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There was a rabbi who became famous for rebuilding Torah after World War II. He was known as the Ponovezher Rav. He built the Ponovezh Yeshiva in Bnei Brak, which became tremendous. He raised money for that yeshiva all over the world. Today they have so much real estate they barely need to raise funds, but back then he traveled constantly to support it.
One time after World War II, he flew to Johannesburg, South Africa for a fundraiser. They made a dinner and people gave donations. The next day he was going through the envelopes and checks. There was one envelope that had, by far, the largest amount. By far. He could not believe the number he was looking at.
He said, “Who is this person?”
There was no name on the check.
Back then, in the 1950s, you could go to the bank and find out which account a check came from. Today there are all kinds of privacy laws, but back then it was different. His people went to the bank and found out the man’s name and address.
The rabbi said, “I need to visit this man.”
He got a driver and they began driving. And they kept driving. Out of town. Farther and farther. They arrived at a run-down shack area outside Johannesburg. The rabbi said to the driver, “Wait here. I’m not sure how this is going to go.”
He went to the man’s small home and knocked on the door.
The man opened and said, “I was waiting for you.”
“What do you mean?” the rabbi asked.
“I knew that after a check like that, you would come find me. Let me tell you my story.”
He said, “When I was a little boy, my father passed away. My mother had only one dream — that we should learn Torah. That was all she wanted for me and my siblings.
“She hired a rabbi to teach us privately. We had no money, so she paid him with the milk from the one cow we owned. We would sell the milk and use that money to pay him.
“After some time, the cow went dry. My mother said it must just be temporary. She begged the rabbi, ‘Please continue teaching. As soon as the cow gives milk again, you’ll be the first one paid.’
“A month passed. Still dry. She asked for another month. Nothing.
“Finally the rabbi said, ‘I love teaching your children. But I have my own family to feed. I can’t continue without payment.’
“So my mother did the only thing she could. She gave him the cow — our only possession — for its meat. She gave everything so we could continue learning.”
The man paused.
“When I heard you came to town to rebuild Torah after the war, I said, ‘This is my chance.’ I sold everything I have and put it all into that one check. So I hope you didn’t come for more. I have nothing left. That is everything.”
Then he said something powerful:
“That’s all we’re here for. We put all our chips on the table and we bet on one thing — on Hashem.”
We’re not here to listen to him or to her. We’re not here to be distracted. We’re here to follow one Boss.
I’ve said this message before, and I’ll say it again, because we need it in our heads constantly. That’s why we pray every day. Not once a week. Not once a month. Every day. Because every day we forget. And every day we need to remember.
In the beginning, Hashem was like a groom coming out to greet His bride, the Jewish people. But after the sin of the Golden Calf, things changed. Now when Hashem knocks, it doesn’t always feel sweet. When we get knocked down, when something hard happens, we don’t ask, “Why is this happening to me?”
It’s happening because Hashem made the world this way.
Hashem made the world challenging.
Hashem made the world in a way that He is speaking to you through it.
He made the world so that you must ignore all the other masters — and follow one Boss.
That’s the message.