R' Amichai Gordin Shabbat Bi-shabato
This week marked the first anniversary of the passing of our mentor, Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein. One year ago, on the Shabbat after his passing, those of us who were part of his yeshiva gathered for Kiddush, and we spoke about some of our memories of the great rabbi.
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Rabbi Shreiber said: We went with the Rav for an outing. At one stop, all of the students left the bus, and only the Rav did not get off. I went into the bus to see what the problem was. I assumed that the Rav was deeply involved in some passage that he was studying and did not notice that all the students had left. But when I got on the bus, I couldn't find him. After searching for a few seconds, I saw that the Rav was bending down under one of the benches.
I offered to help him. "Can I help the Rav? Is something lost?" And he replied, "No, nothing is lost. When I started getting off the bus, the driver complained to me – 'Just look at the mess that the students left here! Now I will have to clean it all up by myself!' And the driver was right. I told him not to worry, that these were my students, and that I would clean up the mess that they had left behind."
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And another story by Rabbi Shreiber: I was given the job of interviewing candidates for the yeshiva, and I went to the Rav to get his instructions. But he merely smiled at me, and said, "If we didn't trust you we would not have appointed you. Do what you feel is right." But the Rav gave me one specific guideline: "Don't ever talk against any other yeshiva. I prefer not to have students come here, rather than casting aspersions about another place of study."
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Rabbi Hillel Rachmani said: The Rav emphasized the Gemarra lesson on Friday more than the other lessons during the week. Often, in order help his wife when she was busy with her work in the house, he would bring his infant son with him to the lecture.
One Friday, in the middle of the lesson, the Rav felt an unpleasant odor coming from the baby. He stopped in midsentence: "The dispute is..." He took the baby outside and took care of him. When the Rav came back into the room, he continued from the exact place where he had stopped. "... between Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Shimon..." He went on as if nothing had interrupted him at all.
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Rabbi Mordechai Friedman said: One time, the Rav was delayed in getting to a lesson. I went out of the classroom to look for him. And what I saw was a surrealistic picture. There was a long line of young children at the water fountain in the entrance to the building, on their way to school. All the children stood in line silently, waiting for their turn. And at the end of the line one adult was waiting patiently for his turn. It was the Rav!
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For years the yeshiva has had a program called "Darcheinu" – our way. This caters to very sweet young boys with special needs. At their graduation party, one of the boys asked the Rav what the difference is between a custom and halacha. As Rabbi Moshe Taragin said when he told the story, "I wondered how the great rabbi of our generation would explain this complex matter to a student from Darcheinu."
The Rav smiled at the boys. He asked, "Are you familiar with basketball?" And they replied, "Of course!" The Rav said, "Very good. There are some general rules in basketball that are valid no matter where the game takes place. Examples are the size of the court, the height of the basket, and the position of the circles on the court. All of these things are the same for every court. In baseball, on the other hand, some things change from one place to another. In New York the flagpole is on one side and in Boston it is on the other side."
The Rav explained to the boys, "Halacha is like basketball, it is always exactly the same wherever you go. A custom is like what happens in baseball. In every community the flagpole can be in a different place."
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We were told : I studied with the Rav for ten years, and he never cancelled any lesson. One Tuesday, in the middle of the winter of 5756, there was a heavy snowstorm. The roads were half open and half closed, only crazy people were out driving. Our mentor, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, was scheduled to give a lecture. Would he come or not?
On Yordei Hassirah Street in Jerusalem, the Rav's wife insisted that there was no room for any doubt. "With all due respect for your work, your life is more important. I will not allow you to put yourself in danger because of your work." The Rav heard her and went back to his room. For a long time, he paced the room like a caged lion, crossing from one side to the other, again and again. After about an hour, he left his room and quickly went to the table in the living room. He explained to his family, "It's not my work, it's my life." And he took the keys to the car and left the room. The Rav drove to the yeshiva and gave the lesson.
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The Rav took great care never to speak about anything that was not directly related to the lesson. This was true on the day he came in the snowstorm, and also when there was some tempestuous subject arousing the entire land. He only made one exception to this rule. It happened one day when he was ten minutes late for his lecture, something that was extremely unusual. "I am sorry that I am late," the Rav said. "I just met the parents of Nachum Fenigstein, who was killed on Ramat Hagolan. I want you to know that there is nothing worse in the whole world than to lose a son, heaven forbid." Our great mentor, with his discipline fashioned out of steel and his infinite love of the Torah, could not stand up against the deep pain of bereaved parents...
