No Good Reason

The unspoken consensus was that there was no reason for Hersh to be so high strung. Sure, he was a Survivor, but were not they all?

As told to Rayzel Reich

To these Boro Park chassidim the shtiebel was home. Ancient wooden doors opened to old walls pitted floors rickety railings alongside sloping stairs worn wooden benches and faded siddurim. The immigrant kehillah had built this place with devotion in their hearts and little in their pockets. Cozy and cheerful it was a place for praying with song dancing with joy of little boys with shining eyes and long peyos who ran underfoot of teenagers swaying in learning alongside the older scholars. Everyone was united by a unique camaraderie that came of shared joys sorrows jokes and winks. Or perhaps not quite everyone…

Hersh Frankel* was simply a loner.

You could usually find him sitting alone at a table quietly learning or davening. When the beis medrash was full and he couldn’t avoid the crowds he sat at a table with others. But he was alone then too wrapped in his own world. The cohesiveness that bound them all simply slid off his shoulders leaving a pocket of cold air around Hersh and his sefer.

That’s the way he wanted it.

If you got too close you paid the price. Annoyed he would look disapprovingly over his glasses at the man who had the audacity to disturb his privacy. In a polite but annoyed tone the conversation would quickly be terminated.

Children weren’t so easily kept at bay. Children in the shtiebel ran talked laughed and generally got involved in everyone and everything. Hersh would have none of it.