As Reb Yossi accepted me as his agent to sell his chometz, he did much more than make me his shaliach

I’m not one of your big-time commuters. Most days, unless I’m teaching somewhere, my car and I remain separate and apart, and we both enjoy this mutually beneficial relationship.

Therefore, it certainly surprised many, most notably myself, when I found myself sitting, masked, on United Airlines flight 395 bound for Chicago.

During my four hours on the ground in Chicago, I was privileged to perform the mitzvah of nichum aveilim for my good friend Reb Yossi Twersky, who lost his mother, Rebbetzin Toby (Halberstam) Twersky.

Why did I go?

I am not one to fly all over at the drop of the hat to do nichum aveilim.

Did I go for an anticipated contribution? Certainly not.

Did I go because Reb Yossi is one of the shakers and movers of the shul? Nada.

Reb Yossi most often does not even daven in my shul, and has no connection or involvement in the running of it.

Are we old friends from yeshivah? Perhaps former roommates? No and no.

I only met Reb Yossi when I moved to Passaic three decades ago. Our paths don’t cross daily or even weekly, especially after I assumed the rabbanus in my shul.

So what explanation can I offer for my enigmatic behavior on a Tuesday in December?

His wife was the shadchan for my son Shaya. The suggestion came during Hurricane Sandy, when the Twersky family took in the Eisenman family — who had no heat or electricity. These and other shared memories of friendship and chavershaft are part and parcel of the Twersky-Eisenman relationship over the last 30-plus years.

Nevertheless, one event stands apart in its meaningfulness and its kindness.

Back in 1997, when I took the position of rav in the shul, many in the neighborhood were cautiously keeping their distance from the former mixed-seating, microphone-using shul, hesitant to be a part of what in their eyes was a dubious endeavor.

Notwithstanding that every move and decision was taken with the consultation and approval of Rav Dovid Feinstein ztz”l.

And even though Rav Dovid gave me explicit permission to publicize his name concerning his support of our shul, nevertheless, cynics continued to be cynical.

As the hesitation continued, I and the future of our endeavor remained in limbo.

Would the shul “make it” and join the pantheon of permitted shuls? Or would the detractors succeed in relegating the shul to the realm of dubious distinction? A place to observe from without rather than from within.

All these doubts disappeared and dissipated a few days before Pesach in 1998. Men were coming to sell their chometz. Reb Yossi Twersky and his son, Mordechai Shlomo, entered my office.

They sat down, and Reb Yossi handed me his mechiras chometz form with a reverent expression. In the rarefied and holy practice of the great chassidic masters, Reb Yossi handing me his form took on the hallowed and sublime significance of a rebbe receiving his first kvittel from a bona fide and revered tzaddik.

As Reb Yossi accepted me as his agent to sell his chometz, he did much more than make me his shaliach. As a descendant of the Divrei Chaim and Chernobyler dynasty, Reb Yossi Twersky’s presence in my office to hand me his “kvittel” validated me as an accepted and respected member of the Passaic kehillah.

From the day of Reb Yossi’s kvittel, the shul’s exponential expansion and its enviable position as the main makom tefillah of the community began in earnest.

That is why I flew to Chicago.

There are no limitations concerning hakaras hatov.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 907)