The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

It was a week before Shabbos HaGadol, and I was discussing with Rav Leib* the Halachos of Erev Pesach, which falls on Shabbos.

Rav Leib is a recognized Talmid Chochom and a Baal Chessed second to none.

His day is filled from morning to night with Torah and Chessed.

Yet, somehow, Rav Leib always finds time for me, and I cherish our friendship.

As we were discussing Shabbos HaGadol, Rav Leib unexpectedly waxed nostalgic.

 “Shabbos, HaGadol, was my Bar Mitzvah Parsha over fifty years ago.”

Rav Leib was smiling as I coaxed him to tell me the story of his Bar Mitzvah.

I was sure that Rav Leib would undoubtedly recall the deep pshetel he must have said that day.

Instead, Rav Leib said, “My Bar Mitzvah was an event that changed the course of my entire life.

I was born and raised in Out-of Townsville, America.

I was called Leo - the name Leib was not known to me.

My parents were typical American Jews. We went to Shul three days a year.

When I was twelve years old, my father went to the local non-Orthodox synagogue and scheduled my Bar Mitzvah for Saturday, April 6, 1974.

The synagogue cantor prepared me to read the Haftorah.

My entire family was so excited for the big event.

My Aunt Molly was flying in from Miami, and Grandma Bessie would drive in from Brooklyn.

Everything seemed perfect until it wasn’t.

About two weeks before my Bar Mitzvah, the Rabbi of the Temple called and informed us that he realized that Saturday, April 6, was Shabbos HaGadol- The “Great Sabbath” and the synagogue youth director made a mistake when he allowed my Bar Mitzvah to be scheduled on that day. The Rabbi explained that he was going to recite the Haftorah as was dictated by Jewish custom.

(The practice of the Rav getting maftir on Shabbos HaGadol is an accepted minhag in some communities.)

No amount of pleading and explaining would change the Rabbi’s mind. He kept saying, “This is a Jewish custom from time immemorial; it cannot be changed. Your son will have his Bar Mitzvah in June; that’s the first available Saturday.”

I never saw my father so upset.

He said, “Leo, get into the car.”

Off we drove, and we arrived at a small building, which my father said was the Orthodox Temple- I did not even know what Orthodox meant.

My father knocked on the Rabbi’s study, and with me in tow, he explained the entire saga to the Rabbi.

My father concluded with the plea, “Rabbi, my son has prepared the Haftorah; he wants his Bar Mitzvah on his Hebrew birthday, which is the day before Passover. Can we please have the Bar Mitzvah here?”

The Rabbi stood up and looked at me.

He asked me if, over the next two weeks, I would spend time learning with him.

I agreed.

The Rabbi then looked at my father and then looked straight at me.

He stood there for a few minutes and then grabbed my father’s hand, and with a huge smile, he declared, “It would be my honor, Leo, if you would read the Hafotrah on Shabbos HaGadol in our Shul.”

Somehow, the Rabbi realized my potential. After all, It is certainly unusual to have a Bar Mitzvah on Erev Pesach, which is Shabbos, and he surely could have said no.

Yet, that decision made over fifty years ago changed my life.

I continued to learn with the Rabbi after my Bar Mitzvah, and eventually, I would go to yeshiva and end up where I am now.”

Rav Leib got all choked up as tears streamed down his face.

He could barely get out his last words, “Who knows what would have been of me had that Rabbi not sacrificed his Mafitr for me ?”