Fatalism - belief in the power of fate, the belief that all events are predetermined and that man has no power to change them. [A dictionary of many words].
As a person who believes in the ability to choose and in divine providence, I do not share the fatalistic view that sterilises a person's ability to take their destiny into their own hands, and yet an incident that happened to me quite a few years ago, from time to time, brings up reflections in me that allow me to understand the rationale behind the slightly modified fatalistic belief - I must admit.
This was during my studies at one of the leading small yeshivahs in Jerusalem.
As in every small yeshiva, the yeshiva's young men would approach the pillar in turn, and the reading of the Torah on Shabbat, Mondays, and Thursdays was also divided among the young men who were the best at reading.
Exceptions were the High Holy Days and the five fasts. On these days, an elderly Australian Jew, an elderly Jew who used to attend the yeshiva from time to time, was honored with the Torah reading, and was considered the 'master reader' on 'special occasions'.
How did the old man gain the calling?
Some said that even during the Ottoman rule in the Land of Israel, the man used to read from the Torah on the 10th of Tevet and on Yom Kippur, and some attributed the first reading of the man of no age to the early 17th century, or in other words, to the discovery of the Australian continent by the English.
In any case, for the past twenty years, the man has faithfully read his Torah readings in our yeshivahs, never missing a single Esther fast.
So what was the problem?
It turns out that in the 17th century they liked the reading of Rabbi Gershon, that was the name of the Australian, which was not necessarily true in the twentieth century, or more precisely, in the late twentieth century.
The slow reading, the annoying melody, and the repetition of words in the terrible accent of the one who refused to die, also irritated the nerves of the 'tough' Spanish boys [from Nahlaot] who had already dealt with people with different types of reading skills.
In the early days, I would enjoy correcting the man who was making quite a few mistakes, but I quickly realized that even this hobby was supposed to end after ten to fifteen minutes. Not after 30 minutes.
The argument that Rabbi Gershon's reading "breaks" the fast was also irrelevant, since I always felt an inexplicable thirst upon finishing the reading. Later, it became clear to me that this is a well-known biological phenomenon.
Nechomi, a friend who suffered from diabetes and never fasted, said that after Rabbi Gershon's reading he always drank a gallon of grape juice. While he couldn't point to a causal connection between the two events, his boisterous drinking immediately after mincha made everyone uncomfortable.
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Two years passed, and the 17th of Tammuz arrived.
It was a hot day, the humidity was in the air, and the fast seemed longer than ever. We remembered the Mincha prayer, and especially the eternal words, "And Moses greeted his God," as recited by the immortal Rabbi Gershon, and we were suddenly able to connect with the Jews besieged in Jerusalem 2,000 years ago.
On the other hand, we, five young men, decided that this time we would pray in Albert's synagogue, who surprisingly, despite his Moroccan first name, had a Polish last name - Glaxbald. Mincha at his place was at 1:15, and we knew that immediately afterwards we would be able to take a long afternoon nap until the end of the fast.
Albert welcomed us happily, as besides him there were three indifferent Jews present in the shelter that served as a synagogue, and we brought the count to nine. We waited in anticipation for the tenth to arrive. And he did arrive, with a great noise – Rabbi Gershon, the Australian who shook the hand of Alexander the Great.
If this story were not completely true, I could not have made it up.
Albert smiled at him, and Rabbi Gershon immediately told him that he was a reading master. Glaxbald promised him that he would be our 'reading master,' and only then, after this matter had been arranged to his satisfaction, did he look at us and seem to recognize us: "Aren't you from the yeshiva?" He asked, and without waiting for an answer he said: "I happened to pass by, and I wasn't feeling well, so I decided to join. It's not too bad that one day the yeshiva will manage without Rabbi Gershon's reading. You've been blessed by the lack of a man.".
There were exactly ten of us, and Albert was standing at the entrance. It was impossible to leave the shelter, and then, in the longest minutes of my life up to that point, I understood for the first time the exact meaning of the term fatalism.
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