How child prodigy, halachic master, and light of the yeshivah world Rav Nota Greenblatt put the souls of his people first 

Photos: Family archives

A young yeshivah student entered the Greyhound bus station in Memphis, Tennessee.

It was 3:30 a.m., and the eerie silence was broken only by the occasional groans of several unfortunate individuals lining the halls. The boy looked around anxiously, not finding what he was looking for. Suddenly, a bus pulled up, and its doors opened.

Only a few passengers shuffled off the bus, bleary-eyed and exhausted. The boy waited till he spied the passenger he was looking for — a tall old man resplendent in a tan suit and straw hat, striding quickly and confidently as if it were broad daylight.

“Hey, Rav!” the yeshivah student called out. The old man looked up, smiled, and waved, and the two walked toward each other. “Rav,” the boy repeated, “how was the trip?”

The old man beamed. “The trip? It was wonderful! While in Little Rock, Arkansas, I visited the library of a local shul. There, I found a sefer I’d been hoping to find for a long time. I asked the rabbi if I could have it — and he said yes! I spent the entire trip learning from the sefer. Incredible!”

The rabbi and his student left the bus station, entered the waiting car, and drove home.

The stories come fast and furious, each with their own color, their own message. But they never end emphatically, these stories; the teller’s eyes inevitably look off toward the distance, and the voice trails, “Rav Nota, Rav Nota. He was just … just....” Just what?

It’s a question that hangs unanswered and that explains the sort of desperate tone these stories are shared with. Those who bore witness all share the sentiment that the stories only scratch the surface of greatness they felt, but aren’t able to communicate. In the month since his passing, a plethora of hespedim were delivered, notes, letters, and anecdotes were shared, and slowly, the pieces are coming together. After 96 years, we begin to get a glimpse into the mountainous neshamah, no longer staunchly concealed behind a tan suit and straw hat.