We have finished the three weeks of national mourning concluding with Tisha B’av. We only hope during that dark period, our brethren, including yours truly, have done some soul searching and have learned from the countless and precious videos of the inspirational speakers that were shown on that fast day through out the world, how to deal with people and are ready to face (with a smile) the challenges of dealing, tolerating and helping our fellow Jew.
Over the years I have encountered many, and I mean many, good people including strangers who were willing to give a helping hand to a fellow Yid. I have countless personal stories of kindness but none more heart warming then something I read by Rabbi Paysach Krohn ‘ A Dance for the Ages’, from his book ‘In the Footsteps of the Maggid’ (Mesorah Publishing). Rabbi Krohn who happens to be one of the leading inspirational speakers has compiled some of his stories in this one of many books. This story has really touched me; therefore I would love to share it with you.
‘A Dance for the Ages’
This following story is one of the most remarkable I have ever hear. It was told to me by one of the central characters in the episode, my uncle, Rabbi Yehuda Ackerman, a Stoliner chassid now living in the city of Bnei Brak, Israel. The love and concern for a fellow Jew portrayed here are so genuinely touching that the story inspires all who hear it.
A number of years ago a wealthy in individual came to Israel with his family for a few weeks’ vacation. He was just staying in the famous Central Hotel on Rechov Pines in Jerusalem, and that is where he had most of his meals.
One Friday night, after the seudas Shabbos, the gentlemen was strolling back and forth outside the hotel where he noticed two chassidic boys rushing somewhere. “Where are you boys off to?” he asked, as they sped by.
“We’re on our way to the Stoliner Rebbe’s tish.” (The word “tish,” literally translated as “table,” is a term used for a gathering of chassidim around their Rebbe’s table.) The gentleman thought that it might be interesting to observe a tish and so he asked, as he hurried to catch up with them, “Do you mind if I come along?”
“No, of course not. But you must walk quickly,” they added, “because it is starting soon.”
The three of them rushed down Rechov Pines, made a right turn on Rechov Malchei Yisrael, and headed into the tiny streets of Meah Shearim toward the Stoliner shul.
The shul was packed with hundreds of people who had already gathered to sing and bask in the Rebbe’s presence. The gentleman now detached himself from the two boys, shouldered his way through the crowd, found some room for himself in the back of the synagogue and stood there unobtrusively observing the scene.
My uncle, a fervent Stoliner chassid for decades, had come that week to Jerusalem to be with his Rebbe. He, too, was at the tish and was sitting close to the front. As he looked around the synagogue he searched for faces that were not among the “regulars.” It was then that he noticed the wealthy man in the back.
My uncle, aside from being a devout chassid of the Rebbe, is the founder and fundraiser of the Stoliner Yeshivah in Bnei Brak. Before Shabbos the Rebbe had told him that he must not leave Jerusalem before raising twenty-five thousand dollars for the benefit of the yeshivah, because themelamdim (teachers) were owed a great deal of back pay. Therefore, when my uncle saw the wealthy gentleman, he figured that he might be a good man to talk to.
Throughout the evening my uncle kept an eye on the man in the back of the shul. When he realized that the tish was about to end, he made his way towards him. My uncle, a jovial and robust individual, extended his hand and, with the broadest of smiles, said, “Gut Shabbos, Reb Yid. Welcome to Stolin. I believe I recognize you.”
My uncle knew quite well that this man had a reputation of being a philanthropist who supported many Jewish causes. He was hoping he could get him involved with his own cause.
The man looked at my uncle and replied, “Gut Shabbos. I believe I recognize you too.”
The two men spoke for a while and then my uncle asked, “Where are you staying, and how long will you be here in town?”
I’m staying at the Central and I’m leaving on Tuesday,” came the reply.
“May I bring some of my friends to you tomorrow night at the central, and we will make a little Melaveh Malkah (festive meal held Saturday night)? We’ll sing a little, dance a little, tell some stories, have some good food. It will be beautiful.”
The philanthropist understood quite well what my uncle’s intention was, but still he smiled and said, “Fine. Come with your friends tomorrow night.”
The next evening, a little while after Shabbos ended, my uncle and three of his friends went to the Central Hotel and up to the gentleman’s room. They knocked on the door and waited, pacing back and forth as they worried that perhaps the gentleman had forgotten about the Melaveh Malkah or that something else had came up. After a few moments, however, the gentleman came to the door and invited them in.
For more than two hours they sang, told stories and relished the ambience of the evening. Finally the gentleman turned to my uncle and said, “Ackerman, what do you want from me? I know you didn’t just come here to sing and dance.”
My uncle smiled sheepishly and said, “You know something? You are so right. I didn’t just come to sing and dance. I came for a very important reason.” He then went on to explain the financial plight of the Stoliner Yeshivah and how, because of the economic hardships in Israel, the yeshivah was almost totally dependent on support from friends in America. “I need your help,” my uncle said seriously. “The Rebbe told me that I must raise twenty-five thousand dollars.”
Everyone in the room was quiet. The gentleman was deep in thought, his eyes closed as he reflected on the words my uncle had just spoken. “I’ll tell you what, Ackerman,” he said. “I’ll give you a donation now, and if you raise ten thousand dollars by tomorrow night, I will match it and give you another ten!”
My uncle and his friends could not believe their ears. It had never occurred to them that the gentleman would make such a gracious offer. They shook hands on the “deal” and a few moments later my uncle left the hotel to begin his efforts to raise the ten thousand dollars.
