The First Dance
By: Rabbi Ron Yitzchok Eisenman
Congregation Ahavas Israel
Passaic, NJ
Everyone was silent as the Bar Mitzvah bachur approached the Shtender.
Yanky was the final speaker of the evening.
Both families were Chashuva mishpochus with a long line of yichus behind them.
His paternal grandfather was well known not only as a lamdan, but he was also a pikeach, a person of insight.
Bochurim came to him for eitzos and hadracha (guidance).
On his mother’s side, his grandfather was heralded as a baki-b’shas and was known to have finished the Daf Yomi cycle five times.
Both grandfathers had already spoken at the Bar Mitzvah.
All that remained was for Yanky to speak, and then there would be dancing.
Yanky approached the Shtender nervously.
He held tight to the crumpled sheets of notebook paper, his pshetel, which he had buried deep into his new (and only) suit pants.
He would deliver the pshetel in Yiddish.
He had pre-arranged with his classmates to interrupt him during the speech to facilitate his need to avoid embarrassment.
As soon as he started, his friends began to sing.
However, his grandfather stood up and thundered, “do not interrupt.”
The boys were silent, and Yanky continued in his sing-song voice.
Finally, he finished.
All that was left was for Yanky to say the requisite “thank-yous.”
Yanky switched to English and thanked his parents and grandparents, his rebbeim, and his menahel.
And then, to everyone’s amazement, Yanky, instead of returning to his seat, continued to speak.
“Dear Totty, Mommy, Zaide, Bubbe, Zaidy, and Bubby. You have all asked me what I wanted for my Bar Mitzvah, and I have always answered, “I’m good.”
However, I changed my mind today, and I now know what I want.
The thing I want most at my Bar Mitzvah is to dance together with my two zaydes and my father, and all my uncles on both sides of the family in one big circle. That is the only thing I want. I want to feel like every other boy in my class on his Bar Mitzvah.”
The Simcha-hall fell silent.
The elephant in the room had suddenly materialized.
The terrible rift in the family precipitated by his parent’s bitter divorce four years ago was now on display.
The uncomfortable reality of the two sides of the family sitting separately, garishly ignoring each other, was now exposed for all to view.
The plan for each side to form two distinct circles under the guise of “Covid restrictions” was now revealed for what it was, a thinly-veiled attempt by each side to avoid having to have contact with “them.”
The room was eerily quiet.
No one moved, and no one spoke.
Everyone froze in their seats.
Suddenly, shy, quiet, introverted Yanky looked at the bochur at the keyboard and faintly said, “Please play.”
The keyboarder began a leibidig tune; the adults sat shell-shocked.
And then bashful, self-effacing Yanky walked over to his Zaidy and pulled him to the dance floor.
He then moved to the other side of the room, grabbed his mother’s father, and led him to his Mechutan.
Each grandfather looked at the other one.
The disdain they felt for each other was visible and palpable.
They each felt they had been wronged by the other.
Each one knew they had Daas Torah on their side.
Their only thoughts were of settling the score.
But then it happened.
Yanky pulled both grandfathers around in a circle.
At first, begrudgingly, they acquiesced under coercion to semi-shuffle/dance.
Yet, when they saw the smile on Yanky’s face, a smile which was gone for over four years, the animosity and hostility they had held on to for too long suddenly melted away.
As Yanky’s face radiated with happiness, it finally hit them.
They finally awoke to the reality that all of their Dinei Torah, their posturing, their getting letters from various Rabbonim, their claims of doing Daas Torah, their (absurd) assertions that they were only acting for the Kavod of Hashem, had accomplished just one thing.
It had destroyed the life of a thirteen-year-old boy named Yanky.
The true victim of their fighting L’Shem Shomayim was their grandson, who now, for the first time in four years, was smiling.
Miraculously and amazingly, Yanky’s father and all his uncles on both sides joined into one large circle.
Yanky’s face beamed with joy. His radiant countenance blazed as the entire room was aglow from the light of Yanky’s smile.
Tears flowed freely from the eyes of the women who clustered near the Mechitza to watch this miracle in progress.
The music was loud, the pounding of the men’s feet on the dance floor was almost deafening.
Yet, if one listened carefully, above the din of the dancing, you could hear the footsteps of Mashiach coming closer.
Submitted by daily reader, N.