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Striving for Gadlus

Tribute to Rav Avrohom Ausband zt”l, Rosh Yeshivas Riverdale

Strauss

Photos: Avraham Elbaz-AEGedolimphotos.com

“If you had to give your future talmidim one message, what would it be?” The Rosh Yeshivah’s gravelly voice echoed through the now empty chuppah room.

Rav Avremel Ausband was sitting with a group of yungerleit, alumni of Yeshivas Telshe Riverdale, at the wedding of a talmid, and—as he often did between the chuppah and dancing—was giving a va’ad to talmidim who were eternally bound to him and the teachings he infused in them.

“Ameilus baTorah,” one talmid said.

“Yiras Shamayim,” said another.

They all offered what they thought was the most imperative message a ben Torah must know. Finally, the room grew silent as they waited for the Rosh Yeshivah to answer the question he had posed.

“Gadlus!” he thundered after a short pause. “Gadlus! That’s what your message should be.”

It was the message he had taught them all along. Gadlus, Rav Avremel taught, is the ability to transcend your surroundings, to rise above the convenient, the easy, and the standard. It means to be great: great in learning, great in tefillah, great in achrayus to Klal Yisrael, and, perhaps most importantly, great in being marbeh kvod Shamayim.

Never enough

He was born into gadlus. A son of Rav Isaac Ausband zt”l, rosh yeshivas Telshe, and Rebbetzin Chaya, a daughter of Rav Avrohom Yitzchok Bloch Hy”d, the Telzer Rav, Rav Avremel was raised in the lap of greatness. He was a child prodigy, too brilliant to attend cheder; instead, he was taught Gemara by his father and the basics of Torah by his mother.

But she taught him so much more than aleph-beis and Chumash. She taught him what gadlus is.

“A groise mentch schlept zeine schnips grois, un shmeert zeine shmeerlach groise—A great man knots his necktie with greatness and smears his butter with greatness,” Rav Avremel would quote his mother. And “a kleine mentch lernt Gemara klein”—a simpleton, even his Gemara learning is done simply.

In other words, nothing is too small or insignificant to be used as an opportunity for greatness.

It was this lesson that he instilled in his talmidim. He was a prime example of how every aspect of life is paramount. Every encounter with him was full of life, zest, and meaning. Every phone call was conducted with the fullest concentration and intensity.

A talmid recalls how the Rosh Yeshivah learned Mishnayos on the day of his father’s yahrtzeit: learning the few perakim Mishnayos, which usually takes a few minutes, took a full two hours.

When he learned a sugya, it would be as if it was his first time learning it. Even when he had given shiur on a sugya numerous times, it was never enough.

R’ Yankel Taub, a talmid, used to learn with him b’chavrusa. One year, he obtained notes from the Rosh Yeshivah’s shiurim from a previous cycle and perused them thoroughly. When he sat down to learn with the Rosh Yeshivah, he was excited that he already knew the outline of Rosh Yeshivah’s mehalach in the sugya. But it didn’t help him at all. Every time he suggested a terutz he had seen in the notes, the Rosh Yeshivah challenged him as if it was his first time hearing the thought. Everything—every aspect of the sugya, every svarah—had to be examined and then polished to perfection.

Had he wanted to give a geshmake shiur, he could’ve taken out his notes and relearned the sugya that way. But the goal wasn’t the shiur, it was the journey: the toil and ameilus that went into each shiur, which brought him joy and contentment.

Every night after Ma’ariv, the bachurim would crowd around his table to discuss that day’s shiur. The rischa d’Oraysa was incredible. The Rosh Yeshivah’s arms would sway wildly as he defended the truth of Torah like a mother bear protects her cubs. This would continue for hours, often until past midnight, at which point the Rosh Yeshivah would head to his office for a short while before returning to beis medrash to learn even more.

One talmid recalls the Rosh Yeshivah screaming at him for suggesting a svarah that was not perfect, while stroking his arm softly to demonstrate that not only wasn’t he angry, he was teaching him with love.

He was renowned as a master and sought-after orator, a spokesman for the Torah and those who toil in it. It didn’t happen by itself. Any speech he gave was prepared and delivered the same way he did everything else—with every fiber of his being.

