The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

The man arrived at the Shiva with jeans and a worn jacket.

His Yarmulka was perched awkwardly on top of his large head of hair.

Yet, he was not uncomfortable sitting among the yeshivish group of men.

He had no trouble following the seamless mix of Hebrew, Yiddish, and Gemara-Loshon.

Nevertheless, he was clearly the "elephant in the room."

All eyes were on him as they silently wondered, "Who is this man, and why is he here at the Shiva of the Rav?"

The nifter, a great Talmid Chochom, was not a Kiruv Rabbi and was not known for idle conversation.

The Niftar was known as a quiet, reserved person who did not interact much with anyone outside of his Gemara.

It was also evident that the informally clad man was not so much a candidate for kiruv as a "card-carrying member" of the group commonly referred to as "Off the Derech."

Once again, the unspoken words on everyone's lips were, "Why is this fellow here?"

Finally, there was a lull in the conversation, and our casually-clad friend began to speak directly to the son of the niftar.

"I came here to tell you about your father."

The room got totally quiet; the children stopped chattering; it was as if all movement ceased, and no one dared to speak.

All eyes were now focused on the mysterious man as he began.

"I am what you would call a fellow not-yet-back-on-the-derech.

I grew up in Boro Park, and your schprach is very familiar to me.

You are wondering why I am here.

I am fifty-six years old, and although none of you have heard of me, I am an acknowledged songwriter in the Village whose work appears in off-Broadway shows.

B'kitzur, I am considered successful.

I have a wonderful Jewish wife and two sons.

I won't bore you with all the details; however, when I was seventeen, I left home and lived on the streets.

I was into a lot of not-good stuff, and on Shabbos, I would sneak into the local Shul and eat leftover cold Chulent.

One Shabbos, I found a half-filled bottle of schnapps and quickly emptied the bottle with one gulp.

I don't know how long I slept. However, it was hours later when I felt a hand on my shoulder."

The man looked at the Rav's only son.

"Your father had come to learn, and it was he who touched my Neshama.

It was a hot summer afternoon, and the Shul had no air conditioning.

Your father said, "You look tired and hungry and hot. Come to my house; it's cool there; you'll eat and rest."

He took me to his home, and after feeding me, he told me to rest in his bed, which was the only bedroom with a working air conditioner.

After Shabbos, he asked me what else he could do for me.

I told him that he would never be able to provide what I needed.

He said, "Try me."

I told him I wanted a guitar.

The next day, he took me to the Sam Ash store at 236 Utica Avenue and bought me my first guitar.

He then paid for me to have private lessons until, at 20, I got my first permanent gig.

Your father was never judgmental and accepted me for who I was.

He showed me true love.

I owe my career, my family, and my life to him.

He even walked me down to the Chupah when I married my wife, who also came from a difficult background.

I came back today to say thank you."

With that, he took an envelope, placed it on the Tzedoka plate, and turned to leave.

"My name is…"

Before he could say another word, the Rav's son said, "I know your name; it's Shlomo ben Chanah."

The man looked shocked, yet the son responded calmly, "My father davened for you daily.

 He told me, "Shlomo ben Chanah will one day come back," and today, the last day of Shiva, you came back, just as my father said you would.

As great as my father cared about his Torah learning, he cared even more about you.

I always knew your name; now I finally know you."