Why did he feel so guilty, like he needed to do teshuvah more than anyone else in shul?
“We have to ask for zechusim. We have to wait for them, to see them when they come, to realize how fortunate we are and grab them. Mamesh grab them with both hands.” The rav paused, looking around the crowded shul. “Grab them like precious treasures.”
He pounded the shtender and a tissue box fell to the ground, causing a mild commotion.
It took half a minute, but he resumed. “We’re going to begin selichos in a few minutes, and part of what we have to do teshuvah on is letting zechusim slip through our fingers.” The rav lifted his hands and spread his fingers apart. “They come to us, we look away, and then someone else gets them. Because make no mistake, the Ribbono shel Olam has other shlichim, He will make sure that His will is carried out, the question is only if you will be the one to have the zechus of doing it…”
The rav was quiet then, and no one moved: he wasn’t a young man, and his voice wasn’t loud, but Avi Korman — and every other person lining the tables in shul — knew that the Rav meant every word, that the pain was real and raw.
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