For much of the night and all of the next day my uncle ran from person to person, telling them that he had a golden opportunity to relieve Stoliner Yeshivah of a good deal of its financial burden if only they would help him. He collected cash, personal checks, money orders and traveler’s checks. He hardly rested for a moment, and by Sunday evening he was close to his goal.
Late Sunday night he made his way to the Central Hotel, went directly to the gentleman’s room and began piling all the money he raised on the table. They counted it, and sure enough – my uncle had met the goal! He had raised ten thousand dollars! The philanthropist promptly took out his checkbook and wrote a check to the Stoliner Yeshivah for ten thousand dollars. My uncle simply could not believe what was happening. For the first time in many years he was speechless.
As he began to thank the gentleman profusely for what he had just done, the gentleman said, “Aren’t you wondering why I did this?”
“Wondering?” my uncle blurted out. “To me this is a miracle. It’s like man min hashamayim (the food that fell miraculously from Heaven for the Jews in the desert.)”
“Sit down,” the gentleman said. “Let me tell you a story and then you will understand.”
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“It was twenty-five years ago.” The gentleman began, “on the afternoon of my wedding day. I was so poor that my parents could not even afford to buy me a hat to wear to my chuppah. I lived in Williamsburg (an Orthdox neighborhood in Brooklyn, New York) at the time, so I walked to Broadway where there was a famous Jewish hat store. I went in and told the owner, “I’m getting married tonight, but my parents are poverty stricken and can’t afford to buy me a hat. Could you please do me a favor and give me a hat? I promise you that tomorrow morning I will come in and pay you with some of the money that I hope to get tonight as wedding presents.”
“The man behind the counter looked me over and then answered, ‘You look like an honest yeshivah bachur (student). I’ll give you the hat.’
“I was so happy and grateful to him, “continued the gentleman. “I walked outside and a few stores down was a liquor store, also owned by a Jewish man. I knew very well that my parents couldn’t afford any liquor for the wedding, so I went in and said to the man behind the counter, ‘I’m getting married tonight and my parents do not have money to buy any liquor. Would you be so kind as to give me a few bottles for the wedding? I promise that tomorrow morning I will come in and pay you from the money that I hope to get as wedding gifts.’
Here, too, the man looked me over and said the same thing the fellow in the hat store has said. ‘You look like an honest yeshivah bachur, I’ll give you the liquor.’
“He gave me the liquor and I walked out of the store with the hat in my right hand and the liquor in my left. I felt like a million dollars. I was ecstatic. I took just a few steps outside the store and there you were, Mr. Ackerman.
[My uncle, R’ Yehuda Ackerman, was known at the time as the most extraordinary dancer at Jewish weddings. Whenever he made his way into the middle of the circle where everyone was dancing, He became the focal point of frolic around which everything centered. Everyone in the hall would stop whatever they were doing just to watch him perform for the chassan and kallah. His body movements were elegant; his balancing acts; entertaining; his radiant smile ebullient, and his body’s comical coordination with the music the band was playing was incredible and legendary. Somehow he managed to become the physical embodiment of the musical notes emanating from the violin, clarinet and cordovox, which were popular at the time.]
“I saw,” the gentleman said, “that Hashem was so good to me in helping me get the hat and the liquor, so I figured that I would take my chances just one more time. I walked over to you and said, ‘Mr. Ackerman, I know you don’t know who I am, but I am getting married tonight. Would you mind coming to dance at my wedding?’
“You said that you couldn’t promise anything, but you took down my name and the name and address of the wedding hall. And that night, right in the middle of the wedding, you came running into the center of the circle where everyone was dancing and you danced so magnificently. The people loved it! You made everyone so happy and you helped make it the greatest night of my life. When it was over that evening, I swore to myself that someday I would repay you.”
Now, transversing all the years in between, the gentleman concluded. “Last night, when I saw you at the Stoliner Rebbe’s tish, I suddenly remembered what I had said to myself back then on my wedding night. I realized that now was the time to pay you back. That’s why I gave you the money.”
My uncle sat there astounded. He hasn’t remembered the wedding. He hadn’t remembered the wedding from so long ago, but he would never forget this Shabbos night in Jerusalem.
The story, however, did not end there. The next time my uncle was in the city where this generous gentleman lived, he heard that the man’s son was getting married. He waited until the middle of the wedding and then as he had done so many years earlier, he ran into the center of the circle where everyone was dancing, and he danced as he had, all those years before.
And as he did, he turned and saw the gentleman standing off on the side with a great smile across his face, and tears rolling down his cheeks. He ran over to the man and, as they embraced, the man said to my uncle, “How can I ever thank you? You’ve made me relive the greatest night of my life.”
The Gemara (Yoma 9b) teaches that the Second Beis HaMikdash was destroyed because of sinas chinam, uncalled-for and unreasonable hatred. Here, though, was an instance of poignant ahavas chinam, a talented individual dancing at the wedding of a young man whom he didn’t even know and never thought he would see again only because there was love…love of one Jew for another with no motive or incentive other than that they were both Jewish. May we all learn from this incredible story and merit together to see the building of the Third Beis HaMikdash.
Reproduced from “Footsteps of the Maggid,” by Rabbi Paysach Krohn, with permission of the copyright holders, ArtScroll / Mesorah Publications, Ltd.
