The Short Vort
Good Morning!
Today is Taanis Esther 5780 and March 9
th,
2020
Yoel Moshe ben Yosef Nosson Z"L
I was an eighth grade Rebbe at Yeshiva of North Jersey when the call came in.
My brother called to tell me my father had passed away.
That was 21 years ago today.
My father, who was born in Yerushalayim to a prestigious family, descended from the students of the Vilna Gaon, who came to Eretz Yisroel in the early 1800s.
My father fought first in Haganah and later in the IDF.
When he arrived in this country, he met my mother, and they settled in the Canarsie section of Brooklyn.
My father would drive my brother and me every morning to a yeshiva in the Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn.
From our home in Canarsie to the yeshiva was about a 25 minuted drive.
However, we never traveled straight to the yeshiva.
As opposed to traveling westward towards the yeshiva, my father would detour to the northeast adding on an additional 20-30 minutes on the trip.
He would first drive to the Linden Houses located in the New Lots section of Brooklyn.
The houses- “the projects” as they were called, were part of the New York City Housing Authority.
My father would take us this roundabout way to pick up a young boy named Avi who, together with his mother, were the last Jews in the projects.
When the yeshiva asked for a volunteer to pick up Avi, it was my father who stepped forward and offered to drive him.
We drove Avi until the end of 8
th
grade.
I lost touch with Avi, that is until a month ago.
I was about to start the Ein Yakov Shiur, which meets between Mincha and Maariv on weekdays.
Often guests at the Shul will come over and say hello.
A month ago, a man came over and said his name was Avi Ploni.
He asked if I remembered him.
I said I did not.
He then told me that he and all his children are all frum and the family lives in Israel.
He then said, “And I owe it all to your father.”
I had no idea who this man was, and I was convinced he had me mixed up with someone else.
“Are you sure it was my father?” I asked.
He said, “You don’t remember me. However, I was the little boy your father drove to yeshiva every morning for eight years. I am now living in Eretz Yisroel, I was in learning until a few years ago, and now I am a Mesivta Rebbe in Yerushalayim. I would never have the skills, the background, and the love of learning to accomplish what I did without a solid Yeshiva K’Tana foundation.
I owe my learning and my children’s learning all to your father.
I just wanted to thank you.”
I looked at the Talmid Chochom standing before me.
I could sense his erudition and his sterling qualities.
Who could have imagined a simple detour taken by father over 50 years ago, would still be giving off beautiful fruit a half a century later.
You never know how small things are often the greatest accomplishments of our life.
May his memory be for a Brocha.
“If Not Now, Then When?”- Hillel
Ron Yitzchok Eisenman
Rabbi
Congregation Ahavas Israel
Passaic, NJ
