Rabbi David is a silk avrech at one of the kollels in the Har Nof neighborhood of Jerusalem.
Early in the morning, before the people in the fields open their eyes, Rabbi David is already sitting peacefully in the Beit Midrash with many books of halakhah open before him, eagerly digesting rulings and laws from most parts of the Shulchan Aruch.
In the long period of time, from the time he arrived at the Beit Midrash until the official Seder began at nine in the morning, he had already managed to finish and carefully study old and ancient responsa, as well as pamphlets and booklets on Halacha from contemporary authors.
As the Seder begins and the group members arrive, he joins the topic being studied with the books still open in front of him, waiting for moments when the group will not be by his side.
The avrach Didan is well-versed in all aspects of halacha and is the first address to which the avrachim in the beit midrash turn with any questions that are not related to the subject being studied.
At these moments, his blessed talents are revealed as he answers a question with insight and understanding, as if he had been absorbed in this issue until now. And perhaps that is true.
Rabbi David was well-versed in all the subjects of Torah and Halacha, and it is almost needless to say that he even circumcised his sons, being well-versed in the details and grammar of circumcision. He also slaughtered the chickens for the atonement himself, and wrote and arranged his tefillin and tefillin houses alone.
The young man has earned all these blessed titles from our acquaintances, and he is only in his mid-thirties. Perhaps if I had known him a few years earlier, you would have heard the same things about the thirty-year-old young man.
But Rabbi David has a serious problem.
A very big problem, because of which his sons were not accepted into the fancy kindergartens in the neighborhood.
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Rabbi Shimon is an excellent avrechi in the Beit Vegan neighborhood of the capital.
He knows the house and the children best on Shabbat. Every day, from early morning until late at night, he is away from his small home, making a living for himself by working on issues of the Gemara throughout the Shas.
For years and years he has been navigating the depths of Halacha, traveling somewhere between Nehardea and Pompadita, between Abiy and Rava, Shmuel and Rabbi Yochanan - with the tractates of the Shas flowing on his tongue page after page with amazing proficiency.
His sons grow up in the image of a father who labors in Torah and is versed in moral wisdom, whose fear of God is his treasure and whose pearl of Halacha is his vessel of delight. His home is a house of assembly for the wise, and a place of delight for those who labor in morality and fear.
Rabbi Shimon also has a serious problem.
A very big problem, because of which his sons were not accepted into the fancy kindergartens in the neighborhood.
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Did you guess? Oh my gosh, if so.
Both Rabbi David and Rabbi Shimon belong to the Sephardic sector. Franks, not you.
When they came to register their children for the kindergarten system (!) at the beginning of the year, they received a little tip from the compassionate principal; they were both told (what a rare coincidence) that this year's space was completely limited and that it was definitely worth "looking for a suitable alternative" right now, because it was just a waste of precious and important time.
But a 'suitable alternative' has not yet opened in the two neighborhoods, and the students embarked on the fight of their lives.
As those entrusted with the duties of the Torah, it was important to them that their sons be educated specifically within a Torah framework and breathe the air of the heights of Torah and reverence, and therefore the desire and longing to place their sons in educational institutions was in their souls.
Their trouble and efforts were in vain. The registrar's ears automatically closed every time the names of the students came across his desk, and the rejection was final.
Yeshiva heads, neighborhood rabbis, municipal officials, kollel heads and other influential figures who came to ask and beg for the souls of the young children – were not even answered.
When I was asked to try and understand the essence of rejection - I was horrified!
Nothing prepared me for the harsh sentence I heard from the kindergarten principal. It turns out that the pressure took its toll and an official notification was almost issued to the parents about the child's acceptance, but the principal happened to see the child in question (in one of the two cases above), and things started to get complicated.
"The boy is too dark!" he said, and I almost fainted.
Like that, without thinking twice, without checking whether he was standing in front of a healthy person who was capable of hearing such vain and spiteful words, and most importantly – without fear. The words were said calmly and peacefully, as if we were busy buying horses for the annual Leipzig fair.
Faced with such a powerful argument, I remained speechless, and simply got up and left in the middle of the meeting.
I repeatedly checked my arms from all directions, making sure I was the right color and hadn't ruined the esteemed manager's appetite for lunch.
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