Most of all, however, Rabbi Trenk was full of love
I
t was a warm Friday in May 2000 when I brought my 12-year-old son Tuvia to Adelphia, to see if the yeshivah was a proper fit for him.
The rosh yeshivah, Rav Yerucham Shain, was warm and accepting. He informed us that before Tuvia could be officially accepted, he should meet with the ninth-grade rebbi, Rabbi Dovid Trenk. When we asked where Rabbi Trenk’s office was, Rav Shain replied, “Let’s just say he has a mobile office.”
In a matter of minutes, a large man came rambling down the path from the dormitory to the beis medrash on a dirt bike. He came to a halt as a cloud of dust rose around him, and quickly dismounted. “You must be Tuvia! I’ve heard all about you. Perhaps you’re hungry? I think there’s some cold French toast in the kitchen I could get you. Should I bring you a piece?”
Both Tuvia and I were speechless as we met, for the first time, the man Tuvia would quickly refer to as Rebbi and I — albeit ten years later — would do the same.
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