Tears for a Bas Yisrael
He looked up at me and said, “A bas Yisrael is in pain and I should not cry for her?”
PHOTO: CC BY-SA BACKSHT FAMILY
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round 45 years ago, I was fortunate to join a chevreh of talmidim a few years older than I at a meeting they had arranged with Rav Meir Chodosh ztz”l, the famed elder mashgiach of Chevron Yeshivah for more than 50 years and among the youngest students of the Alter of Slabodka in his last years. It was an opportunity to hear firsthand the Mashgiach’s recollections of this great founder of a whole new method of mussar application that is studied in great depth to this very day in yeshivos around the world.
A few months later I met the Mashgiach’s son Rav Moshe ztz”l at a simchah and told him about the wonderful experience with his great father. He responded that his father had retired from his position due to fragile health and was at that point living with him at his yeshivah, Ohr Elchonon. He said his father really benefited from his interactions with young bnei Torah being trained in the ways of mussar, so I should make the effort to see him regularly.
That was the only invitation I needed. Within the week, my chavrusa and I began a weekly Friday morning chaburah with the famed Mashgiach, learning the classic sefer Mesillas Yesharim. This arrangement lasted about a year; then my chavrusa and I returned home to begin the next phase of our lives.
Some three years later, I had gone through an extended shidduch situation that didn’t work out, and my rebbi advised me to take a trip to Eretz Yisrael and recharge my batteries for one zeman. I arrived on a Thursday evening, and I remembered my inspiring Friday morning mussar chaburah with the aged Mashgiach. I felt there was no better person to offer words of chizuk than he. The next morning, at the same appointed time of our former chaburah, I entered his room.
“Mashgiach, we never finished perek zayin,” I said. “Can we continue?”
The recognition dawned after a moment and he greeted me warmly. He asked right away if I was married, since that was the reason for my previous departure. I told him that I was not, and I shared a bit about my situation and how I had come to recharge my batteries.
He then inquired after the welfare of the other party involved in this situation.
I said, “It will take some time to heal, but everything will be just fine.”
All of a sudden, the Mashgiach began to sob to himself. Within a few moments, he was crying uncontrollably. It lasted just a few minutes, but it felt much longer.
I was stunned: Could the Mashgiach be so sensitive to the feelings of someone he hasn’t seen in several years that he is brought to tears at hearing about relatively minor difficulties? I was soon to find out the reason for the Mashgiach’s tears.
Feeling very uncomfortable, I said to him, “The Mashgiach should know that I am totally fine, and the Mashgiach need not shed tears on my behalf.”
He looked up at me and said, “A bas Yisrael is in pain and I should not cry for her?”
Those heartfelt tears had nothing to do with me; it had to do with the pain of a bas Yisrael, a total stranger. The particular circumstances were totally unclear to him, yet the pain of a special neshamah struck the heart of the aged tzaddik and mussar giant.
When I left the Mashgiach’s home, I was still in awe. I then encountered the Mashgiach’s illustrious son-in-law, Rav Boruch Mordechai Ezrachi ztz”l, and I shared with him what I had just seen and heard.
I was told that he went to his yeshivah and related this story in his very next shmuess, commenting that this is what happens to a person who works on himself for more than half a century.
(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1081)
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