True tales from the corners of our world

The Background

When my in-laws stayed with us for Shabbos recently, my father-in-law, Reb Reuven Bodenheim, related an incredible chain of events that he was part of as a bochur in the Mir. Here is the story, in his own words.

Reb Reuven’s Story

I

learned in the Mir back in the late ’70s, when there were way fewer bochurim coming to Israel but the matzav was great and the place was alive. The beis medrash was much smaller, but you had incredible people like Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz and Rav Nochum Partzovitz sitting around you, and you could really grow.

Near the end of one zeman, my dirah mates and I saw one of our friends off at Ben-Gurion Airport for his return to the States.

We were on our way out of the airport to catch a bus back to Yerushalayim when we ran into an American backpacker who had just landed in Israel. We struck up a conversation, and Josh (not his real name) told us he had no concrete plans and was just happy to spend time in the country.

We asked him where he was headed, and he gave us the name of a student hostel in the Old City — the “Royal Hostel” on Prince Abdullah Street, in the middle of Arab Jerusalem.

My friends and I all looked at each other.

“Listen,” I said. “Our roommate just returned to America, so we have an extra bed in our dorm in Yerushalayim. Do you want to crash at our place for a few days?”

Josh considered the offer for a moment and said, “Okay, I’ll come.”