Forget the money!

Uri stood at his shtender, the Gemara Shabbos open before him. He was glad that he did not have to miss even one day from learning from Zeideh's own Shas. Forget the money! After that one time, there was no more money to be found, anyway! Maybe it was just an accident - maybe Zeideh had hidden the bill in the Gemara before Shabbos. It did not matter. He had to learn for the sake of the mitzvah: "Hareini rotzeh lilmod Torah lishmah - I wish to study Torah for its own holy sake" ...not to find a reward.

Almost subliminally, Uri knew this volume was different. Unlike Berachos, which had felt so stiff and untouched, this Gemara had a normal flexibility. When he opened the Gemara, the cover lay open. Yes, it still had a snowy whiteness, unmarred by smudges. It was clear, though, that someone had been through these pages before. But who? Zeideh?

Uri laid his pen on the first mishnah: "Yetzios haShabbos shtayim she'hein arba…"

It was sweet, sweet learning. Uri hadn't studied Shabbos in ten years, but the laws were familiar and he had learned it well the last time. Some Gemara learning is like a rough storm, but this was an idyllic cruise across the sacred pages. Instinctively, he was more at ease with this volume than with Berachos. The Gemara had been studied before and, although the pages were spotless, the volume had a heimish feeling.

On day three - daf dalet, amud beis - Uri turned the page and stopped like he had been struck. There, for the first time, he saw proof that someone had indeed studied from this Gemara! On the edge, along the border of the long Tosafos, "Be'ilan," was etched a large...question mark.

What did it mean? Did the person have a question on the Tosafos? Did he not understand the Tosafos? Was it a question not at all related to Tosafos? Who could tell? Just a question mark. But what seized Uri's imagination was the color of the ink with which the question mark had been drawn. It was deep magnetic blue, a blend of sea and sky, so hypnotic that it drew one's eye down into its depths.

Who wrote this?

The delicate shape of the one large question mark, the beauty of its cerulean hue all pointed to...Zeideh! Uri was not thinking about money now, but of the great love he felt for his grandfather, will or no will. He turned a few more pages until he found another mark. This time, it was not a blank question mark, but a note written in tiny, fine script: Ta'anis. Must look up.

Uri recognized the handwriting immediately - it was Zeideh's. His grandfather must have learned this Gemara with Klonimos Kalman and written this note to himself. Uri beat rhythmically on Zeideh's note with the end of his pen. He flipped more pages: another question mark. Another page: another notation, another question. He turned to the back pages of the Gemara, and saw that Zeideh's notes became more frequent. Uri smiled. Zeideh had really gotten into the learning!

So this Gemara was not just a museum piece, after all. Zeideh really learned. Uri turned back to daf dalet and traced the end of his closed pen along the curved line of the question mark, like a child following a path. Uri's face suddenly flushed red with excitement.

Carefully, he unscrewed the pen's gold top, exposing its razorsharp point. The point was bone dry from years of disuse, and someone had wiped it spotlessly clean. Uri removed his glasses and carefully studied the point. At this distance, without glasses, his eyes were like a magnifying glass. He smiled. Despite someone's best effort, a few dried crystals of blue ink were discernable - the same magnetic blue of Zeideh's notes.

Uri screwed back on the case. He stared at the pen in his hand. It was all here, it was all his! Zeideh's Gemara, Zeideh's notes, Zeideh's pen - Zeideh's neshamah! Overcome, he gave the pen a quick kiss. Maybe Zeideh had really evened out the inheritance. How much were these Gemaras worth? How much was it worth to be so close to Zeideh, to the hours he spent studying, to his own beautiful, pithy notes? Zeideh's soul hovered over these pages, these notes, the very pen he grasped!

So...learn, Uri, learn!

Each morning Uri opened the Gemara with a simchah, cruising swiftly from page to page, sometimes covering even more than a daf a day, so that he had time to dwell deeply on a Tosafos, look up the Shulchan Aruch. The pages flowed like a Swift Current: Bameh Madlikin, Kirah, Bameh Ishah... Each small note left behind by Zeideh was like a little flag, a wave…

And then, on the sixty-seventh daf - bingo!

There, lying patiently for him at the start of perek Klal Gadol were two hundred-dollar bills! They lay there coyly, two freshly minted bills, laying in ambush for him. Uri picked up the bills like a man plucking flowers. This time, he was not shocked, not floored. In his heart of hearts he had expected this money. Zeideh was playing a game with him, just like he had when Uri was a child. It was Zeideh's favorite game of hide-and-seek, but Uri knew Zeideh was really always there and would show himself when he was ready! Zeideh had hidden away the big inheritance from him, but he was slipping cash - when he was ready - into his Gemaras. He gave him the almost worthless Gortel stock, but he had left him with a precious final letter. He left him a spotless, snowy white set of Shas, but they were filled with his private notes.

Uri held the money in one hand, the precious pen in the other, and Zeideh's Gemara lay obediently open in front of him. Now he realized: Zeideh was playing a game with him - a long, seven-year game!

Uri smiled. So, Zeideh, let's play!

Buy Deep Blue at a special online price at www.targum.com