| A Talmid’s Simple Lesson
Rabbi Yosef Chaim Golding
This is the story of a talmid.
The story is probably no different from that of any other talmid of Rav Pam.
I’m sure the details would change, but the impact he had on all his talmidim
was the same. He was our Rebbe – and we loved him. We looked into his simple
eyes and felt the warmth. His unassuming demeanor could melt away the most complex
problem. This was his essence.
I remember the very first shiur our
class attended. We had prepared for several days, learning as many mefarshim as
possible. We would be ready!
And then came the shiur. The Rebbe
started reading the Mishna. And then the Rashi. Rashi? We were too
advanced for that, weren’t we? He asked us why Rashi used the language he did
– why the four words instead of two. None of us had thought of this. What a seemingly
“simple” question. Yet, the rest of the shiur was based on this Rashi.
He had taught us all a simple – yet basic – lesson for life.
***
His Friday shmuessen also seemed
simple. He would put on his grandfatherly eyeglasses, ever so slowly… lean over the shtender
and look through his index cards… and begin. One week, on Parshas Kedoshim, he
seemed to have difficulty choosing a topic. He kept flipping through the cards, and tried
to hold back a chuckle while he peered at us through his glasses, saying, “Kedoshim.
Where should I start? There is just so much to choose from.” And then he spoke for
the next hour on just three words: Ctymi jpst kdxb – Judge everyone favorably. The
lesson was his trademark, meant to last a lifetime.
Almost thirty years later, I was in
Flatbush on a Friday and heard that, despite Rebbe’s frailty due to his
illness, he would be giving a shmuess. I eagerly attended and watched as he walked
into the Beis Midrash Kattan of Mesivta Torah Vodaath unaided, except for a
shopping cart that he used to help him walk. His voice was weaker but now there was a
microphone system set up for him.
An hour later, after absorbing his warm
words of chizuk and mussar, I approached him to thank him and wish him Good Shabbos.
I said, “Rebbe, it’s been many years since I’ve been to your Friday shmuess.”
He smiled, and in his characteristically friendly voice said, “Why not try and make
it more often?”
I wish I had.
***
When I was contemplating marriage I had no
one to confide in, from whom to seek advice. 1 So the Rebbe invited me to his home
one evening to discuss this decision that had lifelong ramifications. I knew this
wouldn’t be simple.
After putting me at ease, he asked me three
yes-or-no questions in a span of a minute or so, to which I answered all in the
affirmative. He peered at me above his classic glasses, smiled, and said, “So what
are you waiting for?”
Twenty-seven years and a few grandchildren
later h”ib, I gratefully look back at that night and realize how simple that decision
really was.
***
In the early days of J.E.P., the Rebbe
would always give us – especially Rabbi Mutty Katz, J.E.P.’s director – chizuk
in our difficult but important task. When I left the day-to-day work of J.E.P. and began
my career with its parent organization, Agudath Israel of America, my sessions with the Rebbe
became less frequent.
Some ten years later, a kiruv
opportunity presented itself to me, where I and others felt it could possibly have a
far-reaching impact on a wide range of American families, bringing them closer to Yiddishkeit.
I had assumed that Rabbi Pam would be thrilled, so I asked him for his beracha.
He listened intently as I described the
potential program and how wonderful this would be. His verbatim response: “Why would
you want to leave Agudas Yisroel? Do you know what the United States would look like
without the Agudah? You are already fulfilling your tafkid (life’s mission). I
cannot give you my beracha to leave.”
End of story.
It was as simple as that.
1 My father had recently been niftar.
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