1. Rabbi Yehoshua: Life and Letters

1. Rabbi Yehoshua: Life and Letters

by Dan Vogel

Welcome to Holoscheitz! Rabbi Yehoshua sent you to spend the night with us? Wonderful! You are just in time for supper. Peshe, my dearest bloom, we have a guest!

You are a bookseller? How interesting. You must meet a lot of people on your travels, very intelligent ones who buy books. I must admit that I'm not one of them. In fact, in this town, I doubt if you'll find a lot of customers. I have my Chumash-and-Rashi, my Shulchan Aruch, and that's it. I wish I knew enough to buy a book from you, but the truth is, I'd rather feed you and give you a warm place to sleep. OK?

Of course, I agree. The whole shtetl agrees. Rabbi Yehoshua is a wise man, a very wise man. We are fortunate in having him in such a town as this – no greatly learned people. It's a wonder that he doesn't look for another town that has maybe a little yeshiva. I'll tell you a secret. We're all afraid that someday he will do so, even after so many years.

How is it that he came here in the first place? I'll tell you. But understand, I'm not his biographer, and I'm not an historian. But I listen to this one and that one, and others who have dropped a bit here and there. And I'll tell you the truth: I used to travel a bit in my younger years, and I happened to have met the mashgiach of his yeshiva and the rabbi's father-in-law, too, may his memory be a blessing for all of us.

But since, as I said, I'm not an historian I fill in between a bit here and another bit there, I imagine what people said even if I wasn't there, and I change my voice and out comes a story that's not like a lesson in a classroom. Also, I like telling stories. Basically, this one is true. Not every word, understand. Do you want to hear it anyway? It won't take long, only until the soup is ready, maybe a little longer.

His uncle put him into the yeshiva because his parents were carried off during the typhus epidemic – you remember it? – God forbid in our days! But soon after that the uncle ascended to the True World and Yehoshua was left to the Yeshiva in Drovnapol to bring up. Which they did.

I suppose Rabbi Yehoshua's life was changed when he was about 20 years old, without anybody knowing it or planning it with a plain ordinary conversation between the Mashgiach in his Yeshiva and the Rosh Yeshiva. That's what the Mashgiach told me when we met at the Rabbi's wedding about a year afterwards.

(If you think that I'm afraid to talk to people and ask questions – even personal questions – you're wrong. What can they do except to say, "Listen, those questions I don't answer.")

"Unique student," said Reb Alter to the Rosh Yeshiva. "As the Perek says, Put all the bachurim on one side of the scale and Yehoshua Garfinkel on the other side, he would balance them all."

"Um," replied the Rosh Yeshiva.

Reb Alter pursed his lips, considering how to explain what he meant. He had a long, bearded face that looked a great deal more serious than he felt. "Yehoshua knows the text and commentaries and the super-commentaries. Some even I haven't looked into for years. But when he asks a question, it's always – Was the rabbi in the Gemara married? Did he have a large family or a small family? Was he rich or poor? Did he stay in the academy in Babylonia, or was he the rabbi of a town?"

"He seems to think that the halacha is based upon facts of life rather than on pesukim, precedent, and logic," said the Rosh Yeshiva with a touch of concern in his voice.

"Well," Reb Alter admitted, "whenever we come to a place that says, 'Send out to the street to see how it is done; that's the halacha,' he gives me a significant look."

"I have spoken to Yehoshua on occasion," said the Rosh Yeshiva. "He doesn't seem to be rebellious."

"God forbid!" exclaimed Reb Alter. "No, no, nothing like that. He follows the halacha to the letter, but he always wonders about the personal side."

The Rosh Yeshiva drummed his fingers on his Gemara. "Is he ready for semicha?" he asked.

"I think so," replied the other rabbi.

"Very well. Let us test him as soon as you think it is wise to do so. Meanwhile, Reb Alter, let us think about finding a bride for him. Then we will send him out into the world. From what you say, he tends more to being a town rabbi than someone who would want to sit and write commentaries." How right the Rosh Yeshiva was will soon be seen, but soon-to-be Rabbi Yehoshua Garfinkel found his own bride, a special flower, but not a wilting lily.

Yehoshua, like the other poor and orphaned boys in the yeshiva, was assigned a family to feed him once a week and Shabbos. For him, it was Wednesdays and Shabbos. In return he used to tutor the two Hirshenson boys – that's the family that took him in – on Wednesday evenings after supper. On Friday nights he tutored the boys and Shabbos afternoon he learned with Hirshenson himself. My own idea is that Hirshenson was fulfilling a lost dream of his to be a rabbi by helping out Yehoshua.

