Rabbi Moshe Tuvia Lieff
The Cry of a Baby
As a father living in Williamsburg, New York, began readying himself to walk to shul for an all-night learning program on Shavuot, his little 8-year-old son approached him. “Tatty, can I come with you?” Looking back at his son all dressed up, the father smiled. He knew that his son would probably not last learning the entire night, and would likely be better off staying at home. “I think you should stay here for the night,” replied the father. “Maybe next year.” And with that, the father gave his son a hug and a kiss and gently closed the door.
The father proceeded to make his way to shul, around and about the streets of his neighborhood. Finally arriving at the doorstep before the shul, he began to think, “What did I do? My little boy wants to learn Torah tonight. So what if he learns for only a few minutes? Why should I deprive him of this opportunity?” And with that, the father turned around and retraced his steps all the way home.
Opening the door to his house, he saw there standing in front of him his son, dressed in his suit and tie, ready to go. “How did you know I was coming back?” asked the father. “Tatty,” replied the little boy, “I davened to Hashem. I knew you would come back.”
That little boy was Shimshon Pincus. The same R’ Shimshon Pincus who went on to inspire thousands of Jews and spread Torah to the far corners of the world knew as a little boy that his Father in Heaven truly listened to his prayers.
The Gemara (Berachot 34b) relates that when R’ Yochanan ben Zakkai’s son was deathly ill, his situation only continued to deteriorate until a new student, R’ Chanina ben Dosa,
arrived. Hearing about the condition of the boy, R’ Chanina placed his head between his knees in fervent prayer to Hashem. And, to everyone’s great relief, the boy recovered.
When the good news was announced, everyone was thrilled, except for one person: the wife of R’ Yochanan. “What is going on?” she asked her husband. “You, the Rosh Yeshiva, should have been able to save our son? Why were your prayers unable to help him, while the prayers of R’ Chanina ben Dosa were?” “There is a good reason for that,” said R’ Yochanan. “I am like a nobleman before the king, while R’ Chanina ben Dosa is like a servant before his master.”
A nobleman, explains the Maharal, holds a very prestigious position. He shares a wonderful relationship with the king and enters and exits the palace on a regular basis. Yet, he only conducts himself as per the king’s explicit instructions. He only arrives when told and leaves when told.
The servant, on the other hand, holds a significantly different place in the king’s retinue. He may be only a servant, but his position grants him far more access to the king than many other higher officials. Stationed inside the palace, he whistles while he cleans the windows and enjoys the king’s beautiful tapestries. Aside from that, he is privileged to entering the king’s private quarters and hearing royal confidential meetings on a daily basis.
If one were asked, who knows the king better? Who shares a closer, more personal relationship with the king? The answer would be the servant. He may not enjoy so esteemed a position, but he has something which the nobleman does not: access to the king’s innermost chambers whenever he wishes. And that is beside the fact that the king feeds him, shelters him and takes care of all his needs.
Yet how did the simple servant earn so great a position? What warranted him to enjoy the comforts of the royal palace?
The answer is simple: his complete dependence on the king. He is a servant who needs his master and cannot perform his duties without him. And commensurate with the servant’s dependence on the king is the king’s urgency of response to the servant.
When R’ Chanina ben Dosa prayed, he placed his head between his knees and cried. He cried amid a fetal positon and called out like a baby calls out for its mother. And when he did that, showing his complete dependence on Hashem like a servant to his master, his call was immediately answered.
Imagine a mother who, after a lengthy pregnancy and difficult birth, cuddles her healthy baby. Ordered by the doctors to remain off her feet, she places her baby at a distance away and resorts to complete and total bedrest. The Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey circus could be marching around her bed, yet she hears nothing.
But then, every three or four hours, a soft and pristine wail is heard. It is the cry of her baby. And what happens? Out jumps the mother from her bed and off she races to her child.
What happened? Why all of a sudden does the mother push back the bed covers and attend to the wailing cry of her baby? Because, as Dovid Hamelech states, “K’gmul alai imo, k’gmul alai nafshi - Like a child at his mother's side, like the child is my soul” (Tehillim 131:2). The child is completely dependent on its mother, and the mother knows that without her, the baby’s life could be endangered.
When we turn to Hashem in prayer, it is to be with that same emotional stir as a baby for its mother and a servant to his master. “Im k’avadim einenu lecha teluyot – If you [Hashem] view us like servants, our eyes are turned to You.” Those are the words we recite as part of the Rosh Hashanah davening. We have nothing without Hakadosh Baruch Hu. We cannot walk, talk, see, digest our food or earn a dollar without Him.
As we begin the days of Elul, our tefillot are meant to take on this added degree of focus. We have nothing without our Father in Heaven. It is all for One and One for all. All that we have is from Him, and He most certainly will provide all that we need.
And when we do this, Hashem will, like a loving parent for its child, come to our side and heed our call. He will see us standing in front of Him dressed in our suits and dresses and ask us, “How did you know I was coming back?” But now, we have an answer. “Tatty, I davened to You. I knew you would come back.”
And that little boy or girl is none other than you.