He built an extremely successful yeshivah, producing thousands of talmidim, many of them now roshei yeshivah and maggidei shiur. He founded kollelim in Monsey, where many of his alumni learned. He started a kollel in Riverdale as well as a morning kollel for the ba’alei batim of the Young Israel community in that city, who, incidentally, revered and loved him dearly. He never stopped building. He was constantly fundraising for the kollelim and looking for ways to build Torah even more.

“Totty, when is it enough?” a son recently asked him, seeing how hard it was getting for him.

“Ich bin nisht gekumen oif dee velt yoitzei tzu zein—I didn’t come on this world just to be yotzei” was the answer.

As a talmid of Telshe, Rav Avremel absorbed the multifaceted derech the giants of that yeshivah forged. This included an unbridled love for Torah, unyielding and never-ending self-growth, and the recognition that one is not here for themselves, they are here on a mission: a mission to do for Klal Yisrael, for kvod Shamayim. Every individual must use their capabilities to the fullest to fulfill the mission they were given.

Riverdale Yeshivah

After his marriage, Rav Avremel settled in Cleveland to continue learning in Telshe under his rebbi Rav Mordechai Gifter. Rav Gifter sensed the potential this brilliant and dynamic yungerman had and sent him to open a yeshivah on the East Coast that would follow the ideals of Telshe.

So began what is now known as Riverdale Yeshivah.

The yeshivah actually began in Westwood, NJ, but it didn’t take long for blatant anti-Semitism to pour out against the fledgling yeshivah. The yeshivah sustained vicious attacks, both legal and actual dangerous incidents, and it was forced to close its doors after only a few years.

While others might get discouraged and dejected, Rav Avremel had an iron spirit and indominable resolve. With the help of askanim, a property was found in Riverdale, and the yeshivah moved in—without running water at first.

Each year on Chanukah, the Rosh Yeshivah would talk about the incredible siyata d’Shmaya the yeshivah had as it established itself in its new home. He would relive the events and give shevach to the Ribono Shel Olam for enabling the yeshivah to flourish.

The goal of the yeshivah wasn’t so that Rav Avremel could give an exciting and brilliant shiur, although he did so many times. It wasn’t only to teach the bachurim how to learn properly. It was to build mentchen, to create people whose essence personified gadlus.

Being a talmid of Riverdale wasn’t one-dimensional; it wasn’t only about learning to the best of one’s ability. Of course, learning was the focal point, and he loved when a bachur spent entire nights preparing for a chaburah. But so much else mattered as well.

Davening in Riverdale was extremely derhoiben and ernst. The Rosh Yeshivah’s davening was focused, emotional, and an example of what an eved Hashem looks like. His Shemoneh Esrei took an average of 20 minutes each and every time he davened. It didn’t matter if he was in yeshivah during the zman, it was bein hazmanim, or he was at a wedding hall before dancing began; davening always looked the same. He would stand still the entire time, pleading with the Ribono Shel Olam like a servant before his master.

Shabbos was a day of romemus in yeshivah. The seudos, as per the Rosh Yeshivah’s instruction, were conducted with song and the spirit befitting the yoma d’nishmasa.

He taught what an emotional connection to a mitzvah looks like, how to yearn for the geulah with one’s entire being. He would get emotional every time he spoke about the geulah ha’asidah.

He demanded perfection in all areas. He would speak about being fully invested in the sugya the same way he would speak about the importance of cleanliness and tznius in the dorm.

Thinking of others was also part of the chinuch. A group of talmidim traveled to Canada for the wedding of a friend, and when another bachur asked if he could join, he was told that the car was too full, despite the fact that they could technically have squeezed one more person in.

When the Rosh Yeshivah heard about the incident, he called in one of the bachurim, an obvious look of disappointment written all over his face. He spoke softly, his voice laden with sincerity. “You gave up on the opportunity for chessed because you would be uncomfortable for eight hours?”

Some 40 years later, this talmid still looks for chessed opportunities, especially when they would make him uncomfortable for just a little bit.

And then there was the constant message: Strive for gadlus. Don’t be afraid to buck the trend, to do the unconventional, if that’s what’s right for you.

When speaking to alumni, he would focus on certain topics for extended periods of time. One tekufah was devoted to simchas hachaim, another to yiras Shamayim. One of the topics he focused on was utilizing the chinuch opportunity of each Shabbos. He strongly encouraged the yungerleit to form weekly chaburos to learn Rav Yeruchem Levovitz’s Da’as Torah on the parshas hashavua. These chaburos would help the yungerleit come to the Shabbos seudos prepared with ample insights to elevate their families.

