This Friday is the 10th of Shevat, the fifteenth yahrzeit of my uncle, Rabbi Sholom Klass zt”l. I wish to share with you, dear readers, the following reminiscences. I beg your indulgence as I interrupt the ongoing Q&A discussion, to which we shall return next week.
My uncle, HaGaon Rabbi Sholom Klass zt”l – and a gaon he was indeed – was known for his instant recall of Shas. His was not just an abstract knowledge; his life’s pleasure was Talmudic discourse. When discussing Torah topics, he would very often ask, “Vos iz der chiddush? – What is the novel insight?” This was a legacy of his brilliant grandfather (my great-grandfather), Rabbi Jacob Epstein, who was my uncle’s mentor. A baki beShas u’Poskim, he would always proclaim upon hearing a Talmudic quote, “Vu shteit es? – Where is it written?” – a query he always immediately answered himself.
My uncle loved a d’var chiddush. Thus I, like many others in the family and devoted staff here at The Jewish Press (and frequent visitors), would often sit with him for hours at a time, engaged in Torah discussion. The joy on his countenance at such times was wonderful to behold.
He would always describe the newspaper as a “bible,” a source of Torah knowledge. In today’s vernacular, we might refer to it as a “yeshiva without walls,” readily available to all in print (and today, online as well). Indeed, it enters many homes and affects lives in many different ways throughout North America, Europe, and Israel. In reality, though, this “yeshiva” does have walls, and with my uncle at the helm we disseminated the holy words of Torah from within the walls of The Jewish Press building on Third Avenue in Brooklyn.
Approximately 18 years ago, my uncle called me into his office saying he had an urgent matter to discuss. I didn’t know what he had in mind. He explained to me that he was finding it increasingly difficult to work on his weekly column as well as oversee the paper’s other Torah columns. These columns were to him the components that distinguish The Jewish Press from other publications.
He told me that things would now have to change. No longer was I to be the talmid with whom he might discuss what he was writing. Now it would be my duty to write the Questions and Answers column and reply to the many questions that were submitted.
A mishnah in Tractate Sanhedrin (37a) offers several explanations for why all of mankind originates from a single man. Its concluding explanation is, “To proclaim the greatness of the Holy One, blessed be He; for if a man strikes many coins from one mold, they are all identical. But the Supreme King of Kings, the Holy One, blessed be He, fashioned every man in the stamp of the first man, Adam, and yet each one of them is unique.”
As I began taking over this column, it became evident that my style was different from my uncle’s. In addition, the views I highlighted were at times somewhat different from those he would underscore. I would consult with him as I finished the articles, and in most instances he only corrected a citation or two. Of course, as usual, he would be a step ahead in the logical progression of the topic.
Whenever I walked into his office with the next week’s column in hand, my uncle would say, “Hakol kol Yaakov.” I would respond with our Sages’ remark (Bereishit Rabbah 84:3), “Bikesh Yaakov leishev be’shalva – Yaakov yearned to dwell in peace” (the Hebrew word “shalva” is a form of “shalom” – peace), which I felt was a more appropriate phrase since it essentially included both our names. This became the ceremonial opening of most of our Torah discussions. When my uncle was too ill to come to the office and I would call him at home to discuss matters over the phone, I had the opportunity to witness an illustration of the adage, “Eshet chaver ke’chaver” (lit., “a scholar’s wife is considered like a scholar”). Whenever I called, my aunt Irene, alehah ha’shalom, would ensure that I was connected to him immediately. Whenever I came to their home to discuss Torah in person, she warmly greeted me and would then usher me immediately into his room, for she knew that Torah was his whole life.
While my uncle, at times, remarked that my writing style differed from his, he nevertheless would also note that the Torah has 70 facets (Zohar, Bereishit 47a) and is thus a vast resource for countless opinions. He fully enjoyed a thought process different from his own and merely cautioned me with his well-known “A vu shteit es?” He stressed that it is important to base one’s statements on sources. Every item mentioned – from the Torah, Talmud, or the commentaries – must be sourced.
We have since moved from our offices on Third Avenue. Although it is only natural to forget with the passage of time, we do not forget my uncle or what he has accomplished. Though he is physically gone from this world, his published works live on, as does this great newspaper, The Jewish Press. Our wonderful memories live on as well. Indeed, commenting on a verse in Kohelet(9:5), “Ki ha’chayyim yod’im she’yamutu… – For the living know that they shall die…,” the Talmud (Berachot 18a) notes, “Elu tzaddikim she’bemitatan nikre’u chayyim – These are the righteous who [even] in their death are called living” (as opposed to the wicked who are called dead even during their lifetime). Rashi (ad loc.) explains that the righteous are imbued with the constant knowledge of death, and that keeps them from sinning.
My uncle would always quote the Gemara at the end of Tractate Mo’ed Katan (28a) that discusses people who, before they passed away, perceived the Angel of Death in their proximity. “R. Ashi caught sight of the Angel of Death in the marketplace and said to him, ‘Grant me 30 days [respite] so that I may revise my studies.’ As is said, ‘Praised is he who comes here [to Heaven] bringing his learning ready with him.’ ”
Indeed, such can be said of my uncle, who kept reviewing his learning constantly. Yehe zichro baruch.