20 Adar 5765
It was the afternoon of Yom Kippur in the well-known shul in Zichron Moshe, in Yerushalayim. The mispallelim had just returned from a short break, and they were somewhat refreshed and had garnered some strength to get through the rest of the holy day.
The gabbai of the shul began selling the aliyah of Maftir Yona, and Reb Kalman, who had a longstanding chazakah for this aliyah with its many segulos, waited for the moment when he would ‘throw’ the highest sum into the air, and would acquire the aliyah for himself.
To his shock, things did not go quite as he’d planned. One of the other people, a relatively new mispallel, decided to negotiate with him, and with every moment that passed, the price went higher, until it reached numbers that Reb Kalman could not imagine being able to pay.
The competition was won by the opponent, and the gabbai was about to announce the happy winner. But Reb Kalman struggled to accept this. Thus, in one moment, the holy and somber atmosphere was replaced by the loud and bitter tones of an argument. Some of the msipallelim began to take sides, and their voices rose; accusations were hurled into the air, as were claims justifying the position of each side, which were then refuted; halachic concepts were also thrown into the mix. The tension in the shul was thick.
“What right do you have to make the price so high?” some of the elder mispallelim, representing Reb Kalman, asked.
“The benefit of the shul’s coffers is more important than anything,” the highest bidder replied. “There’s no justification for preventing me from enriching the shul’s coffers.”
“I have a chazakah for decades already,” the elder mispallel claimed. “If you want to give of your money, find a different time to do it.”
This dismal argument could have continued for many long moments if Harav Yaakov Yisrael Fisher, zt”l, the Ra’avad of Yerushalayim and the Rav of the Zichron Moshe, had not intervened.
The Rav stood up in his place, and all at once, everyone fell silent and listened to what he had to say: “The highest bidder is right, and he has the right to eh aliyah,” the Rav ruled. After a short silence he added: “For the sake of peace, I will ask so and so, the one with the chazakah, to give up the chazakah for the one who bid the higher price.”
“How can I give up such a famous segulah for arichus yamim?” Rav Kalman was very disappointed at the ruling. “I don’t feel able to do this!” But the Rav, his face shining with the holiness of the day, gave a firm and fervent response:
“If you are worried about the segulah, I bless you with all my heart that you should merit a long and good life, even without this segulah.” The Rav repeated his brachah over and over again, until Rav Kalman was finally appeased, and he declared that he was giving up his chazakah. The tefillah continued.
A few months later, the community heard the terrible news of the sudden passing of Rav Kalman.
During the shivah, Harav Fisher came in to family to be menachem avel, and they could not conceal their pain and hard feelings. Who knows, perhaps had Rav Kalman not hastened to give up the segulah, he would have lived longer...
“Know that my brachah should have been fulfilled to the fullest extent,” the Rav said. “Rav Kalman was supposed to live a long life through the mitzvah that he performed. But to my distress, although I repeated the brachah over and over again, no one made the effort to answer amen after me, not even he himself, and therefore the brachah was not effective.”
“I felt this already in shul,” Rav Fisher added, “which is why I repeated the brachah a number of times, hoping that someone would answer amen after it. But regretfully, I did not hear even one amen. A brachah that is not answered by amen is certainly not a complete brachah, and if so, it’s power is limited,” Rav Fisher concluded his piercing words in a sad tone.
Notrei Amen Vol. II p. 313