Sometime after the chaburos were founded, an alumnus received a letter from the Rosh Yeshivah in which he requested that he respond—in writing—whether he had joined a chaburah in Da’as Torah. A phone call wouldn’t be enough; the Rosh Yeshivah wanted the yungerman to realize the weightiness he ascribed to the question and answer accordingly.

The yungerman, whose children were still young, replied that he felt his family wasn’t ready to hear the incisive concepts of Rav Yeruchem, so instead he learned Navi each week and repeated a story with a lesson at the seudah. At least they can relate to that, he rationalized.

The Rosh Yeshivah wasn’t impressed. If you learn Rav Yeruchem, he wrote back, you will become elevated, and that will impact your family more than anything else.

Constant growth with boundless love

He was demanding of his talmidim, but they knew that he was just as demanding of himself, and they felt comfortable being challenged to grow.

In his personal life, and even in the way the yeshivah was run, he was always looking to implement changes and improvements. A fellow rosh yeshivah once commented that every time he asked Rav Avremel how the yeshivah was doing, he received an enthusiastic response about which new sedarim were being instituted.

Talmidim who had left the yeshivah 30 years ago, many of whom were already marbitzei Torah and talmidei chachamim in their own right, would be questioned to see if they were being productive to the best of their abilities. And they loved and appreciated the way he cared about their growth long after most people contemplate shteiging.

He knew his talmidim well, including what they needed to reach their potential. One talmid received a letter from the Rosh Yeshivah encouraging him to write his chiddushei Torah. There was something else in the envelope as well: a few hundred dollars toward a new computer on which to type his notes.

If he didn’t hear from a talmid in a while, he reached out, inquiring, elevating, and encouraging. He would send letters to his talmidim. His voicemails were full of life and positivity. “How are you, R’ Shmuel? How is your family? Are you shteiging?”

A group of ba’alei batim who had learned in the yeshivah would return every Sunday for a shiur, which was given with the intention of reminding them that the beis medrash is their connection to what matters most.

When talmidim faced an issue, they had his full attention. He would focus on the individual question—on which cheder was best for a particular child, which solution would be best for a complex problem. He had no problem coming to Lakewood just to get one talmid’s child into school. A talmid undergoing a difficult medical issue wasn’t able to explain the doctor’s plan of action well enough to the Rosh Yeshivah, so after getting the family’s permission, he traveled to Manhattan to hear from the doctor himself.

And he would follow up, step after step, guiding, listening, and being mechazek all along.

A question placed before him was rarely answered in a few minutes. He would think about it, ask all relevant questions, and then render his decision. And if he didn’t have an answer, he would pass the question on, but even then, he acted as if the problem was his own.

A mother of a talmid owned a retail store and got into a dispute with an associate. She needed someone to guide her, so she called the Rosh Yeshivah.

“I don’t really understand the intricacies of your business, but you can speak to Mr. X., a member of the board; he’ll be able to help you.”

At the meeting that the Rosh Yeshivah arranged between the two, the Rosh Yeshivah came along to ensure the best outcome for the woman.

And all too often, the Rosh Yeshivah, after hearing someone’s personal troubles, would simply break down in tears. “Take out a Tehillim,” he would tell the person on the phone, “and let’s daven together.”

And when the yeshuah came, he felt the simchah personally.

Moshe* called the Rosh Yeshivah one Thursday afternoon with wonderful news: after searching for a shidduch for years, he was finally getting engaged. The l’chaim was to take place after Shabbos, however, since his parents had not yet met the girl.

“But you and she agreed to get engaged?” the Rosh Yeshivah asked excitedly.

“Yes!”

The Rosh Yeshivah wished him a warm mazel tov, but he had one more question. “When should I say Nishmas? Today, or should I wait until your parents meet her and it’s official?”

A charge for the future

The Rosh Yeshivah was a master mechanech, teaching his talmidim through word and deed. One area, in particular, where his talmidim witnessed the ideals he taught was the way a Yid is mekabel din Shamayim.

Eighteen years ago, his beloved 12-year-old daughter, Leah, passed away in a terrible car accident. At the levayah and in the days following, the emunah the Rosh Yeshivah displayed was incredible.

