The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

 

 

 

He had avoided this moment for thirty years.

For three decades, he had successfully evaded, dodged, and sidestepped this confrontation through excuses, trickery, and any pretext he could think of.

He was the master escape artist.

He was dubbed "Harry Haftorah Houdini"- (Editor's note: Harry Houdini, whose real name was Eric Weiss, was the son of a rabbi).

Somehow, he circumvented and bypassed that which no person in his Kehilla had succeeded in doing.

Many had tried, yet only he succeeded.

He was the deft dissapearer.

The skilled sidestepper.

Yet, as the saying goes, "You can run, but you can't hide."

Finally, the fateful day arrived when he was cornered with no possible escape.

He was thirty-five years old and planned to continue living in denial and continuing to conveniently disappear when capture seemed imminent.

That was until that fateful Shabbos in July of 2023.

A Shul attendee discovered that our protagonist's thirty-fifth Hebrew birthday was the Shabbos of Mattos-Maasei.

Unbeknownst to our master escape artist, our well-intentioned "do-gooder" was about to "out" the master of anonymity himself.

Mr. Do-A-Chesed had prearranged with the Gabbai to entrap and corner our central figure in an escape-proof situation.

The "friend" of our principal player had pre-paid the Gabbai five hundred Shekel to ensure the success of his Mitzvah.

As Harry Haftorah Houdini sat quietly listening to the laining, he was about to hear the words which would change his life forever.

"Ya'amod Harry Haftorah Houdini Maftir!"

HHH froze in trepidation and fright.

The words he had hoped would never be heard were just screamed out for the entire Shul to hear.

He sat paralyzed with fear.

He was called up to do that which he had never done before.

Never before had he recited the Brochos on the Haftorah.

He had deftly avoided this "honor" at his Bar Mitzvah, Auf-Ruf, and Sheva Brochus.

Each time, he came up with a new and novel excuse.

Yet, now, the day of reckoning had arrived.

The man who had spent three and a half years as a combat foot soldier in the IDF was terrified.

He who fearlessly led "search and destroy" death-defying, life-threatening, dangerous anti-terrorist missions in Jenin was now filled with fear.

The same man who never hesitated when commanded to approach at breakneck speed, smash down the door, and run headfirst into the viper's nest of terror to protect his fellow Jews was now paralyzed in fear at the thought of approaching the Bimah.

Yes, placing his life in danger to root out the enemies of the Jewish people and charge headfirst into the lion's lair was child's play compared to walking head down to the Bimah.

How can this be explained?

How can leading a frontal assault into the terrorists's alleyways of Jenin be less frightening than being honored with an Aliayah?

Trust me, my friends, it can and it is.

For decades, our friend has struggled with a learning disability.

Assaults on unseen terrorists, no problem.

Ascending to the Bimah and reading Hebrew in public - that's terrifying.

In the past, even when given an Aliyah, he would suffer from heart palpitations.

When honored with a Sheva Brocha, he felt dishonored beyond anyone's realization.

Yet, through it all, he had managed with a bit of skill and much luck to never have to say the long Brochus accompanying the Haftorah.

That was until the fateful Shabbos in July.

His luck had run out.

That Shabbos, among his fellow Jews, he had been cornered, captured, and held for ransom.

The ransom fee being the reciting of the Brochus of the Haftorah.

He pleaded with the Baal Koreh that he, the Baal Koreh, should read the Brochus of the Haftorah, but the latter refused.

He davened for his Hatzolah phone to ring; silence.

It, too, had left him alone.

He was panicked and sweating profusely.

He looked around the Shul for backup, for help; all the men looked at him and responded with a collective, "Nu?"

Finally, in desperation, he caught sight of his wife.

She was the rock of his life.

She constantly stood with him and gave him confidence and pride.

She looked at him from the women's section as she sat surrounded by their daughters.

The look on her face and that on his precious daughters' faces said all that needed to be conveyed.

"Abba, you can do it.

Abba, you have faced so many challenges and overcame them.

Abba, we are with you.

Abba, we love you."

As the restless crowd mutters, "Nu, begin," our former combat soldier and present loving husband and devoted father takes a deep breath and does what he had never done before.

He was sure the entire Shul could hear his heart beating as loud as a drum in his chest.

He was convinced the knocking of his knees would drown out the Baal-Koreh who was actually reading the Hafotorah.

Yet, despite his conviction of inability, he gives one last look towards his soulmate, whispers a silent Tefillah, and begins to read that he has never read before: the Brochus of the Haftorah.

After successfully navigating the first Brocha, he gains confidence and, in a voice trembling with nervousness yet steady, reads the concluding Brochus loud and clear.

Finally, it's over.

He has done it.

He breathes a sigh of relief and laughs as the Gabbai offers him Musaf and begins to walk back to his seat.

As he returned to his seat in Shul, most men were already saying Yekum Purkan, while a few offered a mumbled "Shkoiach."

However, he did not seek the approval of his peers.

He was not searching for accolades.

What mattered most to our friend was that he climbed the mountain.

He had met his fears and overcame them.

He had accomplished something greater than the capture of terrorists in Jenin.

He had scaled his Mount Everest and reached the pinnacle of success.

He had proven to himself that with effort, Siyata D'Shemaya and an impatient Shul urging him on, and most importantly, with his beloved wife's love, support, and unconditional confidence, he accomplished what only yesterday seemed impossible.

Our friend realized that there is so much more a person can accomplish if they are only willing to try and have the love of their family cheering them on.

When the story of the Haftorah made its way six thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean to the ears of a rabbi in New Jersey, it accomplished something else as well.

With tears of joy cascading down my cheeks, it once again made me realize why my son Tuvia is my hero.