In tribute to Mori Verabi, Rav Avrohom ben Rav Yitzchok Aizik zt”l.
For 76 years, Rav Avrohom Ausband built an inner world of eternity where, save for his Creator, only he had permission to enter. There was no man more private than he was.
Binders of chiddushei Torah are stored in his study, fruits of a generational mind written down for posterity with a generational pen. They never saw the light of day. Handwritten notebooks filled with yearning for spiritual perfection are there too, bearing witness to a man on top of the world, who saw himself standing on the lowest rungs of the ladder leading to Heaven, but who never stopped climbing. A king of men completely subservient to his King.
Heviani Hamelech chadorov, the King brought me into his chamber (Shir Hashirim 1:4)
Like Hashem has chambers inside chambers in His Torah, so too, talmidei chachomim have chambers inside chambers in their Torah. (Tanna Devei Eliyohu Zuta 6)
There was a chamber tucked deep inside his heart, away from the noise and the adulation of the multitudes who viewed him as their king.
Those walls were for his eyes alone, a room in his soul where only he lived.
As much as he revealed, double that amount remained hidden. He shouted Hashem’s truth to the world as loudly as he possibly could, but inside his inner universe, the power of silence governed his heart. There, it was perfectly still, a man alone with his Maker.
For 43 years, the rosh yeshiva built a yeshiva that impacted every corner of the earth. It spawned generations of talmidim who are family, and family who are talmidim, fiercely loyal to his message and his mission. The success of the citadel he constructed made him a famous man. No one lived more publicly than he did.
Along the way, legions of admirers assembled behind him, ready to do his bidding if only he asked. As his circle of influence expanded the demands on his time only grew, but no one was ever forgotten, and no one’s place was pushed aside for another.
There was a separate room in his heart for each child, for each student, and for each loyal friend.
At the levayeh, one of the original founders of the yeshiva told me about his letters.
“A personal note from Rav Avrohom came before every simcha I ever made,” he said. “I begged him to stop. Rosh Yeshiva, I would say, your burden is heavy, and you have more important things to do with your time. It’s been over forty years. By now, I know how you feel.”
The answer was the same every time, accompanied by his luminous smile.
“Where there is heart, there is room.”
Heviani Hamelech chadorov.
For him too, there was an exclusive chamber in rebbi’s neshomah.
Every chosson came down to yeshiva a few days before his wedding. No secrets of the higher world were revealed, and no lofty ideas were discussed. It was a practical talk.
First, the kesubah came out of the bag.
“You are undertaking an awesome responsibility,” he would say. “Do you understand what this paper obligates you to do? Read it for me!”
After he was satisfied with the talmid’s comprehension, he would review exactly what would happen when the music would start to play.
“You will do this, and I will do this. Make sure you have a quarter for the kinyan. Before you leave to the chuppah, I will give you some mussar. “
He stopped and smiled. “Don’t worry. You will be able to handle it. It won’t be too bad. And bring a few dollars with you. There is a big inyan to give tzedakah at that time, and I will ask you to give it to me then.”
Night after night, year after year, with the same unflagging energy and overwhelming joy. Hundreds of chassanim received that shmuess as if it were the first time he ever prepared a student to walk down the aisle.
And then the man who only wanted to be in yeshiva traveled hours to the wedding and danced his heart out, sharing in the joy of another only son.
Long after they had left yeshiva, rebbi cried for every suffering talmid, and delighted in every ounce of each one’s growth and success. He carried their burdens, physically, financially, and emotionally.
A yungerman’s wife was diagnosed with a dreaded disease. Somehow, the rosh hayeshiva found out and called him first.
“There is a doctor in Riverdale who specializes in this field. Come down, we will go meet him together.”
He never got tired.
Heviani.
Every boy, and every friend, had a room in rebbi’s heart, where only he lived.
For 26 years, rebbi built me.
In yeshiva, the effort he invested in my growth was perhaps understandable, but he never let go, even during the hard times when I tried my best to leave him behind.
Letters would come in the mail. They always began the same way.