“Retzei mah she’yirtzeh Boracha—your desire should be what your Creator’s desire is,” he thundered before the mittah of the young girl. He went on to explain how this is the ultimate good even if it appears to be so harsh.

Later, as the kevurah was taking place, he gathered his children and said, “The halachah dictates that one must be mechavein on the pasuk ‘Posei’ach es Yadecha’ when saying Ashrei. Our chiyuv now is to mechavein on ‘Tzaddik Hashem b’chol derachav.’”

When the shivah was over, a talmid recalls how he walked into yeshivah beaming, his arms pumping, ready for the zman to go on. He was ready to continue striving for even more greatness.

At the levayah last Erev Shabbos, thousands of shattered talmidim came to take leave of their rebbi in Torah, in shtieging, and in gadlus. And on their tearstained faces one could make out a faint sign of determination. Their rebbi was longer here, but they would go on.

A rebbi is a guide, and his memory continues to guide us, the sound of his voice telling us to continue growing and shteiging: “Do what you have to do. Don’t be impressed by what others consider success. Go and be mekadesh Hashem in the way that only you can. Go reach gadlus!”

 

The author thanks Rav Shimon Friedman, rosh yeshivas Ohr Chaim Meir; Rav Shmuel Fisher, rosh yeshivas Nezer HaTorah; and Rabbi Gedalya Zlotowitz for their help with this article.

 

Name has been changed

 

Paragon of Purity

Remembering Rav Yeshaya Yaakov Portugal, the Skulener Rebbe of Boro Park Zt”l

Strauss

It was only five and a half years ago.

Tens of thousands of brokenhearted Yidden flooded the streets of Boro Park in a sea of black to mourn the loss of one of the tzaddikei hador, Rav Yisroel Avrohom of Skulen. He was one of the last relics of the previous generation. The fact that his petirah signaled the closing of an era weighed heavily on the assembled and only magnified their pain and anguish.

But within their sorrow there was a sliver of light, a faint candle that diminished the darkness of the moment. The Rebbe had left over Rav Shaya Yankel. The eldest son of the Skulener Rebbe, they had heard from their brethren in Montreal, was an astounding tzaddik who would be a suitable replacement for his father.

A silent shiver of anticipation swept through the crowd when it was announced that Rav Shaya Yankel would be moving from Montreal, where he had resided since his wedding, to assume the title “Skulener Rebbe.” The new Rebbe, while physically weak and fragile, would continue the golden chain of Skulen, illuminating Boro Park and all of Jewry.

Over the following short five and a half years, his acclaim grew. Incredible stories spread of his unyielding avodas Hashem, the way he reignited the Skulener spark, and the surreal siyata d’Shmaya he merited, helping countless people with his tefillos and brachos.

As other tzaddikim of that generation were taken from us, there was a sense of comfort; the Skulener Rebbe would be our protection until Mashiach’s days.

But this Sunday, as tens of thousands once again blackened entire blocks in Boro Park, the sense of loss and grief was indescribable. The sun has set midday, at a time when we need the protection more than ever. A feeling of disbelief—Was the tzaddik really taken from us?—was almost tangible.

They had known he was not well, but the thought of a world without Rav Shaya Yankel was simply unimaginable.

The No’am Eliezer’s entrance to Gan Eden

Rav Shaya Yankel was born while his parents were still under Communist rule in Romania. He was literally born into kedushah. It was a Friday night, and his mother did not begin nursing him until she had put some Kiddush wine from her father-in-law, the first Skulener Rebbe, Rav Eliezer Zusia (the ba’al No’am Eliezer), into the infant’s pure mouth.

The No’am Eliezer sensed the special neshamah of the young boy and spent many hours teaching him the niggunim he had composed, the meanings within them, and many aspects of avodas Hashem. He once remarked that his ticket to Gan Eden was the fact that he had a grandson Shaya Yankel.

As a young child, he stood out for his lofty levels of shmiras einayim and kedushah. Shortly before his bar mitzvah, he apprehensively approached his mother, who sensed that he wanted to ask her something.

“Vus iz, Shaya Yankel?”

It took him some time to get the words out, but he wanted to know if once he became bar mitzvah, he would be able to refrain from going shopping for Shabbos. “Shmiras einayim is so hard for me, and I am going to be chayav in mitzvos just like Tatte,” he explained.

