web analytics
July 1, 2015 / 14 Tammuz, 5775
At a Glance
Judaism
Sponsored Post


Tefillin And Teacher


Lessons-logo

The time was 6:03 a.m., and I was already late for shul. My father had passed away in October of 2008, and I was saying Kaddish for him. Morning prayers began at 6 o’clock. I had to be there within four minutes or miss the rabbinic Kaddish. To worsen matters, I hadn’t taken my 3 a.m. Parkinson’s medications on time, and I had begun to feel a rise in what I call my “trembling index.”

I anticipated that my illness was going to make laying tefillin problematic. I hurried off to minyan, arriving in time to join the others in declaring: “Y’hei sh’mei rabba m’vorach le’olam ulolmei olmaya” – May His great Name be blessed forever and ever.”

The minyan was more crowded than usual. Two new fellows had shown up to my right. Our table, which ordinarily held three people, was now holding five. I felt cramped.

“This is not going to work,” I thought, as I tried unsuccessfully to don my tallis. Needing more room, I opened the side door to the main sanctuary. I found this private refuge helpful on mornings like this.

With enough light from the hallway, I managed to don my tallis and tefillin after ten minutes, while listening to the shliach tzibur recite the Yishtabach prayer. I checked my rosh (tefillin of the head) quickly and reentered the beis medrash in time for the Borchu prayer. When I came to the words “and you will bind them as a sign upon your arm and they will be tefillin between your eyes” my thoughts turned back to an incident that had happened 15 years earlier.

The first chapter of Pirkei Avos enjoins us to find a teacher. As it happened, it was Mr. Irwin Parker who first accepted me as his student after I had wandered into the minyan where he served as a gabbai.

An apothecary in training in pre-war Poland, Mr. Parker later survived the Mathausen concentration camp. His wife and four children were among the kedoshim (holy martyrs). Reb Isser, as I learned to respectfully address him, stooped forward as a result of the beating the Nazis inflicted on him in Mathausen. They had repeatedly broken his nose, which remained permanently misshapen. Other beatings had damaged his eyesight, causing his left eye to drift.

When I met him, Reb Isser was in his late 70’s. He bore the moral authority of one whose quiet tenacity in overcoming permanent injuries proved indisputably, that the new pharaoh had arisen but failed to destroy us.

I never asked Reb Isser why he had taken me under his wing. Perhaps he saw in me a fledgling fallen from the nest or the shadow of someone he had lost in his previous life. But to me, Reb Isser was a man I had always wanted to know … a person small in stature, yet a spiritual giant. A Jew who had been to hell and back.

As a boy, I had been taught to rise before the hoary head. Learning from such a man would be an experience I’d relish.

One afternoon, Reb Isser took out a small blue velvet bag from inside the portable bima. “Roll up your sleeve,” he nodded toward my left arm. “Slip your arm through this loop and slide it up to your bicep.”

“Like this?” I wondered, so nervous my legs were shaking.

“No, no. You see this knot? It has to be on the inside, facing the heart.”

“Okay, I got it.” We tightened the slip knot to my bicep and wound the black leather strap seven times around my forearm.

“Nu?” he waited. “Mach a brocho” (make a blessing)!

“Al mitzvas tefillin?” I asked reluctantly. “Wait, lehaniach tefillin! Right?”

“Yes. Now put on the rosh. Remember? Bein einecha. Between your eyes.”

“Okay, got it. How’s this?” hopeful that I had gotten it right.

“Ach, a Yiddishe man!” he kvelled. I felt like a kid.

I invited Reb Isser to my house one afternoon for tea and to show him a photograph of my grandpa Harry Austin to whom he bore a striking resemblance. He was nearly speechless when he saw his own likeness in the person of my grandpa. He then placed a sugar cube between his teeth and sipped his tea. Nothing less than a sweet fragment of an old world, it reminded me of what I had seen by grandfather do as a boy.

I watched him intently, this righteous man who often likened the tefillin shel yad to a telephone handset, and the shel rosh to a receiver. “Our prayers,” he said, extending his metaphor, “are long-distance calls. If you dial His number often, you get unlimited minutes for less money.”

Steam from his cup momentarily clouded the sparkle of his blue eyes.

“Like a Divine telephone plan, right?”

“You’re learning, Reb Avrum. Baruch Hashem!”

“More tea, Reb Isser?” He nodded. Happily, there were plenty of sugar cubes.

