The sweltering Jerusalem heat on that late summer day 13 years ago only served to aggravate the overwhelming jetlag culture shock and language barrier. Was five months of excited planning shopping and packing all for this? How soon could I turn around and go home?
One meeting would change my attitude — and those of the other new arrivals — forever. Following directions from passersby I found the Rosh Yeshivah’s house with relative ease. A large group of future talmidim was already waiting to meet with him.
We were ushered in as a group and I began to wonder if I would have to deliver my shtickel Torah in front of the entire group — a daunting prospect under the circumstances. But a glance at the man sitting — or perhaps trembling would be more accurate — at the head of the table had a calming effect on us.
Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel looked around the room with a smile on his face. He addressed each boy individually asking him what his name was and which yeshivah he had learned in previously. Then he gave us each a slip of paper effectively declaring us talmidim of Yeshivas Mir Yerushalayim.
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