The gabbai thundered, “Yaamod Reb Yechezkel ben Reb Shlomo l’Kol Hane’arim!”

AS the bidding for Kol Hane’arim began, Yechezkel Rosenberg* sat nervously.

His mind drifted back to a vanished world.

He was back in Budapest, Hungary, sitting beside his father on Simchas Torah in 1944, under mortal threat.

Somehow, their shul was still functioning, and 15 men risked their lives to come.

As they reached Kol Hane’arim, all eyes turned to Yechezkel. At 12, he was the only non-bar mitzvah present. Yechezkel felt uncomfortable being the only boy to go up for Kol Hane’arim.

As his father wrapped him in his tallis, he whispered, “Chezky, this aliyah is precious. One day, you will be privileged to donate a lot of money for it. Never forget this.”

Yechezkel approached the Torah with trepidation.

That was the last day Yechezkel and his father would be together in shul.

Five days later, on October 15, the hated Arrow Cross took power, and by the time Soviet troops liberated Budapest in 1945, Yechezel’s parents were among the millions killed al kiddush Hashem.

Yechezkel arrived in America in 1947. He worked in the garment district and saved every penny he could.

In 1949, at 17, he purchased Kol Hane’arim in a small shul in Brownsville for $4 to fulfill his father’s hope and promise.

Yechezkel eventually married Hindi, also a survivor, and after saving money, he opened a successful haberdashery on Pitkin Avenue. Yechezkel always hired workers who were shomer Shabbos and could not find employment elsewhere.

They eventually moved to Flatbush, raising four children in their parents’ mesorah. They were privileged to walk each one down to the chuppah and see Yiddishe nachas from them.

Yet one thing never changed: Whether they were in Brownsville or Flatbush, Yechezkel would set aside money every year to fulfill his father’s promise and purchase Kol Hane’arim.

That was, until this year.

This would be the 75th consecutive year that Yechezkel was planning to purchase Kol Hane’arim. But at his wife’s insistence, he had agreed to leave his shtibel in Flatbush and spend the last days of Yom Tov with his married grandchildren in their upscale suburban neighborhood.

Would he still be able to purchase his coveted aliyah?

Suddenly, Yechezkel was aroused from his memories as the gabbai opened the auction for Kol Hane’arim at $1,000.

Yechezkel put in his bid; but within seconds, the amounts shot up to levels unheard of in his Flatbush shtibel.

As the bidding soared into the stratosphere, Yechezkel sadly resigned himself to the role of spectator and not receiving the aliyah for the first time in many decades.

Suddenly, his grandson said, “Zeidy, listen!”

The gabbai thundered, “Yaamod Reb Yechezkel ben Reb Shlomo l’Kol Hane’arim!”

Yechezkel was shocked and confused, and as he did in 1944, he approached the Torah with trepidation. After the aliyah, Yechezkel sought out the man who had purchased the kibbud for him.

Before he could ask him why, the young man began speaking quietly.

“Reb Yechezkel, in 1958, you hired my grandfather to work in your clothing store. It was the only job he could get. He always spoke about that kindness. Before he passed, he told me he always wanted to buy you Kol Hane’arim to show his gratitude, but you always outbid him. Today, Hashem allowed me to pay back my zeidy’s debt.”

Yechezkel was speechless. The last time he had gone up for Kol Hane’arim without buying it was 80 years ago in Budapest, when he went up alone.

But he couldn’t ponder the past for too long. He was quickly surrounded by dozens of children, all requesting a brachah from the man who had kept Kol Hane’arim so precious to his heart.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1037)