I remember the tekufah, though not all the details. Almost one after another, gedolei Yisroel were being plucked from our midst, as if the posuk in Shir Hashirim, “Dodi yorad, My beloved has gone into the garden, to see the flowers and pluck the roses,” was being fulfilled. Indeed, those words were used by many a maspid during that tekufah, the last year I spent learning in Eretz Yisroel in 1979. That year, we lost the Telzer rosh yeshiva, Rav Boruch Sorotzkin. His impact on talmidim was profound, but it was cut short. He was only 62 years old.
That summer, we also lost the rosh yeshiva of Torah Vodaas, Rav Gedaliah Schorr, one of the first gedolim born in America. His influence on the Torah world re-imagined the worlds of mussar, blending it with machshavah and chassidus, influencing hundreds, if not thousands, to this very day. Unfortunately, he was niftar before reaching the age of 70 as well.
We did not even reach the month of Elul before the passing of my own rebbi, Rav Shmuel Rozovsky, rosh yeshiva of Ponovezh, who was considered the rosh yeshiva of all roshei yeshiva. He, too, was niftar in the prime of his greatness, plucked from the garden by the Ribono Shel Olam at only 66 years old.
I don’t remember all the tragic losses we endured that year and into the early 1980s. Of course, the Satmar Rov was niftar during that same time at an advanced age, but such a loss is devastating even at 120.
The recent petiros of young talmidei chachomim, roshei yeshiva, and rebbes struck a chord, and I hearkened back to that period. The early 1980s also saw the passing of gedolim like Rav Shneur Kotler at age 64, Rav Berel Soloveitchik at age 66, and Rav Yitzchok Hutner, who was less than ten years older at 74. I’m sure those proficient in the names, dates, and biographies of gedolei Yisroel could add to the list, but I am here to share my memories of the grief felt by Klal Yisroel. Not only did we lose these gedolim, but we lost the potential greatness and leadership they could have offered.
Imagine if Rav Aharon Kotler had lived as long as his peers, my zaide, Rav Yaakov Kamenetzky, and Rav Moshe Feinstein. Had he passed in 1986 instead of 1962, imagine a Rav Aharon during the Six Day War, the Yom Kippur War, the fall of the Soviet Union, the migration of Soviet Jews, the baal teshuvah movement, and myriad other episodes in the turbulent history of Klal Yisroel. We were bereft of his prodigious and illustrious daas Torah and vision.
Had Rav Shmuel Rozovsky lived as long as his co-rosh yeshiva, Rav Elazar Menachem Man Shach, could you imagine 25 to 30 additional years of Shiurei Reb Shmuel? Can we fathom what the world would be like with another ten years of maamorim and vision from Rav Hutner? Is there a way to envision a Lakewood with another twenty years of leadership from Rav Shneur or an Eretz Yisroel with the powerful, prescient vision of Rav Berel for another two decades? A Rav Boruch? A Rav Gedaliah?
Honestly, we cannot. Despite the great leadership that followed, the generation of malachim was then transmitted to mortals.
We mourn the losses of our gedolei Yisroel, but in our grief, we forget to mourn the losses that our children will endure.
I remember the words of my rabbeim during the myriad shmuessen during the Three Weeks: Before Tisha B’Av, there was a world with a Bais Hamikdosh. After Tisha B’Av, there was a world without the Bais Hamikdosh. They are two different worlds.
The death of tzaddikim is comparable to the destruction of the Bais Hamikdosh. Clearly, there is a world in which these great men existed and a world in which they do not, and they are two different worlds.
I shake my head, wondering about the worlds that were and the worlds that could have been. The recent petiros of vibrant maggidei shiur, roshei yeshiva, and rebbes—such as the Kossover Rebbe, the Skulener Rebbe of Boro Park, and Rav Avremel Ausband—and a choshuve yungerman like Rav Boruch Ber Ziemba have left us shaken to the core. All young, vibrant, dynamic, and brilliant in their own way. And all gone.
I did not know the Riverdale rosh yeshiva well. Despite not being a talmid, in every encounter, he treated me with tremendous endearment, as if I had learned in Telz all my life. He always had time to listen to me prattle on with a vort or question, and even at weddings or parlor meetings, he would always take the time to respond with a brilliant comment. As if I were a talmid, he didn’t hesitate to lovingly chide me about some goings-on in the Five Towns or any issue he thought I might influence.
It was different from the type of greatness I knew from the elderly roshei yeshiva whom I had seen or interacted with in my lifetime. It was a greatness tailored to a young generation of American bochurim. I clearly imagined his powerful leadership and brilliance carrying the next generation of so many bnei Torah, even those who did not learn between the holy walls of Riverdale Yeshiva. Now, we can only imagine a world that could have been had it not been for the loss of so many gedolim at such relatively young ages.
I was only zoche to meet Rav Yeshaya Yaakov Portugal, the Skulener Rebbe of Boro Park, during the shivah for his father, Rav Yisroel Avrohom Portugal, who was niftar at age 96. Sadly, this rebbe did not reach the age of 70. My father was extremely close to the previous rebbe, arranging parlor meetings for his mosdos in homes in Woodmere and raising money for him regularly. He radiated kedusha that the world also saw in his son. But had the Ribono Shel Olam allowed him to live as long as his father, what greatness and sanctity could Klal Yisroel have experienced? What growth could there have been?
You may be shaking your heads in sadness or dismay. You may be wondering: Where is he going with all of this? I’ll tell you.
As a young boy in high school, I was in one of the back rows during the Elul and Rosh Hashanah shmuessen of the rosh yeshiva, Rav Elya Svei, another rosh yeshiva whose vision and greatness were lost to us way too early. He would constantly emphasize the importance of bnei Torah davening during the yemei hadin not only for their own welfare and that of their families and fellow Yidden in Eretz Yisroel, but foremost: Lekayeim bonu chachmei Yisroel! We must daven for the welfare of the gedolei Yisroel. We take so much for granted—the lives of our gedolim, their leadership, their presence. We forget to appreciate what we have, and we often forget to daven for what we might lose, chas v’shalom.
Let us all daven during these yemei hadin v’harachamim not only for our immediate families, but mikoton v’ad gadol, from the smallest child to the elderly sage, from the up-and-coming to the chachomim: Lekayeim bonu chachmei Yisroel! Amein.
