My Rabbi, My Candyman

The Job of a Rav is more than Derashos

I am my shul’s Candyman. Throughout davening, kids will take the
few steps up the podium to my seat and, depending on their age, will
either stick out their hand or request a candy.
If it is leining or kaddish I have them wait along with me, and read
along with me, teaching them the seriousness of talking at certain times.
But this is not why I embrace this role.
Once a child is of speaking age, they know that they will only get a
candy if they name the parshah, leading to some tots yelling out
‘T’tzaveh!’ before they even say ‘Good Shabbos’!
As they get older, my candy-questions become age-appropriate. “What
is the parshah about?”, “What came first the mishkan or chet ha’egel?”,
etc.
While a great way to get to know the kids, this too is not why I chose
this role.
Rather, the two main reasons are to create a girsa d’yankusah.
For one, these are dangerous times in which these same kids will soon
grow into teenagers. The day may come when they will be tested, when
two paths will appear before them. Friends, temptation, or technology
may provide enticement to one path, with no fair competition against its
luring pull.
At such moments of trial, almost no teenager will be thinking of a
drasha, of some distant words of inspiration once shared by their rav.
However, maybe -just maybe -their mind will allow for an image of their
Candyman. In our generation, true feelings of chibuv/love and an earnest
sense of affection toward a the rav of your youth is essential.
Well over a decade ago, I met an old friend who left yeshiva during
high school and who had been MIA for a long time. His exact living
situation and state of religiosity was a mystery whenever his name came
up among friends. He wasn’t wearing a yarmulka, and the rest of his
look seemed to confirm my worst fears.
We spoke about his childhood -which suffered from severe trauma. It
went unspoken, but this no-doubt best explained his pained spirit.

He then shared something unbelievable: “While I would not say I am
still frum, however, you should know that in all these years, I’ve never
once been michalel Shabbos”.
I had the very same questions running through my head as the reader
does right now, however, I’ve learned, in these situations one keeps
quiet and let’s the speaker speak.
He went on to explain by sharing that when he was a little boy, and his
private trauma (non-abuse) was unfolding, a rav was asked to consult,
Rav Gedalia Felder, tz”l.
He was so little at the time, and so in awe of the rav, that as he began to
share his pain he started to cry. “I then noticed the rav crying in reaction
to my pain. This only made me cry more. This in turn made the rav cry
more. At the end of the meeting all that was gained was two people
crying – a child in agony, and a rav in aching from that child’s pain.
“No matter what I’ve done, no matter where I’ve been, no matter how
much I’ve fallen, whenever I am about to break Shabbos I think of Rav
Felder’s tears. I don’t know if I still believe in Yiddishkeit, but I still
believe in him because he believed in me”.
This leads to my second reason for serving as the Candyman.
Not only do I want the children to feel I care about them, I also want
them to know I am accessible. If they learn to approach me when they
are young, it will be far easier when they grow up.
For this same reason, on my halacha exams at Shevach High School in
Queens, I offer an extra credit at the end of every exam -told to them in
advance: that each share a shailah they asked their rav, or any rav who
is not related to them and who does not work at the school. I urge this
because, Sadly, too often, people are too shy or afraid it is not important
enough to call a rabbi.
I often share with my wife, “I’ve rarely been called on a taanis by
someone who feels sick yet for whom the psak is that they still need to
Fast. This is because most people are too shy, afraid, embarrassed, or
reticent for a host of reasons, to even ask the shailah, and those that are
sick enough to actually pick up the phone probably should have done so
hours ago!”.
In our generation especially, being aloof can be risky.

There is an old saying that as much as a rav is annoyed by getting a
call during dinner, he is more annoyed not getting a call during dinner.
If one wishes to enjoy the rewards that come with rabbanus, he must
make the sacrifices too -and let people know he is accessible.
Such is our task in this role.
It is little sacrifice if done out of love, and doesn’t hold a candle to
what true gedolim must endure.
As the Rambam expressed to his student:
Now G-d knows that in order to write this to you I have escaped to a
secluded spot, where people would not think to find me, sometimes
leaning for support against the wall, sometimes lying down on account
of my excessive weakness, for I have grown old and feeble. With regard
to your wish to come here to me, I cannot but say how greatly your visit
would delight me, for I truly long to commune with you, and would
anticipate our meeting with even greater joy than you. Yet …Do not
expect to be able to confer with me…for even one hour either by day or
by night, for the following is my daily occupation. I dwell at Misr
[Fostat] and the Sultan resides at Kahira [Cairo]; these two places are
two Shabbath days’ journey [about one mile and a half] distant from
each other. My duties to the Sultan are very heavy. I am obliged to visit
him every day, early in the morning; and when he or any of his children,
or any of the inmates of his harem, are indisposed, I dare not quit
Kahira, but must stay during the greater part of the day in the palace. It
also frequently happens that one or two of the royal officers fall sick,
and I must attend to their healing. Hence, as a rule, I repair to Kahira
very early in the day, and even if nothing unusual happens I do not
return to Misr until the afternoon. Then I am almost dying with hunger.
I find the antechamber filled with people, both Jews and Gentiles,
nobles and common people, judges and bailiffs, friends and foes — a
mixed multitude, who await the time of my return. I dismount from my
animal, wash my hands, go forth to my patients, and entreat them to
bear with me while I partake of some slight refreshment, the only meal
I take in the twenty-four hours. Then I attend to my patients, write
prescriptions for their various ailments. Patients go in and out until
nightfall, and sometimes even, I solemnly assure you, until two hours and more in the night. I converse and prescribe for them while lying
down from sheer fatigue, and when night falls, I am so exhausted that
I can scarcely speak.
In consequence of this, no Israelite can have any private interview
with me, except on the Shabbath. On that day the whole congregation,
or at least the majority of the members, come unto me after the
morning service, when I instruct them as to their proceedings during
the whole week; we study together a little until noon, when they depart.
Some of them return, and read with me after the afternoon service until
evening prayers. In this manner I spend that day. I have here related to
you only a part of what you would see if you were to visit me…I beg that
you will come to me but not with the hope of deriving any advantage
from your visit as regards your studies; for my time is, as I have shown
you, excessively occupied.
(Translation by Isadore Twersky)