I sat together with my chashuveh brothers-in-law at an emergency meeting. We all knew that my father-in-law’s financial situation was not great. He had been zocheh to marry off sons and daughters, and each chasunah added tens of thousands of shekels to his debts. Now, before the next wedding, we had decided to save the situation. One of my brothers-in-law, who was an expert in facts and figures, presented the situation as it was, and at the end of the conversation it was decided that each of the sons and sons-in-laws, myself among them, would collect the sum of 36,000 shekels.
How? Whoever had money of his own – would bring it. Whoever knew people who could give – would speak to them. Whoever was capable of going door to door – would do so. There is a mitzvah here of kibbud horim, hachnassas kallah, and the most mehudar form of tzedakah.
I agreed to the plan; but I won’t say that I didn’t feel fear and shaking legs. Where would I get hold of such sums? I learn all day in kollel, my wife works, and her salary barely meets the needs of our home, baruch Hashem. Moreover, we really don’t know the rules of this game.
Several weeks passed, and during this time one brother-in-law got his father, who is a person of means, to help out; the second succeeded in collecting money from several friends whose financial situation is good; the third brought it all, with Hashem’s blessings, from his own; and the fourth, whose financial situation is closest to my own, worked hard to collect money.
So was this what I had to do as well? To collect money? To go from shul to shul and to speak to the hearts of the Yidden who had just folded up their talleisim and tefillin? The more I tried to imagine this, the less I could see myself doing it. What?! I would be a shnorrer?!
I talked it over with my wife, and we came to the conclusion that being a “respectable shnorrer” suited me much better. I would travel abroad with a driver, and be’ezras Hashem, would collect all the money. I booked a ticket and prepared for the trip, but the night before the flight, the war with Iran broke out. The flight was cancelled.
I stayed in the Holy Land, and this holy task still loomed before me. Hachnassas kallah! Hachnassas kallah!
I thought that if I was capable of going abroad for a few days, I could certainly take a public bus to Beitar. I left my hometown of Har Yonah and, following a long trip, I arrived in Beitar Illit, at the shtieblach. I entered and asked them to allow me to speak for a few minutes and collect money.
“No way,” said an avreich who overheard the exchange between me and the gabba’im. He had already reserved
