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January 06, 2005
Ariel and Daf Yomi
In the summer of 2001, Rabbi Yosef Furman asked Ariel to take over his Shabbos Daf Yomi, Daily Talmud class, here in Los Angeles. Rabbi Furman was on vacation for a few weeks. Initially, Ariel hesitated; modest to the core, he did not believe that he was learned enough to teach Gemara to a group of scholarly and dedicated adults. Karen and I gently reminded Ariel that if he was thinking of going into Jewish education, this would be a perfect opportunity to start honing his skills as a teacher. Besides, we told him, you are an incredible talmid chacham, scholar, definitely up to the task.
And so, in addition to his already heavy learning schedule, Ariel began to prepare for the upcoming Shabbos and his first Daf Yomi class. After he went over the daf, he studied Rashi and Tosafos. I reminded Ariel that in Daf Yomi we don’t really delve into the commentaries, but perfectionist that he was, Ariel said, “Yes, but I have to understand the Gemara if I’m to teach it and do a good job.” Ariel was more than prepared; he was hyper- prepared.
Shabbos: As we walked to the Beis Midrash-–at the time it was in the Washington Mutual Bank on Pico Boulevard–-Ariel fretted that maybe he wasn’t really the right man for the job.
“Who do I talk to?” he asked.
“Try and maintain eye contact with everyone, just do a slow scan around the table, and then do it again.”
“What happens if I have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the shiur?”
“Go right before class begins, and then if you have to again, just excuse yourself. They won’t hold it against you.”
“What happens if someone asks me a question and I don’t know the answer?”
“Admit that you don’t know, but you’ll look it up and have the answer at the next class.”
“What happens if I faint?”
“What’s wrong, are you okay?”
“Just kidding, Dad.”
The men at the table were familiar: friends and neighbors, all with warm and inviting expressions. Several men were strangers, but Ariel knew them from the Beis Midrash and whispered to me that they were Torah scholars and knew so much more than he did. "Relax," I told him, "you’ll do fine."
My stomach was churning with the anxieties of a loving and doting father.
Ariel opened the Gemara, scanned the page, looked up at the dozen or so men at the table and smiled. He thanked them for giving him the opportunity to learn with them. And then Ariel plunged right into the Gemara. He chanted the text in the traditional sing-song used for countless generations. Ariel translated the simple meaning of the passage; his words and explanations flowed like water over smooth stones. I really didn’t hear what he was saying, for I was so relieved, so happy. I was so proud that my senses seemed to shut down. Is there a greater nachas for a Jewish father than to witness his son transmitting the mesorah so beautifully, with such love and exactitude? Is there anything more disorienting than for a father to realize that he is no longer his son’s teacher, for his son has far surpassed him?
A difficult sugya absorbed everyone’s attention. But Ariel managed to make sense of it. Abruptly, a respected man asked an intricate question. Clearly, a difficult point needed to be clarified. Ariel hunched over his Gemara; Ariel pondered; Ariel furrowed his brow in a most familiar way. He was perplexed. I waited for Ariel to admit that he did not know. Better to acknowledge ignorance than to try to fake it. These men would see through any pretense. The seconds slipped by, and several men shifted uncomfortably in their seats. And then Ariel spoke. His answer was a model of Talmudic erudition, and the man who asked the question smiled, thoroughly satisfied. All around the table, the men looked in my direction and nodded their heads, smiling genially, tacitly letting me know that my son, Ariel, was the real thing, a true teacher of Torah.
Walking home, Ariel said, “How’d I do, Daddy?”
I did not answer.
“Daddy, are you crying?”
“No, no, I’ve just got something in my eye.”
We walked home without speaking another word. There are times when silence is far more eloquent than any language.
Posted by Robert J. Avrech at January 6, 2005 08:47 AM
Comments
Seraphic Secret is private property, that's right, it's an extension of our home, and as such, Karen and I have instituted two Seraphic Rules and we ask commentors to act respectfully.
1. No profanity.2. No Israel bashing. We debate, we discuss, we are respectful. You know what Israel bashing is. The world is full of it. Seraphic Secret is one of the few places in the world that will not tolerate this form of anti-Semitism. That's it. Break either of these rules and you will be banned.
Reading many of your entries about your wonderful son always makes me wonder - do you know of anything that you did as a father you feel contributed to raising such an amazing son?
Posted by: Mordechai at January 6, 2005 11:44 AM
What a fabulous proud moment that must have been!Ariel was a true talmid chachum. He gave a lot of nachas to his whole family.
Posted by: elana at January 7, 2005 02:37 AM
What a fabulous proud moment that must have been! Not to mention a great memory to have. Ariel was a true talmid chachum. He gave a lot of nachas to his whole family.
Posted by: elana at January 7, 2005 02:38 AM
Read your blog today -- lovely, as usual. And again, I didn't have to cry, but I beamed when I read your words. Ariel may be gone, but you really do manage to keep him, his exuberance, his wisdom and his "erlich Yid" persona alive.
Posted by: Pearl at January 7, 2005 09:53 AM
In your relating of this story, you captured some of the most memorable aspects of Ariel's personna.
He was brilliant,yet very modest and his smile
could spread sunshine around the room. I remember
him well.............with love
Posted by: T.P. at January 8, 2005 08:58 AM