Rabbi Paysach J. Krohn, the renowned mohel and lecturer tells
this touching story in his book, Along the Maggid’s Journey.
Rabbi Avraham Eisenbach, the head of the chevrah kadisha (burial
society) for the Israeli army, has an unusual son, Menachem.
Menachem was born prematurely and suffered numerous illnesses
shortly after his birth, and before long was found to be blind.
Though he seemed alert and quite bright, it was soon discovered
that Menachem was afflicted with yet another severe disability;
he had cerebral palsy, which meant that his walking would be
grotesque and awkward all his life.
Knowing that Menachem
would not be able to attend a conventional yeshivah, the
Eisenbachs sought a school specifically geared to handicapped
children. The only institution available was Achvah, a
government-run secular school. It had excellent programs for
handicapped children, but much to the Eisenbachs chagrin, Achvah
provided no religious education. Nevertheless, Menachem proudly
wore his yarmulke and tzitzis to school every day, and thus his
religiosity was obvious to both students and staff alike.
The
Eisenbachs tried to teach their handicapped son as much as they
could at home about Torah and mitzvos. Father or mother would
daven with the child every morning, and he began to recite
berachos regularly, before and after eating. Every Shabbos,
despite the difficulty, Menachem would walk to shul with his
father, and he soon became familiar with the routine of
Shacharis, Minchah, Maariv, and Krias haTorah (the reading of
the Torah).
Another handicapped student at Achvah was the
granddaughter of a prominent rebbe in Jerusalem, a charming
eight-year-old girl named Yehudis. Yehudis unfortunately
suffered from leukemia, and because she and Menachem were the
only religious children in the class, they became friendly.
The Eisenbachs were very thankful to Yehudis because she went
out of her way to help their blind and crippled son. She would
walk alongside Menachem and carry his books so that he could
steady himself as he slowly and hesitantly limped to class. Both
children progressed in their schoolwork, but Yehudis’s health
began to deteriorate.
When she was absent from school, the
children in the class would worry for her, but Menachem would be
terrified. She was his closest friend, the eyes he had never
had. In her absence, he missed her daily words of encouragement.
Gradually she missed school more and more often, and eventually
she was hospitalized. One dark day she passed away.
Parents
and children in Achvah were devastated by her death, and many
came to be menachem aveil (pay a consolation call). Menachem,
who was ten at the time, went with his father to Yehudis’s
family. Sensing the sadness in the home, he asked to be brought
to the little girl’s mother.
Standing unsteadily in front of
the grieving woman, Menachem said, “Please don’t cry for Yehudis.
She is going straight to Gan Eden. She is with Hashem.”
Containing his own anguish, the youngster continued, “Don’t cry.
She is with all the tzaddikirn (righteous ones).”
Those who
heard Menachem’s high-pitched voice fought to hold back tears as
he concluded, “She was my best friend, but I am happy for her
that now she is in Gan Eden and is healthy.”
A week later,
the school faculty decided to have a memorial service for the
beloved Yehudis. Parents and students were invited to the
auditorium, where they were to be addressed by the principal and
a psychologist who would discuss how to cope with the loss of
such a young child.
When everyone had gathered in the crowded
auditorium, the speakers addressed the assemblage in comforting
tones. When the principal announced the end of the assembly,
Menachem stood up and called out from the back row, “I would
like to say something for my friend Yehudis.”
Startled,
everyone turned around and looked at the blind, crippled boy
leaning on the chair in front of him. It was common knowledge
that Yehudis had been an enormous support to Menachem. The
principal knew that she could not deny Menachem this
opportunity, and so she turned to him and announced, “Please,
Menachem, we would be delighted to hear what you wish to say.”
Down the center aisle Menachem made his way slowly and
laboriously towards the podium. His father walked with him and
guided him up the three steps to the little stage. Menachem took
his position by the podium, steadied himself, and turned his
head first sideways and then upward. He began the words no one
had ever heard him say before or even realized he knew:
“Yisgadal v’yiskadash Sheei Rabba..
Slowly and tediously he
finished the entire Kaddish. It was all he wanted to say.
Menachem couldn’t see that everyone wept.
TOP
