The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

It was time.

Bernard Hillstein (name changed) had finally conceded he could no longer live alone and had to enter an assisted living facility.

He always craved warmer weather.

So when Bernie found an assisted living complex in southern Florida, which had a Shul and was completely Shomer Shabbos, he hurriedly signed the lease.

He noticed the fine print only after his deposit was cashed, and he gave up the lease on his apartment in New Jersey.

Ever since Ethel, his wife of 56 years, passed away six years ago, Bernie welcomed Oakley into his home on the advice of his doctors.

Bernie acquired Oakley, a German Shepard, as a service-guide dog to help him get on his own.

Over the last six years, Oakley has become Bernie's constant companion.

Without Oakley, Bernie doesn't know how he would have survived Covid.

As he and Ethel had no children and his own eyesight was failing, without Oakley in the apartment, Bernie would have suffered the greatest pain of all, complete loneliness.

As you can imagine, Bernie was worried when he noticed in the fine print that no pets, including service animals, were allowed in the assisted living facility.

Bernie immediately came to my office and asked me to help him get some waiver or exception to the no-pets rule.

Bernie could not imagine moving without his beloved Oakley.

I listened to Bernie and called the facility.

The manager listened to me calmly and politely, yet, he was firm in explaining the rule of no pets meant no pets, period. No waivers and no exceptions are possible.

I called the Rabbi, the Chaplain of the facility, yet, he, too, explained that his

 hands were tied.

He had no clout or authority to allow Bernie to bring Oakley to the facility.

Bernie was beside himself with grief.

He had already given up his New Jersey apartment and signed the lease in Florida.

Yet, the thought of abandoning Oakley, which meant living alone, felt like a death sentence to Bernie.

I made more phone calls, and finally, the exasperated assisted living manager said, "Look, these are the rules. If you want, call Mr. Hertzler; he owns the facility, and only he can give you permission.

However, he's an elderly Chassidishe Yid. I highly doubt he will be interested in allowing a dog in his facility."

As only Hashem could orchestrate things, Mr. Hertzler, who rarely left Florida, would be in New York for a family Simcha. I was able to arrange a face-to-face meeting with him that Sunday evening.

When I arrived at the house where he was staying in Boro Park, my expectations were not high for success.

Mr. Hertzler, who was more comfortable in Yiddish than English, was a Chassidishe Yid. When I shook hands, I could not fail to notice the blue numbers on his forearm.

I realized this would be a mission in futility as what 95-year-old Holocaust survivor would allow a German Shepard to live as a guest in his facility?

Nevertheless, after making many phone calls to set up this meeting and traveling to Brooklyn from Passaic, I had to make my plea. If (or more likely, when) he says no, I'll know I tried my best.

Mr. Hertzler was extremely hospitable, offering me delicious kokush cake and strong sweet tea,

After schmoozing a little about my Shul, I got down to the point and explained the situation and why Bernie needed to have Oakley live with him. I stressed how Oakley was all Bernie had in his life and what a Mitzvah it would be to allow him to have Oakley live with him.

Mr. Hertzler listened patiently and then responded by quoting a passuk, "Lo Yechratz Kelev L'Shono" ("But not a dog shall growl against any of the people of Israel" – Shemos 11:7).

I thought perhaps Mr. Hertzler was not focusing on what I said.

I repeated my plea, and he repeated the passuk.

He then looked at me and said with a smile.

"I have been waiting for you to come for seventy-eight years. Of course, your

friend can bring his dog. In fact, I will personally pay for all of the dog's

 needs."

My perplexed expression must have conveyed my confusion, as Mr. Hertzler explained.

"In 1945, towards the war's end, the Nazis were evacuating the lager (Concentration Camp). As I knew the Russians were just days in arriving, I decided to hide under the barracks in a crawl space. The Nazis took their German Shepards to sniff out any Jews. Anytime the dog smelled a Jew, it began barking. As the Nazi and his dog neared my crawl space, I repeatedly davened with all my heart, "U'Lchol Bnei Yisroel Lo Yechratz Kelev L'Shono."

To my amazement, the dog passed right by me. I could smell its breath, yet, the dog made no sound and kept moving.

It was then I made a promise to Hashem.

Just as Hashem paid the dogs back for not barking by Yetzias Mitzrayim, I would also pay back a German Shepard for not barking at the time of my own personal Yetzias Mitzrayim.

Finally, the day I have been waiting for has arrived.

Tell your friend he and Oakley will be my honored guests."

I sat there stunned and speechless.

Mr. Hertzler placed another piece of koksuh cake on my plate as he said with Simcha, "You thought you came to ask me for a favor. However, the opposite was true; Hashem sent you here to allow me to pay back my seventy-eight-year-old debt. Please, let us make a L'Chaim together to thank Hashem for His kindness."