It was Friday afternoon.
I had just finished Mincha at Zichron Moshe.
It was hot and it was getting late.
As I exited the Shul I noticed the little girl of about six years old. She was riding a scooter down Rechov Chofetz Chaim, the small street on which sits one of the most famous Shuls in the world.
Zichron Moshe is more than a Shul; it is a world unto to its own.
There are truly holy and pious men there who daven from the siddur as if this is first time they are approaching davening.
You also find at Z.M. a host of people who are simply attracted to it because it facilitates their need to have a ‘Minyan on Demand’.
The Shul is in operation as close to 24/7 as possible. The only times there is not a Minyan going on is the ten minute break between the last Mincha and the first Maariv and perhaps another twenty minute gap between the last Maariv and the first Shacharis.
In the course of 24 hours there must be well over one thousand people who traverse its simple structure.
The décor has not changed much in the last fifty years.
With the exception of air conditioning units which will operate for twenty minutes if you place a five Shekel coin in the slot, the furnishings of the once magnificent structure can be described as retro-yeshivash-chassidish circa 1964.
As one looks down on the worn and dog eared tiles on the floor, one sees the impact and impression made by hundreds of thousands of Jews over the last 75 years who have pleaded with Hashem to watch over them and their families.
The little girl is still speeding down the street.
Suddenly, about twenty feet from the ‘entrance opening’ (there are no doors to this Shul) she hits a small pit. She falls from the scooter and screams, “Imma, Imma!”
I watch as most people who are arriving and exiting the Shul continue on their way, seemingly unaware of the hurt little Jew.
I begin to head in her direction.
The man I am with comments, “She’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
But I cannot ‘go’.
I approach the scene and ask a man nearby, “Do we know where her mother is?”
He tells me that someone who knows the family went to call the mother.
My companion again urges me to leave. I say, “I must wait here, I cannot leave.”
A woman passes by and attempts to comfort the girl; however, she continues to cry and refuses to be consoled.
For a third time I am encouraged to move on. “There is another woman with her; it’s Erev Shabbos, let’s move on.”
I remain fixed in my place.
Finally after a few more minutes of waiting, a young mother comes running down the street as she wipes her hands on her apron. She embraces her daughter and as soon as mother and daughter are reunited I turn to my friend and say, “Come, let us go; it’s getting close to Shabbos.”
As we walk he turns to me and asks, “Why were you so insistent on remaining until her mother came? There was another woman there and we saw she was really not hurt. What could have happened in the three minutes it took for the mother to arrive?”
In my mind I recalled how once Rav Moshe Feinstein Zt”l- as he entered his building – noticed a non-Jewish child who was left unattended. Rav Moshe insisted on remaining until the mother came. Although time was the essence of Rav Moshe’s life, he explained to his attendant who questioned the necessity in waiting, “Kinder darfn Shmira.”
However, those thoughts remained in my mind and to my Yerushalmi acquaintance I simply asked, “Did you ever hear of Leiby Kletzky?”
Too often we find the time for what we need; yet, we cannot spare two minutes to make sure a little Jew is safe.
