Excerpting: “One for the Books” by Rabbi Yechiel Spero. ArtScroll Mesorah Publications. 2025. 282 Pages. ISBN-10: 1422643042.

(Courtesy of Artscroll) In the heart of Brooklyn, a teenage boy was growing distant. He had once been a promising talmid, but lately, his enthusiasm for learning had waned. The pull of the outside world, with all its distractions, had begun to take hold of him. Movies, music and the culture surrounding him were slowly replacing the Torah and mitzvos that had once been central to his life. His father saw it happening but didn’t know how to stop it.

The father wasn’t a Klausenburger Chassid, but he had genuine respect for the Klausenburger Rebbe, Rav Yekusiel Yehudah Halberstam. He had heard stories of the Rebbe’s wisdom, of how he had an uncanny ability to reach people, no matter where they were holding. Desperate, the father hoped that maybe, just maybe, the Rebbe could help.

The boy agreed to go with his father to see the Rebbe. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but he respected his father enough not to refuse. As they entered the Rebbe’s office, the father wondered what the Rebbe could possibly say that would make a difference. As much as he respected the Rebbe, he wasn’t in the mood of a mussar schmuess in regard to his parenting.

The Rebbe greeted them warmly and immediately asked the boy, “So, tell me, what do you like to do in your free time?”

The father’s heart sank. He knew what was coming. The boy, a bit surprised by the question, and feeling no need to hide anything, shrugged and answered, “I like watching movies, Rebbe.”

The father’s face flushed with embarrassment. This wasn’t what he wanted the Rebbe to hear, but the Rebbe didn’t react the way the father expected. He didn’t look disappointed or even surprised. Instead, he nodded, as if he had heard something entirely normal.

“And what else do you enjoy?” the Rebbe asked, still calm, still interested.

The boy thought for a moment. “I like playing chess,” he finally responded.

The father was caught off guard. Chess? He had never heard his son mention chess before. But the Rebbe smiled, his eyes lighting up.

“Chess? I enjoy chess, as well. How about we make a deal? Let’s have a match, you and I. If I win, you agree to learn with me for forty-five minutes a week. But if you win, then I’ll watch one of your movies.”

The father could hardly believe what he was hearing. His son was sitting in front of one of the greatest gedolim of their time, and the Rebbe was proposing a chess match? And what if he lost? Movies?

The boy looked at the Rebbe, intrigued. He hadn’t anticipated this, not at all. A chess match with the Rebbe? And if he won, the Rebbe would watch a movie? The boy couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

“Okay,” he said. “Deal.”

The Rebbe immediately stood up, retrieved a chessboard, and set it down between them. The room fell quiet as the game began. The father watched in silence. What was going on? Was this really happening?

The boy played carefully, but the Rebbe played better. Each move was deliberate, calculated. The boy quickly realized he was up against a master. He tried his best, but the Rebbe outplayed him at every turn. Within a short time, the game was over. The Rebbe had won.

But the boy wasn’t upset. There was something about the way the Rebbe had spoken to him, the way he had treated him with respect, the way he played the game…that softened the sting of losing. There was no judgment, no condescension — just genuine interest and care.

“A deal’s a deal,” the Rebbe said, his smile warm and sincere. “Forty-five minutes of learning each week. What do you say?”

The boy nodded, and so it began. Each week, the boy came to learn with the Rebbe. At first, he went out of obligation, to fulfill his end of the deal. But as time went on, something shifted. The Torah that had once seemed irrelevant, that had once seemed bitter, began to taste sweet. The boy found himself looking forward to those learning sessions, and little by little, his heart opened up.

Years later, the boy — now a grown man fully devoted to a life of Torah — would tell the story with a sense of awe.

“The Rebbe creamed me in that chess game,” he shared, laughing at the memory. “But that loss was the greatest gift I ever received. It changed my life. I started learning with him, and suddenly, the Torah that had been so distant became something I couldn’t get enough of.”

Looking back, he realized it wasn’t just the game or the deal that changed him. It was the Rebbe’s approach. The Rebbe didn’t look at him as a problem to be fixed. He saw him as a person, a neshamah worth investing in. He met the boy where he was, and through that connection, the Rebbe lifted him higher than the boy ever thought possible.

When you see someone struggling, when you see a child or teenager drifting away, remember the chess match. Remember that often, the way to save a neshamah isn’t through force or mussar or criticism, but through understanding, through meeting them where they are, and through the simple, steady love that can turn everything around.

Reprinted from One for the Books by Rabbi Yechiel Spero with permission from the copyright holder, ArtScroll Mesorah Publications.