I

once read a children’s book about a boy who dreams of being on the baseball field making a difference during the ninth inning in Game Seven of the World Series. Eventually he fulfills the childhood fantasy — but not as a batter nor as a fielder. He is the ball boy; necessary but irrelevant. He’s on the field close to the action but he’s not a player.

As a child I also planned to crack the Agudah convention roster: either as a rosh yeshivah with a flowing white beard or perhaps an askan with intense eyes and articulate ideas. Okay even as the token wealthy guy with the gracious smile and well-chosen necktie. I finally made it to the program of this year’s Agudah convention but as a ball boy tossing the questions to the dais as moderator at a question-and-answer session with Rav Elya Brudny of Mir-Brooklyn and Rav Yosef Elefant of Mir-Yerushalayim.

I was on the field but easily replaceable. That said the experience did afford me a special chance an opportunity to see firsthand how AgudathIsrael’s core product — daas Torah — is developed.

And daas Torah is a pretty misunderstood term. There is no shortage of blogs and websites operating under the banner of Mai ahanu lan Rabbanan (What do Torah scholars contribute to society?) — and it’s not their fault that they’re bitter and resentful because they’re missing a clear understanding of what daas Torah is. Someone with no taste buds can’t be a food critic and a person who isn’t sophisticated enough to see nuances can’t grasp that daas Torah isn’t the answers but the process. It isn’t black-and-white solutions removed from a neat tool box a bureaucratic impersonal process but rather allowing contact with a real talmid chacham to paint your life with relevance and meaning. It’s seeing the mundane get refined through a connection with the talmid chacham and by extension the Torah itself.

The plain metal knife in a kitchen drawer is holy because after the exhausted mother finishes preparing soup for her hungry children she suddenly realizes that she used a fleishig knife to cut a milchig onion so she calls the rav. At that moment all of them — the bubbling pot the fresh vegetables the phone — are elevated part of that process by which man and his Maker meet. Real life itself is no different than that knife; allowing a talmid chacham into your world even for easy casual conversation enables you to see how nothing is insignificant how there is always a right answer.

From my behind-the-scenes perspective at the convention I got to see that up close.

To borrow a phrase from the president-elect the system wasn’t rigged. The two panelists didn’t see the questions before I presented them publically. I know that there was no advance prep and no part of it was prearranged because I chose the questions some of which came in while we were live.

During those final moments before they mounted the stage for the session I had the opportunity to observe both men. Rav Elya was off in the corner of the hallway calling his mother to say good night worried that it would be too late to speak to her after the panel concluded. He assured her that he was feeling well and laughed at something she said. Rav Yosef had been stopped by an anxious mother-in-law worried about her children in Eretz Yisrael. (“I’m aware of the situation Mrs. —.” He stopped in the doorway. “And we’re working closely with them you have a lot to be proud of. You can call me anytime I have a 718 number.”) Then he continued up to the stage.

Then the discussion began. The panelists’ thoughts — about the Super Bowl working women the celebrity culture around the wealthy people in our community when to relax and when to double down — were clear and insightful but I think that the good people at Agudah did a much bigger public service than just that.

They allowed a public — a capacity crowd in the room and well over ten thousand visitors logged in and watching — to see the joy of “sichas chullin shel talmidei chachamim” the approachability and friendliness and humanness of it all a format for real-time daas Torah. (I’ve observed that when people say a rav is “normal” it means that he said exactly what they hoped he would say: otherwise he would be “extreme” or “too open-minded.” Personally I was surprised again and again by what I heard from these two talmidei chachamim which is a nice thing about daas Torah and this also explained why I never made it past moderator. It isn’t information alone that qualifies one to answer but seichel experience and perceptiveness.)

“Tov lishmoa ga’aras chacham mei’ish shomeia shir kesilim — It is better to hear the rebuke of a wise man than for a man to hear the song of the fools” (Koheles 7:3). The Rebbe Reb Simcha Bunim of Peshis’cha asks about the wording. It should say “Tov lishmoa ga’aras chacham mi’lihiyos ish shomeia...” There seems to be a missing word.

The Rebbe’s answer is astounding. He says the pasuk is referring to the very same person: the end of the pasuk is simply explaining the beginning. It is good to hear the rebuke of a wise man. What sort of wise man? One who also listens to the song of the fools. That wise man is worth listening to!

Both Rav Elya and his talmid Rav Yosef have this in common: open doors open homes telephones that don’t stop ringing. There are no gabbaim or secretaries. You don’t have to give your credit card number and explain the nature of your problem to get an appointment.

They have similar day jobs — saying shiur. They spend most of their waking hours speaking in learning in the world not of contemporary psychology but of Rav Akiva Eiger and the Ketzos.

Yet they know all about it the sordid stuff that magazines use to get you to read serials — you know Internet addiction and gambling and abuse and all the rest. They see the struggles and despair yet they see the greatness underneath too. They hear anger and pain see dysfunction and corruption yet they preach a message of aliyah and uplift. Look at either one you’ll see happiness good humor a pleasant nature. They don’t look like they’re carrying a burden of hundreds of talmidim of problems too big to solve.

I’ve been to Rav Elya’s home and one time when I left well after midnight there was a father on the front porch with his teenage son another couple sitting in a car waiting their turn. I was first welcomed to Rav Yosef’s home as a bochur — even before I was a talmid — and I never really left.

If you don’t know the questioner understand where he or she is coming from then you can’t really answer the question. But in these homes the people know that they will be understood no matter how petty or ugly their problem. The theme of the Agudah convention was “Who We Are.” Both of these men know exactly who we are.