This past Sunday, the mothers and daughters of 147th and 76th road, (actually, it spilled over to 77th Ave as well), in Kew Garden Hills, organized for the boys and girls of their families, a siyum hasefer – a finishing of a book party, in the park. Every Shabbat for the past six years, approximately, these tzadekot would organize a brachos party where the kids would hear a story from various popular inspirational Jewish books. They then, make blessings and answer amen to various goodies that are prepared and presented on the host table. A different family would host each Shabbat.
The Sunday get-together reminds of a story I read a number of years ago which I would like to share. This story probably took place within the past 20 years. A man was walking past a synagogue in Boro Park where a funeral was taking place. Curious, he walked in to see who had passed away. Realizing that indeed, he knew the deceased, he approached the family and insisted that he would like to say a few words about him. Although, he was not scheduled to speak, nevertheless, he got the opportunity because of his persistent nature. Everybody was curious, especially the family, what this person, whom they did not know, was going to say. He began telling his story; “Every morning, I would be waiting at the bus stop for my bus to get to work. After some time, I realized something peculiar on the opposite direction of where I was going, across the street. There was this old man, the deceased, waiting at the bus stop, however, he never got on any bus. He’d be watching all the vehicles that passed by. One day, I got to the bus stop very late and realized that he was getting up to – I guess – walk home. Curious George that I am, I decided to cross the street and asked him, “What’s with your routine?”
He was very friendly and he kept on blessing the Jewish people. Then he started to tell his story. “I was in a concentration camp and we were always taunted by the German guards how it’s the end for “you Jews”; we all felt doomed. Today, 50 years later, I would get up early and go to the bus stop and count, about 30 school busses, with little Jewish children going to Yeshiva. I would not leave until I count 30. After the last bus, I would remember the Germans’ words, “It’s the end for you Jews”, and then I would thank G-d for all he has done.”
It’s a wonderful feeling seeing my children make brachot and even tell stories at this special Shabbat get-together. It’s a tremendous merit that innocent children are saying brachot and answering amen. I remember walking in Yerushalayim, as well as my son’s yeshiva in Queens, and hearing the boys singing in unison passages from the Torah. It reminded me of when I did that. The adrenaline running high and you are screaming and singing on the top of your lungs.
The old man’s last words to the Curious George friend, “It’s not the end for us, Jews”; he then smiled and said, “we are still alive.” |
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