So one Friday afternoon just before Purim if I remember right, Yehoshua arrives with his little bag. Hirshenson was sick that Shabbos, so he's in bed. The two boys are out with their friends getting all dirty so the Erev Shabbos bath will be worth it, and Mrs. Hirshenson is in the kitchen of course making the house smell like Shabbos is coming. Yehoshua is in the corner where he slept, when there's a knock on the door.

"Yehoshua," calls Mrs. Hirshenson, "please answer the door." You can see how much he was part of the family.

Yehoshua goes to the door and swings it open and there stands a lass of about 18 or 19, he himself is maybe a year or two older. I can imagine her now: She has on a long coat because it was still chilly and snow was still a possibility, and around her head and on her shoulders she had wrapped a white shawl. Only her face could be seen, not a pretty face, but not not beautiful, if you know what I mean. And her eyes had a surprised look.

So she steps back and looks around. "Is this not the Hirshenson house?" she asks.

Absolutely astonished himself, Yehoshua just looks at her for a moment. "Yes, yes, of course," he answers, and just stands there in the doorway.

She looks at him, her head slightly tilted to the side. "May I come in? It's a bit cold out here."

Yehoshua jumps back. "Yes, yes, of course," he sputters again, and steps back.

She passes him and he closes the door. She removes her coat and shawl. "I'm a niece of the Hirshensons," she tells him. "Who are you?"

"I'm a talmid from the yeshiva. I – I eat here on Wednesdays and Shabbosim, and I tutor the boys – your cousins, I guess."

She shrugs. "Okay." And then she goes to the kitchen. "It's Gita, Tante Sarah, how are you?"

Well, you can imagine that Yehoshua, poor fellow, is in quite a state. He didn't expect a lively young woman in the same house with him on Shabbos. It had never happened before. (How do I know all this? One time my wife was sick and the Rebbitzin came to visit her, to gossip a bit. You know how it is with the ladies. She told my wife the whole story, word for word, and I couldn't help but listen in.)

Hirshenson was in bed with a croup or something, so that night Yehoshua went to shul with the boys. As soon as they came out the boys ran home by themselves, and who do you think suddenly appears alongside Yehoshua? Right! Niece Gita! Now, you know this is almost unheard of, that a young girl should go to shul on Friday night. But there she was. "Gut Shabbos," she says to him.

"Gut Shabbos…" he answers.

"My name is Gita Hirshenson. Did you forget?"

Yehoshua, poor fellow, didn't really know what was expected of him. He probably never exchanged three sentences with a girl before in his whole life. "Gut Shabbos, Gita Hirshenson," he says.

"What's your name?" she asks. "You never told me your name."

"Yehoshua. Yehoshua Garfinkel." A few steps of silence. And he says, "Isn't it unusual for a girl to go to shul on Friday night?"

"Oh," she says. "I do a lot of unusual things. I even read books!"

I suppose Yehoshua realized that she was laughing at him a little. But he goes on seriously, "What kind of books?"

"Novels, a lot."

"What's the last book you read?"

"A novel by Leo Tolstoy. Ever hear of him?"

"Yes," says Yehoshua without a smile. "You read Russian? I thought all the girls are learning French."

Gita tosses her head. "They're showoffs. I'm not." She pauses. "My older brother thinks I'll either end up an old maid or a convert," she smiles.

But Yehoshua is shocked. "He said that?"

"He didn't really mean it. Don't worry."

And that's how they reached the house. But it was clear that Gita had become a thought that Yehoshua never expected.

Sarah Hirshenson noticed (men never notice these things) that Gita was asking to come for more Shabbosim than ever before and even sat in on the shiurim that Yehoshua gave her uncle. One day Sarah asked her plain out what was going on and Gita admitted that she was interested, but Yehoshua never said a word. So on a Wednesday, when Gita, of course, was not around, Mrs. Hirshenson attacks Yehoshua:

"Nu," she says to him straight out, "what about Gita?" (Gita told my wife that she heard from her Aunt Sarah that Yehoshua almost fainted.) "Listen, Yehoshua, you are like a member of my family, and unfortunately you have no mother, so I'm going to act like your mother whether you like it or not. What about Gita? Are you interested?"

Yehoshua considers. "Yes, Mrs. Hirshenson, I'm interested."

"Interested enough?"

Another silence. After all, the answer to that question can become a serious matter, even life-long. "Interested enough."

