After spending a month in the hospital following a stroke, and then entering rehabilitation, my son, Michael, moved into his in-laws' home, just a block away from my home. For a few months, he stayed in Brooklyn, slowly but surely returning to himself, and going to synagogue, learning Torah, and resuming his normal routine.
Recently, he made a significant decision to return to yeshiva, to Kollel. That evening, he moved back to Lakewood, and the next morning, he was back at Beth Medrash Govoha, seated in his usual place, immersing himself once again in learning. The Beit Midrash was filled with approximately 400 people engrossed in study, and he reclaimed his place among them.
Michael recalled that, before his stroke, he had been learning a passage from the Rashba on Mesechta Yevamot with his study partner (chavruta). When he returned, he told his chavruta, "We’re picking up exactly where we left off." And so, they returned to that very Rashba, resuming their studies as if no time had passed.
The morning study session concluded at 1:40 p.m. As Michael prepared to leave, the Rosh Chaburah (head of his study group) grabbed his hand and said, "Michael, we need to dance for you." He gathered a few others, and they began to dance. Within minutes, the entire Beit Midrash—400 people—rose from their seats and joined in. The room erupted in joyous dancing, reminiscent of Simchat Torah. Shtenders (lecterns) were pushed aside, and the entire study hall resonated with the singing of, “Chasdei Hashem ki lo tamnu ki lo chalu rachamav—The kindness of Hashem has not ended, His compassion has not ceased.”
Most of these people did not even know Michael personally. They weren’t all part of his study group. But that didn’t matter. They were learners, immersed in Torah study all day, and they responded with pure joy. Later, I asked my son, "Mike, you must show me a picture of this moment!" He replied, "Dad, no one carries a phone in the beit midrash; there are no pictures!"
A few hours later, an administrator from the yeshiva reached out to me. "Rabbi Haber,” he said, “you might have heard that the entire Beit Midrash danced with your son today at the end of seder (learning session). But since no one had a phone, there were no pictures. So, I retrieved footage from the security cameras." He then sent me the video. It was incredible to watch.
Michael had done the work: he underwent rigorous rehabilitation, and while there is still a long road ahead, he has persevered. And when he returned, the people around him lifted him up.
He had debated whether to go back Sunday night or Monday morning. When he left Brooklyn, he had no idea of the overwhelming response that awaited him. He told me, "Dad, when I walked into my home in Lakewood, I was emotional—it felt like coming full circle."
During that first seder, nearly every person in the Beit Midrash came over to greet him. They blessed him, embraced him, and welcomed him back. He knew he had only two weeks left in the zman (term), but he told me, "I want to give it a shot; I want to try."
Blessings don’t come from passivity. You don’t receive them by lying in bed. You have to take action. Having a good heart is wonderful, but it is only the beginning. At the end of the day, blessings come through action. As the Sefer HaChinuch (Mitzvah 16) teaches: when we take action, our hearts, our souls, and our emotions follow.
And this is the wonder of Hashem’s creation: our physical efforts can ignite profound spiritual reactions.
