The Rav had seen much in his 70-plus years, and little fazed him at this point. So when some of the zealots in his ultra chareidi neighborhood began plastering pashkevilim against him in public view and staging impromptu demonstrations outside his home, he greeted these new developments with more amusement than fear. Not so his lovely wife of 50 years. Although baruch Hashem their own children were all already married, with families of their own, she was concerned about how the negative publicity would affect her grandchildren’s shidduchim down the line. And she was scared. Scared for her husband’s and her own safety and wellbeing. Practically scared to show her face in public.
Not that she felt they had anything to be ashamed of. On the contrary. Years earlier when her husband had helped found an Israeli yeshivah high school that offered secular courses and corresponding government bagruyot (matriculation exams), she applauded the move as a step in the right direction. One that offered crucial options to chareidi boys who wanted to acclimate into the Israeli workforce at some future juncture.
Now that her better half was at the forefront of another pioneering venture, helping to establish and run the first official chareidi hesder yeshivah in the country, she was again filled with pride and a sense of purpose. A few years down the line, and with their initial growing pains mostly behind them, there were 95 young men who had already benefited from the program, and a new crop interviewing for acceptance each year.
The defense establishment lauded their achievements, and other institutions had begun to open similar academies that combined intensive Torah learning with army service and the eventual absorption into the working world, largely in the fields of technology and engineering.
By all accounts, this innovative dual-program was a rousing success, and its graduates were making their mark in cyber-defense positions in the IDF, while b”H still retaining their precious connection to the yeshiva and to Yiddishkeit.
So she had no reservations about the program itself or her husband’s integral part in it. However, the ire and undisguised malcontent of some of her more zealous neighbors gave her pause.
Her husband, in the meantime, went to the yeshiva each day, taught his students and imparted his words of mussar with his trademark wry sense of humor, and continued to assist them in their development as both bnei Torah and menschen.
The day our story unfolds began against this established backdrop, a day very much like the others that preceded it. In their ongoing efforts to assure the best current and future prospects for their talmidim, the ramim and rosh yeshiva regularly went the extra mile. Often literally. They routinely traveled to check out various army bases, potential work environments in both the defense and public sphere, and any other venues of interest that could be pivotal in the students’ present and future welfare.
On that particular day the aforementioned rav and the rosh yeshiva left the yeshiva for a few hours to research an army base that could possibly offer some opportunities to their boys down the line.
It was somewhat distant from the yeshiva and in an unfamiliar location, so the rav relied on Waze to take them there safely and uneventfully. However, he was so busy studying the screen on his Waze that he inadvertently rear-ended the car ahead of him!
B’chasdei Hashem no one in either car was physically injured. But the rear bumper of the lead car absorbed the brunt of the impact, as it was designed to do. Otherwise both cars and all the passengers were thankfully unscathed.
Predictably the other driver was a hulking giant of a man, and when he approached the offending car the two rebbes prepared for the worst. But b”H everyone remained relatively calm and civil as the two drivers exchanged insurance and other basic information.
“The damage looks worse than it actually is,” offered the rosh yeshiva. “It probably will not be that expensive to repair, so it may not be worthwhile to involve the insurance companies and risk having them raise your rates.”
He suggested that the driver go to a service garage and bill the rav directly for the cost of the repair, and they temporarily left it at that.
The following week, the rav stopped by the rosh yeshiva’s office, wearing an ear-to-ear grin.
“Guess who just called me?” he inquired with a twinkle in his eye. “The big burly guy from the fender-bender last week!”
He then proceeded to recount their conversation.
It seemed that their partner in the too-close encounter was more of a gentle giant than they had surmised at first glance.
“I decided to Google you,” he shared with the rav. “And boy was I surprised regarding what I found!”
He explained that his own son had been chozer b’teshuvah several years earlier, but was currently struggling financially since he had not been given the opportunity to serve in Tzahal and join the workforce while being able to maintain his chareidi lifestyle.
“How I wish that your program had been available for him!” he shared wistfully.
“The bumper repair was not expensive,” he added. “So I do not want you to reimburse me for that.”
“But,” he concluded, “I would appreciate it very much if you could say a prayer for my son and my other family members.”
And, wishing him a hearty yasher koach and continued hatzlacha in his avodas hakodesh, he said his good-byes.
Surely another classic “Only in Israel” vignette.
After which, threatening neighbors notwithstanding, the rav was left with the definite feeling that others indeed appreciated his mesiras nefesh. By far more importantly, he had the distinct impression that he had unexpectedly received a Divine stamp of approval and a warm and supportive smile from on high.