"Fine," says Mrs. Hirshenson. "You go back to your books and leave the rest to me."

And that's what Yehoshua did. He went back to his Gemara and Reb Alter arranged for a smicha examination, which he passed, of course, and now I'll call him Rabbi Yehoshua.

(I'll just find out if the soup is ready. This is taking longer than I thought. Come, we'll continue after supper…

Now, aren't you glad that Rabbi Yehoshua told you to stay with us tonight? Are you tired? No? So I'll continue. It's a nice story, no?)

Where was I? Yes. The romance blossomed over the next few months through the mail. Gita didn't visit the Hirshensons so often, but no matter: she and Rabbi Yehoshua were getting on very well whenever she did visit. Gita, as modern as she said she was, was still afraid of what people would say. It just wasn't right that a bride-to-be should see the groom-to-be so often.

Meanwhile, Reb Alter, the Mashgiach, had received two letters, both of them having to do with the new Rabbi Yehoshua. Reb Alter said to him one day, "The Rosh Yeshiva received a letter from Mr. Gedalia Hirshenson, about you and his daughter Gita, and he turned it over to me to answer."

Rabbi Yehoshua blushed.

"I see that it's serious," Reb Alter smiled. "Yehoshua, you may have some trouble with this gentleman. Have you met him yet?"

"No, I haven't," said the young rabbi, a bit shakily. "I thought I'd wait until his daughter said it would be a good time to come."

"Ahem," coughed Reb Alter. "His letter falls into three parts: Aleph – a full page about his yichus, which includes, I want you to know, a connection with the Gaon of Kovno on one side and the Magid of Preszcnidovitch on the other. Are you impressed?"

Rabbi Yehoshua didn't know whether the older rabbi was serious or not so he just remained silent.

"Bet – he wants to know what kind of bachurim we are training in this yeshiva since you and Gita came together not through a meeting of families or through a shadchan, but by accident, on your own. He seems fearful that you intend to break down all the fences round the Torah!"

Rabbi Yehoshua paled.

"Gimel – he wants to know what are your qualities – in other words, he wants to know if you are a genius that he can show off in his synagogue."

The young man stammered, "Rabbi Alter, I – I – "

"Stay quiet! The only thing you can say is why I didn't know about this before this letter!" Then his face softened. "But I forgive you, since, I pray, that there will never be any necessity that this will ever happen again. I will answer him properly. And the next time that your young lady comes to town, see to it that I meet her."

"Yes, of course," murmured Rabbi Yehoshua. "I'm – I'm sorry," and he turned to go.

"Wait a moment, my young sir. There's another letter that I have to deal with. From a Reb Simcha Ben Zion Hofstadt of the town of Rjepenig. In a few words, their rabbi has gone to the World of Truth and they are seeking a brilliant young rabbi. After the Rosh Yeshiva received the other letter and we can look forward to your impending marriage, he thought you might be interested. A committee is arriving tomorrow to interview candidates that we recommend to them. I would like them to interview you."

Cold shivers went down Rabbi Yehoshua's young spine. "My master, this is all so sudden. Everything is going so fast. Yes, I would like to marry Gita – one day, but to say that it will be tomorrow, so to speak, is – is – "

"Frightening," finished Reb Alter. "Any intelligent fellow feels the same way. It will pass."

"And on top of that, to be interviewed already for a position – "

"It won't hurt. Even if you are not invited to take the Rabbi's chair in Rjepenig. The experience will be enlightening."

So the next day he found himself introduced to three men by Reb Alter, who then left the room. I'll describe Simcha Ben Zion Hofstadt the way the Rebbitzin described him to my wife, as Rabbi Yehoshua described him to his kallah in a letter: He was a big man with a beard that pointed at you like a sword, and just as steely gray. His nose was large and purplish, eyes that finished stabbing you if the beard did not. He was dressed in a cutaway coat and a watch chain dangled from his waistcoat. When he took off his hat, he put on a yarmulke that stood up on his head like a black crown.

(Oh, you know the type. I guess you do, traveling from town to town and meeting so many different types of Jews. How about a cup of tea? Yes? Peshe….)

With this fellow Hofstadt was a short man with a full beard and red face, red nose, and red hands: the town butcher. The other man was tall, quiet, and watchful: the town shochet. A typical religious slaughterer. This is the way the interview went as reported faithfully by the young Rabbi to his future Rebbitzin:

"Ah, Rabbi Yehoshua…Garfinkel, is it? Just received your smicha, hah? Have you ever heard of the Rav of Rjepenig? No? Surprising. They tell me you are a brilliant young man, and you never read our Rabbi's sefer on the question of one witness or two witnesses?"

