Over the past several decades, the face of Tel Aviv has changed drastically. What used to be a vibrant, observant home for many Chassidic dynasties is now more or less devoid of Torah community life. Reb Dov Kook would go from time to time to a bais medrash there to learn without disturbance. The gabbai of the shul would make a special trip to unlock the doors so that the prestigious Rav could learn uninterrupted.
On one such visit, the gabbai released a groan. “Look at this bizayon (embarrassment). The shul is not maintained the way it should be. It looks like no one has touched it in 100 years. It used to be flourishing and well-maintained; now it sits empty and disheveled. What a bizayon! With only 10 elderly men attending on Shabbos, we can’t cover the cost of renovating the shul, but something has to be done. What should we do, kavod haRav?”
The Rav stretched his hand deep into his pocket and shelled out 40 shekels. “This is for renovations.”
The gabbai thought to himself, “What’s 40 shekels going to help? Can I hire a contractor with such little money? Would an interior designer even give an estimate?”
The only thing the gabbai was able to buy with the money was a can of paint. A fresh coat of paint would be something, and at the same time would work within his budget. So, he went to the hardware store, bought a beige-color paint, and headed back to the shul to start his “job.”
While he was painting the front door, a latest-model Tesla pulled up, and the driver asked what he was doing.
The gabbai thought that the man looked familiar, but he wasn’t sure exactly from where. He responded that he was starting to paint.
“That I know,” responded the man. “Why are you doing this?”
The gabbai explained to the man how Reb Kook had visited the shul and had donated 40 shekels toward the renovations, and how his donation covered just a can of paint. “We’ve reached the point where we can no longer daven like this. The shul is dilapidated, and it’s disrespectful for Hashem’s house to look like this.”
The man parked his car and made his way into the shul. Looking around, he told the gabbai that his father had davened there till his very last day, and that he’d like to rebuild the shul in his honor. “I want the place that my father davened in to glitter once again — that it should be fit for a king.”
The man took out his checkbook and signed off a check for 800,000 shekels — a sum that covered much more than just the paint! With that check, the shul was able to cover most of the reconstruction costs, and the bais medrash once again sparkled the way it should.
After doing what he could do, Hashem arranged that the needed money would arrive from Above in an extraordinary way. When we put in what we can, then Hashem puts in the rest, and we can be zocheh to outstanding siyata d’Shmaya.
