“Gevaldig” – “awesome!” – was his ready response when asked how he was and how things were going. When his 16-year-old son, Mordechai Dov, who is very much his father’s son, was in the hospital undergoing his many surgeries on his legs injured in the bus accident, the nurses used to greet him with, “Come on Mordekai, let’s hear the G word.” “Gevaldig” became part of the vocabulary of the hospital staff.
His passion for life extended first and foremost to the study of Torah and to the recitation of prayers. He was a first rate, major league Torah scholar. Anyone who knew him can easily conjure up the image of Reb Eliezer babysitting, a child in his lap, one on each shoulder, and another climbing over his head – and all the while he is unfazed, fully concentrating on the tome of Talmud open before him.
His sense of fiery excitement for learning created an effervescence, a breath of fresh air, in a school system that generally promoted learning as a heavy-duty responsibility that smacked of burden and pressure. His magical spirit created an environment where his boys engaged in all of their daily activities with fervor. They played, they ate, they sang and they danced with passion and zeal. Paradoxically, this continual enthusiasm, which one might have thought would detract from their learning and praying, liberated an energy that produced greater volume and depth of study than in any other parallel institution.
His keen understanding of youth, (perhaps because he never ceased to be young at heart) literally revolutionized the yeshiva system. One summer at his yeshiva’s mountain site, he set a goal of 500 blatt (folios) of Talmud for his students’ summer study – an enormous amount. Though it was a formidable undertaking, they forged ahead in their inimitable style, working tirelessly to achieve their objective.
At the successful conclusion of the summer session, they celebrated with a siyum, a celebration upon reaching their goals in learning where the boys each presented gleanings from their impressive achievement. It was followed by singing and dancing. And at 2 a.m., Reb Eliezer announced that since the boys had done so well, the evening (or morning) would conclude with some swimming. It was pitch dark outside, but that did not deter him. The rosh yeshiva, or “Rosh” as he was lovingly referred to, drove his car down the steep hill to the pool and provided illumination for the boys with his headlights.
His care and concern for each student was legendary. Long after they left his yeshiva they drew on his counsel and guidance. He would come to our community in Milwaukee with his family for the holidays and was constantly on the phone, sought out by his students, his alumni and people in general from every corner of the globe. He lovingly gave of his wisdom and direction.
A rosh yeshiva is generally assumed to be an aloof, distant figure to be revered from afar. Reb Eliezer defied that definition. One mother at the shiva tearfully shared that contrary to the truism that “familiarity breeds contempt,” the closer the boys came to him and the better they got to know him, the greater was not only their love for him, but also their respect and awe.
The weeks leading to Reb Eliezer’s passing could easily be categorized as a “season in hell.” We were suspended somewhere between heaven and earth. There were momentary flashes of hope, quickly dashed by reality. It is important to note that while only G-d Himself determines the outcomes of painful situations such as ours, people and their behavior do create the context. It makes a world of difference to a suffering family that a nurse is caring and sensitive or that a doctor carefully chooses his words in pronouncing inalterable facts. It makes a world of difference to be surrounded by a community of people, organized or individual, who dedicate their lives to alleviate the enormous burden of suffering families, by attending to the many details – the meals, the rides to and from the hospital, night shifts, day shifts etc. What a blessing these people are!