Rabbi Yehoshua answered quietly, "I regret to say that I did not. I'm certain that I would have learned much that the text and commentaries on the third perek of Sanhedrin did not deal with."

The other man eyed him sharply to see if the young rabbi was being sarcastic, or just letting him know that he knew a thing or two about the Talmud. Satisfied that he was innocent he went on: "Rjepenig is a small town, but it is filled with pious and learned men, pious and modest women. We have a small yeshiva, mainly for the sons and sons-in-law of the men of the town, headed by our Rabbi, of blessed memory, in his lifetime. Some of the young men are brilliant and have gone on to yeshivas like Radin and Mir. The next rabbi will have to be a real gaon, like the one who has just gone up to Gan Eden!" boasted Mr. Hofstadt.

Rabbi Yehoshua noticed that the other men squirmed a bit, but they said nothing. He was about to say something when Hofstadt cut him off. "You must be wondering what you'll get out of all this. There's a house – small but nice and a few kopecks a month, we can negotiate that later. But" – here Hofstadt actually waved a finger but smiled – "you'll have to work for it. Are you married?"

"I soon will be," replied Yehoshua, and then hurried to say, "I'd like to ask a few questions."

"Of course, rabbi," said Hofstadt.

"How many Jews are in Rjepenig?"

"A few hundred," answered Hofstadt.

Rabbi Yehoshua turned to the butcher. "May I ask your name?"

"Moshe Glubnick, Rabbi."

"Thank you," said the young rabbi. "Tell me, where – "

Again Hofstadt interrupted. "Oh, you don't have to worry about Reb Moshe, Rabbi. The Old Rabbi inspected his place regularly and in late years when our Rabbi couldn't, I did. I would drop in at the most unexpected times and give the place a good going over. Perfectly kosher, according to all opinions."

"I see," said Yehoshua, very seriously. It didn't pass him by that Reb Moshe Glubnick got even redder in the face. "That's wonderful." He turned to the shochet.

The shochet said, "I'm Reb Sender Axelrod. I learned my trade with – "

"There too, Rabbi. Same thing with the shochet. His knives are always clean and sharp, and I watch his technique and find that it conforms to all the laws, large and small," crowed Mr. Simcha Ben Zion Hofstadt. The shochet looked at him coldly, but of course Hofstadt didn't notice.

There was silence. Finally, Yehoshua said, "Thank you, gentlemen, but I have no more questions. Naturally, I shall have to think it over again, but it is not likely that I shall decide to come to Rjepenig. It seems to me that with you there, Mr. Hofstadt, you don't need a rabbi."

The other fellow didn't know a jab in the ribs when he heard one. He preened like a rooster and grinned, "You will be giving up one of the finest places for a rabbi in all of Poland. But young heads always know what is best. Thank you, rabbi. Well, I guess we'll just have to look further."

They stood up and Hofstadt stalked out of the room, followed by the butcher. The shochet, however, lingered. He seemed to be quite uncomfortable, turning his hat in his hands before finally putting it on to cover his yarmulka.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

In complete understanding, Yehoshua said, "I am too. It must be very difficult."

The shochet looked at him very keenly. "You are very perceptive … and sympathetic. I wish you mazal tov on your marriage," he said, and then added, "If in the town where you will serve as Rav, you will ever need a shochet, please call me to come. I assure you I am a very good and careful shochet."

"I am sure you are, and I will," promised Yehoshua.

And in time he did!

So that was that on that matter. On the other matter, things were progressing, and Yehoshua was invited to spend Shabbos with the Hirshensons, Gita's father and brothers (there was no mother). Things were apparently going along nicely: he didn't speak to Gita much – it was not modest to do so; but he did have a long chat with her older brother Shaya who was engaged to be married, and they hit it off warmly. "She's a wonderful girl," said the future brother-in-law, "but remember she's been the only woman in the house for many years."

Rabbi Yehoshua gave a shiur after shacharis on Shabbos that had everybody, including their rabbi, shaking Mr. Hirshenson's hand, which didn't do the young Rabbi any harm, you understand. Shabbos afternoon he learned with Shaya and the younger brother Nosson. Shaya must have said some good words to his father, because, after Havdalah, he asked Yehoshua into his little office (Hirshenson was a lumber factor) and closed the door.

