Shalosh Seudos
The flyer attached to the shul bulletin board catches your attention. A well-known Chassidishe Rebbe will be in your neighborhood this Shabbos, conducting tish at the local kloiz.
You give the flyer a cursory glance, then mutter to yourself that this is not for you. You mutter this because you are, after all, Mr Misnagid himself, fiercely proud of his Lithuanian heritage and non-Chassidishe stock. Your great-grandfather, whom you are named after, was a bakovodiker Brisker balebos, boki in shas and poskim. Your Tante Bluma, they say, was an intellectual, no fuzzball.
Then you realize what a myopic fool you are.
You think back to those early days when you struggled to find your path back. You would listen to tapes of the gentle, brilliant and humble voice of Reb Yitzchak Kirzner zatzal, a giant of a genius, whose shiurim, based on teachings of the Chassidic masters, had turned scores of searching Jews towards lives of kedusha. He had helped you too discover that warm flame deep within you, a flame heavily covered but dormant, and had fanned it to life.
You think back to those powerful essays of the Nesivos Sholom. You had devoured the Slonimer Rebbe's Nesivos Sholom because, at the time, it was your life raft towards courage and sanity in a stormy sea. Those seforim talked about the closeness and love of Hashem during periods of desperate spiritual struggle. They spelled out ABCs you had never considered: What is Holiness? What is Shabbos? What is Love? What is Torah?
You feel like an ingrate. So, you'll go. Shaleshudos. It's a date.
It is Shabbos afternoon just before Mincha. You are in the M.... Beis Hamedrash wrapping up a marathon four-hour seder. Your mind is sharp. You feel-lightheaded and agile. Aside from slight acid reflux resulting from a new chicken recipe that you had tried earlier in the day, everything is perfect. The world, on a late Shabbos afternoon, is magical. You watch people stream in to daven and you scan their open-book faces. You spot fellows who have obviously just roused themselves from deep sleep. They are still groggy and seem uncomfortable having to present themselves in shul. You start to feel condescension towards these leidigers, but you immediately stop yourself. Yes. You immediately stop your-baal gayva-self, because there "but for the grace of G-d" go you...
Shaleshudos. Ra'avo DeRa'avin.
The dining room is full. You gaze at the Rebbe's face, and take in its beauty. You had once heard that an eye doctor had examined a tzaddik's eyes and had exclaimed that the tzaddik had the eyes of a young child. You see those eyes now. Holy eyes. Watery, milky, shiny eyes. Eyes that see everything, and see to the core of everything, but eyes that have gazed at nothing outside their own holy space. Yedid Nephesh. The Rebbe is crying. Tzomo Lecho Naphshi. You too are crying.
Boldly, you make your way over to the Rebbe. You give him sholom. He is startled for a moment, then holds your hand tightly in his two hands. You privately lock eyes and your souls brush momentarily against each other. You feel lighter, more elevated. You remember once reading in Nesivos Sholom that a person's nisyonos are often too big to shoulder alone. The only way to find relief is to become a part of the larger tzibbur and connected to the tzaddik. This all makes so much sense now.
Your anthropologist inner self glances around the room. You take in swaying chassidim singing with hislahavus. But you see something else too. You notice a young fellow looking bloated and bored, stealing glances at the clock. You spot two smirking chevramen engaged in animated conversation, clearly not discussing the parsha. You watch a teenager bobbing for herring in apple juice.
And you ask yourself: Do these people not get it? Can they not feel the holiness of the moment?
But the answer comes to you in a flash.
Bemokom sheba'alei teshuva omdim....
The struggle.
The reward.
Hodu Lashem Ki Tov!
:D
