2020 Vision

It was 1982. I was a newcomer to Eretz Yisrael, having recently arrived in Bnei Brak to learn in the Ponevezh Yeshivah under the gadol hador, Rav Elazar Shach ztz”l. Life was a veritable Gan Eden — until war broke out with Lebanon. We would not even have been aware of the war, as life in yeshivah remained routine. Only the constant clatter of helicopters flying over Bnei Brak on their way to ferry injured soldiers to hospitals in Petach Tikvah and Tel Aviv, as well as emergency Tehillim when a new offensive was to be launched, served as reminders that we were indeed embroiled in a frightening engagement with our enemies.

And then came the awful news that Rav Shneur Kotler ztz”l was niftar. It was assumed a good percentage of the yeshivah would travel en masse to Yerushalayim, and those who normally took charge of such things made plans to order buses that would accommodate hundreds of talmidim. As per protocol, these well-meaning organizers approached Rav Shach, who was Rav Shneur’s cousin, as well as the foremost maspid at the levayah, to sign off on the mass exodus from yeshivah.

The response was a lesson I have carried with me for life. The Rosh Yeshivah declared that there would be no buses, and if anyone felt the need to attend, he should travel by taxi or sheirut. He explained that it was unthinkable that the soldiers who were putting their lives on the line for us, and would be present in the streets of Yerushalayim, should see hundreds of similarly aged boys gallivanting in the streets, as was bound to happen before and after the funeral. It would be such a lack of sensitivity and empathy to contribute to what would be perceived as a lack of nesius ol (shouldering their burden). There would be no masses. Individuals perhaps, but nothing more.

As I alighted from my taxi in Yerushalayim with my American peers, we all took notice of the heavy presence of soldiers, some even carrying their tefillin along with their rifles. Rav Shach was so right. His concern would have been the last thought on my mind. But the gadol hador saw much more than we did. It is not for naught that our leaders are called “einei ha’eidah,” the eyes of the nation. They see what the rest of us do not, and share that vision with those who look to them for direction.