A few days later, one of them texted me: “Just did it— $6,500 order, sent $650 to a kollel I support. I’ll sleep better tonight”
I’Ma father of five and a partner in a growing business. I’m not a rav or a rosh kollel — I’m just someone who sees, every single day, the widening gap between our communal aspirations and our financial infrastructure.
Every Wednesday morning, I learn b’chavrusa with a yungerman named Motti. He’s 32, sharp, humble, and committed. He learns full-time, supports four children, and drives a Toyota that shakes when it idles. We learn in a converted dining room next to his kitchen. Sometimes his five-year-old sits on his lap, repeating after him as he reviews the daf. Motti never asks for help. But it’s clear: The margins are tight, the pressure is real, and he is holding up a world.
Later in the day I might walk into a meeting where the table is set with hand-rolled sushi, single-origin pour-over coffee, and delicate French pastries arranged like jewelry — every detail curated, every item whispering comfort, abundance, and care.
And I think of Motti’s cracked Formica table.
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