His mother attested that since he was 15 years old, he did not take anything sweet into his mouth, even if it was home baked (some of these hanhagos were dropped due to health concerns in recent years).

In lofty realms

In yeshivah, the other boys looked on in awe at the way this young bachur davened with such intensity and concentration. He would shake and sway in his corner as he uttered each word with simchah and dveikus, clearly in a world of his own.

When the time came for him to get married, he was redt to the daughter of Rav Meir Greenwald zt”l, Teitsher Rav of Toronto. The Rav was already niftar at the time of the shidduch, and his almanah had remarried Rav Isaac Moskowitz, the rav of Meor Hagolah of Montreal.

An eerie incident happened at the tenna’im. The chosson walked into the room and immediately broke down in tears.

His mother ran over to ask him if he had a problem with the shidduch. “If you’re not happy, we could still back out,” she asserted.

He quickly assured her that he was overjoyed about the shidduch; the tears were caused by something else. As soon as he had walked in, he explained, he’d seen the kallah’s father in the room—although he had passed away a few years earlier—and he was overcome with emotion.

The Zohar teaches that one’s ancestors come from Gan Eden to join in their simchah; someone with pure eyes is able to actually see them.

From morning to night

After their wedding, the young couple settled in Montreal, where Rav Shaya Yaakov joined the Skverer kollel. He learned with tremendous hasmadah and could be found in beis medrash from early in the morning until late at night. At times, people would find him sitting at his table with a Shulchan Aruch late at night, his feet immersed in cold water to help him stay awake. It was standard for him to ask someone to be motzi him with Brachos in the morning, as he had been up the entire night.

He received hora’ah from the Minchas Yitzchok and Rav Shmuel Wosner after getting tested on all relevant halachos of Orach Chaim and Yoreh Dei’ah.

A chassid once told the Rebbe during a light moment that he’d heard that the Rebbe had finished chelek aleph of Yoreh Dei’ah 101 times; was that true?

“When you get to that number, it is hard to keep track exactly,” the Rebbe replied simply.

A sensation in Montreal

Already then, people began discerning that this yungerman was cut from a different cloth, and new fathers began offering him sandaka’us. He wasn’t comfortable being sandak at such a young age, so he only accepted after asking his grandfather whether he should.

He tried to stay out of sight, but people gravitated toward him, toward the kedushah that emanated from his pure neshamah. He exuded such a chein, characteristic of the Skulener Rebbes, that everyone, whether a chassid or not, felt drawn toward him.

After his stepfather-in-law was niftar, Rav Shaya Yankel was appointed rav and began conducting a botte, a semi-tisch, each Friday night. The wooden tables in the tiny beis medrash would be pushed together, and a crowd of bachurim and yungerleit looking to warm their neshamos with the sweetness only found in Skulen filled the room.

The Rav would sit at the head of the table, but he saw himself as another one of the mispallelim. Even later, when he was crowned Rebbe, he had no problem waving to familiar faces who came to tisch, welcoming them with his warm smile.

The singing and divrei Torah would last deep into the night, the Rav’s face aglow with kedushas Shabbos. Niggunim of his saintly grandfather and father would fill the air, warming the freezing Montreal winter nights with kedushah and ne’imus.

One bachur who attended a yeshivah in Montreal decided to attend the botte one wintry Friday night and could not take his eyes away from the sight. He remained glued to his spot until the final niggun, “V’nisgav Hashem Levado,” was sung, and then the botte was over and the small crowd made its way out of shul.

The Rav saw a new face and wished him gut Shabbos. After a short inquiry, the bachur explained that he was learning in a yeshivah that was quite a walk away, and he planned on heading back there now.

“Do you know the way back?” the Rav inquired.

“Sort of,” the bachur replied sheepishly.

The Rav quickly put on his coat and walked the boy into the night until he ascertained he would make it back to yeshivah safely.

It was a trademark Rav Shaya Yankel became renowned for: hovering in a realm of pure ruchniyus and dveikus while being able to focus on the needs of another Yid, whatever level they were on.

“A Yid must do something for another Yid every single day,” the Rebbe would say. “It could be something big or something as small as giving someone a smile.” He was meticulous about the feelings of another Yid and wouldn’t say the slightest thing that might be hurtful.

