It was a few days before Rosh Hashanah and Reb Baruch was leaving the Tel Hashomer hospital in Ramat Gan at 11pm. Suddenly he heard a woman's voice from behind try to call him. He turned around and the nurse motioned for him to come urgently.
There is a religious man in hospital and is about to die. He has no one to be with him at his final moments to say Shema. Please can you go up to his room.
Reb Baruch realized the severity of the situation and since it was only a few days before Rosh Hashanah he wanted to fill up his scales with more Mitzos and immediately headed off to the man's room.
There Reb Baruch saw an old man pale who looked terrible. He was holding a Tehillim in his hands and praying.
Reb Baruch asked the man, "do you have a wife?" "No," replied the man. "Do you have any children," he asked? "No," was the answer. "Do you have any relatives"? "Yes, I have one, who I am talking to right now," replied the man pointing to his Tehillim, "this is my relative. Please leave me alone."
A few minutes later his situation continued deteriorating as his last moments were approaching. Then his tone changed and he started talking again.
"Why did I say I don't have any children. I do have one child, Dovid." And his eyes filled with tears.
The man started talking as if he was talking directly to him. "Dovid my dear, you were such a special boy. We sent you to Cheder and you learned with such hasmada and diligence. Even during recess you studied instead of playing with your friends. Your mother used to beg you to play a bit, eat properly and sleep properly, and you would tell me to tell mother that you love learning so much, it’s your life and goal. In Cheder they were learning Elu Metzies, the second perek of Bava Metzia. But you wanted to learn more so you started learning Sanhedrin."
And the man started singing the first words of Sanhedrin, "Dinei mamonos bishlosha."
The Pain of Loss
"Your class had just started studying Gemara and boys three or four years older than you would come to ask you questions. This was until the day came that changed your life. You were ten years old and came home for dinner. You were about to sit down to eat and mommy was about to serve you, when the phone rang. It was our doctor. He told us we have to come straight to his office. Mommy didn't even get a chance to serve you. I went with her to the doctor and you stayed at home learning even though you were hungry.
When we came home mommy was pale. She went over to you, hugged you and kissed you. She didn't tell you anymore that you were learning too much. In fact now she said the opposite. 'Dovid, I have been diagnosed with a serious illness and have to travel to America for treatment. Please learn more and more that Hashem heals me soon.' And you Dovid so sincere and so pure replied, 'don't worry Ima. I will learn and pray for you and you will recover very soon and come back home.'
Ima traveled to America and I stayed with you Dovid. One day the telephone rang. I didn't have the emotional strength to answer the call. I told you to pick up. You answered, it was mommy. 'Ima,' you said, 'I want to tell you a secret. You behaved to me like a Malaach and that gave me the strength to learn. When you would ask me to eat I saw how much it bothered you that I have strength to learn. Ima, without you I don't have the strength to learn. Ima, promise me that you will come back home in a month,' and Ima promised. That month you studied with such diligence, you were sure mommy was coming home. Thirty days later you came home from Cheder and mommy did come home, transported by the Chevra Kadisha car, in a coffin. Your uncle came out the car and gave you a hug. But you screamed, ‘Ima you promised me that you will come home. That's not called coming home.' You felt betrayed, the light in your eyes and the fire in your heart was gone. At the Levaya you said Kaddish without emotion. You never spoke to anyone, you were closed in yourself. You weren't interested anymore in learning. I couldn't take your behavior. I shouted at you, I lectured you and even hit you but it never helped. I begged you to change and one day you promised me you would, but you didn't. I caught you with bad friends and I called you a liar, that's not called changing. You looked at me and said, 'what's wrong in lying? Ima also lied to me. She promised she would come home and she didn't. I can't study without Ima'.
Your behavior was so bad until one day I threw you out the house and told you not to come back ". He then turned to Reb Baruch and said, "I had a son a Rasha".
But then he changed tone and started crying. "Dovid, you weren't a bad boy, you were a holy Neshama. I was wrong and sinned the way I treated you, I never understood you. I never understood how broken you must have been, losing a mother and losing the desire to study. And instead of encouraging you, I made it worse. Instead of caring for you and being a father and mother, I thought about myself, I was so broken from losing my wife, I was oblivious to your feelings. If only I could talk to your my dear Dovid, you are the Tzaddik and I was the Rasha ".
And the man started singing the words of the Gemarah so sweetly, choking with tears.
The Missed Connection
It was three minutes to midnight and the man tried calling his son who lived in America, but the line was busy.
Dovid lived in America completely assimilated, married to a non-jewish woman with five non-jewish kids. He was a very wealthy and successful businessman. He was on the line to a diamond dealer ordering a very large diamond for his wife's birthday. He was busy bargaining on the price.
Back in Eretz Yisrael the man tried again, dialled three digits and passed out. He didn't even manage to say Shema.
Reb Baruch tried calling again. This time the line was free and Dovid picked up. He said, "I'm sorry it's after five, the office is closed. Please call back tomorrow".
Reb Baruch replied "I am calling for Dovid to tell him, his father passed away and the funeral will be in twenty four hours.
Dovid was taken aback. He had always missed his father. He flew over for the Levaya.
He came straight to the hospital. He met Reb Baruch and started asking him questions.
"Tell me was my father learning Gemara before he died?" And he started singing the words of the Gemara like his father with such sweetness and such yearning.
No," replied Reb Baruch. "Was he praying?" And Dovid started repeating over pieces from davening from so many years back with such sincerity. "No," replied Reb Baruch. "Did he say Shema"? "No," replied Reb Baruch. "He was talking about you and about what a special son he had but sadly never realized. He even tried calling you".
"What," shouted Dovid, "my father tried calling me? What time"? "Three minutes to midnight, that's three minutes to five in America".
Dovid turned pale. He remembered what he was doing on the phone three minutes to five. He was bargaining a diamond for his wife. Dovid took the diamond out his pocked. Everyone was dazzled by it, but Dovid threw it on the floor.
"Abba if only I knew you were on the phone, if only I knew you wanted to talk to me, I would have put the diamond aside and speak to you. Abba let me hear one more time you singing the Gemara". But it was too late.....
Lessons for the Future
This Shabbos is such a special Shabbos. In the depth of Galus, in the nine days, but it's Shabbos. We are not allowed to mourn and we are all looking to try and understand the greatness of this day and how to connect to the Avoda of this day.
It is beyond our understanding what it was like when the Beis Hamikdash existed. We were never there and we can't even begin to imagine. But Klal Yisrael then had such a closeness to Hashem, whoever wanted to. Hashem warned Klal Yisrael to do Teshuva but they never listened, so Hashem destroyed the Beis Hamikdash. It was too late, those special times were gone.
But that was the loss of Klal Yisrael then. Hashem gave us something instead, Tefilah - prayer. Hashem is there every day, three times a day waiting for us to talk to Him, to connect to Him, to stay close to Him. Are we utilizing our opportunity or are we busy with our diamonds or garbage instead. And who knows how many times we've lost an opportunity that will never return.
There will come a time that we will be willing to do anything to be able to say one Amen, one Amen Yehei Shemei Rabba, to do one Mitzva, but it'll be too late. We won't be able to go to our mini Beis Hamikdash, our Shuls anymore. Let's learn from this story not to miss our opportunities.
Tisha Be'av isn't just about mourning on the past and the opportunities we are missing. Together with mourning for the past we have live for the future, to yearn for the future, to improve our Avoda untill Mashiach arrives and to have trust that he will arrive soon, to have Emuna in Bee'as Hamashiach, may we all merit to see the arrival of Mashiach and to see the building of the Beis Hamikdash very soon.
