By Dovid
Sears
Rabbi
Yaakov Kalmanovitch, better known as “Reb Yankel Melamed,” zatzal, was a
well-known Breslover Chassid in Yerushalayim who passed away during the 1990s at
an advanced age. He earned his nickname because for much of his life he worked
as a teacher (melamed) of young boys, especially at the Eitz Chaim Yeshiva. One
of his pupils was my teacher, Rav Elazar Mordechai Kenig, zatzal, leader
of the Breslov kehillah in Tsfat. In his old age, Reb Yankel would spend
the months of Elul and Tishrei in the Kenig home, where he slept on a day-bed
in the one room that served as dining room, living room and library. He was the
Baal Shacharis in the Breslover kibbutz in nearby Meron on Rosh Hashanah for
many years, and also led part of the Yom Kippur service in the Breslov shul on Rechov
Yud-Alef in Tsfas. I was zokheh to meet him during that period. Reb
Yankel was a “chassidisher yid” to his bones, with a crusty Yerushalayim
personality, a razor-sharp sense of humor, and the yirah one saw on
his face while he was davening was something I will never forget.
He’aras
ha-Ratzon
In 1990, I went to Uman for Rosh
Hashanah (my third trip and second Rosh Hashanah there), and continued on to
Tzefat for Yom Kippur. Among other things, I wanted to confer with Rav Elazar Kenig
(hereafter “Reb Elazar”) in Tzefat about a crisis (which B”H fulfilled the saying,
“Gam zeh ya’avor… This too shall pass”). I remember pacing the
cobblestone streets of Tzefat in the orange lamplight with Reb Elazar and my
friend Reb Shlomo Aharon Gottlieb (yibadel bein chaim li-chaim) for over
an hour, discussing the problem from various angles. Reb Shlomo Aharon eventually
departed, and Reb Elazar and I slowly made our way to his house on Rechov
Chasam Sofer.
As we entered the dining room, I saw
an elderly Chassid lying on a stained sheet on the day-bed beside the table.
Reb Elazar greeted him warmly, calling him “Rebbe.” The old man responded in
turn, somewhat mischievously calling Reb Elazar “Rebbe,” and with effort sat up
and adjusted his clothing. I recognized him as Reb Elazar’s childhood teacher,
Reb Yankel Melamed, who had led the Rosh Hashanah shacharis prayer in
Meron the one year I had been present (1988). Reb Elazar helped him to the
table, while Rebbetzin Kenig served the honored guest supper.
“Reb Yankel,” my teacher continued, “here
is a Jew who just came from Uman, and he has a problem. I can’t do anything
with him. Maybe you can make him bi-simchah!” With these words, Reb Elazar
departed, leaving me alone with Reb Yankel Melamed.
“Reb
Elazar is a groiser tzaddik (a great holy man)” Reb Yankel commented,
preparing to eat his repast. Then he looked at me fixedly. “Obber zein
rebbetzin is gohr gresser . . . But his wife is much greater!”
Deliberately, the elderly Chassid
lifted a spoonful of what we Americans call “Israeli salad” to his lips,
spilling half of it on his clothes, closed his deeply lined, bloodshot eyes,
and fervently recited a brochah. Then he slowly placed the food in his
mouth, chewed it and swallowed, as I watched in silence. The next few spoonfuls
were consumed with equal deliberation and mindfulness, until at some point he
took notice of me again. Perhaps just to make conversation, he commented, “The
Rebbe says that when one eats he can experience a he’aras ha-ratzon (an awakening
of the deepest inner will of the soul)…”
“I
know,” I replied. “But I’m a plain person. What does the Rebbe mean by ‘he’aras
ha-ratzon?’ “
Reb Yankel looked at me in undisguised
contempt (at least, that’s how I interpreted it).
Again, he lifted a spoonful of Israeli
salad to his lips, stopped for a moment, rolled his eyes heavenward, and
suddenly emitted a deafening Breslever krechtz: “O-O-O-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y!!!!!!”
So that was he’aras ha-ratzon!
I was surprised the plaster ceiling didn’t
fall down.
I hastily thanked him, left the room,
and hurried out of the house and down the dark alley into the street. As I
entered the yellowish lamplight, I saw Reb Elazar waiting for me in the shadows
of a nearby doorway.
“Reb
Elazar, what did you do that to me for?” I exclaimed.
“What
did Reb Yankel Melamed tell you?” he asked.
“He
gave me a lesson in he’aras ha-ratzon!”
Reb
Elazar couldn’t help chuckling. Then he became silent. So did I. In the
distance, a baby was crying; otherwise the streets were still.
“Do
you hear that baby crying?” Reb Elazar mused. “That’s how you have to cry to Hashem…
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