Amazing Memories

Print-friendly version

Amazing Memories

Harav Y. Reuven Rubin Shlita

Baggage comes in all sizes and shapes. I’m sure every Jewish household has all manner of stuff that is schlepped from here to there just because, well, it’s our stuff and one never lets go of, well, stuff.

The Rubin’s have moved from one continent to another, always holding onto bags of stuff that may have seemed superfluous but held some sort of emotional hold on us. One such relic is a bag of open-reel recording tapes, a collection that was born in the early sixties.

For our younger readers, allow me to explain: Once upon a time, in the “good old days”, people did not have access to machines that could record messages, or dare I say, even send texts and such. All this technology lay in the hands of engineers and experts, and often as not, not even yet dreamt of.

In 1963, I was a young chosson and was gifted a magnificent new invention, a portable tape recorder. This machine (hardly a portable, it was huge) was what is called an open-reel tape recorder and allowed you to record anything within hearing distance. This wonderful device captured the interest of everyone who came into contact with it. Voices never heard could be recorded for posterity and the large reels would pick up every word. I was besotted with this new toy and recorded everything in my vicinity.

My chasanah was in Eretz Yisroel, and was fully recorded from beginning to end. As time marched on, technology changed, and in fact, all those reels of green tape became obsolete. Even so, they were schlepped from one home to the next, crossing borders and taking up space on shelves gathering dust. Throw them away? Never, they were our special treasure, never heard but still there.

Time rolled on, fifty, sixty years, a mere blink in the eye of history, yet very real to those whose voices were embedded on those tapes of yesteryear. That held true till last week, when those sleeping tapes were reawakened.

Due to changing technology, all those tapes can be digitised onto the latest recording equipment and my grandson (it’s always the grandchildren) had the whole collection transferred to a small little plastic thing that somehow fits into a computer and well, brings alive those sleeping voices.

The kids gathered around, watching my reaction to what I was about to hear. The Shver Z”L voice floated up from the speaker, he is singing his favourite nigunim, songs unsung for half a century, his sweet voice bringing tears to my heart and soul.

Then, we had an extra bonus spring forth; it seems, in the decades of packing and storing, a small movie was included. It is a clip of a Purim seuda that took place in our shtieble in Flatbush circa 1981. In clear colour, we witness so much life once lived, people like Harav Meyer Zlotowits Z’l, Harav Noson Sherman Shlita, Reb Freddy Nussbaum and so many more, singing, dancing, obviously with the help of a bottle or two, perhaps three of Scotland’s best.

Speaking of which, prancing about is a little eleven-year-old boy wearing a Scottish costume, said child is now the senior Rav of Scotland, my son Rav Moshe shlita (talk about Hashgocho Portis).

The whole mix is amazing, all those years ago, look at them, think of what they became. In the middle of all this Divine chaos is a thin Chasidisha Rov, his dancing is graceful, even with a cigarette dangling in his fingers. This young Rov is yours truly, and those long sleeping moments spring into my heart as if it was yesterday.

The 18-minute clip ends as all home Purim films do, with my Rebbetzin AH walking in. Her elegant grace is unforgettable, as she turns to my daughter Chani Schriebhand (authoress of ‘A Bubby’s Point of View’ in the Tribune), whispering instructions of how they will start to clear up the mess the men had created. So much simcha, so much hope, imprinted on a scrap of plastic tape.

This is what Klal Yisroel exceeds in, creating moments that sear into our hearts. We read Parshas Noach this week, the most famous voyage of mankind, its stories and lessons live on for eternity. Every Yied lives his story, part of the mosaic of Torah life that sprang from Noach’s boat. Capture your moments dear friends, don’t let them disappear. We are a blessed people; Hashem’s treasured Torah sprinkles our lives with so much to be grateful for. Those distant dancing figures are part of the tapestry of our eternity. May we all have a gabencheda vinter.