The Buzz in the Back of the Room

I was once delivering a shmuess to junior high school boys, and I noticed some activity in the back of the room. It was unusual, and even though I waited for silence, the slight commotion persisted throughout the shmuess. I tried to ignore it and focus on the message, but it was surprising.

As soon as the shmuess was complete, the two bachurim who had been busy with each other during the shmuess came up to me. Shmuli Seltzer was a sweet boy and a hard worker. He was also hearing impaired, and the only way he followed the weekly shmuess was by sitting in the front and reading my lips — but this week, he had come late and could not get to the front.

He had been alone in the back, resigned to the fact that he would not be able to follow the shmuess, when his friend, Moshe Blinder, came over. Moshe, in an act of perfect friendship, had taught himself sign language in order to communicate with Shmuli, and as I spoke, Moshe “repeated” each sentence to Shmuli using sign language. That had been the buzz in the back of the room!

I was deeply moved by the story, inspired by the purity and goodness of the talmidim. It was a reminder that welcoming handicapped bachurim or boys with other struggles to our yeshivah only enhances the middos of those around them and brings out the best in everyone.

I was determined to pay these boys back, and at Moshe’s bar mitzvah I had my chance. I rose to speak, but instead of delivering a derashah, I shared the story with the audience, telling them of Moshe’s selflessness and achrayus. Then I called up a special guest to say mazel tov.

Shmuli Seltzer came up, his face beaming with pride and pleasure, and communicated, via sign language, his wishes to his good friend, Moshe Blinder. That was the speech, a short, powerful derashah about true shmiah, even from one who cannot hear. If there is true ratzon, the desire to take — to be a lokei’ach — then the doors of hashpa’ah, of inspiration, never close.