Now, as I stood in shul years later saying Kaddish for my father, I realized how, in “straightening the bent,” the One Above had enabled Reb Isser to teach me a critically important part of Torah.

I resolved that just as Reb Isser had overcome his afflictions which had bent him over, the inconvenience of Parkinson’s would not cause me to forsake the mitzvah of tefillin.

This was Reb Issser’s legacy to me.

About the Author:


If you don't see your comment after publishing it, refresh the page.

Our comments section is intended for meaningful responses and debates in a civilized manner. We ask that you respect the fact that we are a religious Jewish website and avoid inappropriate language at all cost.

If you promote any foreign religions, gods or messiahs, lies about Israel, anti-Semitism, or advocate violence (except against terrorists), your permission to comment may be revoked.

No Responses to “Tefillin And Teacher”

Comments are closed.

Current Top Story
Donald Trump announces he is running for the Republican party presidential nomination.
Trump Ranks No. 2 GOP Candidate in Nationwide Poll
Latest Judaism Stories
Rebbetzin Esther Jungreis

To my dismay, I’ve seen that shidduch candidates with money become ALL desirable traits for marriage

800px-Gustav_Jaeger_Bileam_Engel

Bil’am’s character is complex and nuanced; neither purely good nor purely evil.

Staum-062615

Amalek, our ultimate foe, understood that when unified, we are invincible and indestructible.

Torat-Hakehillah-logo-NEW

Perhaps on a deeper level, the mitzvah of parah adumah at this junction was not just to purify the body, but the spirit as well.

Halacha isn’t random; it’s a mechanism guiding individuals and society to a higher ethical plateau.

Question: Should we wash our hands in the bathroom with soap and water, or by pouring water from a vessel with handles three times, alternating hands? I have heard it said that a vessel is used only in the morning upon awakening. What are the rules pertaining to young children? What is the protocol if no vessel is available? Additionally, may we dry our hands via an electric dryer?

Harry Koenigsberg
(Via E-Mail)

Less clear, however, is whether the concept applies to the area of civil law such as the law of transfer of property.

The greatest of men, Moshe, had to wait for Hashem to sprinkle purifying waters on Bnei Yisrael to mark the conclusion of the period of death.

My Plate, My Food
‘My Loaf Is Forbidden To You’
(Nedarim 34b)

Of Chukkim “Satan and the nations of the world made fun.” They may appear irrational & superstitious

I realized from this story that I was sent as a messenger from above. Hashem has many helpers in this world to help do his work.

Tosafos answers that nevertheless the sprinkling is a part of his taharah process.

“What difference does that make?” replied Shraga. “What counts is the agreement that we made. I said two hundred fifty and you accepted.”

Zaidie’s legacy of smiles and loving words was all but buried with him, now the family fights over $

Israel’s complaining frustrated Moshe, making it increasingly hard for him to lead effectively

More Articles from Alan D. Busch
Lessons-logo

The phone rang. It was a call I’d been dreading.

“Well, are you going to pick it up?” asked my wife after the third ring.

Bobbie, my dad’s wife, was calling as we had agreed she would in the event of a life-threatening emergency. My father was dying of stage-four colon cancer.

“Well, are you going to pick it up?” asked my wife after the third ring.

Bobbie, my dad’s wife, was calling as we had agreed she would in the event of a life-threatening emergency. My father was dying of stage-four colon cancer.

Lessons-logo

The time was 6:03 a.m., and I was already late for shul. My father had passed away in October of 2008, and I was saying Kaddish for him. Morning prayers began at 6 o’clock. I had to be there within four minutes or miss the rabbinic Kaddish. To worsen matters, I hadn’t taken my 3 a.m. Parkinson’s medications on time, and I had begun to feel a rise in what I call my “trembling index.”

The entire downtown business district would pour into the streets around 5:30 p.m., clogging the already congested traffic lanes of Chicago’s bustling Loop. Blaring horns of Checker taxicabs and city buses made it hard to hear one’s own voice, but I always heard my father’s voice…

It wasn’t so much my father’s problem as it was mine.

The commandment to honor one’s parents had always been for me simply the right thing to do. Jewish tradition characterizes it, however, as the most challenging of the taryag mitzvos. Anyone who has ever cared for a terminally ill parent appreciates the difficulty of performing this mitzvah well.

Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/judaism/jewish-columns/lessons-in-emunah/tefillin-and-teacher/2009/05/20/

Scan this QR code to visit this page online: