ON THE YAHRZEIT OF THE IMREI BINAH, RAV MEIR AUERBACH OF YERUSHALAYIM:

Each day, they gather in Bnei Brak’s famed Yarchei Kallah shul for his shiur. His contagious excitement in a kushya, the thrill he derives from a nuance in the

lashon haRambam, his energetic delivery, all these make his shiur a rare experience: stimulation for the intellect, yet at the same time, a warm, healing balm for the emotions. This man loves Torah, and reveres gedolei Torah; his intimate relationship with the giants of the past generation has provided him with an incredible reservoir of stories and recollections, stories that he shares with

fortunate audiences at different occasions.

When Rav Moshe Mordechai Shulsinger speaks, the crowds of bnei Torah come early, knowing that whatever the topic — a sugya, a shmuess, or even a hesped — he will hold his audience captive.

Rav Moshe Mordechai retold the following story, one pulsating with the ahavas Torah of the protagonists. As is his wont, he managed to transport his listeners to a different time and place…

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In a room in Yerushalayim shel ma’alah, Jerusalem of old, sat an older man learning with a young child, a grandfather and his grandson. The grandfather was one of the leading Rabbanim of the Ashkenazic kehillah in Old Jerusalem, Rav Meir Auerbach, the author of Imrei Binah and former Rav of Kalisch, who was niftar in 1878. His young grandson was Menachem Auerbach, who would develop into a recognized talmid chacham and community leader.

In the later years of the Imrei Binah’s life, his home was the meeting place of the geonei Yerushalayim, and young Menachem loved to come bask in their glory. Each day he would come learn with his grandfather, an experience cherished by both of them.

One day young Menachem entered the room just as his grandfather was completing a chapter in his work, Imrei Binah. He showed the piece to the boy, commenting that he had arrived at a conclusion unlike that of one of the greatest commentators on the Rambam, the Mishneh LaMelech. He explained that though he felt uncomfortable disagreeing with the great Mishneh LaMelech, he felt it was justified, as the Mishneh LaMelech had ruled not in

accordance with a Tosafos.

Then he paused, and placed a hand on his grandson’s shoulder. ‘Listen well, mein kind. If ever someone meets you, and claims that your grandfather hot farzehn (loosely translated as forgot, or missed) a Mishneh LaMelech, tell them that he didn’t. Explain to them, that the Mishneh LaMelech hot farzehn a Tosafos.” Menachem listened closely, and put the incident in the back of his mind.                                 

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Here Rav Moshe Mordechai pauses, and heaves a deep sigh. “To the Imrei Binah, it was the unthinkable. To forget a Mishneh LaMelech? Impossible. Yet, the Imrei Binah wouldn’t actually write in his sefer that there is a Mishneh LaMelech that is not like a Tosafos. As Rav Chaskel Abramsky once commented, “HaKadosh Baruch Hu doesn’t grant a person extra years so that he can point out that someone else forgot a Tosafos.” The Imrei Binah preferred to express his disagreement in the humblest way; by writing not like the Mishneh LaMelech, but without mentioning his name and the forgotten Tosafos. Then, he appointed his grandson to guard this precious bequest, that, chas veshalom, he hadn’t forgotten the Mishneh LaMelech…

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The years passed; the Imrei Binah was niftar, and young Menachem grew into a scholar of note. In those difficult years, the early 20th century, the beleaguered Jews of the Holy City faced starvation on a daily basis, and they were totally reliant on the support of their warmhearted brothers abroad. They would send shlichim to the various communities across the globe, where there were Yidden whose eyes were constantly focused eastward, seeking to alleviate the distress of the holy community in Yerushalayim.

The shlichim were men of learning and purity, fitting representatives of Yerushalayim Ir HaKodesh; men such as Rav Menachem Auerbach.

Rav Menachem was sent to the United States on this sacred mission to procure funds for the hungry inhabitants of Jerusalem. Upon his arrival he was warmly welcomed by a group of American Jews who promised to assist him in every way. However, they told him, it wasn’t the most opportune time to launch a fundraising campaign in their city. It seemed that only a day earlier, the celebrated Rav of Tzefas, the Ridvaz, had arrived on behalf of the Jews in Tzefas, where the situation paralleled that of Jerusalem.

