“He told me he did not want me to walk him down to the chuppah”

The caller insisted we meet in person. When he entered my office, I recognized him. Reb Avremel (name changed) was a known talmid chacham.

He got right to the point about why he had asked to meet me. “My oldest son, Moishy, is getting married next week.”

“Mazel tov,” I said.

“Moishy was our first. I had high hopes for him. By his bar mitzvah, the signs were already clear that he was not going in the direction I had planned.

“He would spend hours at the local mechanic’s shop, learning all about cars. By the time he turned 17, he no longer wore his hat and jacket, and he often slept through Shacharis.

“This was ten years ago. I spoke with various ‘experts’ and finally decided to send him to an out-of-town yeshivah that offered vocational training. Moishy was miserable there. He begged my wife and me to let him come home.

“My wife wanted to bring him home. But I objected. I had girls soon entering the parshah, and I was afraid his appearance would not look good for the family.

“During the two years he was there, a non-Jewish mechanic took him under his wing. When he returned home, he got a job at a frum mechanic’s shop.

“We no longer fight. But our relationship is a demilitarized zone. He is cordial, but he harbors resentment toward me for exiling him from the home.

“Rabbi, I have done teshuvah for the way I treated him. When he needed money for mechanic’s training, I helped out. However, he remains distant from me.

“When we spoke about the chasunah, he told me he did not want me to walk him down to the chuppah. ‘Tatty, you didn’t want me around you when I needed you. You don’t need me now, either. I can walk down to the chuppah on my own without you.’

“I am so hurt. I have done teshuvah. Rabbi, you must call him and tell him that for kibbud av, he is mechuyav to allow me to walk him down.”

And then Reb Avremel broke down in tears.

My heart went out to him. He truly loved his son and was deeply hurt by his son’s attitude.

Truth be told, though, I was also well aware of Moishy’s side of the story. Moishe had relocated to the area six months ago and had told me all about it. The father’s and son’s narratives were almost identical — except for one important detail.

While the father insisted he had “done teshuvah,” Moishy never felt that way.

Moishy appreciated that his father had helped him out over the years. But on the question of his father’s repentance, Moishy said tearfully, “Maybe he thinks he did teshuvah. But in all these years, he has never once come to me and said, ‘Moishy, I was wrong for sending you away. I ask for your mechilah.’ ”

I thought of Moishy’s words as Reb Avremel sat before me, sobbing.

“Reb Avremel, I believe that you feel you have done teshuvah,” I said. Then I gently asked him, “However, did you ever tell Moishy how sorry you are? Did you ever actually say to him, ‘Moishy, I wronged you. I should not have forced you out of the family home. Moishy, I am sorry. Please be mochel me.”

Reb Avremel suddenly stopped crying and looked at me as if he had just noticed a chiddush in the Rambam he had never seen before.

I concluded by saying, “Your son is a human being, and he is hurting.”

A week later was the chasunah. My eyes welled up as father and son walked arm in arm down the aisle.

As Reb Avremel passed me, he silently mouthed two words: “Thank you.”

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1093)