Another Yid’s worries

A chassid who was visiting Montreal was staying at Rav Shaya Yankel’s home; he recalls attending the small shalosh seudos in Meor Hagolah. As the Rav was speaking, elevating the chassidim, a man sitting off to the side began shouting that it was already late and it was time to bentsch.

The Rav didn’t respond, and with nary a glance at the man, he quickly finished his talk and the rest of shalosh seudos. After Ma’ariv, he sat down to learn with the chassid and then began heading home with him. On the way, the Rebbe began explaining that Havdalah is what gives a Yid the strength to descend from the kedushas Shabbos into the mundane.

Then he paused and exclaimed, “Look at what a Klal Yisrael the Eibershter has! They appreciate Shabbos so much they can’t wait to make Havdalah!”

When he accepted kvitlach, he didn’t just wish the petitioners well, he cried with them and felt their pain as his own. It was a strenuous, exhausting activity because of all the emotion he invested in it, and he often needed to relax afterward.

A chassid recalls that the gabbai once allowed him to see how the Rebbe relaxes after taking kvitlach for a while. He peeked into the room and saw the Rebbe’s holy countenance buried in a Gemara.

In a different realm

Ruchniyus was so real to the Rebbe, it was tangible and the only focus of his life. He performed every mitzvah with joy and sweetness, true to the Skulener mesorah. After performing a mitzvah, whether a bris or a Birchas Ilanos, the Rebbe would break out in a dance.

Every moment was filled with kedushah. Once, on an airplane, he peered out the window and, seeing the fluffy white clouds, exclaimed to his attendant, “Hamechaseh shamayim b’avim—look, look at the niflaos haBorei!”

Never did he allow a moment to go to waste. If he had to wait to be driven somewhere, he called his chavrusa to learn for those few minutes.

Shortly before Pesach one year, the Rebbe was stricken with terrible mouth sores, which made eating extremely difficult. One day, he called over his attendant and asked him to bring him cookies. The gabbai brought a handful of cookies, and the Rebbe began chewing on them, each bite an arduous ordeal. When he finished, he asked for some more cookies, and then some more. Finally, the gabbai asked why the Rebbe was going through this self-inflicted torture.

“Pesach is coming, and I want to practice eating so that I could be yotzei the mitzvah of matzah fully,” the Rebbe explained.

His dikduk in halachah was seen throughout his life, but even more in recent weeks, as he was hovering between this world and the next. Last Monday, his situation deteriorated, and after being unconscious for a few hours, he awoke and mouthed to someone at the bedside to ask what time zman Krias Shema was.

Over the entire period of his illness, he never asked what the doctor’s opinion was. It simply didn’t matter. He was living with the Eibershter, the One Who heals.

Someone once told him that everyone was davening for the Rebbe to have a refuah sheleimah. The Rebbe was not happy. “Daven that I should have menuchas hanefesh to learn,” he requested instead.

His sensitivity to any slight lapse in avodas Hashem was incredible.

A bachur from a more modern home felt a pull toward chassidus and sent the Rebbe a letter with a question: he wanted to accept upon himself a certain stringency, but his father didn’t want him to; what should he do? The Rebbe was torn and decided to speak to Rav Yochanan Wosner from Montreal to ask him for a psak. The Rav said that kibbud av didn’t apply in that specific case, and the boy could take on the chumrah he desired.

But it wasn’t enough for the Rebbe. A psak is a psak, but how could he put on paper that a bachur doesn’t have to listen to his father? After thinking about it, he came up with a solution. He identified the boy’s yeshivah and rebbi and had his gabbai call the rebbi to tell him that if the bachur poses the question to him, he should give over Rav Wosner’s ruling. The Rebbe then proceeded to write a letter back to the bachur expressing his joy that his desire was to shteig and grow closer to Hashem. At the conclusion of the letter, the Rebbe wrote, “Regarding the question you asked me, go speak to your rebbi and ask him what to do.”

Fulfillment of the niggunim

The Rebbe’s untimely petirah at the age of 68 leaves a gaping hole behind. Who will warm the broken hearts? Who will daven for us the way he did?

May the Rebbe go to our Father and tell him that the time has come for the deep desires expressed in the Skulener niggunim “Or Chodosh al Tzion Ta’ir,” “V’nisgav Hashem Levado,” and “V’eineinu Sirena Malchusecha,” to finally come true.

 

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