The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

It was an unusually cold day in Yeshivas Kerem B’Yavneh.

The Rosh Yeshiva, HaRav Chaim Yaakov Goldvicht (1924-1994) was giving a Sicha (a semi-informal talk).

He was seated on a chair at the front of the Yeshiva and looked regal to me.

He was our connection to the past and our hope for the future.

He had learned from the greats of the previous generation: The Brisker Rav (HaRav Yitzchok Zev Soloveitchik ZT”L) and The Chazon Ish ZT”L.

At the particular talk, he began to wax nostalgic.

He recalled his childhood in the Old Yishuv of Yerushalayim, where he attended the Eitz Chaim Yeshiva and was immersed in the world of “Only-Torah.”

He related with a longing to his younger days when he was learning in a Kollel in Bnei Brak and, back then, imagined a life of learning and teaching the Torah.

He recalled how the visionaries and lay leadership of a new yeshiva, Kerem B’Yavneh, heard about him and approached him to head a new yeshiva where army service and Torah learning would be combined.

He was barely thirty years old.

This talk was given before his annual trip overseas to raise much-needed funds for the Yeshiva.

Before embarking on these difficult excursions, he would gather the student body together and insist we all give him a Brocha for his success in collecting financial support for the Yeshiva.

Suddenly, a somber tone overtook him.

He looked out at us yet stopped seeing us.

With a rarely seen sense of vulnerability and not a small amount of pain,

he concluded his remarks with a soliloquy.

“I was learning in a Kollel when they approached me to head the Yeshiva. They promised me that all of the financial needs of the Yeshiva would not be my concern.

My responsibility was to teach Torah and guide the Talmidim.

Alas, it was not to be, and now I must ask all of you for a Brocha as I must

separate myself from teaching Torah and connecting with you. As I embark on

tedious travels, I ask all of you to give me a Bracha for success in accomplishing a task I never expected would be my responsibility.”

As he finished his words, he looked so tired, and to me, as a young man, he also looked quite aged.

I think back incredulously that he was only 55 years old then!

I now know that he had not reached his seventieth birthday when he passed away.

Yet, on that day, as he prepared to travel to convince people to support his Yeshiva, he appeared tired and worn, exhausted and drained.

Only recently, as I have entered my own 65^th year of my life, I am shocked at how this middle-aged man in his 50s appeared to me back then to be at least a septuagenarian, if not older.

As I sit today amidst the Shul’s two-day fundraising campaign, I have greater empathy for middle-aged Rosh Yeshiva, whom I mistook for a senior septuagenarian.

Today, I, too, feel the pain of fundraising.

Before I pick up the phone to call you, I struggle and wonder, “Should I call you for a donation?”

“Should I ask you to give, and if I do ask, should I ask for a certain amount? And am I putting too much pressure on you?”

I think back to Rav  Goldvicht, and I now understand his pain and struggles.

I can relate to his sad soliloquy, where he revealed to all, and especially to himself, the discomfort he felt in having to be a fundraiser.

His complete disclosure of his having been thrust into a position he never expected to be in was now my life.

His pain and discomfort were now my pain, and I blame myself for not being more empathetic over forty years ago.

So please understand, If I call you today, I do so understanding and relating to your struggles and your burdens.

Please forgive me if I have been too forthright or pressured you in a way

that was not comforting.

Believe me, I know your struggles, for they are also mine.

I ask you as well to know my struggles.

With complete appreciation for those who have given…

And with love and understanding to all of you-

For those who are inclined to give:

https://causematch.com/ahavasisrael23/137691