, and as he
went out the boy said, "If you find the door locked at any
time, the key is in the mail box, so you can just go in."
The beautiful singing started up again, as Mike made his way
towards his car.
In the morning, the alarm clock woke him earlier than usual,
while his roommate protested. The cafeteria tables looked so
inviting in the empty dining hall, and for a moment he
thought he would enjoy a quiet leisurely breakfast. But no,
he had got up early in order to eat in the succah.
He bought himself a roll and a large cup of coffee. The car
park seemed larger than it had in the dark, and he noticed a
large family van parked there. It's too early, he thought to
himself, they are all still asleep. Oh, Rabbi, what have
you done to me?
He thought of eating the roll in the car, but then the pale
face of the Rav came to his mind's eye. Something small, he
whispered to himself, as he knocked at the door.
"It's you," twinkled the little girl, "You with the funny
name. There's nobody here, they haven't come back yet."
"They all went to pray?"
"Yes, of course. In shul. There is no table here yet,
nor chairs, only beds and mattresses. Wait for them, they
will be back soon."
Mike glanced at his watch. If he wanted to make that first
lecture, he would have to hurry. "Not today. I'll just have
my breakfast and go." He perched on the edge of a bed and ate
with quick large bites, while the child watched him.
"The shul must be near here, no?" he asked her.
She shook her head. "Not at all. If they walk very fast, it
takes half an hour. Once we went there by car."
Mike was puzzled. "Do you have two cars then?"
The child giggled. "Didn't you see our car in the car
park?"
Mike felt like an inquisitor but continued, "So your Daddy
and brothers didn't drive to shul?"
She laughed merrily "Of course not. Don't you know that you
mustn't drive on Yom Tov?"
"I didn't know," admitted Mike, "but now I do. Goodbye."
Instead of lunch, Mike chewed on a carrot in the lecture
hall, but towards evening, hunger overcame him. "Have you any
vegetarian meals? Anything will do," he asked the waiter.
This time he parked the car at a street corner, and walked
the rest of the way.
"Good Yom Tov," the father greeted him with a smile. "We
waited for you." This time his chair was waiting for him and
a disposable cup was on the napkin at his place.
"A pity you came at the end. Daddy was just explaining that
the succah belongs to every Jew, whoever he is."
"Even if he didn't build it?"
"Even if he didn't build it: a succah is a spiritual
concept, not just walls and s'chach and
decorations."
"Have you brought steak again?" one of the small boys nudged
him. Mike smiled "Actually no, I bought something kosher,
vegetarian."
"So now you can say a brochoh," added the incorrigible
little girl.
Without waiting for an answer, she began to chant "Boruch
Ato . . . " Mike blushed and involuntarily repeated the
words after her.
That night, with the almost full moon lighting his way, Mike
suddenly felt that his car key was something too ridiculous
after the inspiring evening he had experienced. Let's
imagine that the mechanic had not fixed you last week, he
whispered towards the car, as he gave it a wide berth.
"You didn't come by car," the seven-year-old accosted him the
next morning.
"Daddy said we are not to say anything to you, but I am so
happy that you have become a tzaddik," his little
mentor added her bit.
The walk had invigorated him. "I am so pleased we didn't miss
you again this morning," welcomed the father. When he offered
him some wine after some short prayer, Mike was pleased to
accept.
"Kiddush," the little girl was keeping him right, as
they poured some wine into his disposable cup. Once again,
she made sure to help him say a brochoh.
The singing was even more enjoyable than it had been the
night before. One particular tune really delighted him, and
at his request, the boys sang it again. "If you come to
minchah with us, you will hear it again."
"Minchah?"
"That's what we call the afternoon prayers. We are going
there straight after bircas hamazon Afternoon? Mike
gulped. He had completely forgotten about his morning
lecture. The university seemed light years away. "I'll come,"
he agreed.
*
Autumn seemed to have come as Mike stood before the Rav
again. He held out his hand "I've come to thank you." The Rav
looked up and recognition dawned. "It is Michoel ben Erez, if
I remember rightly." Mike smiled, "The Rav remembers
everything."
"Boruch Hashem" beamed the Rav, "How was Succos?" His
sharp eyes encompassed the calm face, the smile and the shock
of hair.
"Actually, it was not such a small thing after all. I found
myself in a shul several times, I have learned how to
make brochos before and after food; one of the boys
teaches me more every day in the long break between lectures.
And I did not drive on the second day of Yom Tov."
He blushed "I only eat vegetarian food now. That is, I... I
cannot eat the other any more. But the Rav must understand, I
cannot change everything; there are lectures every evening,
even Fridays. But I would like to change a little bit. If the
Rav could suggest something really small, now that Succos is
over."
For a moment, the very air seemed to be holding its breath.
"Absolutely," agreed the Rav, "You need something really
small."
Mike gazed at him in astonishment. He saw the small smile
which played round the Rav's lips, and he felt the warmth and
sincerity, and yes, love which emanated from this great man
towards him.
