He was the guy in the background worrying about the bus coming on time and making sure that the sodas were cold while we were the stars out in front of the kids

The topic reminded me of an old hakaras hatov obligation to my “someone” the one who changed the course of my life.

His name was Reb Meir but he was called Bob. Bob Ament was of average height and build in an average job — he worked as a salesman — but as children we saw the director of Montreal’s Pirchei as larger than life with his brilliant smile and exuberant voice. As we grew older — Pirchei members then Pirchei leaders — we sort of took him for granted: He was the guy in the background worrying about the bus coming on time and making sure that the sodas were cold while we were the stars out in front of the kids. We knew that the branch was (and still is) considered one of the most successful with vibrant Shabbos groups a thriving Avos U’banim and Mishnayos program but we never gave it too much thought.

The Siyum Mishnayos was the highlight of the year the culmination of months of learning a gala Shabbos convention for Pirchei branches from other cities. As with so many of the chinuch lessons that Bob disguised as fun he created a tradition in which each annual siyum was dedicated to the memory of a gadol b’Torah. In 1992 our rosh yeshivah Rav Mottel Weinberg was niftar and of course the siyum was dedicated to his memory that year. A few weeks before the big event there was a general staff meeting that included discussion about the video being prepared. Someone asked about appropriate music to accompany the visuals.

Different ideas for sad songs were kicked around. I don’t remember what I said but it was something like “How pathetic that we have to use someone else’s lyrics. We should write our own song about the Rosh Yeshivah.”

I don’t know if I offered and if I did it was a whisper certainly not issued with any confidence.

At the end of the meeting Bob gave a quick roundup. This person would arrange housing and the other would be in charge of the waiters. “And Sruli’s writing a song.” He didn’t even look at me when he said it. He never asked me if I was sure I could if I had experience what else had I written.

It was done and he never looked back. The song was good and it spawned other writing.

So here’s my letter:

Dear Bob

You were niftar young but so many think of you often because their success as mechanchim askanim musicians caterers writers as fathers and husbands is due to having been exposed to someone like you at a critical juncture in life. You weren’t a mentor who imparted advice. You weren’t a mentor who shared information and techniques.

You were much more than that.

You were a mentor in the way you showed vulnerable hesitant young men what they’re capable of. Your smile was stronger than their self-doubt your confidence and certainty more powerful than teenage insecurities.

Meir. You illuminated the world with the thousands of Mishnayos you inspired with your smile and voice your programs and contests. You illuminated the world by showing what a “balabos” can accomplish with little fanfare or noise. And Bob you had a special gift of being able to find that point of light inside a person the button that might never have been switched on if not for you. I ache for those who never had a Bob in their life and I’m grateful that we knew you.

And that you knew us. Really knew us.

Thank you Bob. We remember.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Issue 680. Yisroel Besser may be contacted directly at besser@mishpacha.com)