A VOICE FROM ANOTHER PLACE

Harav Y. Reuven Rubin Shlita

I remember once hearing from the Voideslover Rov zt”l how, whenever he visited pre- holocaust Warsaw, he would never fail to learn a new nuance in Yiddishkeit.  In that intensively Jewish world one could find fresh insights in serving Hashem in every small shtiebel and shul.  Tragically all that was destroyed, and there were those who felt that such vibrancy would never again be experienced.

However, Hashem is good to His nation and with great chesed we were able to pick ourselves up from the depths of our pain and rebuild a world that again brings in Torah illumination.

Nowhere is this felt more than in Eretz Yisroel where the glory of Torah life can be experienced in every facet. Recently we were in Yerusholayim and, as always, just being in the precincts of that holy place showed me how special Yieden can be.  Whenever I am in Eretz Yisroel I seek out some old shtiebel to daven in, a place perhaps untouched by the slick material world that encroaches wherever one goes.  Preferably said location should sport old cracked tiles on the floor and several shades of paint on the walls.  There should hang an old towel on the roller by the sink, with hand washing cups chained to the taps.  It is to be hoped that there will be the aroma of snuff wafting about, and the sidurim will be ancient and preferably dedicated in memory of departed loved ones who very likely davened in the very same place. I found just such a mokom tefiloh near where we were staying and looked forward to a few weeks of unadulterated davening with a tinge of real warmth.

On Shabbos morning I was not disappointed, and I want to share what I found to be a special moment that I know will long be a sacred memory.  I was with three generations of my family and we were all sitting together in this wonderful shtiebel doing what one does at such times, namely davening.  The gabai had mentioned to me that this Shabbos was of special note because Rav Yosef had yohrtzeit.  After some questioning I learned that Rav Yosef was this ancient Yied who was sitting in the very back of the shul.  He was wearing a Yerushalmi gold kaftan and a tallis that was so old it seemed to be his second skin.  His eyes were so sweet and his long white beard gave witness to a life lived with little regard to material gain.  I thought it was kind of nice on the part of the chevrah that they allowed this old-timer to lead the services even given he had yohrtzeit, after all he probably couldn’t be heard and yet they were ready to allow him this special honour.  Pesukei d’zimra went by and we were well into shacharis, yet the omud was occupied by a young man who had been told that if and when Rav Yosef felt strong enough he would take over. I was standing there not noticing what was going on at the omud when suddenly I heard a voice that thundered with a strength that pierced my heart.  I looked up and there stood Rav Yosef, holding the sides of the shtender, his knuckles white with exertion, his eyes tightly closed.  From somewhere deep within his being came this most astounding angelic sound that was beyond the norms of anything belonging to the here and now. This old Yied was davening from another world, his voice rising and falling with each syllable as if he had been tutored in some celestial choir.  How he had the strength is beyond me, he seemed to just become one with the tefilos that swarmed from his heart, sweeping us all into a realm beyond the mere walls of any building.

This was the real Yerusholayim, this was the holiness of a Shabbos tefiloh that words can’t begin to describe.  This was what davening is meant to be about, nothing between the physical and the spirit, both dissolving into one entity to become attached with Hashem, leaving all else behind. This Yied led us through the rest of the davening and then, as we all went to make kidush, he shuffled back to his seat, opened up a well-worn Gemoro and was soon singing the sweet tune of learning.  I still can’t figure out where his strength came from, nor whence his rock-shattering voice emerged, I only know that this was something I may never have the merit to share again, but I know in my heart that for that one tefiloh I was given a passport to another level of the spirit.

We all live in golus, it matters not what address is on our door.  Emotionally we are at odds with ourselves.  We all carry pain, troubles and doubts that weigh heavily within.  Look into anyone’s eyes and you can find some corner where their woes are dragging them down.  The golus we find ourselves in today gnaws at our souls as our spiritual energy seeps away in the mire of material greed.  So Hashem sends out lifelines, small moments of wonder that give us hope and light.  We often feel it a shame that we can’t bottle these moments so that we can re-open them in moments of despair and breathe in their refreshing essence.

In truth we can capture these snapshots of holiness because they are never lost.  They are part of our spiritual landscape and can be raised up whenever we need them.  That is what holy memories are for: they can give strength when we are weak, hope when all seems dark.  Gutte Yieden explain that nothing is experienced without a reason that is unique to us.  Each of us has a tikun to fulfil in this world, and everything that comes our way must be used to help us towards this spiritual fulfillment.

I started this article not certain where it would go.  I just wanted to share my story before it got lost in the maelstrom of what passes for our daily life.  Something tells me we all need such moments when everything just stops and our inner being rises above the earthly chains that hold us back.  Golus is the test we each face, but Hashem gives us moments of illumination so we can navigate our way through it.