The Parlor Meeting
You have been under a lot of stress lately.
And that stress isn't because of petty things, such as the story someone wrote about you the other day when you spent way too long in Walmart, wearing contacts and absorbed with your Bluetooth, because that article was actually quite flattering. The writer was dan you lechaf zechus like nobody's business. He said that you were fartracht in the aisles klerring Rashbas, or something like that. Of course, the verisimilitude was ridiculous: there is no way you could have gotten through three or four shiurim in the course of a grocery run, no matter how much you tarried.
The fact that someone thought that you were dissing your your wife when you thought of her as a "fuzzball", also didn't bother you. It's a regional thing. In the New York area the word means "warm and cuddly" as in "lovable fuzzball behind the E.I.B. microphone." Elsewhere, in the country, it means "scatterbrained and untidy" as in "fuzzy logic." You did, though, take one one commentator's admonition to heart, and now pay special attention to your wife each time she tells you of a new chicken recipe.
The stress does stem, though, from your visit last Shabbos to the Chassidishe Rebbe's tish [i]see short story "Shalosh Seudos" by yours truly[/i]] because everything you have held to date so dearly is in now in upheaval. Does the non-Chassidish world have what it takes to inspire you and to keep you in touch with Hashem? You have no interest in questions about externals, such as levush or herring. You want to get to the guts of this matter.
You try Googling the web for answers. You try "non-Chassidish" and "inspiration" and lots of other combinations, but you get no answers, aside from a reference to a quirky story entitled "The Parlor Meeting". The internet is beginning to disappoint you. It is not what it is cracked up to be; its integrity is in question. You consider discontinuing your AT&T account, even throwing your computer into the trash. Of what value is it if it cannot provide answers to the "big" questions?
Anyway, enough with bashmutzigen the internet.
You glance at the day's mail.
An invitation to a parlor meeting on behalf of a well-known Yeshiva in Eretz Yisroel.
The Rosh Yeshiva will be there.
So will you.
You arrive early, unfashionably early, and park yourself in the front row of folding chairs, in the very middle, right where the well-heeled shtitzers will sit. That does not bother you. You are alert like an eagle. As you work your way though a plate of delicious buffet chicken (you make a mental note to track down the recipe) you watch and wait.
The Rosh Yeshiva enters. A snow-white beard. Hadras Ponim. Intelligent and confident eyes. He greets, and is greeted, with great warmth.
The Rosh Yeshiva speaks. You are open-mouthed. You re-remind myself of the nature of a true talmid chochom. He has passion and eloquence, profound wisdom, and above all, Emes; a straight and profound emes which cuts to the bone and excites. His manner is untouched by the chazer fiss charm of society. He is not schooled in Dale Carnegie's How to Pretend you Like People and Turn them into Suckers.
You love it. You are excited. Your faith has been restored.
You leave a $5 check.
You pray that your check does not bounce.
In your car again, you roll up the windows so that no one can hear you, and you yell joyfully at the top of your lungs, "Hodu Lashem Ki Tov!"
The sun shines once again.
