Yechi someone or other!

Last night Rabbi Nosson Gourarie formerly of Buffalo, now of Monsey, came to farbreng in yeshiva. He was quite good, one of the old style, one of the guys people who make fun of farbrengers make fun of, the type of guy who tells it like it is and doesn't care to curse people out, including some of the head honchos of our organization. When it was all over I was getting a drink of water from the water fountain and mentioned something to a friend. The good Rabbi happened to be walking by, and he asked me what I had said. I answered, "I said that it's impossible to blog a farbrengen." He asked me what a blog was, and I explained that it was a type of website. "So the farbrengen is not on the web?" he asked, and I confirmed that statement. I'm not sure he understood what I was saying though. He was relieved that this particular Chassidic gathering wasn't going on the world wide web, but I don't think he comprehended my essential point. You see, it's easy enough to parody a farbrengen online, but to transcribe the real thing? It's impossible, for one simple reason: there's no food online. Alcohol you can do without, but food? It's just not happening.
Anyway, I suppose I could try and cover some of the main topics. Essentially, he called for us to become real. Again, if I use the words he used, it'll sound like I'm making a joke of the whole thing, which is exactly what I'm trying to avoid. I know that I rarely take anything seriously, but sometimes, you know, these things can't be avoided. When a rabbi is accusing you of subverting the entire existence of the group you most closely identify with, it's difficult to remain unaffected. Oh sure, I still made my smart comments in the back, but they were only half-hearted attempts.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Rabbi Chaim Schapiro, leader of Morristown Machon L'hora and defender of the faith, got into another verbal altercation with the mikveh bochur. Unfortunately, it only lasted a few minutes, because I had to ask a halachic question regarding spoons, but, as I said to the Bochur later, "Yasher Koach, you've given me what to blog about." See, as Lubavitcher Chassidim, we have the custom to say, in grace after meals, "Harachamon hu yevarech es adoneinu moreinu v'rabbeinu." This bochur first wanted to know if this was halachicly acceptable, and then where the source of it was. When he learned that in fact it was common practice to add all sorts of personal prayers to the standard as laid out by the men of the great assembly, and that this particular request was laid out in the book of customs of the Lubavitcher Chassidim, he pressed on, much to my delight and Rabbi Schapiro's annoyance. At least, that's what it looked like to this reporter. He asked, "Do you say it still?" The answer was in the affirmative, and the next question was the $64,000 one: "Why?"
Rabbi Schapiro, that paragon of wisdom, comprehensible sense, and incomprehensible classes, paused, and, allowing the tension to increase to a bursting crescendo of passionate eloquence is an ancient and hackneyed plot device, said several immortal words: "I don't know." The bochur was understandably flabbergasted, and he proclaimed for everyone in a three table circumference to hear, "You mean you do things that you don't understand?" "Sure," said the Rabbi, "I never pretended to know everything. If you want, I can give you some biurim, i.e. it's spiritual, or something like that, but honestly, I don't know."
At this point my chavrusa started getting antsy, and he called me back to our place to continue shteiging. I told him that I was waiting to ask my questions about spoons. Rabbi Schapiro turned to me and said, "No you weren't, you were listening into my bubbe maisos, but nu, ask your question," which I did; the answer, by the way, was that it's (whatever it is) talking about the head of the spoon, not the handle.
Be that as it may, I still found the conversation to be quite interesting, and I hope you did too.C