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The Short Vort
Good Morning!
Today is Thursday the 1st of Tammuz-
Happy Rosh Chodesh - 5782,
and June 30, 2022
My Hero
He arrived as he usually does, very late at night.
He is an Israel-American commuter.
Almost every other month or so, he arrives.
He always stays by us when he comes in.
Sometimes, I am not even aware he is coming.
He knows the combination of our house and where the guest bedroom is.
Passaic is centrally located; the City is close by, and so are most other Jewish neighborhoods.
I only know when he arrives when I hear the front door opening in my sleep.
I glance at the clock: three AM.
When I awake, I hear him speaking to someone in Israel downstairs on his computer.
He comes in early Sunday morning and is always careful to be home in Israel for Shabbos.
He is a low-maintenance guest.
He is never around for meals, and I never have to make awkward small talk with him.
When I leave for Shul, he has already left for a morning meeting in the Five Towns or Brooklyn.
I often forget when my guest from Eretz Yisroel is in my home.
Such is the reality of his life and mine.
Although my guest works hard and long hours, I too am to blame for our becoming "two ships passing in the night."
Being a Rav, I constantly struggle to keep my head above the waterline.
I am always playing catch-up.
When preparing for a Shiur, I feel guilty for not returning phone calls where the caller indicated the issue is time-sensitive.
And when I call back people, I worry that I will not be prepared to teach.
A spontaneous speech, for me, is an exercise in futility.
There is no such thing in my life as "speaking off the cuff."
I neither possess the mental capacity nor the retention of sources to speak extemporaneously.
Therefore, I am in a constant and perpetual state of mental motion, worrying about what my next speech, drosha or shiur, will be about.
My frantic lifestyle causes me to worry about the people I need to call back as I struggle to understand the Tosfos.
I willingly accepted this fact of life years ago. Namely, my life's frenzied, phrenetic, and fast pace is part of my challenge of being a Rav.
I have no complaints or regrets, although my consistent inability to achieve emotional tranquility constantly haunts me.
Therefore, when my guest arrived for another three-day visit, I had no illusions of indulging in quality time despite our wants and desires.
Yet, this time would be different.
Different in a way that realigned my reality.
Different in a way that forced me to reorganize my priorities.
My wife had gone to Florida to visit her mother.
For nothing else, this meant that dinner would not be waiting for me at the table as it always is at 6 PM.
I was on my own.
My want for a decent meal, besides a can of tuna fish, overwhelmed me.
I took the daring and bold initiative.
In a moment of rare impulsivity and ostensibly reckless irresponsibility, I asked my guest if we could meet that night at a restaurant for dinner.
He quickly agreed.
The location was found, and the time was set.
We met, we ate, and it was time to leave.
It was time to end this daring dereliction of my rabbinic duties.
We exited with each man going to his own car.
While I was drowning in guilt for allowing myself this hasty hiatus from my rabbinical responsibilities,
my guest suggested a walk around the block.
"It's healthy to walk after a big meal." He said.
I did not decline his invitation; after all, how much time could once around the block take?
We walked, and we talked, and we walked more, and we talked more.
Five minutes turned into fifty, and fifty minutes became two hours as we simultaneously realized what we had been missing these last years.
With open hearts, we bonded and connected.
I once again remembered how precious and gratifying human connection can be.
As this epiphany washed over my soul, a long-forgotten feeling of tranquility permeated my entire being.
Suddenly I realized that the calls could wait.
The Shul would not implode in my absence.
I discovered an earth-shattering insight: I don't have to feel guilty about being human and wanting and needing warmth and affection.
Above all, this encounter taught me that even a rabbi needs to bond with his son.
"I love you, Tuvia. You are my hero.
Thank you for reminding me that we are always father and son."
“If Not Now, Then When?”- Hillel
Ron Yitzchok Eisenman
Rav
Congregation Ahavas Israel
Passaic, NJ
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