A VISIT TO RAV SHTEINMAN

I won’t soon forget the anticipation of that visit. And I sure hope my kids won’t either.

We were on an epic trip to Eretz Yisrael – our kids’ first-ever visit to the Holy Land – in honor of our son’s bar mitzvah. And appropriately, we were on our way to Bnei Brak for a special visit to several Gedolim, names that until now, had been the stuff of books and divrei Torah.

“We’re going to visit Reb Chaim Kanievsky? Rav Shteinman?” our seven-year-old asked in astonishment, his eyes round saucers. “Are we also going to see the Chafetz Chaim?”

I was too queasy to respond, thanks to our driver’s less-than-timid maneuvering techniques (par for the course on an Israeli highway) and the fact that I was squished onto a two-passenger seat with several more than that beside me (par for the course for a budget-conscious tourist). But as our other children chuckled, the oldest kindly explained the specifics of our visit to her curious brother. His enthusiasm was not curbed when he realized that our itinerary would not, in fact, include a visit to the Chafetz Chaim.  

“I can’t wait to tell my Rebbi!” he continued. “We’re going to see real, live tzaddikim! That’s why we’re in Shabbos clothes, right?”

We had planned for the trip to take place immediately after a photo session at the Kosel, which had worked in our favor. The kids were all dressed in their finest, spotless and eager despite the early hour. It was an appropriate way to make our way into the homes of those legendary names my daughter had listed.

As we pulled up on Rechov Chazon Ish, our driver reminded us that our first visit would be to Rav Shteinman, zatzal. “Rav Shteinman is not well,” he said. “I will try to get us in, but I can’t promise that it will happen.”

I’ll tell you the truth: I don’t remember how long we waited, if my husband went alone with the driver to attempt the appropriate introductions, or if my sons went along. I don’t even remember if my girls and I were planning to go inside with them.

What I do recall in perfect clarity is the look in our young son’s eyes when we pulled up in that too-small car, and he realized that this was where a real Gadol Hador lived. That these were real people, and he, Yossi, would have the chance to meet them.

I remember the enthusiasm and wonder of all our children when they realized all that.

Here’s the thing about our visit to Rav Shteinman: It didn’t happen.

The famed Gadol was not feeling well, as it turned out, and visitors were not allowed in at just that time.

Our driver was sorely disappointed to let us down.

But I had already gotten part of what I’d come for.

When you are a parent, there are some things you want to teach your kids, above all else.

You want to teach them that Torah is the most important thing. You want to teach them that they can become whatever they decide to be – but that should still remain the most important thing. And you want to teach them that there are many heroes, but our truest heroes, the ones we are truly meant to look up to, are the ones who epitomize that.

And when there was this almost palpable excitement in the car – this, from young boys who trade football cards with a slightly different sense of awe, but awe nonetheless –  it was a moment of vindication.

All those Gedolim stories I’d read to them at bedtime, all the times I showed them photos and tried to connect them to the divrei Torah offered at the Shabbos table – they got it.

When I shared the news of Rav Shteinman’s petirah with my children, my youngest remembered.

“That’s the Rav we tried to visit, right?” she said.

We did visit  other Gedolim that day in Bnei Brak – including Rav Chaim Kanievsky, shlita, and Rav Nissim Karelitz, shlita – may they live and be well.

But even though we didn’t make it into the home of Rav Shteinman, the connection had been made.