Photo Credit: Mushki Brichta / Wikimedia Commons
As the bidding for Kol HaNearim began, Yechezkel Rosenberg* sat nervously in his seat.
His thoughts were focused on one question: ‘Would he be able to purchase Kol HaNearim?’
His mind drifted back to a vanished world, back to Hungary, sitting beside his father in shul on Simchas Torah.
It was 1944, and Yechezkel and his father were in Budapest under the threat of death.
Somehow, their Shul was still functioning, and fifteen men risked their lives to come.
As they reached Kol HaNearim, all eyes turned to Yechezkel.
At twelve, he was the only under-bar Mitzvah boy present.
Yechezkel felt uncomfortable being the only boy to go up for Kol HaNearim.
As his father wrapped him under his Talis, he whispered, “Chezky, I know you feel uncomfortable going to Kol HaNearim alone. However, you must understand that this Aliyah is precious. I want to give you a Brocha that in the Zechus of your allowing the Kehilla to fulfill Kol HaNearim, you should always be privileged to be the one to purchase Kol HaNearim when this horrible war ends!”
Yechezkel obeyed his father; together they approached the Torah with trepidation.
His father covered him with his Talis, and they recited the Brochus in unison.
The entire Shul sang HaMalach HaGoel, their Yom Tov Simcha mixed with their tears and sobbing, filling the cavernous, near-empty Shul.
As they returned to their seats, his father grabbed his son’s hand and said, “Yasher Koach.”
His father added, with tear-filled eyes, “I should be Zocheh to give you a Yasher Koach for this Aliyah again!”
That was the last day Yechezkel and his father would be together in a Shul.
Five days later, on October 15, the hated Arrow Cross took power. By the time Soviet troops liberated Budapest in 1945, Yechezel’s mother and father were among the Kedoshim killed Al Kiddush Hashem.
Yechezkel arrived in America in 1947 and took a job in the garment district, saving every penny he could.
He moved into a cold-water flat in Brownsville on Hopkinson Avenue.
When he had time, he would snatch a few minutes of learning at Yeshivas Rabbeinu Chaim Berlin, which had acquired the seven-story former Municipal Bank Building at Pitkin and Stone Avenues.
In 1949, at seventeen, he purchased Kol HeNearim in a small Shul in Brownsville for $4 to fulfill his father’s hope and promise.
This would be the first of his decades-long mission to make his father’s Brocha a reality.
Yechezkel eventually married Hindi, also a survivor, and after saving money, he opened a successful haberdashery on Pitkin Ave.
Yechezkel always hired workers who were Shomer Shabbos and could not find employment.
They eventually moved to Flatbush, raising four children in their parents’ Mesorah, and were privileged to walk each down to the Chupah and see much Yiddishe Nachas from them and their families.
Yet, one thing never changed, whether they were in Brownsville or Flatbush, Yechezkel would set aside money every year to fulfill his father’s Brocha and purchase Kol HaNearim.
That was until this year.
This year would be the 75th straight year that Yechezkel was planning on purchasing Kol HaNearim.
Yet, at his wife’s insistence, he had agreed to leave his Shteibel in Flatbush and spend the last days of Yom Tov with his married grandchildren in their upscale suburban neighborhood.
Would he still be able to purchase his coveted Aliyah?
The bidding was beginning.
Yechezkel was aroused from his memories as the gabbai announced $1000 for Kol Hanearim.
Yechezkel offered his bid; however, in seconds, the bidding soared to levels unheard of in his Flatbush Shteibel.
As he observed the bidding reaching what seemed like stratospheric money, Yechezkel sadly resigned himself for the first time in many decades to being an observer and not the recipient of the Aliyah.
How could this be?
This would have been the seventy-fifth consecutive year; however, what was he to do? His bid was thousands of dollars below the winning donation.
He attempted to console himself with the thought that the Shul would receive much more needed funds than he could ever offer.
Suddenly, his grandson said, “Zaidy, listen!”
The gabbai thundered again, “Yaa’mod R’ Yechezkel ben R’ Shlomo L’Kol HaNearim!”
Yechezkel was shocked and confused, and as he did in 1944, he approached the Torah with trepidation and shock.
How was he called up for Kol HaNearim?
As the Aliyah concluded, Yechezekl inquired of the gabbai as to who had purchased the Aliyah for him.
He assumed his grandchildren or son-in-law had purchased the Aliyah; however, the gabbai pointed to a man neither Yechezkel nor his family recognized.
As he walked down from the Aliyah, Yechezkel paused to thank the man who purchased the Kibud.
He was curious and puzzled as to the identity of this man.
Yet, before he could ask, “Why?” the young man quietly said, “R’ Yechezkel, In 1958, you hired my grandfather to work in your clothing store in Brownsville. It was the only job he could get. He always spoke about that kindness. Before he passed, he told me he always wanted to buy you Kol HaNearim to show his gratitude, yet you always outbid him. Today, Hashem allowed me to pay back my Zaydie’s debt. Thank you and Yasher Koach!”
Yechezkel was speechless.
He recalled the last time he went up for Kol HaNearim without buying it.
That was eighty years ago in Budapest when he went up alone.
Yet, he could not ponder the past for too long, as he was soon surrounded by his children and grandchildren, joined by all the men of the Shul, all requesting a Brocha from the man who loved Kol HaNearim.
Yet, as meaningful as all the dozens of people gathered around him and attempted to shake his hand and say Yasher Koach, none came close to the most cherished Yasher Koach to reach his ears.
As R’ Yechezkel ben R’ Shlomo HY”D reached his seat, he suddenly felt his father’s hand holding him.
He then heard his father’s faint yet clear voice echoing in his ears from decades ago, waiting eighty years to hear these words:
“Yasher Koach.”