“RABBI’S MUSINGS (& AMUSINGS)”
Erev Shabbos Kodesh parshas Vayechi - Shabbas
Chazak!
13 Teves 5780/January 10, 2020
THE
MOMENT
Like so
many other Jews, the Staum family’s American roots begin on Manhattan’s Lower
East Side. My grandparents all lived there, and until we moved to Monsey in
September 1988, I myself grew up on the hallowed streets of the Lower East Side.
We lived in an apartment on the second floor of 550G Grand Street.
We had
wonderful neighbors. On one side was Mrs. Fine, and on the other side were
Pauline and Itchie Hagler. Whenever we could, we would knock on the Hagler
door, where we were always welcomed with a smile and a cookie (or two).
Aside
for years of friendship, Itchie a’h left a lasting impact upon our family. It
was he who suggested and encouraged my father to begin learning Daf Yomi in the
early 80s. Since then, during the last almost forty years, my father has
consistently learned the Daf every day. His stately Chosson Shas has a check on
the corner of every page, from the days before Artscroll was even published.
Last
week I had the proud honor to accompany my father to celebrate his fifth Siyum
Hashas.
In
truth, there is another reason why I was very excited for the recent Siyum; I
had to rectify something.
On
Tuesday evening, March 1, 2005 I went with my father to celebrate the eleventh
international Siyum Hashas, and my father’s third, at Madison Square Garden.
The moment the Siyum ended, and there was a jovial cry of Mazal Tov, I hugged
my father. I was truly proud of him. My father is of the first attendees at his
shiur every night. He rarely misses a day, and when he does, he pre-plans how
and when he is going to learn the Daf. It doesn’t matter what else is going on.
Right after Pesach, the last hours before Yom Kippur, after eating at the
conclusion of Tisha B’av - he’s always running out to the Daf. My mother, of
course, shares all those merits.
On
August 1, 2012 I drove in from camp and met my father at MetLife Stadium to
celebrate the twelfth Siyum Hashas, and his fourth. For the first while,
everyone was just taking in the fact that there were well over 90,000 Jews
together celebrating the Siyum.
At one
point I left my seat and made my way down to try my luck and see if I can get
onto the field. I was indeed able to and I walked right up the dais. I saw the
leading rabbinic personalities sitting there and snapped some pictures. But I
didn’t plan well, and suddenly the Siyum was made, shouts of Mazal Tov ensued
and there was intense dancing on the field. It was an amazing experience to be
there and the dancing was beautiful. But I felt terrible that I had missed that
special moment to hug my father right after the Siyum was completed. When I
finally came back up, I wished him Mazal Tov but it wasn’t the same. I had
missed the moment.
I waited
seven and a half years to rectify my folly. Last week, when the shout of Mazal
Tov rang out, I indeed gave my father that proud hug. The dancing may not have
been as intense in our seats as it was on the field level, but if was far more
meaningful and special for me.
It was a
reminder to me that sometimes we miss the moment because we become too excited
with other things, despite the fact that those distractions may be important or
exciting.
I hope
my children will have as much nachas from me as I do from my parents’
dedication to Torah!
Shabbat Shalom & Good Shabbos,
R’ Dani and Chani Staum