The Torah ends with Moshe Rabbeinu’s passing from his earthly abode. Others died, but none with such ceremony, with Hashem Yisborach serving as the Chevra Kadisha, Jewish Sacred Burial Society. There are some things in life that are inevitable. Everyone must take leave of this world. When this occurs is up to Hashem. How it occurs is more or less up to us, as we decide the amount of preparation we are willing to do. We are instructed to “repent one day before you die.” Since no one knows his end of time, he should prepare his entire life with teshuvah, repentance, and maasim tovim, good deeds, so that when the final moment arrives – unannounced – he is prepared. Our gedolei Yisrael, Torah leaders, faced death with equanimity, living their lives in such a manner that they maximized their spiritual potential. They were prepared to meet their Creator because the lives they led in this world were focused toward this moment. They were intellectually aware that everything in this world is finite, and, with this in mind, they lived their lives meaningfully, accepting Hashem’s challenges as they arose and triumphing over them.
I will take the liberty of citing from the lives of recent gedolim as they faced this moment of truth. Recently a book entitled, Forever His Students, by Rabbi Boruch Leff – a collection of essays based upon the teachings of the venerable Rosh HaYeshivah of Ner Israel, Horav Yaakov Weinberg, z.l. – was published. In an essay, the author relates Rav Yaakov’s attitude and outlook toward his imminent death after he was given the dread diagnosis that the disease from which he suffered had invaded his entire body and that he only had a few months to live.
The Rosh HaYeshivah firmly believed that everything which Hashem did was inherently good, and he accepted His will with trust and love. He neither responded to the grim news with shock or fear, nor proceeded through the usual stages of grief. His sense of reality was so resolute that there was no room for denial or negotiation. When asked if he was afraid, his reply was straightforward, “Afraid. No, I am not afraid. I know whatever Hashem does is for the best.” He maintained his usual concern and kindness toward others until the very end. He smiled until he lost consciousness and was careful never to neglect expressing thanks to anyone.
During his last Shabbos on earth, when the pain was excruciating and it sapped all of his energy and strength, he made it a point to join the family for the Shabbos meal. He could not spoil their Shabbos. He offered his novellae on the parsha in his usual brilliant manner. As difficult as it was for him to receive guests, he understood that people wanted to visit him and say goodbye. He hid his agony and smiled at everyone. His concern for others was his hallmark, and he lived up to it until the final moment of his life.
His message to his students was simple and clear. Hashem loves each and every one of us. We do not always understand His actions. Yet, we must trust and believe that everything He does to us is really for us. It is an act of love, even if we have a difficult time understanding and accepting it.
Horav Beinush Finkel, z.l., the Mirrer Rosh HaYeshivah was another gadol who exemplified incredible control over his emotions during the illness that eventually claimed his life. Although his disease inflicted him with terrible pain, he never allowed it to show. He refused painkillers, claiming that they made him drowsy. As a person who was raised with the notion that the gift of dei’ah, intellectual discretion, the ability to think, was the crowning point of man, he was not going to relinquish this ability even for a moment. It was only when he began to lose consciousness that his face started to contort with pain. One could see that he had spent his energy controlling his pain and facial expression. Anyone visiting him was treated to the same level of wit and laughter that was his hallmark. People who visited him did not see in his countenance the desperate situation in which he was existing. He refused any form of physical assistance. He would not enter a door that was opened for him.
The Skolye Rebbe, z.l., was a brilliant gaon whose encyclopedic knowledge of all areas of Torah was only matched by his passion for Yiddishkeit and his love for all Jews. A year and a half before his passing, he was stricken with a serious internal condition. He underwent two surgical procedures to alleviate the condition. His strength ebbed, and his family did everything to help him recover. One day, as he sat in his room filled with some relatives, he suddenly burst out in tears and cried out, “If only someone could assure me that I am an erliche Yid, upright Jew.” This is the type of person he was.
He too was bothered by the manner in which his ill health affected those who visited him. Shortly before he passed away, a certain chasid came to visit him. He was from the Midwest, and his clothes and manner of speech reflected his origins. He was a sincere and giving person whom the Rebbe delighted in having in his company. The man naturally began the visit by inquiring about the Rebbe’s health. The Rebbe’s response was a lesson in gadlus, greatness.
“In my younger days, back in Europe, I visited a town which was home to many of my chasidim. I sustained an eye infection which caused pus to ooze from my eye incessantly. It looked terrible. Before my next session with my chasidim, I entreated Hashem, ‘Ribbono Shel Olam, whatever suffering You decree on me, I accept with love, but, please, make me suffer in a way that will not cause hardship for others.’ Shortly thereafter, the infection cleared up, and I suddenly began experiencing searing pain in my leg of which no one else was aware.
“You asked me about my health. I have only the greatest appreciation for the Almighty. I recently underwent two surgeries. I never thought that I would be able to lead the congregation in tefillah, prayer, during the Yamim Noraim, High Holy Days. Thank G-d, I did. For what more could I ask? I am only concerned with the pain that my ill appearance causes others.”
The passing of every gadol leaves the generation bereft of his leadership, guidance and instruction. Indeed, we are orphaned by his passing. We must see to it that his shining example continues to inspire us long after he is gone, so that the lessons he imparted during his lifetime live on.
