This week for the first time in a long while I saw the Levi in shul once again.
Perhaps he’d been away or maybe for the last long while we’ve just been davening at different times. Whatever the case I was happy to see he’s well. I owe a lot to the Levi because he taught me two important life lessons.
Several years ago I began to notice that on Mondays and Thursdays one particular older gentleman was being called up to the Torah as a Levi more frequently than usual. But it wasn’t just the frequency that made it curious; it was also I noticed that he seemed to wait for the aliyah almost longingly. He’d sort of put himself forth for it ever so slightly which probably had something to do with the fact that the gabbai would choose him more often than his fellow Leviim.
On those occasions when the gabbai chose someone else it seemed to me — though granted I may have been reading more into this than was really there — that the Levi felt let down a barely perceptible expression of disappointment crossing his face.
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