Y

itzy looked up at the stage. Sitting behind a small table was a very holy-looking man with a long white beard. Obviously, this was the Rosh Yeshivah. On one side of him sat Yaakov Dorfman, from Rabbi Klein’s class. He waved at Yitzy. Yitzy politely waved back.

On the other side of the Rosh Yeshivah was an empty seat, obviously reserved for Yitzy.

“Come, Yitzy,” urged Rabbi Davis, “let me introduce you to Rav Millstein.”

Yitzy didn’t have any choice but to follow his rebbi up the steps to the stage to meet the Rosh Yeshivah.

Rabbi Davis held out his hand to Rav Millstein.

“Shalom aleichem, Rosh Yeshivah,” Rabbi Davis said respectfully. “I’m the third grade rebbi, and this is my talmid, Yitzy Levinson, who will be answering your questions today.”

Rav Millstein stood up, shook hands with Rabbi Davis, and then turned toward Yitzy. A warm smile spread across his face, as he held out his hand to Yitzy.

“Shalom aleichim, Yitzy,” he said. “You should have hatzlachah rabbah in today’s contest.”

Yitzy said amein to the tzaddik’s brachah and tried his best to smile as he did. The Rosh Yeshivah then motioned for Yitzy to sit down in the empty seat beside him.

Yitzy didn’t have any choice but to sit. As he sat there, Yitzy gazed out across the auditorium. Every single rebbi and every single kid in the entire yeshivah was there to watch the competition.

Yitzy swallowed hard.

Here he was, sitting up on the stage next to one of the gedolei hador, with hundreds of pairs of eyes looking up at him.

What if he didn’t know the answer to any of the questions in the contest? What if he made a fool out of himself in front of the Rosh Yeshivah and all these people?

The last few classes were filing into the auditorium. When they sat down, the contest would begin. If he was going to back out and quit the contest, this was his last chance. He could make believe he was going to the bathroom, and just sneak out of the building. Once outside he would run like the wind, as far as he could, away from yeshivah. Nobody would even notice he was missing until he was far, far, away.

The more he thought about the idea, the better it sounded.

Suddenly, a flash of yellow caught his attention.

That was strange. Mr. Kanareby, the school’s custodian, was walking through the crowd carrying a mop and a bright yellow bucket filled with water.

Why would Mr. Kanareby be mopping the floors now?

Yitzy focused on the head under the blue baseball cap.

A familiar face was under the blue cap, but it wasn’t Mr. Kanareby’s face. This face had long stringy hair around it.

It was Mr. Burtman.

Yitzy jumped up out of his chair. He couldn’t believe the chutzpah of that wicked man. He was pretending to be a janitor so he could sneak into the yeshivah auditorium and watch Yitzy compete. He would be there hoping that Yitzy lost the Mishnayos competition, and he would get Mr. Greenbaum’s building.

Yitzy grew so angry, he felt his blood boiling inside of him.

He made up his mind. There was no way he was going to run away, and let that rasha win. He was going to stay for the Mishnayos competition, and b’ezras Hashem, he was going to win it.

Suddenly, the auditorium grew quiet. The principal stood at the edge of the stage, holding a microphone.

(Excerpted from Mishpacha Jr., Issue 767)