Rav Yitzchak Beirach Daskal related:
Harav Menachem Mendel Mendelson, the Rav of Komemiyus, told us that we should write on my father’s matzeivah that he was “muflag bemiddos uma’avir al midosav.” When we showed the wording to the Shevet Halevi, I asked him if one could write these words about my father. He replied simply, “Certainly, certainly, he was indeed like that!”
A friend told me about his antics as a boy, and reflected on to what extent my father displayed this middah.
“When I was a boy, I sat next to your father in the Chisda Shul in Bnei Brak. After I finished learning how to put on my tefillin before my bar mitzvah, I felt ‘big.’ I learned how to put on tefillin like the minhag of Ashkenaz, where the straps are wound inwards, and I saw your father winding his tefillin straps outward. I didn’t know that this is the custom of the chassidim. Shamelessly, I turned to your father — who was at least forty years my senior, not to mention a wealthy man of standing in the community — and said to him ‘Excuse me, sir, but you are putting on the tefillin wrong!’ I was sure that he would admit to his mistake. Instead, he looked at me with a warm smile, and continued his davening as though nothing had happened. I felt that he was belittling me, and I was very offended...
“I decided that I would not let this pass, and I wrote your father a very harsh letter. ‘Dear Rabbi Daskal, I do not understand why you are so mocking of me. I pointed out your mistake, that you are putting on tefillin incorrectly, and instead of thanking me, you belittled me and are paying me no attention. It’s a big chutzpah and I object to this behavior.’ I stuck the letter into an envelope and put it in his mailbox.
“Right afterwards, I regretted what I had done. And then I found out that your father had not made a mistake at all, because he was following the chassidishe practice. I was very afraid. I had no doubt that as soon as he’d see me, he would angrily berate me for my chutzpah. So I moved a place, and didn’t sit next to him at davening anymore. For two years, whenever I saw him, I tried to make sure he wouldn’t see me.
The story came to an end on Purim, two years later. My friends decided to raise money from a few wealthy people for the yeshivah. Of course, your father was one of them. There was no way for me to get out of it. I was literally quaking in fear as we went up to his house. I expected the worst dressing down. I stood before him in utter shame, and waited for the scolding I so richly deserved. But your father — who remembered the story well — smiled at me warmly, and gave me a very generous donation. That’s when I realized what a giant of a man I was standing in front of. His heart was so pure, and he truly excelled at the middah of being ma’avir al midsoav.
“I have to note that the day that I got the email from you with stories about your father, my grandson was standing next to me, and I mentioned this story that happened more than forty years ago. I told my grandson, ‘Do you know who this Yid was? Listen to this story that happened when I was a boy.’ Forty years may have passed, but the immense impression his actions made have never left me, and will remain with me for the rest of my life,” he concluded.
