“Are you also going to tell me I’m crazy, like my brother?” he asked me. “Don’t take sides here. You have no idea what’s going on.”
As told to Fayga Pearlstein
For years, typical Sunday mornings in kollel would find me at my regular place on the bench, nose buried in my Gemara, waiting for my chavrusa Simcha to show up. He’d eventually waltz in and flash his trademark smile, lighting up the room with his presence.
I was a stickler for punctuality, Simcha was blessed with an easygoing personality. He was an energetic go-getter who had trouble sitting still, I was soft-spoken and diffident. He always wanted to be involved in the latest hock, I preferred to lurk on the sidelines. His mind was sharp and quick, I took the methodical and thought-out approach.
Our contrasting natures made us perfect chavrusas. We would always chat for a couple minutes, open our Gemaras to the place where we’d left off the day before, and before we knew it, morning seder was over.
Simcha and I went back a long way. We’d been chavrusas ever since yeshivah katanah, and we were still together in kollel, both newly married and shteiging away.
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