There is no shortage of stories demonstrating this concept. I chose the following vignette, related by Rabbi Yechiel Spero in his wonderful book, “One Shining Moment.” When we think of the Chazon Ish, the first thing that comes to mind is his outstanding scholarship. Commensurate with his consummate greatness in Torah was his unique love for all Jews. The Chazon Ish lived in Bnei Brak, where Horav Yosef Kahaneman, ZT”L, the Ponevezher Rav, had re-established the Ponevezh Yeshiva. It was during the war years, and the yeshiva had experienced incredible growth, not only in numbers but also in the intensity of the learning. Therefore, it was no wonder that, on Simchas Torah, the day that we celebrate with the Torah, the sense of ecstasy and effusive joy emanating from the students was palpable. The dancing was a celebration that went beyond the mundane. Each individual felt spiritually uplifted as he danced in concert with the other yeshiva students who truly felt a kinship with the Torah. Once a year, the elderly Chazon Ish came to the yeshiva to celebrate Simchas Torah with the students. It was a sight to behold. The elderly sage danced in a way that was unmatched by those decades his junior. He was neither a part of the yeshiva administration nor did he hold any official rabbinic position. He just wanted to dance with the bochurim of the yeshiva. Seeing the gadol hador – pre-eminent Torah giant of the generation dance with such vigour enlivened the students to dance in kind. All good things come to an end at theappropriate time. Once the dancing ended, everyone felt the exhaustion of their para-spiritual workout. While the dancing endured, no one felt the physical toll. They were in on a different plane, far removed from the physical. Now it was time to accompany the frail Chazon Ish to his home. The sage also felt the strain. Once the dancing had ended, he realised how old his physical body was. Escorted by the yeshiva students, the elderly sage slowly made his way home. On the way, they came upon a man dressed in clothes that would not pass as Yom Tov garb even by today’s lax standards. The man looked like he just did not belong. He appeared withdrawn and despondent. The Chazon Ish stopped and walked over to the man to ask him what was bothering him. The Chazon Ish himself was exhausted yet, when he saw another Jew in pain, he felt that man’s pain. The man did not need more. He was like a bottle of soda that had been shaken up, waiting to burst through. He began with his dismal tale of woe. “I was born out of the Jewish faith. After years of study and a deep-rooted desire to become a part of the am Hashem – nation of G-d I converted. Tonight, on the night when Jews all over celebrate their relationship with the Torah, I have nowhere to go. It is like a wedding, only I was not invited! I was alone with nowhere to go. Look at me. I look different, I talk different. I am different. I sat myself down on the street and contemplated my exclusion from the Jewish world that I wanted to join.” The man concluded his sad story and hung his head down in defeat. The Chazon Ish listened to the man’s tale of woe, then asked, “Do you know any Jewish songs?” The sage asked the man to pick one of the songs that he knew and begin singing: “You sing, and I will dance. Together, we will celebrate Simchas Torah.” The students were shocked beyond belief. Their Rebbe could hardly walk home. Already advanced in years, he was unusually frail and in poor health. Tonight, he had added the weight of hours of spirited dancing. Yet, if another Jew felt alone and in need, he would gather whatever little reserve he might have and garner it to enliven the life of another Jew. And dance he did. The man slowly began to sing. Unsure of himself, he commenced with a mumble. “Toras Hashem temimah – The Torah of Hashem is perfect,” he sang, picking up speed and pitch as he became emboldened. The Chazon Ish began to dance with a fervour that overshadowed his earlier dancing. As a chassan – bridegroom dances before his kallah – bride the elderly sage danced before this man. The man smiled and cried at the same time, as he began to belt out the words of the song. Each stanza brought renewed vigour, matched only by the Chazon Ish’s exuberant dancing. Why did he do this? He wanted to make a young man smile. The ger – convert felt out of place without family and friends on a night that everyone seemed so happy. The gadol hador taught him otherwise. No Jew is left behind. No Jew is left alone. The students stood there in amazement, as they watched a man, who minutes earlier had hardly been able to trudge home, now dancing gracefully with a joy that apparently transcended this physical world, carrying him aloft to another dimension; a dimension reserved only for the few, the unique and the worthy.
Posted on: Mon, 12 Jan 2015 17:37:12 +0000
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