WHICH SHOE COMES FIRST?

BS"D Here is a great story taken from the book “Visions of Greatness” – Volume 2, by Rabbi Yosef Weiss, page 193. (Reprinted with permission)

The following story is related by Rabbi Reuven Tillim: At the turn of the twentieth century, the yeshiva did not yet exist on American soil. The only source of Jewish education available was the Hebrew day school, where dedicated rabbanim (rabbi’s) often labored to inject a little enthusiasm for the Jewish religion into boys who were more interested in daydreaming, playing baseball and enjoying all the diversions of the “free world”.

Rabbi Yochanan Berman (names are fictitious) was among the many selfless men who left the comfortable sphere of Jewish life in New York to settle in cities with tiny Jewish populations in an effort to spread Torah and yiras shamayim (fear of Heaven). Reb Yochanan was determined to seize the opportunity to teach his students as much as possible. When the school year started, he soon established a healthy rapport with the boys in his class. They listened respectfully as he outlined the code of Jewish law and explained all the halachos (laws) that they needed to know.

One day, Reb Yochanan began to teach the section of halachos that deals with the proper way to put on one’s clothing in the morning. “The right shoe is put on first, then the left,” her old the boys. “There are many instances in the Torah which show that the right is more important than the left”.The students nodded dubiously.“However,” Rebi Yochanan continued, “we tie the left shoe first. Even though the right side is more important, tying begins on the left. Tefillin (the straps and boxes that men and boys put on from the age of bar mitzvah) is our proof of this, as it is tied on the left arm.”

Reb Yochanan paused and looked around the classroom. The glazed looks on the boys’ faces were a clear indication of their lack of comprehension.

“It seems trivial to you, doesn’t it” Reb Yochanan asked gently. He shook his head “I can’t emphasize enough that there is no such thing as a trivial halachah (Torah law). All the laws that HaShem gave us are important, even if our human minds can’t understand it.”

That night, the principal of the day school received an exited phone call from an angry parent.“What kind of school is this anyway?” the father sputtered. “I send my son Philip to your school to learn a little about Judaism and his teacher has to waste time telling him to put his right shoe on before his left one! And then he’s supposed to tie the left shoe first?! Why do you have teachers telling the kids such nonsense?”

The principal, who didn’t know what the man was talking about, tried to calm him down. “Rabbi Berman is a very wise man and an excellent teacher. Your Philip enjoys his class, doesn’t he?” “That’s not the point!” Philip’s father snapped. “I don’t care how much Philip likes the teacher if the teacher is going to go around telling him ridiculous things. If that’s the kind of teachers you hire, I’m pulling my son out of the school and sending him somewhere else where he can get a real education!”

“Let’s not be hasty,” the principal said in a conciliatory tone. “I assure you that I’ll investigate the matter thoroughly and review Rabbi Berman’s qualifications”. He spent several minutes longer mollifying Philip’s father, then hung up and called Reb Yochanan immediately. “Look, here, Rabbi Berman. Are you really teaching the kids that they should put their right shoe on first and then tie the left one before the right?”

Reb Yochanan was taken aback by the question. “Well, yes, I am. Why, what’s wrong?”The principal scowled at his telephone receiver. “What’s wrong is that parents don’t like it. Can’t you teach the boys something that makes a little more sense?”

“I’m sorry,” Reb Yochanan said firmly, “but I can’t allow you to say that the halachos don’t make sense. I didn’t make that up; it’s halachah. Go look it up, if you don’t believe me.”Unfortunately, the principal was not particularly committed to Torah values and knew little about the intricacies of halachah. “Look, Rabbi Berman. I can’t have you upsetting the students’ parents like this. If you can’t teach something a little more normal, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the school.”

This was a heavy blow for Reb Yochanan, who had pinned great hopes on his ability to teach the young boys of the community about Yiddishkeit. Still, he felt he had no choice; he could not commit himself to avoiding any halachos that might “offend” the students’ parents. Sadly, he resigned from his position and left the city to find another job.

Philip’s father allowed him to complete the year in the Jewish day school, but without any truly religious teachers on the staff, Philip gained little respect for Yiddishkeit. He attended a public high school and went on to complete his education in college. By that point, even the most basic concepts of Yiddishkeit were long forgotten. His upcoming marriage to a non-Jewish woman was ample testimony of his cut ties with the Jewish religion.

A few weeks before his scheduled marriage, Philip awoke one morning and began to get dressed. Sitting on his bed, he put on his right shoe, then his left. As he began to tie his left shoe, he suddenly realized what he was doing. Shocked, he remained frozen in plan, his mind racing wildly.Why had he put on his shoes in that manner? He pictured himself as a gangly eleven-year-old boy, sitting in Rabbi Berman’s class and listening to his teacher explain why the right shoe is put on first and the left shoe is tied first. All those years, he’d been putting on his shoes in just that way!“And why am I doing it?” he said aloud. “Because I’m a Jew.”Philip remained sitting on his bed for a long, long time, lost in thought. Then he reached for the phone and called his wife-to-be. When she answered the phone, Philip quietly explained that he would not be able to marry her.“I’m sorry, but I’m a Jew,” he said apologetically but firmly, “I can’t marry outside my religion.”

Philip did not stop there. He started a long chain of phone calls, contacting his old day school principal, other teachers, and several others before he finally managed to obtain the phone number of Reb Yochanan Berman. With shaking fingers, he dialed the number and waited for someone to pick up the phone.“Rabbi Berman? This is Philip. Philip Rosner, your old student. I-I just wanted to tell you….I was about to get married to a non-Jewish lady. Today, for some reason I found myself remembering the laws you taught us, about which shoe to put on first. It reminded that I’m a Jew, and I’ve called off the wedding. I’m going to make it my business to learn more about being a Jew and come back to G-d.” Philip took a deep breath. “I owe it all to you, Rabbi. Thank you. I’ll never forget you.”

He waited for some kind of response, but Reb Yochanan was speechless, his eyes swimming with unshed tears of emotion. Who would have imagined that a lesson taught so many years before could have such a powerful impact?

“Rabbi?” Philip said hesitantly after several moments. Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Reb Yochanan finally managed to say. “And Philip, I must thank you as well. You have helped me realize something that I don’t think I ever really understood before: the power and holiness of every single word of our precious Torah.”