The title is of course an homage to the socked scholar,
RZP.
On Thursday evening, the newly formed Ma'ayanot Scholars Program had its first event. It was really exciting to have so many students (almost 50!) stepping up, staying after school, committing to taking a leadership role in the school, to taking on a significant Torah Lishma project and infusing a major bolt of energy into our Torah community. Mrs. Kahan did a great job capturing how heartening this is for those of us who have dreamed of a program like this for a long time.
The highlight of the night was a shiur by Rabbi Prince's Rebbi, Rabbi Azarya Berzon who gave a terrific shiur on matters of Chanuka (you can find his shiurim
here,
here and
here). I was struck by the following story (which I found
here)
One night, during the month of Elul, the month reserved for serious introspection and extreme exactitude in all mitzvos as preparation for the High Holy Days, the Alter of Kelm, Horav Simcha Zissel Braude, zl, had a dream. In the dream, he envisioned that Rabbeinu Yonah, the Rishon who authored the Shaarei Teshuvah, the handbook for repentance, was coming to Kelm to give a shmuess, ethical discourse. Imagine, Rabeinu Yonah himself would speak in the city known for its singular devotion to spiritual integrity, meticulous observance of mitzvos, and character refinement during the month of Elul! This was the opportunity of a lifetime. The time was announced, and word was spread throughout the town. At the appointed time, every Jew in Kelm had arrived and waited patiently, excitedly and with great trepidation to enter the bais hamedrash where the sage would hold forth. Understandably, the
paragon of mussar, ethics, was waiting to enter. The guard at the entrance to the beis hamedrash asked the Alter to identify himself, which he did. One can only begin to imagine the surprise and eventual shock and dismay when the guard did not permit the Alter to enter. "How could this be?" the Alter asked. "I must enter." He began to beg, relating the many z'chusim, merits, he had. He called forth the multitudes of students he had directly or indirectly influenced, his meticulous observance of mitzvos, his illustrious lineage; none of this seemed to impress the guard. Nothing moved him. Rav Simchah Zissel was not going to gain entrance to the shmuess. Finally, the teacher exclaimed, "You should know that my son is Rav Nochum Velvel!" When the guard heard whose father he was, he immediately allowed him to enter the bais hamedrash. It was at this point that the Alter woke up. Disturbed, he immediately called for his saintly son and related the dream to him: "What merit did you have that superseded every argument that I presented? What did you do that was so unique that only because of your merit was I permitted to enter?" Clearly, the Alter had taken his dream quite seriously. When Rav Nochum saw that his father was quite agitated, he related the following story.
Apparently, for quite some time, Rav Nochum had been wearing a pair of thread bare, worn out and torn shoes. There was limited money, and whatever money they could scrounge, shoes were simply not a priority. Once, he had occasion to be at the shoemaker's shop and he saw an excellent, sturdy pair of shoes for sale. Realizing that the price of the shoes would put him back a bit, he decided to save for them. Every week, he would put away a few pennies which he was able to hoard. Finally, the day came, and with great excitement, Rav Nochum took his savings, proceeded to the shoe store and purchased the long awaited pair of shoes. He could now walk wearing sturdy shoes that would allow him to have the necessary support with a certain degree of comfort.
Shortly thereafter, on a freezing cold wintry night, he heard a feeble knock at his door. He rose
from his studies to answer the door, to be greeted by a poor man who was going door to door begging for alms. The man was dressed in tattered clothing with not even a coat to protect him from the inclement weather. Rav Nochum motioned him to come into the house and gave him a warm drink. As the man stood up and was about to leave, Rav Nochum noticed that he was not wearing shoes. Furthermore, his feet were bloodied and blistered, frostbitten from the cold and snow. "Where are your shoes?" Rav Nochum asked. "They are not my first priority. When one does not have what to eat, he first seeks to calm his hunger pains, then he worries about shoes," the man replied. Rav Nochum did not flinch for a moment. He immediately removed his shoes and gave them to the poor man. "Here you surely need them more than I," he said.
Rav Nochum turned to his father and said, "Probably it was that act of chesed that earned me
the merit, so that you could enter the room to listen to Rabbeinu Yonah's shmuess."
When one performs acts of chesed with no ulterior motive other than to help his fellow Jew, it
demonstrates his overwhelming love for Hashem and His children. Such a selfless act of kindness has the capability of catalyzing an incredible spiritual flow of Heavenly mercy for himself and for the world.
Just a day or two later I found
this article in the Times about a modern day version of the story:
Officer DePrimo, 25, who joined the department in 2010 and lives with his parents on Long Island, was shocked at the attention. He was not warned before the photo went online; the department had not learned which officer was in the picture until hours later.
The officer, normally assigned to the Sixth Precinct in the West Village, readily recalled the encounter. “It was freezing out and you could see the blisters on the man’s feet,” he said in an interview. “I had two pairs of socks and I was still cold.” They started talking; he found out the man’s shoe size: 12.
As the man walked slowly down Seventh Avenue on his heels, Officer DePrimo went into a Skechers shoe store at about 9:30 p.m. “We were just kind of shocked,” said Jose Cano, 28, a manager working at the store that night. “Most of us are New Yorkers and we just kind of pass by that kind of thing. Especially in this neighborhood.”
