Warming Ourselves by the Hearth of Torah
I recently had the merit to resolve a difficulty of the Ba’al Hafla’ah in a specific sugya. I had learned this sugya thirty-five years earlier, as a yeshiva bachur, yet it remained fresh in my mind all these years, as though I had just learned it. I am sure that the method of study of my mentors is what allowed me to retain it all these years.
As a young man, I was sent off to the yeshivot of Armentieres in France and Sunderland in England. I did not see my family for seven years. In the French yeshiva, aside from homesickness, my colleagues and I had to cope with very difficult physical conditions. The food was a poor man’s fare, just enough to keep body and soul together. My cot was a poor excuse for a bed.
- The Rav as a child
One year was especially cold. Precisely then, the yeshiva ran out of fuel for heating. Without heating, we nearly froze. The dire straits of the yeshiva did not allow for even one decent blanket. We covered ourselves with mattresses in order to buffer ourselves against the cold. Seeing our various coping mechanisms, the Rosh Yeshiva tried to lift our spirits. He asked if we were cold. We were too bashful to complain, so we kept quiet. But our pained faces said it all. Then the Rosh Yeshiva began to sing a soulful melody. Slowly but surely, a feeling of warmth and camaraderie replaced the cold and frost.
- HaGaon HaTzaddik, Rabbi Gershon Liebman, zt”l, Rosh Yeshivat Novhardok Beit Yosef, France
In this manner, with utmost deprivation, we plowed ahead in our Torah studies. This was in true fulfillment of the Mishnah in Avot (6:4), “This is the way of Torah: Eat bread with salt, drink water in small measure, sleep on the ground, live a life of deprivation – but toil in the Torah.”
It wasn’t until years later that I gained an appreciation for the deprivation which was our daily lot.
Truth to tell, as a yeshiva boy, I had many grievances toward my father, zy”a, who sent me to manage on my own at such a young age, so far away from home. On one occasion, when I told him of the conditions in the yeshiva, Father replied, “This is how you feel now. But the day will come when you will yet thank me.”
Father knew best.
After I matured, I often contemplated going into business. But whenever the thought came to me, I would remember Father’s simple, sincere words. I would immediately realize that my destiny is to disseminate Torah among our brethren. This is the business of my life.
When I look at my past and remember the trails I blazed to get where I am today, my lips murmur, of their own accord, “Thank you, Father.”
