Ki Tavo – Rav Avraham Pam and The Gift of Time
This week’s parashah, Ki Tavo, begins with the mitzvah of
bikkurim—bringing the first fruits to Yerushalayim. The farmer didn’t just
deliver the fruits. He made a declaration, retelling the story of our people:
“Arami oved avi”—from Lavan chasing Ya‘akov, to the slavery in Mitzrayim, to
Hashem redeeming us with a mighty hand.
Why? Because gratitude is not just giving—it’s
remembering. We don’t only thank Hashem for the fruit; we thank Him for our
history, for those who came before us, for the gift of time itself.
And that brings me to a story.
Rabbi Yaakov Moskowitz once shared a remarkable story he
heard directly from Rabbi Ya’akov Mills, the rabbi of Young Israel of Memphis.
Rabbi Mills had learned in Yeshivat Chofetz Chaim in Queens before his
marriage. Every Shabbat, he and a few fellow students would travel to Brooklyn
to staff a group home for men with special needs. During the week they had
nurses and aides; on Shabbat, these bochurim became their companions—bringing
them to shul, singing zemirot, and sharing meals.
In that home was a man named Baruch. He was about seventy
years old, with developmental disabilities, but very much part of the Shabbat
table. One Friday night, Baruch asked if he could share a devar Torah. Of
course, they encouraged him. He stood up, spoke some words about the
parashah—not very coherent, but heartfelt. Everyone applauded: “Yasher koach,
Baruch!”
And Baruch smiled and said, “I’m so glad you liked it.
You know… Rav Pam also liked my devar Torah.”
At first, they thought it was just his imagination. Week
after week he would repeat the pattern—say a few words, get cheered, then
insist, “Rav Pam also liked it.” They assumed he had once seen Rav Avraham Pam,
the Rosh Yeshiva of Torah Vodaas, maybe even shook his hand, and in his mind,
Rav Pam “liked” his Torah.
But Rabbi Mills was curious. One week he arrived early on
Friday afternoon. And to his shock, he saw Baruch holding the phone, delivering
his devar Torah. Rabbi Mills tiptoed upstairs, picked up the extension, and
listened. He heard Baruch conclude—and then he heard a warm, gentle voice
respond:
“Baruch, that was such a beautiful devar Torah. Thank you
so much for sharing it with me.”
It was the unmistakable voice of the gadol hador, Rav
Avraham Pam, zikhrono livrakhah.
Rabbi Mills later investigated. He discovered that
Baruch’s family had once davened in Rav Pam’s shul. And for thirty years—every
single Friday afternoon—Rav Pam had picked up the phone, listened to Baruch’s
devar Torah, and encouraged him.
Think about that. Thirty years. On Erev Shabbat, when the
Rosh Yeshiva of Torah Vodaas—shouldering the worries of the Jewish people—had a
thousand demands on his time. He still made time for one lonely Jew.
That is bikkurim. Hashem gives us the gift of time, and
the question is: what do we give back?
Sometimes we say, “I’m too busy.” But if Rav Pam could
carry the burdens of Klal Yisrael and still make time, can we not give a few
minutes to lift someone’s spirits, to call a friend, to listen to a child, to
be present for another Jew?
And when we do, we fulfill the blessing in this week’s
parashah:
“וְשָׂמַחְתָּ בְּכָל־הַטּוֹב אֲשֶׁר נָתַן לְךָ ה׳ אֱלֹקֶיךָ
וּלְבֵיתֶךָ”
—“Then you will rejoice in all the good that Hashem your
God has given you and your household.”
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