Rechimai delibai, yakiri vachavivi ad lemeod, Reb Shloime Shyicheyeh lorech yomim veshonim, the fond one in my heart, my dearest and my very greatly beloved.
Occasionally, a phone call came too.
‘Shloime Kalman, where are you? Come down to Riverdale. We haven’t talked for too long.”
And when I sat down in his office, the most active man in the world was perfectly calm. The only thing that mattered was my story and my life.
For nearly two decades, the rosh yeshiva had waited for the phone call I was finally able to make on a Friday afternoon, almost exactly two years ago.
“Rebbi, I am becoming a chosson on Sunday.” I said.
The first thing he did was cry. Through his tears, he asked me for every bit of information I could provide on my future kallah and her family.
“Who is her father, and where did he learn? Are there siblings? Where do they live and what do they do? Who are the grandparents from your mother-in-law’s side, and where did they live, where did they learn, and what did they do?”
We talked for at least twenty minutes. After everything was answered to his satisfaction, and a hundred dots were connected and shared, he exhaled.
Rebbi bentched me a million times over and the conversation started to wind down.
He had one last question before he hung up. It has not left my mind since.
“Shloime!” he said. (My name, and the names of all the people he loved, always seemed to come with an exclamation mark as he said it.) “I understand it isn’t yet ‘official’ and your parents still need to come from Cleveland to meet her. Tell me when I should say nishmas. Should I say it right now or wait until I hear from you next week?”
“Maybe rebbi should hold off,” I choked out through my suddenly clogged throat. “Although the deal is about done, it isn’t completely closed.”
He agreed to wait, and we ended the call on that note.
Thankfully, things went as planned, and on Sunday, I called him right after I proposed. The phone went unanswered, and I left a message that I had, in fact, become engaged.
My phone rang ten minutes later. Rebbi was crying again as he explained his delay in returning my call.
“Mazel Tov, Shloime, Mazel Tov! Your message came through a few minutes ago,” he said. “I couldn’t call right away. First, I had to say Nishmas.”
Rebbi!
Heviani!
Nishmas emanated from the chamber in your heart where only I lived.
He built a suite for the yeshiva, for each talmid, relative, and friend, and he built one special for me.
Somehow, they never overlapped, and no room ever stole anything from the other.
And somehow, he never left the room he built for himself.
In his introduction to his novellae on Maseches Shabbos, the Yefei Einayim openly wonders how it was possible for him to write chiddushei Torah considering the crushing burden he carried in leading his kehillah.
Eventually he reveals his secret.
It was as if there was a small attic in my mind, for divrei Torah to reside, where my burdens and distractions were never able to enter.
Chedrei Chadorim BeTorasam.
That was rebbi’s secret too. His heart was open in full, and his time belonged completely to his yeshiva, to his talmidim, family and friends. They each had a place, a chamber of their own.
And there was a chamber in his heart under lock and key. No one was allowed entry and no noise seeped in. It was perfectly quiet inside.
There, rebbi laid down the tools he used to build everyone outside. In his aliyas kir ketana, in the attic of his mind, he erected his own tower of glory with the personal instruments of his own lofty soul.
Rebbi is now gone, but the chambers in his heart will always live on.
Heviani Hamelech Chadorov.
Rebbi!
It was your gift to each person who you loved, your promise and legacy.
You left the yeshiva in good hands. The rosh hayeshiva shlit”a, Rav Eliyohu, will add floors, suites, and rooms. And we will stand behind him as we stood behind you.
Your talmidim will continue to build their hearts in your image. They won’t forget your searing rebuke, your wet cheeks of love, and the eternally sweet kiss you left on theirs. They will remember that the only thing that matters is Torah, and the honor it brings Heaven when we properly learn it.
And I will try too.
I will miss you in my joy and need you in my pain. And in the dead of night, when the world is quiet and dark, I will find the room you built inside my own heart.
Before I thank you, I will need to do something first.
For my pride in being a son of Hashem, for the joy I take in every moment spent learning Torah, and for the happiness I feel when I understand the world as you would have wanted.
Rebbi.
In that special chamber you prepared for me with such love.
I will say Nishmas.
