The Skulener Rebbe, Rav Yeshaya Yaakov Portugal ztz”l
There was a man who lived in Montreal, a thin man with a black beard and glasses who learned in kollel all day.
If you spoke to him, he would stoop forward in humility, bending toward you to let you know he was all yours, in the manner of the Amshinover Rebbe or Rav Asher Arieli.
You could see him walking the streets. If you happened to be driving, and you pulled over to offer him a ride, he might take the glasses out of his pocket, squinting through the car window and see who it was.
His face would light up when he saw that it was you — whoever you were, because you were a Yid, and that was reason enough for joy. If he accepted the ride, he would climb into the car and shower you with brachos, telling you just what a favor you were doing, making you feel like your car coming down the street at this moment was an act of kindness unequaled since the moment of creation.
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