True tales from the corners of our world

The Background

Rabbi Chananya Berzon has spent many fruitful years educating Jewish yeshivah and seminary students. We met at Yeshivah Shaarei Mevaseret Tzion, where I serve as the baal tefillah on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and we hit it off instantly. The following story happened to him more than 30 years ago, but its impact is still being felt today.

The Story in a Story

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wenty-five years ago, in addition to serving as rav of a shul in Yerushalayim and a rebbi at BMT (Beit Midrash L’Torah), I also ran Bar-Ilan University’s foreign student program. This program was for 20 American boys from a variety of yeshivah high schools who were studying at the university.

On the first day, I wanted to give them chizuk for the upcoming year, so I told them the following famous story about the Netziv, Rav Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, and the split-second decision he made that led him to become one of the most famous talmidei chachamim of his time.

The Netziv made a seudas mitzvah to celebrate the publication of his sefer, Ha’amek Sh’eilah on the She’iltos. The assembled could see he was incredibly happy, and when they asked him why, the Netziv explained.

“When I was a child,” he began, “I had no patience for learning. One night I overheard my parents talking in the kitchen. My father was saying I was just causing problems for my rebbeim in the cheder, and they decided cheder wasn’t for me.

“ ‘I’ll take Naftali Tzvi to the shoemaker tomorrow,’ my father said. ‘He’ll become an apprentice and start learning a trade. At least this way, he’ll grow up into an erliche, productive balabos.’

“When I heard my parents deciding my fate,” the Netziv said, “something came over me, and I burst into the kitchen, right into the middle of my parents’ conversation. I was crying uncontrollably and I begged my parents to change their minds and give me another chance. They agreed, and from that day on, I became a serious talmid.

“Imagine,” he said to the gathering, “if I had fallen asleep early that night and hadn’t had the siyata d’Shmaya to overhear my parents. I would have woken up the next morning, and after davening, my father would have taken me to the shoemaker, and I would have started my new life as his apprentice. I would have grown up to become a good Jew and shoemaker, and that’s how I would have spent my life.

“At the end of my days,” the Netziv continued, “the Heavenly Court would have asked me, ‘Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, why didn’t you write your sefer Ha’amek She’ilah? You were supposed to author lofty chiddushim. Instead you spent your life engaged in menial labor.’

“Thank You, Hashem, for giving me the opportunity to overhear that short conversation, because it changed my life completely. It gave me the motivation to change myself and become the kind of person to write a sefer like Ha’amek She’ilah.”

When I finished telling this story to the boys in the Bar-Ilan University beis medrash, I said, “Rabbosai, you’re here for one year. Take advantage of this time to grow.”

Then we went around the table and got to know each other a little better.

In the following days, I noticed that a certain talmid didn’t show up to the program. I asked the other bochurim where he was, and they told me he was off campus, busy with his own activities. Eventually I went to the office and asked the program administrator what was going on with him.

“He decided he’s leaving Bar-Ilan.”

With that, I put the matter out of my mind.

Some years later, I traveled to the States to visit my sons in Ner Yisroel in Baltimore.

My son Yeshaya said, “Abba, one of your old talmidim is here and wants to speak with you.”

He introduced himself as the bochur who had left my Bar-Ilan program after the first day.

“When you told us the story about the Netziv, I said to myself, Why should you spend the next year of your life in university when you could be spending your year in Israel in a real yeshivah environment?

“I left Bar-Ilan that same day and enrolled in a yeshivah. After a few years there, I came back to the States to learn at Ner Yisroel.”

Then that bochur said something I will remember for the rest of my life.

“Imagine if I hadn’t shown up to the Bar-Ilan beis medrash on the first day of the semester to hear the story about the Netziv. I would have missed the opportunity to make the choice I made, staying in a program that demanded very little from the students.

“But I was there, and the story you told us ended up being a story in a story. It pushed me to take advantage of that moment, and here I am, still shteiging in yeshivah, many years later.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1034)