Rebbi taught us to laugh. He would often say that the two essential components of coping with and surmounting the vicissitudes and challenges of life are faith in Hashem and a good sense of humor. Being able to joke helps take the edge off problems and helps us to not take ourselves too seriously.
Rebbi taught us how to approach our problems. He would intently listen to us, crystallize our options, and then encourage us to make the decision. I remember when I was going out to find my kallah, I would look forward to discussing my dates with Rebbi, who would insightfully point out to me any red flags I should be wary of.
After going out on a number of dates with a young lady, I remember walking with Rebbi and asking about different situations that had occurred. Rebbi felt I was over-analyzing and gently said, “Aryeh, you know people do get married.” I chuckled, and shortly thereafter proposed to the young woman who eventually became my wife.
Rebbi taught us to have vision. A number of years ago, our Dallas boys’ Yeshiva, Texas Torah Institute, took a class trip to New York. The highlight was meeting with Rebbi. As soon as the 13 young men were ushered into the room, Rebbi looked at them and, with a smile, said, “I see six and one-half yeshivos.” Though these young men were just beginning to learn how to interpret the Talmud, Rebbi foresaw the tremendous potential they possessed and felt each could pair up and, with the proper training and commitment, start a yeshiva.
Rebbi had and continues to have such a dominant impact on my life. He guided me through every major decision I made these past 38 years by opening up his mind, heart, and soul to me. Rebbi said he would give his blood, sweat, and tears for his talmidim, and he was true to his word. Rebbi taught my pious father-in-law, zichrono levracha, and, yb”l, me, my sons and son-in-law.
Rebbi inspired me to become a rabbi and gave me his blessings to move to Dallas to help try to build a Torah community. Though I moved 1,500 miles away from Rebbi, in a true sense Rebbi came with me. Shortly after I became a pulpit rabbi, I called Rebbi and proudly said, “Everything is going beautifully. Membership is booming, classes are very well attended and the congregants are thirsting for Torah knowledge.”
Rebbi wished me well. Yet within a few months I called back Rebbi for renewed strength and inspiration, and this time I said, “Rebbi, I have a number of serious problems within the shul. I need Rebbi’s help.” Rebbi chuckled and responded, “Baruch Hashem! Aryeh, when you first called and said everything was going well, I was concerned that you weren’t doing anything. By definition, helping to build a Torah organization involves dealing with major challenges and obstacles. Now that you say you are encountering difficulties, I feel much better.”
I couldn’t help but smile and say, “Rebbi, based on what is happening here, I must be doing a spectacular job!”
Our rabbis tell us that it takes 40 years to understand what our rebbi tells us. Close to 40 years ago, when I was in that barbershop, Rebbi called me his son. I really didn’t understand the significance of what Rebbi meant. According to halacha, one rends one’s garment on the right side of one’s shirt at the passing of immediate family members. For a parent, however, the garments are torn directly over one’s heart. The only other person for whom one expresses mourning in this manner is his main Rebbi – the Torah teacher who most significantly shaped his life.
When I attended Rebbi’s funeral, I stood up with hundreds of talmidim at the yeshiva and many more around the world and sadly but proudly tore my garments over my heart for my revered Rebbi, my beloved father.
May Rebbi’s memory be blessed.