They suggested that, as people lacked the means to give to both of them, he wait a few weeks, and then return. It was late at night, and he was exhausted from his journey. He asked them to take him to a hotel, so that he could rest, before continuing on to another city in the morning. He was shown to his room, and he lay down to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. In the stillness of the predawn hours, there wasn’t a sound anywhere — except for footsteps in the hall, walking back and forth, to and fro. He walked stealthily out of his room and looked to see who was walking outside.

He saw one of the most beautiful scenes of his life, one that would remain etched in his memory years later. The man in the hall didn’t resemble a human being at all, but rather an angel. His eyes shone with an ethereal light, and his imposing figure moved with such energy that he seemed to be dancing. He was obliviousto Rav Menachem’s presence, and continued repeating the holy words of the Gemara, singing, dancing, stopping and thinking, reviewing ba’al peh, from memory, in the darkness of the American night, far from his home and beloved sefarim. The Ridvaz himself.

With reverence and awe, Rav Menachem approached the Ridvaz. The Ridvaz noticed him, and greeted him. “What is your name?”

“I am Menachem Auerbach, from Yerushalayim.”

“Perhaps you’re an einekel, a grandson of the Imrei Binah?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you know, your grandfather missed a Mishneh LaMelech?’ A fire began to burn. A fire that warmed him with the memories of his grandfather’s voice, the room filled with sefarim and talmidei chachamim, and of the Jerusalem of his youth. He spoke quietly, but firmly; fiercely safeguarding the treasure that his grandfather had entrusted him with some 30 years earlier.

“Because the Mishneh LaMelech missed a Tosafos!”

The Ridvaz stopped and stared at him. “A Tosafos?” he asked, “The Mishneh LaMelech missed a Tosafos. Where?” He began to pace back and forth disconcertedly, “Where, where?” Rav Menachem spoke quietly. “It’s in seder Nezikin.”

“A Tosafos in seder Nezikin.” Suddenly the Ridvaz stopped his frenzied pacing and cried out, “It’s in Bava Kamma … daf …!”

And then, he ran over and gave Rav Menachem a kiss. “Tell me, what brings you here?” he asked.“I came to collect for tzedakah.”

“I did as well. But if you are a grandson of the Imrei Binah, who caught the Mishneh LaMelech on a Tosafos, then I will cease collecting.

For the next two weeks I will collect with you …”                                

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The room is absolutely silent as Rav Moshe Mordechai completes his narrative. He recounts how he heard the story and from whom he heard it, and then pauses reflectively. “Unfortunately,” he says, “the one who heard the story from Reb Menachem and related it to me forgot which Mishneh LaMelech and which Tosafos.”

Then, in a voice filled with emotion, he continues. “Now I want to tell you the most beautiful part of the story.” There is a ripple of anticipation in the audience as Rav Moshe Mordechai continues:

“Several years back, I told this story to the children in Talmud Torah Toras Emes, on Erev Shavuos. The day after Shavuos, I opened my mailbox, and I found a note addressed to me, with no envelope or return address. The handwriting was childish, probably from a boy of about bar-mitzvah age or so. This is what it said:

The Tosafos is in Bava Kamma. The Mishneh LaMelech is in Hilchos Matnas Aniyim. The Imrei Binah is in Hilchos Trumos Umasros.

It was unsigned.

I approached the menahel of the cheder, Rav Meir Munk, and asked him to identify the writer of the note. He came back to me the next day and told me that the boy, a resident of Ramat Aharon, went home and told the story to his father, a talmid chacham.

Together, they found the Mishneh LaMelech, the Tosafos, and the Imrei Binah.

I related this episode to a great man, who told me that the addendum is the most touching part of the whole story. A father sits with his son, toiling, searching, finding.

The Tosafos.

The Mishneh LaMelech.

And the Imrei Binah.