(First published in the Jewish Link of New Jersey)
I read with great interest and appreciation the sundry reminiscences of Rabbi Berel Wein z”l published but add one dimension that has not been adequately not addressed: Rabbi Wein as pulpit rabbi. I grew up in his shul and spent my formative years there. As Rabbi Wein’s history lectures originated in Congregation Bais Torah of Monsey (Suffern, for purists), it is quite possible that Rabbi Wein’s fame as a historian and popularizer of Jewish history – how most people knew him – would not have come about but for his being Rav of that shul. Indeed, the whole idea of taping these lectures only arose at lecture two, when a previous week’s participant asked that it be recorded because he could not attend. (The first lecture was not taped.) The rest, as they say, is history.
What did I learn from Rabbi Wein? Once, when we hosted him at Bnai Yeshurun, I introduced him by saying that I never took a course in rabbinics. (Some would claim, it showed.) “I learned rabbinics observing Rabbi Wein – how he managed a shul, how he dealt with members, how he handled the myriad tasks that are associated with the rabbinate.” It was true, and it was a remarkable education that I and others received. From 1974 until1979 (when I married and left Monsey; Rabbi Wein was our Mesader Kiddushin), just excluding my year in Israel, I just watched him, learned from him, and absorbed.
I was among those teenagers who trekked to Rabbi Wein’s house every Shabbat afternoon in shifts, according to age, to learn Mishnayot with him. And then later that day, he would give one, sometimes two shiurim, in shul. I don’t know when he prepared, and I know he didn’t sleep.
Because Rabbi Wein started Bais Torah from the ground up, he was able to place his stamp on the shul. In my years there, there was no hashkama minyan, youth minyan, Sefard minyan, etc. Everyone davened together. No one – not even the youth – would ever leave when Rabbi Wein spoke. For years, old Monseyites would tell me that my cadences when I spoke resembled those of Rabbi Wein, which stands to reason and which I took as a compliment. His derashot followed a pattern: a question, contradiction among commentators, or perplexity in the sedrah, followed by a story, usually humorous, often involving his travels for the OU, and then a resolution to the question raised. Listeners were guaranteed at least one laugh and a message that was mussar-oriented, pointed, intellectual, inspirational, and often all of the above. Interestingly, in those years, Rabbi Wein rarely addressed current events or hot topics, feeling those were dated or irrelevant within a week.
The influences were persistent but subtle. He had been an attorney and then a rabbi; I followed the same course (my father a”h had been a rabbi and then a lawyer, so it must have been in the genes). He gave a shiur after davening for which everyone stayed, and in my first pulpit, I did the same, to less than enthusiastic results. When I called Rabbi Wein to ask him where I went wrong, he asked what I taught that week. I answered, it was all about gaavah, haughtiness. He replied, “maybe that’s too heavy a topic for Shabbat morning.” I soon realized it was something else. That shul, unlike Bais Torah, had a kiddush every week after davening, and my shiur was just an unwelcome obstacle between Jews and their kiddush, not a good place to be.
In Bais Torah, Rabbi Wein taught the megillot – Shir Hashirim, Ruth, and Kohelet – on each of the holidays, and naturally, even instinctively, I did the same, fortunately to much greater acceptance than my aborted weekly post-Musaf shiur. It was then that Rabbi Wein would venture into current events, Israel, and analogies between our present day and Jewish history. He did the same on Shabbat Shuvah and Shabbat Hagadol, on which I later found myself unconsciously replicating his pattern: presenting a halachic topic, raising a series of questions, answering the halachic questions and then addressing the philosophical implications, followed by a peroration that related the theme to our lives, our place in the world, and in Jewish history. Oddly, I only remember one of his topics (even more oddly, I never addressed that particular topic – mitzvah haba ba’aveirah – on these occasions), but I do recall leaving profoundly uplifted, moved, and enlightened. Indeed, until I entered the rabbinate myself, I made sure to return to Monsey every year after marriage for Shabbat Shuvah and Shabbat Hagadol.
Rabbi Wein had a most laconic manner in personal interactions, almost Calvin Coolidge-like in his brevity, though never brusque. Like many others, I consulted him occasionally about shul matters. Once, when he was already living in Israel and I was in Teaneck, I called to ask him how to deal with a particular congregant issue which I thought needed a verbal protest or something. I spelled out my case in three minutes, and I concluded by asking “What do you think I should do?” Rabbi Wein responded, “do nothing.” Two words, nothing more, and the call ended pleasantly mere seconds later. “Do nothing” is not always the best advice but in this case it was. I did nothing, and the matter resolved itself spectacularly well, far better than if I had done something. (Memo to Bnai Yeshurun members: do not even try to speculate what it was!)
I also learned the value of multiple influences, of not joining any particular team but flying solo, thinking independently. Rabbi Wein was at home in every part of the Jewish world – the modern and the yeshivish, the Litvish and the Hasidish. It was a rare combination that I also witnessed in my Rebbe Muvhak, Rav Yisrael Chait shlit”a, who learned from Rav Henoch Leibowitz, Rav Aharon Kotler, Rav Moshe Feinstein, and Rav Yosef Ber Soloveitchik, among others. “Ben Zoma said, who is wise? He who learns from all people, as it is said: ‘From all my teachers I gained understanding’” (Avot 4:1). The Torah has seventy facets. No one teacher can present all seventy and a broad perspective engenders a broader mind and a deeper understanding of Torah. Rabi Wein was also extraordinarily well read, something not always prevalent among rabbis, which led me to always ask my assistant rabbi candidates this question: “what is the last book that you read? Not sefer – but book.” To be at home in the world is a blessing, not a curse.
He took special pride in his congregants and students who became rabbis, something that I personally experienced. When Rabbi Wein first came to Monsey, we all davened in a shul that did not have a permanent rabbi so there was a Dvar Torah rotation after davening in which Rabbi Wein participated, as did I. At age 15, I gave my first sermon since my Bar Mitzvah. I must have said something worthwhile because immediately afterward, Rebbetzin Jackie Wein a”h approached me with a big smile and said, “you should become a rabbi!”
The thought lingered, germinated, and eventually came to fruition. And as at the beginning, so too many decades later, Rabbi Wein gave me his best advice as to when I should leave the pulpit and move to Israel, advice which I took. Uncannily, we each left our shuls and made aliya at roughly the same age.
Above all, I learned from Rabbi Wein that a pulpit rabbi can have enormous influence on people, especially young people. I have never been a big fan of segregating teenagers in their own minyan, away from the rabbi, notwithstanding that they do learn skills managing their own affairs. I am just one among dozens and dozens of young men who benefited from Rabbi Wein’s leadership, guidance, and encouragement to do something good for the Jewish people.
Rabbi Wein’s legacy is enormous and it should not be overlooked that it encompasses his books, lectures, yeshiva – as well as his shul in Monsey, where he shaped the minds and souls of countless individuals, for which we are eternally grateful.
Yehi Zichro Baruch.
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