Rebbetzin Tziporah Heller
A Surprise from Russia
וכן נסעו איש למשפחתיו על בית אבותיו
And so they traveled – every man according to his families, by his fathers’ household (Bamidbar 2:34)
As a family made their way from Russia to the Arzei HaBirah neighborhood in Jerusalem after the fall of the Iron Curtain, they settled down into the warm community there. As it so happened, the very first Shabbat after their arrival was the bar mitzvah of one of their children. With the community quickly preparing a meal for the boy under the auspices of Rabbi Hauptman, things were nicely arranged.
At the small meal, the father of the bar mitzvah boy approached Rabbi Hauptman and asked if his son could say a few words. Being that the family had just arrived from Russia and the bulk of those present were already quite advanced in their Torah scholarship, Rabbi Hauptman was a bit hesitant to allow the boy to address the audience. He did not wish for the boy to feel overshadowed by the intelligence of those in attendance and embarrass himself. But the father was adamant that his son be allowed to speak. Finally agreeing, the boy stood up.
And then he made a siyum on Shas Mishnayot.
With everyone quite surprised by the tremendous feat of this young boy, a few men turned to the father. Knowing that he played a major role in teaching and shaping his young son, they inquired as to how it all came about. “Let me tell you,” began the father.
I myself was raised in Moscow as a young boy. Although the KGB prohibited the open practice of Judaism, my parents made it a point of infusing our home with rich values of Yiddishkeit. It was beautiful. Shabbat was very alive in our home. While we were inhibited in our overt adherence to mitzvot, my father made sure to impart Torah ideals to our family.
As I continued to get older, I began wondering how everything I was doing was in fact authentic. How was I supposed to know that the Judaism I was so familiar with was real when I had never seen another Jew practicing Yiddishkeit as we were? One time, I confronted my father and honestly asked him this question. “How do I know that this is all true and that you didn’t make it up?”
Kindly looking back at me, my father wisely said, “Honestly, I cannot prove it to you if you haven’t seen others live as we do. But you know what? I am going to send you to St. Petersburg. I will set you up with another Jewish family there and you will see what it is like.” Hearing the offer my father was making me, I agreed to make the three-day journey all by myself. I proceeded to excitingly gather my belongings together and set out for St. Petersburg.
As I arrived at the home of my host, I sensed that Shabbat was in the air. Inhaling many of the same smells and feeling much of the same excitement I had experienced in my own home, I sat down to the family’s very vibrant Shabbat table. At that point, I believed my father’s words that there were other Jews like ourselves who lived a life of Torah and mitzvot.
As I arose the next morning and began walking around the house, I noticed that the only person left was the father. “Where is everyone else?” I asked. “They have gone to work,” he replied. Surprised by the response, I stood there flustered. “Nowadays,” explained the father, “there is great concern of being sent to Siberia at any moment. If we fail to work on Shabbat, we run the risk of meeting such a sorrowful fate.”
As I heard this, I was shaken to the core. I later returned home and relayed to my father what had transpired. And then I asked the question that was on my mind. “Do you think we are going to be taken to Siberia?” Looking at me, my father said, “Honestly, I do not know. I am unsure if we will ever make it out of here. But I do know one thing. We have today to live. And with today, I will teach you Torah. And if we are given tomorrow, I will teach you Torah tomorrow. Day by day, you will learn and grow up to be knowledgeable in Torah and appreciate its beauty.”
“That,” concluded the father standing in the Shul in Arzei HaBirah, “is how I was raised. I learned to appreciate that I have Torah right now. I may not know what tomorrow will bring, but I have today. When you grow up with the attitude that every day is an opportunity to learn Torah, it is not surprising that your son can finish Shas Mishnayot at age thirteen. I imbued him with the sentiment that every day is precious and ought to be maximized for Torah learning. And he took it to heart. That is why he was able to get up today as he did and celebrate such an accomplishment.”
With every day of life, we hold the precious opportunity to connect our neshama to the eternal words of Torah and Hashem Himself. While we may never know what tomorrow will bring, we do know one thing: we have this very minute to learn and grow. And within that minute lies the keys to eternity.