A
summer memory, with a lesson for young, and (another lesson for) old
By
Yosef Yitzchok Hodakov
There was one
weekend every summer during which camp took on a most festive atmosphere. Honoring
the Yohrtzeit of the Rebbe’s father, esteemed pulpit rabbis and venerated scholars
would descend upon our little world at Camp Gan Israel in Parksville, NY, for “Yarchei
Kallah”, sometime near the 20th of Av.
As the
years passed, I came to understand that they had come together to learn and
share and debate and plan and discuss matters of Torah and issues of great
concern to the Jewish world. They sometimes convened in closed room sessions,
and all we were allowed to do was stand at a distance and watch the animated
discussions through the window.
However,
as a younger child, I didn’t fully appreciate the moment. We kids were simply excited
to see all the preparations, we were happy to know that the indoor pool would most
certainly be heated, and we were eager to sneak a peek in the upper floors of “the
Beth”, a building with hotel rooms reserved for special occasions such as this,
overlooking the scenic Catskill mountains…
* * *
Now, while
Lunchtime on Friday afternoons was at the same time as every other weekday, Friday
night Shabbos dinner would not begin until much later than usual, after a lengthy
and lively Kabolas Shabbos. And so, hungry and tired, I sat there and looked to
the front of the Shul…
The
visiting rabbis sat there on a dais facing us, their faces serious and somber, looking
like statues chiseled out of stone. Maybe they too were hungry and tired.
And after Davening,
we respectfully filed by these honored sages, bunk by bunk, to extend and receive
Shabbos greetings. Most of them held their hands stretched across the table
somewhat limply, quietly allowing us to touch, hold, or shake their hands, or
fingertips, as we wished.
Although I
realize now that some of them could not have been much older than I am now, to
me they seemed ancient at that time, and inhabiting another, parallel universe.
* * *
At some
point, we were told that we would have the good fortune of being addressed by
one of the rabbis. I can’t say that I was enthused. But then, on Shabbos
morning, after Krias Hatorah, one of the Rabbis was introduced to us, and he
SPOKE! Not only did he speak, he spoke in perfect ENGLISH. And, he was
ANIMATED! He walked up and down the aisle and captivated us with his talk.
I do not
remember what it was that the late Rabbi Hershel Fogelman o.b.m. – the Rebbe’s longtime
Shliach in Worcester, Massachusets – told us that Shabbos morning, but all
these years later I am still moved by his energy, the passion with which he
spoke, and how he related to us, kids. He was ALIVE!
* * *
I am sharing
this anecdote with you because I believe that it carries a dual lesson.
Those who
might feel like they have no one to look up to, no one older and wiser who can
relate to them, should know that it simply isn’t true. While all them old folks might seem like stone statues, find the right one, and you will discover that they
are alive, energized, and inspired enough to inspire you as well.
And those
who might feel like they themselves are old and dry like stone, and that they have
nothing to say to the younger generation, should know that the youth are open
and thirsty to listen and absorb and be inspired if you only come alive and give
of yourself.
