The Guys Across the Street

Across the street from my house, on the way to the Yeshiva, there's a house where several 'Chassidic Dropouts' live . . .
In truth, I am averse to using the term Chassidic Dropouts, for it is not my task to decide who is a chossid . . . G-d alone searches their hearts . . .

It's not that I try to avoid them when walking to the Yeshiva, I know almost all of them to some degree or the other . . .
It's just that I've never gone out of my way to say 'Hello' either.
The other night there was a Farbrengen and during a particularly moving niggun some of them came over.
The pen of the soul, song, had drawn their souls.
Boys new to LA looked on at them, trying to overtly figure out who these guests were, what had happened . . .

There are some people who leave with an acrid, bitter smoke . . . they
take their aggression and misplace it on G-d, his Torah, and all those
who associate themselves with it.
But there are so many who, despite extenuating factors or desires, have always been simply sweet people.
After about half an hour the two of them left . . . but asked that we keep singing.

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