The Elevator Pitch

Rav Daniel Yaakov Travis, rosh kollel of Kollel Toras Chaim in Yerushalayim and author of Living On and numerous other seforim, frequently travels from Eretz Yisrael to America to raise funds for his kollel. During these trips, he visits supporters at their workplaces, delivers short shiurim, and offers his seforim for sale. It is demanding work, but essential to keeping the kollel running.

One year, just three days before Pesach, Rav Travis found himself in New York City, making his way down a long staircase with his arms full of seforim he hoped to sell. Exhausted from his travels, he reached the final flight and felt he simply had no strength left to continue. He stepped into the elevator for the remaining floor.

Inside stood Shmuel,* who had once attended Rav Travis’s shiur. The moment he saw him, Shmuel began shouting. “What chutzpah! You stop the entire elevator and waste everyone’s time, three days before Pesach, just to save yourself one flight of stairs? How selfish!”

Rav Travis remained silent. Though deeply humiliated, he did not utter a word in response.

After leaving the elevator, he called his rebbi, Rav Tzvi Kushelevsky, rosh yeshivah of Heichal HaTorah, and related what had happened.

“Bizyonos are great!” the rosh yeshivah told him warmly. “Bizyonos are precious.”

Rav Travis took those words to heart and continued with his day, determined to put the painful incident behind him.

That afternoon, he had arranged a ride to the Five Towns with Asher,* a supporter who worked in Manhattan. Shortly after the elevator incident, however, Asher called with a change of plans. “I’m running late, so I won’t be able to pick you up. If you still want the ride, you’ll have to be at my office at five o’clock sharp.”

Already exhausted, Rav Travis walked twenty city blocks to Asher’s office and waited patiently until his ride arrived. But no sooner had they set off than Asher announced another unexpected change.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, “but I need to stop in Queens for two and a half hours before we continue to the Five Towns.”

Rav Travis was stunned. His entire evening of fundraising was now in jeopardy, and with Pesach just days away, every hour was precious. Yet rather than give in to frustration, he reminded himself of his rebbi’s words: “Bizyonos are great! Bizyonos are so precious.”

By the time he finally reached the Five Towns, he was thoroughly worn out. Nevertheless, he began making his rounds, hoping to accomplish whatever he could in the little time remaining.

At the very first house, the homeowner greeted him enthusiastically. “You came at the perfect time!” he exclaimed. “I just promised that the next person who knocked on my door would receive ten percent of this month’s paycheck. And here you are!”

Rav Travis marveled at the timing. Had he arrived earlier, before the man had made his promise, who knew what he might have received?

At the next house, he was met with an equally warm welcome. “I’m so glad you came!” the homeowner exclaimed. “Tell me, how can I help your kollel?”

“Would you consider giving five hundred dollars a month for the coming year?” Rav Travis asked.

“Absolutely. It’s a deal!”

Rav Travis could hardly believe it. In just a few minutes, he had secured more than ten thousand dollars for his kollel. Suddenly, the day’s frustrations took on an entirely different meaning. The humiliation in the elevator, the twenty-block walk, and the lengthy detour through Queens had all led him to those doorsteps at precisely the right moments.

He now appreciated, more than ever, the preciousness of the bizyonos he had endured. What had seemed like a series of setbacks had become part of an extraordinary yeshuah.

Fundraisers often speak of the “elevator pitch,” the few well-chosen words one must be prepared to deliver during a brief elevator ride. Yet Rav Travis had delivered perhaps the most effective elevator pitch of his entire trip without saying a single word.

He had swallowed an insult in silence, and that silence had been heard in Shamayim more clearly than any appeal he could have made. The doors that opened for him in the Five Towns that night had first opened in an elevator, just one floor above the ground.

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