How Did the Rabbi of Ponovezh Console the Holocaust Survivor Who Lost His Children?

A story about an elderly Jew who devoted his life to serving the students of the Ponovezh Yeshiva. With love and dedication, he scrubbed its floors, polished its railings, and shined its windows. He was a Holocaust survivor. He alone was spared. His wife and children remained there, in the valley of despair. Alone and isolated, he ascended to the Holy Land, and as he came by himself, he remained by himself, withdrawn and silent about what happened 'there,' but internally, great storms of gloomy thoughts and burdensome reflections about the destroyed world stirred within him. From time to time, a melancholy would spread throughout his being. His broken heart could not contain the terrible pain. Sadness and dull grief twisted around his delicate soul and threatened to choke his spirit.

In times of crisis, he would turn to the Rebbe of Gur, of blessed memory, the 'Beit Yisrael,' pouring out his heart and soul, and the Rebbe received him with kindness, listened to him, and instilled in him strength until the wrath passed, only for it to cycle again..

It was on Simchat Torah. The yeshiva students danced vigorously with the Torah scrolls, and among them was Rabbi Kahaneman, of blessed memory, the head and founder of the yeshiva. On the side stood that elderly attendant, clapping his calloused hands with excitement while moved by the dances, the joy of the Torah, and the delightful students who danced delightfully in honor of the Torah. As the smile was still on his face, the images of his small children passed before his spirit's eyes. Faces full of childish joy, innocence, devoid of deceit and cunning. Pure and holy Jewish children who were murdered in their purity and holiness. His hands slowed their clapping until they stopped entirely. His smiling facial muscles slackened and turned into a grimace, and his body began to tremble at the sight of a terrible vision that came to his mind – what if, if his beloved children had not been murdered by the Nazis, may their names be erased, surely they would now be dancing with zeal and celebrating the Torah..

Sparks of joy would flash from their eyes, and he would join them, shoulder to shoulder, dancing with joy and enthusiasm. If they had not been murdered. Now their young ashes are scattered somewhere. The tears ever-ready to provide solace to his weary eyes began to overflow, and his legs carried him heavily to the Rabbi of Ponovezh. A bitter and great scream came from his mouth: "Rabbi! The children!" No more was needed. The Rabbi of Ponovezh himself had lost his wife and children during those dark days, and both wept on each other's shoulders for what was and what could have been..

Soon after, the Rabbi of Ponovezh raised his head and said: "It is not for them that we need to cry. They were murdered for the sanctification of Hashem's name and ascended to lofty and exalted levels; their rest is in the Garden of Eden, enveloped in eternal happiness. They are in the company of the righteous, holy and pure. We need to cry for ourselves, who remain here in this world; it is our responsibility to ensure that the lives granted to us as a gift by the Creator of the world are indeed used for their true purpose. If we fail to properly utilize even one day we are given to live here, are we not destroying it and reducing it to ash until it becomes nothing?!"

The Rabbi of Ponovezh embraced the melancholy attendant, and they began to dance together, slowly. Tearful eyes and dancing feet. The dance spread and filled the face of the melancholy man until his face resumed its smile. There is still work to do in this world. Each day is a gift. The legs moved, students joined, and the circle grew, and the dances increased, and the message imprinted in the hearts of those present was passed on to future generations: every day is a gift that must be properly utilized..

Courtesy of the 'Dirshu' website

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