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ometimes I hear a story during an interview and I can’t wait to share it; the weeks until an article will appear in print stretch out in front of me like a math period before recess. I know I should internalize the story let the story bake inside of me all that stuff they teach in writing classes. Maybe next Elul I’ll work on that type of self-control. (Actually I think I already committed to ka’as or maybe gaavah for next year — one of them anyhow. The year after then.)

It turns out that Benny Friedman who’s a great singer is also a pretty good storyteller. And he casually dropped a story a childhood memory one afternoon this summer that is too good not to share before the holiest days of the year.

He was discussing the latent kedushah within every Jew the fact that there is only One who can perceive what’s inside the heart of man — we know nothing.

He remembered walking with his father — noted Chabad shaliach educator author and lecturer Rabbi Manis Friedman — one Erev Yom Kippur back home inMinnesota. The Twin Cities have a sizable Russian population and an older Russian fellow noticed the senior Rabbi Friedman.

The gentleman not a member of the Chabad House or any other shul wasn’t religious but he eagerly approached the rabbi just the same. “Rebbi I have a question ” he announced. “The doctor said I can’t fast tomorrow that I’m not healthy enough.”

Rabbi Friedman patiently explained that if his situation was such that he had to eat then it was Hashem’s will just as it was His will that healthy people fast.

“Rebbi” the Russian shook his head stubbornly “I’m not eating on Yom Kippur.”

The rabbi tried again. The fellow pulled his cap lower jammed his hands deeper in to his pockets and sighed. He wasn’t eating on Yom Kippur.

Without fanfare or drama he looked at Rabbi Friedman.

“Rebbi when I was a young man I was in the Red Army on the front. We needed every morsel of food in order to live but when Yom Kippur arrived I knew I wasn’t eating. I skipped supper and then breakfast. I didn’t touch food the entire day fighting off the hunger to keep going. Finally the sky darkened and night fell. I hurried back to the barracks to find food any food. I had no more strength.”

Standing outside aMinnesotastrip-mall the elderly Russian Jew looked back to a different time. “I came in and rummaged for something to eat and my friend said to me ‘Grischa what are you doing? You can’t eat now it's Yom Kippur tonight.’

“No” I told him “Yom Kippur was today you’re wrong.”

“Grischa” he said “Yom Kippur is tonight. You have made a mistake.”

The old man paused. “Rebbi you know what I did? I fought off hunger all over again and fasted for a second day in a row because a Jew doesn’t eat on Yom Kippur.”

Rabbi Friedman was silent. “Grischa” he said laying a hand on the other Jew’s shoulder “HaKadosh Baruch Hu gave you two Yom Kippurs back then when you were young and strong because this year you can’t fast.”

And the two Jews wished each other well and parted ways.

Musical CHairs

You all know the guy. He’s in every shul on the planet. I imagine there’s a female version too off in the ezras nashim.

He’s an impressive guy ehrlich and sincere a real davener. You just don’t want him next to you — and certainly not on Rosh Hashanah.

He’s the one who whispers Shemoneh Esreh so that’s it’s audible up and down the row. He blows his nose hiccups and sobs and generally makes it impossible to concentrate.

He turns pages in his machzor with a bit too much force and is positioned in a way that the jacket-button on his suit strikes the shtender every few moments: Each shuckle brings a direct hit clack clack clack.

Sometimes all the streams in avodah merge.

I once heard a shmuess from one of the great mashgichim of Yerushalayim Rav Reuven Leuchter. That same night I met a friend coming from a shmuess given by Rav Tzvi Meir Silberberg who shares the treasures of sifrei chassidus —different flavors generally speaking.

But that night they both said the same thing.

They spoke about those guys — the shul neighbor with the unruly kids that keep making you stand up as they go in and out the al cheit klopper who winds up like Nolan Ryan the guy behind you who insists on sharing the English translation in your ArtScroll machzor with you.

Okay the examples are my own but they made the general point. And that point was that people really work hard on Rosh Hashanah: Parents are determined not to get angry at the children to speak nicely to each other to maintain an elevated atmosphere at the seudos.

We push sleep out of our eyes on Rosh Hashanah afternoon and conscientiously go through each child’s devar Torah sheets and listen to “Dip the Apple” yet again.

But we think davening would have been perfect if not for that guy and his annoying kids/noise/habits…

“Fool!” the Mashgiach thundered. “You stand there proclaiming Hakadosh Baruch Hu’s dominion over every facet of creation every particle and atom — but He put that person next to you He gave you your seat and He gave him his seat. Hashem knows what you need to daven well and maybe this is it!”

In Rav Tzvi Meir’s words: “Maybe your nisayon wasn’t not sleeping and it wasn’t having uplifting seudos or being nice to your family. Maybe your nisayon was tolerating and accepting the person right next to you and being able to rise above the annoyance submitting to Hashem’s plan for you.”

So wherever you are wherever the hardworking underappreciated seat gabbai in your shul put you don’t get angry: It isn’t him who put you there. It’s Him.