Humility And Schmulke Bernstein

Rabbi Eisenman 

Rav Dovid Feinstein Zt"L, who passed away a few weeks ago, was undoubtedly the most self-effacing Rosh Yeshiva in the country.
Although he was recognized after his father's death in 1986 as the Posek Acharon (the final arbiter) of halacha, he was a humble man who avoided the limelight as much as others seek it out.
After Rav Moshe Zt"L passed away, if I had any difficult halachic question which needed a definitive answer, 145 East Broadway was the address of where I would obtain my answer.
After I married, I would often spend Friday mornings at the yeshiva and attend Rav Dovid's Parsha Shiur.
In the early 80s, the shiur was still taking place in the very cramped room known as the library.
It would eventually move to the Beis Medrash to accommodate more people.
After Mincha, anyone could approach Rav Dovid (I never recall there being a long line) and ask him any question you wanted. He always answered in his sweet, soft-spoken humble manner.
However, I am getting ahead of myself and must back up ten years and tell you how I first met Rav Dovid.
In the 1970s, the go-to place to purchase anything Jewish was the Lower East Side of Manhattan.
You could eat lunch at Schmulka Bernstein, which was an eating experience never duplicated.
It must have been the first (and for many years) the only Kosher Chinese restaurant in New York.
The Asian waiters wore a sort of Chinese Yarmulka with tassels running down the little hat's side.
You could order Chinese food such as "moo goo gai pan" or "lo mein Bernstein," which was often the "special" of the day.
One aspect of the restaurant in particular, which thankfully has never been replicated, was the unique way they seated their patrons.
Imagine if you and your wife entered and were looking forward to a quiet dinner. You informed the maitre d' that you needed a table for two. More often than not, the maitre d' would seat you at a table that could accommodate four people, yet two of the four seats were already occupied by other patrons!
You were eating your "moo goo gai pan" next to a fellow eating pastrami on rye.
Before long you were involved in a heated discussion with your heretofore unknown table mates, and you and your wife never had that quiet conversation.
However, that was fine as that was part of the fun of eating at Schmulka Bernstein.
It was an experience not soon forgotten.
One fine day after eating my plate full of Lo Mein Bernstein while sitting next to a man and his date (which did not seem to be going too well), I decided to daven Mincha at MTJ.
I was bothered by an important question and hoped that perhaps Rav Moshe Zt" L would be at the yeshiva.
Alas, by this time, Rav Moshe was davening in his home, and access to him was limited.
I figured if I could not ask Rav Moshe, I would ask his son Rav Dovid who, as of then, I had never met.
I arrived at the yeshiva, and Mincha had already finished.
I decided to call home and inform my mother I would be home later than I planned.
There were two phone booths outside the Beis Medrash.
One was unoccupied, and in the other one, a man with a bent down hat and a regular suit was speaking to someone with the door to the booth ajar.
I put my hand in my pocket, and all I had was a quarter. I figured if the man next to me had the door open, he would not mind an interruption.
"Do you have change for a quarter?"
While continuing his conversation, he fished through his pockets and gave me three nickels and a dime.
I dropped the dime in the phone and proceeded to call home.
I then went into the Beis Medrash to find Rav Dovid.
I asked one fellow, "Do you know where Rav Dovid is?"
He said, "After Mincha, someone yelled out, "Rav Dovid, you have a phone call." Maybe he's still on the phone."
As I went to the hallway, I saw that the man with the bent down hat was now tinkering with the candy machine which sold, among other treats, Goobers, and Raisinets.
I figured he must work at the yeshiva as he had the unique key to open the candy machine.
"Excuse me, but do you work here?"
He replied, "Yes, I work here; how can I help?"
I asked, "Do you have any idea where the Rosh Yeshiva Rav Dovid is?"
Without missing a beat and without the slightest hint of hubris, he answered, "The Rosh Yeshiva is at home now and is not here. However, my name is Dovid. I am not the Rosh Yeshiva, however; perhaps I could help you?"
I looked closely at his face, and suddenly, it became clear.
That face, that smile, the humility, I was standing in front of Rav Dovid Feinstein himself!
As I attempted to mumble an apology, he said, "You did nothing wrong. You asked me if I worked here, and indeed, I do work here. What's there to apologize for?"
I stood there stunned as I realized I was witnessing the grandeur of humility.