Yaakov Budayov, a seventh grader in Yeshivah Tomchei Torah of Brooklyn, was an orphan who lived with his grandmother. His young mother had passed away two years before, while the whole family was still in Russia. In America his father married a woman who had no interest in raising the child, so Yaakov was sent to live with his grandmother, who spoke no English.
Yaakov was a brilliant student. Although he had received no Torah education in Russia, before long he was the top student in the seventh grade at Tomchei Torah. The Rabbi merely had to say the Humash or Gemara once, and Yaakov could repeat it almost verbatim. His comprehension was nothing short of astounding and often he would ask questions that had been raised by the Rishonim.
However, there was a problem. Yaakov had a penchant for making intricate paper planes and flicking them across the classroom. His classmates thought he was hysterically clever, but the planes infuriated his Rabbis and teachers. At times he would quietly build a squadron of tiny planes, set them on his desk, and one by one propel them on missions, all over the classroom.
Nothing that any teacher or principal said to Yaakov had an effect. He knew the material he achieved high grades - but planes were taking off and landing on a regular basis. One night in November, there was a parents-teacher conference. Since Yaakov’s grandmother could not speak English, his aunt and uncle came from Manhattan to speak to the Rabbi and teachers.
As they sat with the Rabbi, he took a few of the small planes out of his desk. “Yaakov is a very bright boy,” he began. “He knows the material very well and his mind is as sharp as any I have ever seen for a seventh grader. But he is always playing with these planes. He makes them and shoots them all around the class. I like him and he is a good boy - but he is very disruptive. He won’t stop no matter what I say.”
The aunt picked up one of the planes and held it up for closer inspection. As she turned the plane slowly examining its intricacy, she began to cry softly and tears rolled down her face. The Rabbi was shocked. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly. “My sister taught Yaakov to make these planes when he was a little boy,” she said.
Now the Rabbi understood his orphan student. In Yaakov’s uncertain voyage of the future, he was clinging to the security of his past. Do we really know what is going on in another person’s mind? It’s therefore wise to choose all our words in all our conversations, carefully. (Echoes of the Maggid)
Reprinted from the Rabbi David Bibi’s Parashat Terumah 5786 email of Shabbat Shalom from Cyberspace. Excerpted from the ArtScroll book – “Echoes of the Maggid” by Rabbi Paysach Krohn.
