On June 8, corresponding to the 21st day of Sivan, my father, Rabbi Dr. Moshe Weiss, passed away. Nine days earlier, when my father’s condition was diagnosed as terminal, I contacted my brothers and sisters, and they all flew to Jerusalem from New York and Canada, to be with my father during his last days. During that time, his five children were at his side – a 24-hour vigil – as he drifted in and out of consciousness. We never left him. We used those precious remaining hours he had here on earth to sing to him, to receive blessings from him and to just sit near him, holding his hand and saying over and over again “I love you Aba,” and he would respond, “I love you too.” He knew the end was near. At exactly 5:21 in the morning my father took his last breath. It appeared to us as if Almighty G-d had kissed him. Suddenly there was quiet; at last he was at peace.
My father was born in Prague in 1919, the second to youngest of a large family descended from some of the great personalities of our Jewish history. When my father was six months old, his family moved to Oswiecim, later known as Auschwitz where millions of Jews were brutally murdered by the Nazis. Three of my father’s brothers and sisters perished during the Holocaust; his parents and other siblings had by then immigrated to America. My father was 14 when he came to the States, and there he began his illustrious career as rabbi and entrepreneur.
During his lifetime, my father achieved many things. He was one of the founders of the Hashomer Hadati Zionist Movement and he was extremely active in the Hapoel Hamizrachi movement, eventually serving as national vice president of that organization. He opened Camp Aishel, a children’s summer camp in Spring Glen, NY, which he ran for many years and which had a profound impact on many children. Among the people who attended his funeral were former campers who credited their camp experience when they were children with sensitizing them to the beauty of Yiddishkeit and being a very positive influence in their decision to make aliyah and live in Israel.
For 40 years, my father wrote a weekly column for The Jewish Press. He also traveled extensively, raising hundreds of thousands of dollars for the Yeshivot Bnei Akiva.
In 1958, my father was one of the first to travel back to Poland to witness the devastation there and to provide hope for the survivors who were still living there. (I remember as a child packing cartons with clothing and sending them off to unknown places and people in Poland.) His gripping experiences during those trips became the basis for his book, From Oswiecim to Auschwitz, published in both English and Hebrew editions, which is presently also used as a guide book by many who visit those areas today.
My parents made aliyah in 1977, the culmination of a life-long dream. He immediately set out to give of himself to the community in which he settled, and swiftly became the rabbi of the neighborhood known as Shikun Vatikim in Netanya. On a typical Shabbat for the nine years he lived there, my father would walk to nine different Shuls where he delivered a Shabbat talk to all the congregants. He prepared their children for their bar mitzvahs and was their rabbinic source – all the while not charging or asking for any remuneration for his work.
In addition, he authored 12 books on Torah and its various interpretations, as well as a number of other books on Jewish history.
Two years ago my wife and I decided to finally make aliyah. It had been our dream for many years, but the deciding factor that seemed to tip the scale to finally making this move at that time was the fact that I wanted to be near my father, who at that time was already 93 years old. Short, sporadic trips throughout the year was not enough.
Since coming to live in Israel, I was able to experience special moments with my father. We studied his seforim together, we listened to famous cantorial masters and we spoke of his illustrious yichus, his pedigree, dating back to the famous commentator, Rashi.
But perhaps what most impressed me about my father was his general deportment at all times. He never spoke ill against any Jew. He always wore a white shirt and a suit jacket. He believed in the specialness and the pe’er, the innate beauty, of the Jewish people. Our Sages refer to this as “mamlechet kohanim v’goy kadosh,” a priestly and a holy nation. He reminded me of Menachem Begin, who also believed in the chosen-ness of the Jewish people, and the belief that our deportment must always reflect that special trait.
People often say that when someone lives to such a ripe old age as my father lived, it is a blessing from Almighty G-d. This is true. And I thank G-d daily for all the years that Almighty G-d gave to my father. But the sense of loss is great. It doesn’t matter how old you are; when a parent passes away, you become an orphan.
I will miss him greatly. He was the last of his generation, the final link in my family to our glorious past. The torch has been passed to us, his descendants. He leaves with his passing his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, whom he loved dearly, and who will hopefully follow in his footsteps.
May his memory be for a blessing.