(I'm going to continue this story the way Rebbitzin Gita told it to my Peshe that time that Peshe was sick. The way the Rebbitzin told the story, changing her voice with every one who spoke, did my wife more good than even the chicken soup she was drinking by the potful!)

"Of course, Peshe, I listened in at the door. What girl wouldn't even though Shaya, my older brother tsk-tsked. My father said:

"'That was a very nice shiur this morning.'

"'Thank you,' said Yehoshua.

"'Your masters and teachers at your yeshiva think very highly of you. I suppose you are looking for a place in one of the large cities – Warsaw? Cracow? – with such recommendations. I can help you. I have contacts with business people there.'"

"'No sir.'

"'Well, I can understand that. You want to get experience before you take on a big-city congregation. Very wise thinking. One of the smaller towns then – Poznan, Lemburg, maybe.'

"'Not them either.'

"'No?'

Silence.

"'Then you intend to remain in the yeshiva, become a "rebbe" in one of the shiurim?'

"'I intend to find a small town with a Jewish community that needs me.'"

Silence again.

I now could hear a very familiar hardness enter my father's voice. "'I see. You are a young idealist! You want to take my daughter out of this fairly comfortable home, and go live in some shanty-town of 'amoratzim', ignoramuses, without learning, without culture, without comfort. Mr. – I'm sorry – Rabbi Garfinkel, I think if you are as wise as your masters say you are, you will understand that I cannot allow such a thing. I cannot approve of this marriage! I wish you good luck and gut-voch!'

"Peshe, when poor Yehoshua came out of the room he was white. I actually took him by the hand and pulled him into a corner.

"'You heard?' he asked me.

"'Of course, I heard,' I answered.

"'When you think of it his way, maybe he's right, maybe you shouldn't…'

"'He's wrong, and I should. Go back to your yeshiva and wait.' I heard Shaya say to him as he was leaving, 'Don't worry. Leave it to her. She has lots of experience.'

"The next day I took two of my prettiest Shabbos dresses and hung them where I was sure that my father would see them. He did. I was waiting in the kitchen with a book in my hand.

"'What's this with the dresses?' he asked me.

"'Oh,' I said, 'I intend to give them away. I've decided to be an old maid. I will let Shaya and Nosson present you with grandchildren and I shall be their old-maid tante.'

"He went white. If he had had a heart attack on the spot, I wouldn't have been surprised and never have forgiven myself as long as I lived. But he recovered. His face went red. 'I know what you are trying to do! I won't have it! I will not allow you to be buried among Jewish boors and live in a hut!' The door he slammed shook the house.

"But … a couple of weeks later I was able to write to Yehoshua. I still remember the letter:

"Dear Yehoshua [I wrote]

We are to be married!

Here is the list of convenient dates for the wedding [I had to be very delicate, you understand – he had no mother or sisters]. Choose one and let me know. Further arrangements will follow.

I pray that our wedding will be in a fortunate and joyous hour.

Respectfully,

Gita Hirshenson

"Oh, Peshe, every time I think of that letter, I am overwhelmed with embarrassment. Poor Yehoshua! Not a word of affection and I actually signed my full name, as if we were total strangers!"

(So that's the part of the story that the Rebbitzin told my wife. Another cup of tea? You want to go to sleep? Not yet?)

Well, they were married in Gita's home town and her father relented a bit when he saw the love that the Rosh Yeshiva, who performed the wedding, and Reb Alter, and the bachurim had for him. After all, it took time and money to travel from their yeshiva to his city. The town was deeply impressed and when Mr. Hirshenson's reputation rose because of it, he was even happier. The young couple moved into the Hirshenson household in Yehoshua's yeshiva town, you remember, with her Tante Sarah, until he got a rabbinical position. Meanwhile, Yehoshua continued learning in his yeshiva. Just a short time later, another letter arrived. This was from a committee in Holoscheitz, our town. This letter, I remember, because I helped to write it. It took us eight nights! We went over every word and everyone gave a possible commentary on it, as if this were a piece of Gemara! Finally, this is what came out:

To the Honored, Esteemed Gaon, the Rosh Yeshiva, May he Live Long, Happy, and Healthy, and Continue to be a Light unto All Jewry and to All the Nations, Amen!

Our beloved Rabbi has gone on to the True World and we are destitute. Holoscheitz is a small town, the Jews in it are pious, but not very learned. On the other hand, they are good people who respect and love the Torah, and are like hungry sheep waiting for their shepherd to come and feed them. Do you know of a young rabbi who might be interested? We offer the new rabbi a small house and bais medrash where he can learn and teach the householders and workers – the young men who want to continue learning after cheder must go to a yeshiva.

