“He has no home, Raizele. I thought you realized that”
“We’re going to Har No-of, we’re going to Har No-of,” Bentzi sang in the stairwell. They’d just finished the second night meal, and now they were going to Raizele’s parents, where they would sleep over and spend the second day.
We’re going to Har No-of, we’re going to Har No-of, Yanky sang inwardly. Thanks to Har Nof, he’d escaped another day of davening in the beis medrash. Instead, he’d be going to a nice, friendly neighborhood shul where he wouldn’t feel all eyes were on him. At his parents’ house last night, he’d told them all with a sigh that “it’s too much for my shver to walk an hour each way to the beis medrash of the chassidus, so he’s davening close to home. I think I’ll have to go and daven with him in his shul.”
“Who says you have to?” Nochumku challenged him. “Plenty of people daven in their usual place even when they’re eating at their shver. You’re young and healthy — it won’t hurt you to get up at a quarter to six and come to the beis medrash. Lots of people walk long distances to daven with the Rebbe.”
“Of course I’d walk, that’s not a problem,” Yanky declared. “But what can I do, the davening is long by us in the beis medrash. And then it takes at least an hour to get to Har Nof. I can’t make them all wait for me so long, it’ll spoil the seudah for them.”
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