Phyllis

Ohr zaruah Latzadik ooliyishra Layv Simcha—The seeds are sowed for the righteous and for the upright in heart—JOY

We usher in Yom Kippur—at the beginning of kol nidrei with this statement. Question is—after asseret yimai teshuva—why not start off yom kippur with something that would seem more connected to teshuva and tefillah?

If one went through the yomim noraim and were in a state of Teshuva & Tefillah—then by Yom kippur—one achieved the level of tzaddik. Seeds are sown for this tzaddik who has done good deeds—but he can’t always enjoy—for fear of not having conquered his yetzer harah—and so one need to attain the level of upright—confident in one’s actions—yishrei lev—that—then brings the level of joy—Simcha.

To reach this type of Simcha—to get to this level—perhaps it can only be attained on one of the critical junctures in one’s life: Yom Kippur—being one, birth, Bnei Mitzvah, Wedding day, and the last day of a person’s life.

The Rambam tells us that a person is considered a tzaddik if: 1—they win a judgement, 2—they have more mitzvoth then aveirot, 3—the quality of their mitzvoth is more impressive than the quantity.

We all know—ayn tzaddik baaretz asher lo echete: So I will not tell you that my father has never sinned. I also—cannot judge the quantity—of Dad’s mitzvoth—although surely they were plentiful and abundant. But for sure I’ve witnessed qualitatively how my father was—until the end of his life—and so I say to my father—as I’m sure he is hearing me now—ohr zarua Latzadik Ilyishraleyv simcha.

Chazal tell us that Yaakov aveinu was mitpallel to hakadosh baruch who for the concept of illness before death. The idea being that one should not just expire one day without notice—but have the time through one’s sickness—to reflect make closures , have time to repent do teshuvah—before going to the olam Haemet.

I think that these, last 2 years—this time—that Dad had—throughout his illness—as painful as it’s been for all of us—mostly Mommy—I believe that Daddy had his time to have those seeds sown—like the gadol he was—Our hope was that those seeds were sown upon my parents aliyah—and that the yishrei lev—would be the rest of your lives—living out their golden years in Eretz yisroel. But unfortunately hakadosh Baruch who had other plans for dad to bring him to Shamayim—and as the end was passive for him—it had to have been his time of yishrei lev—as he was probably preparing to meet Hashem in Shamayim.

In this light I feel tremendous Hakarat hatov to Hakadosh baruch—and to all doctors—nurses—technicians, friends, and loved ones from both sides of the ocean, who were supportive in every way—sustaining my father for his allotted time.

To my Mom who was by his side until the end—words cannot describe how much you did for daddy—to care—nurture—and nurse him—all while setting up your home—taking ulpan aleph—and going through your klitah.

I am in awe of—my siblings Elaine, Lisa, Avi, Zehava & Zalman—How you have given 24/7 selflessly to anything Daddy has ever needed. Your Kibud av vaem was remarkable. We have been a real team all of us—only this wasn’t the victory we had hoped for. But as Daddy always taught us—it’s how you play the game.

I recall many times since Aliyah—driving Daddy somewhere—and him feeling so upset—and telling me how terrible he feels that everyone has to do for him. He would say how much he appreciates mommy—and how he feels that she does not realize how appreciated she is. Then he would say—you guys are not my Shamis. And I would say—correct Dad—you are our father. All your life you’ve done for us—now let us do something back. I suppose then Hakarat HAtov—again to Hashem—for the opportunity to do the kibbud av viem—that I honestly wish we didn’t need to full fill.

But—I am faced with a real challenge in the next few minutes of trying to describe and depict—a remarkable person—to people who never met him, to reminisce and inspire those who might have known him——or loved him as much as we have. My father was a giant—a gadol in my life. Perhaps I can transmit the incredible pain and devastation that I am feeling.

I think a way to begin is to tell you—that my father was not a rich man—or a man of many means by the strict interpretation of the word. And yet my Dad was a very rich man—and a man with more means than anyone else I ever knew. This would be a good theme for the depiction of my father: איזהו עשיר השמח בחלקו—Who is the wealthy person—the one who is happy with his lot.

This Mishna from Masechet Avot—depicts the life of my father. My father was a man who was always satisfied with what he had—and never seeked out more himself—ever.

To say that my father never complained would be completely untrue. In fact at times we joked that his complaints were too much. But you see—his complaints were never about himself. He was Sameach bichelko—but never could rest in the misfortune and injustices of others.

Perhaps we can relate to my father in the various roles that he so faithfully served. My father was a son, brother, student, husband, father, teacher, rav, zaydie, friend, activist—Oleh Chadash—and so much more.

We know—one of the greatest joys in life is the birth of a child. My father was born on a lovely spring day on May 13, 1936. Only to have tragedy as 4 days later became the yarhtzeit of his beloved Mother—who died from a post partum infection—today 100% treatable with antibiotics. This tragedy was too much for my Zaide to bear—Hence My father was named Yerachmiel Binyamin.

My father’s father—Zaydie Zalman was too filled with grief to care for my father and so my father was placed in an orphanage for the first 2 crucial years of his life. Eventually my Zaide remarried my Bubbye Libbye—who was the only mother my father ever knew. Together—they raised my father along with his older brother zichrono livracha—and his soon to be born youngest brother.

YBW was raised in Bensonhurst NY—in a very traditional lifestyle—in a torah home—where he always saw my Zaydie learning—during any free time that he had. Dad was a dutiful son—who had great awe and respect for his own father. Dad was a flaming redhead. He had a great sense of humor and was a very good athlete. The general lifestyle rubbed off on my father where he was always Koveyah eetim latorah—something he impressed upon all of us children. Dad was a talmid chacham, a baal koreh par excellence, and a Chazan—who knew, appreciated and had a nack for real nussach. He achieved all this even before reaching the age of Bar Mitzvah.

(Ironically—we all were amused that my dad did not lain at his own bar mitzvah—instead his brother did—because it wasn’t the thing to do back then—go figure).

Until he was in his 60’s my father returned along with us every yomim noraim to the shul he grew up in where he would be baal terfillah—tokayah—baal korenh. All 8 of us stayed in the 2 bedroom house—for however many days of yom tov there were.

Daddy went to RJJ elementary, Bta—MTA high school and YU—college and smicha. He was a student of the Rav—Rav soloveitchik. His love for the Rav’s torah was so great. His eyes lit up—to hear anything from the Rav—he had countless sfarim and articles about every detail of the Rav’s life, teachings, and torah. Dad loves a good shir and always appreciated a nice vart.

Dad was one of three boys. His brotherly relationship continued throughout his life—and was always in his heart. His older brother Herbie was Niftar 3 years ago—and that shattered my father until today.

One of my father’s talents—was his incredible font like handwriting—which resembled a printing press. He had great talents in drawing. As a teen he entered one of these drawing contests from a local magazine. He won first place—which was a full scholarship to an advertising university program. My Zaydie was not opposed—but my father could not imagine life as a torah Jew in the 1950’s—and—working in advertising. So he opted for another route—going for Smicha—and being in the field of education. Obviously—much less pay—but—many more hours for family time.

All of us in my family—loved the story of how my parents met—or were set up