It is not fitting to speak of salary in a letter. We invite the rabbi and his wife to spend a Shabbos with us. He will learn who and what we are.

Thank you for paying attention to our humble request.

I myself think it was the Rebbitzin who was touched by this letter and convinced her young husband to consider it. Well, Rabbi Yehoshua and his new Rebbitzin did come. The letter sounded just like the kehilla he wanted to serve. I remember he came on Shabbos "Bo". It snowed, but that didn't stop him. In the morning he gave a shiur, and he didn't show off. For us poor yidin, he could have, but he made sure that we understood what he was talking about – None of that "He was brilliant – I didn't understand a word!" For him teaching is understanding. Then for shallosh-seudos he gave us a talk on the carrying of Joseph's coffin when the Jews went out of Egypt. I remember how respectful he was of our Rabbi who was gone: he likened him to Joseph, the tzaddik of the previous generation, who promised that the Jews would be redeemed if only they would remember him and his ancestors and follow the Tradition. He promised that, if the kehilla agreed, he would try. He would symbolically carry the coffin of Joseph.

The Rebbitzin hit it off beautifully with the ladies. Peshe said to me that Shabbos, "It is plain that she didn't grow up in a shtetl, but she didn't put on a hat with an ostrich feather!"

So what else was there to say? That's how Rabbi Yehoshua came to Holoscheitz.

Do you know that it's 27 years since the Rabbi came to us? Two years ago we had a Silver Anniversary party for him, and since I'm talking so much I'll just add how that came about.

We had a hard time getting Rabbi Yehoshua and his Rebbitzin to agree to a party on Tu B'Shvat in honor of his 25^th year in Holoscheitz. I was there when he said to us, the Committee, "Twenty-five years has no traditional significance. Eighteen yes, chai – life! Twice chai – 36 years! Yes. But what's 25?" I thought, however, that the truth is that he was worried about the cost of the party, that the Jews of Holoscheitz will contribute more than they could afford. "I think we should forget it," he said.

Reb Mordechai Thaler, our spokesman (he was always our spokesman because even in a shtetl "Money talks," as you know, - not that Thaler is rich rich, but, compared to us others, he was gvir enough), sighed and said: "Rabbi, we want to honor you. Why take the pleasure away from us? Do you think it will make us happier going around with this inside us and not being able to let it out? Besides, who knows how many of us will be alive to honor you in another 11 years? That's a long time."

The Rabbi considered. "Let me call the Rebbitzin in and let her hear your idea."

When he left the room, the murmuring started of course: "Well, that's what happens when you have a modest rabbi."

"Do you think it would be better if we had somebody who is always running after honors, like the Rabbi of – "

"Quiet! You want to speak loshen horeh in the Rabbi's house?"

To which Thaler replied: "Perfectly right! Wait till we're in the bais medrash!", which got a laugh of course.

By this time the Rabbi came back with Rebbitzin behind him, a look of puzzlement on her face. We all stood up and offered her our chairs, she took one and sat down, hands folded in her lap, and waited.

Reb Mordechai, at a signal from the Rabbi, laid the whole thing out. She thought about it for a moment, and then that sweet, but clever smile formed on her lips. "I think the Rabbi deserves it – on condition."

We all sat quiet waiting for the condition. "It is not to be an elaborate affair. Reb Pinye [the baker] must get some profit out of this, and the ladies will do the rest. If there is any setting-up of tables and furniture, Pinchas the Beggar should be asked to help and paid something for it." She looked directly at our worthy spokesman. "I'm sure that Mr. Thaler will agree. Also, there must be a Table for the Poor. And if the party is too big, nobody will enjoy it – not the ones who had to pay for it and certainly not the Rabbi."

Now the Rabbi laid down his condition: "Each will contribute according to his desire, not his ability. No pressure, no comparing one with the other."

I put in my two groschen of an opinion: "Rabbi Yehoshua, after 25 years, you may be sure that from you we learned derech eretz. Please not to worry."

Now that brings us almost up to date. See what a simple question to pass the time can cause? Oh, I can tell you stories about Rabbi Yehoshua all night. But you must be sleepy. Come, this is your bed. Enough covers? Listen, I'll wake you tomorrow for shachris, God willing. Good night and have a sweet sleep. Don't forget to say, "Hear O Israel…."

Copyright © Dan Vogel