The Klausenburg shul on fifteeth street was packed to the
rafters. Men were crammed shoulder to shoulder, each trying
to catch a glimpse of the Rebbe's swaying form. The extreme
heat and stuffiness exaggerated the smell of wet polyester
and perspiring men. The intensity, though, the loftiness, the
kedushah overpowered the discomfort of sweat and
personal space.
It was Simchas Torah day. The shul was more crowded
than usual. All the men and boys were impatiently waiting
their turn to be called up to the Torah. Shacharis
ended and a lively, heated round of hakofos began.
When the last song was sung and the last kiss caressed the
Sefer Torah, the men were each called up to the
Torah.
Then, all at once, babies were heard crying and toddlers
babbling. Men ran to their wives waiting outside and shlepped
back their sons so that they, too, could be called up to the
Torah. To get an aliyah is a special privilege and in
many shuls on Simchas Torah every boy, one week old or
one hundred years old is granted that prerogative.
Soon the shul smelled of potato chips and lollipops as
the fathers tried to calm the babies and energetic
youngsters. With so many blessed children, the line snaking
to the Torah was long and noisy. After every child who was
old enough to say a brochoh did so, the talleisim
were stretched over all the fathers and their male
offsprings who couldn't talk yet. The mothers and bubbies
cried as they heard the blended tones of both fathers and
children reciting the blessing, followed by Hamalach
hagoel. May they all be blessed! Each child was rewarded
with a candy and was pointed to the door where the teary-
eyed mothers were waiting to hug them.
The last child trailed out and calm and blessed quiet
replaced the tumult. The chazzan began mussaf.
It was already past three o'clock in the afternoon. Two hours
later, they were approaching Oleinu. The men were
tired from a fervent tefillah and high-energy dancing.
They were hot and hungry.
As they closed their machzorim and wished each other
a Good Yom Tov, a commotion was suddenly heard from the
entrance. A little boy was being shoved in through the large
wooden door by a feminine hand. His eyes were wide, his body
stiff. He shrugged his shoulders and burst into tears. The
men, their shtreimels hot and heavy on their heads,
leaned forward to see what the fuss was about. The woman
outside was heard explaining that the boy, all of three years
old, was an orphan and had no father to take him to
shul, therefore he hadn't yet had an aliyah
laTorah. Could he be oleh now?
The massive throng of people was silent. They all knew what
their Rebbe would want. Without a second of hesitation, one
man smiled and lifted the little boy. He carried him to the
center of the shul while the gabbai took out a
Sefer Torah and began to reread Vezos
Habrochoh. A few men were called up to the Torah and at
one of the aliyos, the boy was oleh as well.
The child, in his sweet, innocent voice repeated the blessing
after the grown stranger and every man and boy in that
shul answered amen. The Torah was replaced, the
child given a candy and the tired men finally went home to
eat the seudah.
An orphan. A precious child, an olah temimah who
deserved to be oleh laTorah; he deserved to be blessed
like the rest of them.
