The Short Vort
Good Morning!
Today is Thursday the 21st of Kislev 5782 and
November 25, 2021
A Lost Friend
"Are you by any chance a rabbi?" I realized my cover was blown.
Try as I might to remain incognito, the older man had outed me.
I was spending a rare Shabbos away from the Shul at a family Simcha.
I awoke early on Shabbos morning and took advantage of the unusually warm late October weather to take a walk around the neighborhood.
Some cyclists sped by, and a few, mostly older adults, walked and enjoyed the pastoral setting.
As an elderly gentleman passed me, I smiled and said good morning. He replied, "Shabbat Shalom."
I answered him accordingly, and then he said, "Is it too early to wish you a Happy Chanuka? I know it's about a month away; however, who knows if I'll be here tomorrow?"
I smiled and answered him, "It's never too early to wish someone to be happy!"
It was then he asked, "Are you a rabbi?" Confronted with a specific and direct indictment, I answered in the affirmative.
"My name is Moishe Katz. However, people around here call me Mo. Honestly, no one has called me Moishe in fifty years."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Katz."
"Please call me Moishe; I haven't been called that in such a long time."
"Where were you born, Reb Moishe?"
"Oy, please don't call me Reb; I am just a pashute Yid named Moishe. I was born in a very small shtetl
in Lita called Eyshishok in 1929.
In 1938, my parents and I managed to escape and come here."
"You grew up in Eyshishok? You must have many stories to share with your grandchildren."
Moishe Katz said sadly, "Actually, I have no grandchildren. When I arrived here, I wanted so much to be a real Yankee. You know a real American. In 1950 I joined the American army and served in Korea. While I was there, I met a local girl, and against my parent's wishes, I married her. After the war, we returned here, and we never had children. My wife passed away five years ago, so I am all alone. I have nothing. No family, no heritage, no Yiddishkeit."
"Moishe, you can always come back. It's never too late."
"It's too late for me. I live with an aide and rarely do I go out on my own. When I saw you, you reminded me of how my Zaide looked in Eyshishok."
"Do you remember anything from Eyshishok?" I asked.
"There is one thing which stands out in my mind. Before we left, the town Rav, HaRav Shimon Rozowski[i] (HY" D), gave my father, a Sefer. The Rav told my father that learning the Sefer would keep our family connected to Yiddishkeit in America. My father took the sefer; however, being forced to work seven days a week, I don't think he ever opened it. Honestly, in short order, our family no longer kept Shabbos as my father had to work. And it wasn't too long when we no longer ate Kosher. I went to Public School, and soon the only thing Jewish about us was we spoke Yiddish in the home."
"Do you remember which Sefer Rav Shimon Rozowski gave your father?"
"I don't. However, I still have it. I, too, have never opened it. If you want, I can show it to you."
I memorized Moishe's address and waited until Motzei Shabbos with bated breath.
After Shabbos, I drove to Moishe's home.
Moishe was waiting for me with the Sefer in hand. As I picked up the tattered book and turned its brittle pages, I noticed the author had written, "This Sefer contains fundamental Jewish concepts. It will help those who go to remote communities maintain their Yiddishkeit."
As I read those words aloud, Moishe began to cry. "Who knows how different my life would be now if only I had learned that Sefer! Please tell me the name of the Sefer and its author."
"The Sefer is called Nidchei Yisroel and its author is the Chofetz Chaim."
"I never heard of him. However, he was quite prescient.
Rabbi, please take the Sefer, I am sure you can use it, and you will save it from the trash bin after I die."
I thanked Moishe Katz for the Sefer and bid him goodbye while promising to stay in touch.
As I exited the house, my right hand automatically reached up to touch the Mezuza. Alas, there was no Mezuza to touch.
“If Not Now, Then When?”- Hillel
Ron Yitzchok Eisenman
Rabbi, Congregation Ahavas Israel
Passaic, NJ
[i] Rabbi Szymen Rozowski (1874-1941) was the beloved last rabbi of Eisiskes. During the September 1941 massacre of the city, Rabbi Rozowski was kept alive on the edge of the mass graves so that he would witness the murder of each member of his community. After the murder of the last person, the rabbi was buried alive. https://collections.ushmm.org/search/catalog/pa1125664
