The Home That Was Built with Tears and Faith

Rabbi Shimshon David Pinkus, the beloved Rav of Ofakim, would often travel to the southern moshavim (small agricultural communities in Israel). His visits felt like sunshine breaking through the clouds, bringing warmth and inspiration to the farmers. His face radiated the light of Torah, and his kind questions and thoughtful answers lifted those around him

During one visit, as he walked through a moshav, he suddenly heard a woman calling behind him, “Rabbi…” Her voice sounded urgent. It was Orit, a young newlywed. Rabbi Pinkus turned around. He could feel in his heart that something was very wrong—this wasn’t just a simple question. Her voice was calling for help

He stopped walking. His kind face signaled that he was ready to listen. Orit began to share what had been weighing on her heart for months.

“I’m a Beit Yaakov graduate,” she said, her voice trembling. “All my life I’ve dreamed of building a home filled with Torah.”

A Torah home—those words felt like a sweet fragrance drifting through the open fields.

“I married a yeshiva student. I was told I was lucky to have a Torah scholar who learns day and night, and I was overjoyed. But just two weeks after our wedding, I heard a loud slam. My husband Yossi had opened a Gemara—and then slammed it shut. He shouted: ‘That’s it. I’m done. I’m not opening another book again.’”

“I was stunned,” Orit said, her throat tightening. “I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. But Yossi told me clearly: his years in yeshiva had been hard. ‘Why?’ I tried to ask, barely able to speak. Yossi just shrugged. He said learning Gemara was a struggle, the letters blurred before his eyes, and he couldn’t focus. He had only stayed in yeshiva to get a good match. Now he wanted to work the land.”

Orit’s tears came freely now.

“Yossi was determined. Within two weeks, we moved to the moshav, and he started working on a tractor. He doesn’t open a Chumash, not even a Mishna, and certainly not a Gemara. He barely manages to pray three times a day with a minyan—he’s in the fields all day long.”

The Rabbi listened quietly, his heart wide open.

“What can I do?” she asked, crying. “I dreamed of a home full of Torah, but my husband is just a simple farmer. What example will our children have? Will our home rely on a tractor?”

Maybe the Rabbi could have told her that even such a home, filled with honesty and effort, could raise good and upright children. But Orit wasn’t asking for a general reassurance. Her heart wanted something more. She yearned for a Torah scholar.

Rabbi Pinkus gently told her, “Daven. Daven with all your heart.” And then he walked into the shul.

"How Did a Man of Earth Become a Man of Torah?"

Years passed. Once again, Rabbi Pinkus visited the same moshav. He stopped by the synagogue. A few men were learning at that hour, and one young man caught the Rabbi’s attention. His eyes were glowing with a special light. The Rabbi couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew him.

“Shalom Aleichem,” said the Rabbi warmly, shaking his hand. “What’s your name?”

The moment he heard it, Rabbi Pinkus knew—this was Yossi. The same Yossi who once slammed his Gemara shut. The tractor driver. Orit’s husband.

Yossi then asked the Rabbi a question from the Daf Yomi, the daily Talmud study cycle. The Rabbi was taken aback by the depth of the question. Yossi was clearly learning seriously. They sat down together, opened sefarim, and learned the topic in depth. When Yossi thanked him warmly, the Rabbi was still in awe. Was this really happening?

Almost without thinking, the Rabbi found himself walking toward Yossi’s home. He gently knocked on the door. He had to know: How did this happen? How did the man who once plowed fields become a man who now plows through pages of Torah?

Orit opened the door. She seemed surprised, but not confused. The Rabbi had been the one to tell her what to do, after all.

And she remembered that night—the night everything changed.

Yossi had fallen asleep, exhausted from a day’s work. The moshav was quiet, the sky dotted with stars. Orit stepped out onto the balcony and let the tears flow. Speaking simply, like a daughter to her loving Father, she whispered:

“Ribono Shel Olam… I want a Torah home. I want a husband who learns. Please, in Your great mercy…”

Then her voice cracked. Her tears spoke what she couldn’t say. They flowed down her face, wetting the balcony railing she held. She stood there for two hours, pouring out her heart in prayer.

The next morning, she got up and resumed her new daily task—davening. Yossi was in the field with his tractor, and Orit was in her room with her siddur. She closed the door and let her tears speak again.

“Hashem, please put a love for Torah in Yossi’s heart. Help him want Your holy Torah. Fill his soul with Your life-giving blessings.”

This was her routine—every day. Even when there was no sign that anything was changing. Even when Yossi seemed content in his new life. Orit stayed warm, supportive, and never complained. She just davened. That’s what the Rabbi had told her to do.

Two years went by.

And then… one evening, Yossi walked in with a strange expression on his face. “There’s a shiur on Ein Yaakov tonight,” he said. “I thought I’d check it out. Is it okay if I skip dinner?”

Orit wanted to laugh and cry at the same time but she just smiled and nodded.

After a week, he said, “You know, I think I could have dealt with my learning difficulties if I had the right help. What do you think about hiring someone to learn with me?”

Orit's heart sang. Her smile said yes before her mouth did.

Some time later, Yossi came home and looked at her with serious eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You married a husband who brings home a paycheck, but my soul… my soul longs for Torah. I want to learn full-time. I want to sit in Hashem’s house all the days of my life.”

And then it came, tears, again. The same tears that had faithfully stood beside Orit for months on end. The tears of longing had now become tears of joy.

Orit shook herself out of her memories. The Rabbi was still waiting for an answer.

“How did Yossi’s heart change?” her heart cried out, “Didn’t the Rabbi himself tell me daven. So I did. That’s all.”